"I am now an old man, and have witnessed many instances of error, and sin, and deep crime, but never before have I seen in persons of your early years, such instances--such awful, terrible instances--of that impenitence in which the heart, setting aside God and his sacred ordinances, is given over to the hardness of final reprobation. I can do no more, as the ambassador of Christ, but I must not stand by and see a fellow-creature--oh! thank God," he exclaimed, "a thought recurs to my mind which had for a time passed out of it. My good friend," he said, addressing old M'Loughlin, "will you bring Mary in, if she is able to come--say I request to see her here."
"We will go now," said the eldest, "you can want us no longer."
"You shall not go," replied Father Roche firmly, "if you are men, stay--or, if cowards, who are afraid to look into the depths of your own dark designs, you will and may go--we want you not." This language perplexed them, but they stood as before, and moved not.
In a few minutes Mary came in, leaning on her father's arm; but, ah!
what a change from the elegant outline and clear, healthy cheek--from the red plump lips, and dark mellow eyes, which carried fascination in every glance and grace in every motion! Sweet, and beautiful, and interesting, she still unquestionably was, but her pale cheek, languid eye, and low tremulous voice, told a tale, which, when the cause of it was reflected on, had literally scorched up out of her brother's hearts every remaining vestige of humanity.
"Mary," said the priest, we have requested your presence, my child, for a most important purpose--and, in communicating that purpose to you, we indeed give the strongest proof of our confidence in your firmness and good sense--nay, I will add, in the truth and fervor of your dependence on the sustaining power of religion."
"In my own strength or discretion I will never depend more," she replied, sighing deeply.
"You must exert great courage and firmness now, then," rejoined Father Roche; "In the first place, you are about to have a disclosure made which will be apt to shock you; and, in the next place, I have only to say, that it is the absolute necessity of your knowing it, in order to prevent dreadful consequences from ensuing upon it, that forces us to make you cognizant of it at all."
"I trust I shall endeavor at least to bear it," she returned; "I am not strong, and I do not think that too much preparation will add to my strength."
"I agree with you, my child," said Father Roche, "and have only made such as I deemed indispensably necessary. The fact then is, my poor girl, that your brothers meditate violence against that most base and wicked person who--"
"I know, sir, the person to whom you allude; but I will thank you, if you can avoid it, not to name him."
"I have no such intention," replied the good man, "but bad and profligate as he is, it is still worse that your three brothers should propose such violence."
"But what do you mean by violence--of course violence of any description is beneath them. Surely,--John, you would not stoop--"
She looked at them as she spoke, and, as before, there was no mistaking the meaning of the cold and deadly smile which lay upon their lips, and contrasted so strongly and strangely with their kindling eyes.
"What fearful expression is this," she asked, with evident terror and trepidation; "my dear brothers, what does this mean?--that is, if you be my brothers, for I can scarcely recognize you--what is it, in the name of heaven?"
The brothers looked at her, but spoke not, nor moved.
"They have taken an oath, Mary, to wipe out your shame in his blood,"
added the priest.
She immediately rose up without aid, and approached them.
"This is not true, my dear brothers," said she, "this cannot be true--deny it for your sister."
"We cannot deny it, Mary," said John, "for it is true, and must be done--our vengeance is ripe, hot, burning, and will wait no longer."
"John," said she, calmly, "recollect 'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it.'"
"I told them so," said their father, "but I receive no attention at their hands."
"Vengeance is ours," said John, in a deeper and more determined voice than he had ever uttered, "vengeance is ours, and we shall repay it."
The others repeated his words as before.
"Obstinate and unhappy young men," said the priest, "you know not, or you forget, that this is blasphemy."
"This, my dear sir," observed their sister, getting still more deadly,pale than before, "is not blasphemy, it is insanity--my three brothers are insane; that is it. Relieve me, John," said she, recovering herself, "and say it is so."
"If we were insane, Mary," replied her brother, calmly, "our words would go for nothing."
"But, is it not a dreadful thing," she continued, "that I should be glad of such an alternative?"
"Mary," said the priest, "ask them to pray; they refused to join me and their father, perhaps you may be more successful."
"They will certainly pray," said she; "I never knew them to omit it a night, much less refuse it. Surely they will join their poor sister Mary, who will not long--" She hesitated from motives which the reader can understand, but immediately knelt down to prayer.
During prayer the three brothers stood and knelt not, neither did they speak. When prayers were concluded, she arose, and with tears in her eyes, approached her eldest-brother.
"John," said she, "can it be that the brother of Mary M'Loughlin is an assassin? I will answer for you," she said. "Kiss me, for I am weak and feeble, and must go to bed."
"I cannot kiss you," he replied; "I can never kiss you more, Mary--for it must be--done."
The tears still streamed copiously down her cheeks, as they did down those of her father and the amiable priest. The latter, who never took his eye off her, was praying; incessantly, as might be seen by the motion, of his lips.
