thismatter, that he compelled the tents to be struck by daybreak, exceptby those few, trusted and privileged individuals, whose ministerings tohuman wants were permitted during the day of sanctity.
And thus the whole picture was suddenly changed. The wild and riotousuproar of the fair, the tumult of voices and music, dancing, drinking,and fighting, were gone; and the low monotonous sound of the pilgrims'prayers was heard, as they moved along upon their knees to some holywell or shrine, to offer up a prayer, or return a thanksgiving forblessings bestowed. The scene was a strange and picturesque one; thelong lines of kneeling figures, where the rich scarlet cloak of thewomen predominated, crossed and recrossed each other as they wendedtheir way to the destined altar; their muttered words blending with thelouder and more boisterous appeals of the mendicants,--who, stationedat every convenient angle or turning, besieged each devotee withunremitting entreaty,--deep and heartfelt devotion in every face, everylineament and feature impressed with religious zeal and piety; butstill, as group met group going and returning, they interchanged theirgreetings between their prayers, and mingled the worldly salutationswith aspirations heavenward, and their "Paters," and "Aves," and"Credos," were blended with inquiries for the "childer," or questionsabout the "crops."
"Isn't that Owen Connor, avick, that's going there, towards theYallow-well?" said an old crone as she ceased to count her beads.
"You're right enough, Biddy; 'tis himself, and no other; it's a turn hetook to devotion since he grew rich."
"Ayeh! ayeh! the Lord be good to us! how fond we all be of life, whenwe've the bit of bacon to the fore!" And with that she resumed her piousavocations with redoubled energy, to make up for lost time.
The old ladies were as sharp-sighted as such functionaries usually arein any sphere of society. It was Owen Connor himself, performing hisfirst pilgrimage. The commands of his landlord had expressly forbiddenhim to engage in any disturbance at the fair; the only mode of complyingwith which, he rightly judged, was by absenting himself altogether. Howthis conduct was construed by others, we have briefly hinted at. As forhimself, poor fellow, if a day of mortification could have availed himany thing, he needn't have appeared among the pilgrims;--a period ofsuch sorrow and suffering he had never undergone before. But in justiceit must be confessed, it was devotion of a very questionable characterthat brought him there that morning. Since the fair-day, Mary Joyce hadnever deigned to notice him; and though he had been several times atmass, she either affected not to be aware of his presence, or designedlylooked in another direction. The few words of greeting she once gave himon every Sunday morning--the smile she bestowed--dwelt the whole week inhis heart, and made him long for the return of the time, when, even fora second or two, she would be near, and speak to him. He was not slowin supposing how the circumstances under which he rescued the landlord'sson might be used against him by his enemies; and he well knew that shewas not surrounded by any others than such. It was, then, with a heavyheart poor Owen witnessed how fatally his improved fortune had dashedhopes far dearer than all worldly advantage. Not only did the newcomforts about him become distasteful, but he even accused them tohimself as the source of all his present calamity; and half suspectedthat it was a judgment on him for receiving a reward in such a cause. Tosee her--to speak to her if possible--was now his wish, morn and night;to tell her that he cared more for one look, one glance, than for allthe favours fortune did or could bestow: this, and to undeceive her asto any knowledge of young Leslie's rudeness to herself, was the sole aimof his thoughts. Stationing himself therefore in an angle of the ruinedchurch, which formed one of the resting-places for prayer, he waited forhours for Mary's coming; and at last, with a heart half sickened withdeferred hope, he saw her pale but beautiful features, shaded by thelarge blue hood of her cloak, as with downcast eyes she followed in thetrain.
"Give me your place, acushla; God will reward you for it; I'm late atthe station," said he, to an old ill-favoured hag that followed nextto Mary; and at the same time, to aid his request, slipped half-a-crowninto her hand.
The wrinkled face brightened into a kind of wicked intelligence as shemuttered in Irish: "'Tis a gould guinea the same place is worth; butI'll give it to you for the sake of yer people;" and at the same timepocketing the coin in a canvass pouch, among relics and holy clay, shemoved off, to admit him in the line.