"Alick," she proceeded, turning to her second brother, "surely won't refuse to kiss and embrace his only sister, before she withdraws for the day."
"I cannot kiss you, my pure sister; I can never kiss you more. We have sworn, and it must be done."
"I thought I had brothers," said she, "but I find I am now brotherless--yet perhaps not altogether so. I had once a young, generous, innocent, and very affectionate playfellow. It was known that I loved him--that we all loved him best. Will he desert his loving sister, now that the world has done so? or will he allow her to kiss, him, and to pray that the darkness of guilt may never overshadow his young and generous spirit. Bryan," she added, "I am Mary, your sister, whom you loved--and surely you are my own dearest brother."
Whilst she uttered the words, the tears: which flowed from her eyes fell upon his face. He looked at her pale features, so full of love and tenderness--the muscles of his face worked strongly; but at length, with a loud cry, he threw himself over, caught her in his arms, and laying her head upon his bosom, wept aloud. The evil spell was now broken.
Neither John nor Alick could resist the contagion of tenderness which their beloved sister shed into their hearts. Their tears flowed fast--their caresses were added to those of Brian; and as they penitently embraced her, they retracted their awful oath, and promised never again to think of violence, revenge, or bloodshed.
Thus did the force and purity of domestic affection charm back into their hearts the very spirit which its own excess had before driven out of it;--and thus it is that many a triumph over crime is won by the tenderness and strength of that affection, when neither reason, nor religion, nor any other principle that we are acquainted with, can succeed in leading captive the fearful purposes of resentment and revenge.
"Now," said Father Eoche, "we have still a, duty to perform, and that is, to return thanks to Almighty God for the dark and deadly crime, and the woeful sorrow, which, by his grace and mercy, he has averted from this family; and I think we may take this blessing--for such surely it is--as an earnest hope that the same Divine hand, which has put aside this impending calamity from us, may, and will, in his own good time, remove the other afflictions which the enmity and wickedness of evil hearts, and evil councils have brought upon us; but especially let us kneel and return thanks for the great and happy change which, through the humility and affection of one of us, has been wrought upon the rest."
He then knelt down, and on this occasion the iron sinews of these young men became soft, and were bent in remorse, sorrow, repentance. The pious priest prayed fervently and humbly, and as his tears fell fast, in the trusting sincerity of his heart and the meek earnestness of his spirit, it is almost unnecessary to say, that those of his little flock accompanied him. The brothers wept bitterly, for the rocky heart of each had been touched, and religion completed the triumph which affection had begun.
Such had been the situation of this family on the day alluded to by Mr. Easel, who could not, of course, have had any means of becoming acquainted with them, but as we felt that the incidents were necessary to give fulness to his narrative, we did not hesitate to introduce them here, where a knowledge of them was so necessary. We now allow Mr. Easel himself to resume his narrative.
"This venerable pastor," continues Mr. Easel, "is a thin, pale man, but, evidently, in consequence of temperance and moderation in his general habits of living, a healthy one. He cannot be less than seventy, but the singular clearness of his complexion, and the steady lustre of his gray eye, lead you to suppose that he is scarcely that. He is tall and without stoop, and, from the intellectual character of his high and benevolent forehead, added to the mildness of his other features, and his whole face, he presented, I must say, a very striking combination of dignity and meekness. His dress is plain, and nothing can be more fine and impressive than the contrast between his simple black apparel, and the long flowing snow-white hair which falls over it. His holy zeal as a Christian minister, unobscured by secular feelings, or an unbecoming participation in the angry turmoils of political life, possessed all the simple beauty of pure and primitive piety. Father Roche received his education on the Continent, in several parts of which he has held ecclesiastical appointments, one being the Presidency of an Irish College. He consequently speaks most, if not all, of the continental languages; but so utterly free from display, and so simple are his manners, that you would not on a first interview, no, nor on a second, ever suppose the man to be what he is--a most accomplished scholar and divine. In one thing, however, you never could be mistaken--that his manners, with all their simplicity, are those of a gentleman, possessing as they do, all the ease, and, when he chooses, the elegance of a man who has moved in high and polished society. He has only been a few years in Ireland. After a glass of wine and some desultory conversation touching public events and the state of this unfortunate and unsettled country, upon all of which he spoke with singular good temper and moderation, we went to see the manufactory, now that I had recovered from my fatigue. This building is two or three hundred yards from the house, and as we were on our way there, it so happened that he and I found ourselves together, and at some distance from M'Loughlin and his sons.
"'You were introduced, sir,' said he, 'to me as Mr. Easel.'
"I bowed.
"'I am not inquisitive,' he added with a smile, 'because in this case I do not find it necessary; but I am candid.'
"I began to feel slightly uneasy, so I only bowed again, but could say nothing.
"'I have met you on the continent.'
"'It is quite possible,' I replied, 'I have been there.'