Owen's heart beat almost to bursting, as he found himself so close toMary; and all his former impatience to justify himself, and to speak toher, fled in the happiness he now enjoyed. No devotee ever regarded therelic of a Saint with more trembling ecstacy than did he the folds ofthat heavy mantle that fell at his knees; he touched it as men would doa sacred thing. The live-long day he followed her, visiting in turn eachshrine and holy spot; and ever, as he was ready to speak to her, somefear that, by a word, he might dispel the dream of bliss he revelled in,stopped him, and he was silent.
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It was as the evening drew near, and the Pilgrims were turning towardsthe lake, beside which, at a small thorn-tree, the last "station" of allwas performed, that an old beggar, whose importunity suffered none toescape, blocked up the path, and prevented Mary from proceeding untilshe had given him something. All her money had been long since bestowed;and she said so, hurriedly, and endeavoured to move forward.
"Let Owen Connor, behyind you, give it, acushla! He's rich now, and canwell afford it," said the cripple.
She turned around at the words; the action was involuntary, and theireyes met. There are glances which reveal the whole secret of a lifetime;there are looks which dwell in the heart longer and deeper than words.Their eyes met for merely a few seconds; and while in _her_ faceoffended pride was depicted, poor Owen's sorrow-struck and broken aspectspoke of long suffering and grief so powerfully, that, ere she turnedaway, her heart had half forgiven him.
"You wrong me hardly, Mary," said he, in a low, broken voice, as thetrain moved on. "The Lord, he knows my heart this blessed day! _Paternoster, qui es in colis?_'" added he, louder, as he perceived that hisimmediate follower had ceased his prayers to listen to him. "He knowsthat I'd rather live and die the poorest--'Beneficat tuum nomen!'" criedhe, louder. And then, turning abruptly, said:
"Av it's plazing to you, sir, don't be trampin' on my heels. I can'tmind my devotions, an' one so near me.
"It's not so unconvaynient, maybe, when they're afore you," mutteredthe old fellow, with a grin of sly malice. And though Owen overheard thetaunt, he felt no inclination to notice it.
"Four long years I've loved ye, Mary Joyce; and the sorra moreencouragement I ever got nor the smile ye used to give me. And if yetake _that_ from me, now--Are ye listening to me, Mary? do ye hear me,asthore?--Bad scran to ye, ye ould varmint! why won't ye keep behind?How is a man to save his sowl, an' you making him blasphame everyminit?"
"I was only listenin' to that elegant prayer ye were saying," said theold fellow, drily.
"'Tis betther you'd mind your own, then," said Owen, fiercely; "or, bythe blessed day, I'll teach ye a new penance ye never heerd of afore!"
The man dropped back, frightened at the sudden determination these wordswere uttered in; and Owen resumed his place.
"I may never see ye again, Mary. 'Tis the last time you'll hear me spaketo you. I'll lave the ould man. God look to him! I'll lave him now,and go be a sodger. Here we are now, coming to this holy well; andI'll swear an oath before the Queen of Heaven, that before this timeto-morrow--"
"How is one to mind their prayers at all, Owen Connor, if ye be talkingto yourself, so loud?" said Mary, in a whisper, but one which lost not asyllable, as it fell on Owen's heart.
"My own sweet darling, the light of my eyes, ye are!" cried he, aswith clasped hands he muttered blessings upon her head; and with suchvehemence of gesture, and such unfeigned signs of rapture, as to evokeremarks from some beggars near, highly laudatory of his zeal.
"Look at the fine young man there, prayin' wid all his might. Ayeh, theSaints give ye the benefit of your Pilgrimage!"
"
Musha! but ye'r a credit to the station; ye put yer sowl in it,anyhow!" said an old Jezebel, whose hard features seemed to defyemotion.
Owen looked up; and directly in front of him, with his back against atree, and his arms crossed on his breast, stood Phil Joyce: his brow wasdark with passion, and his eyes glared like those of a maniac. A coldthrill ran through Owen's heart, lest the anger thus displayed shouldfall on Mary; for he well knew with what tyranny the poor girl wastreated. He therefore took the moment of the pilgrims' approach to theholy tree, to move from his place, and, by a slightly circuitous path,came up to where Joyce was
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