MARRIAGE BONDS; OR, CHRISTIAN HAZELL'S MARRIED LIFE.

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 271, 16 November 1888, Page 3

MARRIAGE BONDS; OR, CHRISTIAN HAZELL'S MARRIED LIFE.

By the Asthor of 'Hedged With ThoraSrj

CHAPTER XX. (Continued,)

At last the long procession reached the abbey—the abbey with its roofless walls, its broken arches, and its scattered gravesThe red torches, flickering in and outf among the grey rump, lit biiem up with v, strange lurid glare. Impatient spectators pushed their way through the damp dewy grass—now they stumbled over a grave, now over a sunken stone, or over the gnarled root of a tree, till at length a thick wall of eager faces lined the old grey walls and filled the ivy-hung doorways. Me Hewson's trembling voice broke abruptly into the suppressed hum of voices—' We brought nothing into this world/ he faltered, forth, ' and it is certain we can carry' nothing out.' So the service slowly pro-: ceeded, interrupted by smothered sobs and groans. Then the long black coinu was lowered into the burial-place of the OTarrells, and, according to an. ancienb custom, the now faintly-Jiicker-ing torches were thrown in after It, while everyone pressed forward to fling in alsa some little remembrance of his own—a care-' fully-prized ilower, a lucky stone, or a knoti of ribbon. Alick seemed restlessly im-: patient for every thing to be over. Ah*. Hewson had barely concluded the last? words before he turned away as if he couid not escape soon enough. His back had. scarcely disappeared before Donagh. Dooagh, mounting on a iiab tombstone, burst" out as follows:—'Boys, this is it heavy day wid us, and afore wo! go we'd like to say a word or two,: and I'm the man to say it. We can't lave our best frind, Captain Eustaca Hazell—God rest his sowl!—we can't lava him lyin' there stiff and could widout sayin' that ib was niver in our hearts to bring him low. Iso !no ! Let them say what they will, the Oamgnaholfcy tnin'ud scorn such. an action ; they're clane and clear ov his blood ; 'twas niver him or such as him they meant to harm. They'd sarve their frinds, sarve them well, but they'd niver, niver slay them !' 1 Thrue for yon, Donagh; thrue for ye !' broke in eager chorus from the listening: crowd.

' We know well too who our raal friends ir©,' continued Donagh; 'there's no delavin' us, We see the feelin' heart and the ovin' hearb, and "twas both ov thim that! man we're after follyin 1 had—iver since he could spake plain he had it. We'd have? died for him, so we would.' « That we would, thab we would,' was re* peated with one voice. 'And now, to our bitter grief and sorrow, he's gone from us,' continued Donagh, 'and we're charged with his death— widhisdsktM, boys, no less, but we fling the charge back. agin. They've took tip Andy Moran ; they're took up one or two more; bnto sorra a thing can they prove or bring home to e'er a wan; and if they took up ivery one that's standin' here this night they could niver prove that we had an ill thoughu ov the true man that's lyin' there foreninsti us. There's a God in heaven, and He'll make all come right in the iiid. He'll n iver '—and Donagh glanced round to sea that the policemen were out of the way— 'He'll niver letth' innocent suffer for the guilty and have the guilty go free, though, Ye know it's th' innocent that we're here wsepin' tears for this day.' Ponagh's voice now failed him, but he could not not have been heard much longer, such loud wails of 'Och ! Mr Eustace ! Mr Eustace ! and is it dead ye are ?' had broken out from his audience. Peggy Brennan and some of the elder women, equally experienced in the art ofwakiDg the-deadj now rushed round the open grave, and beating their foreheads against it began a long shrill cry, • Och ! wirra, wirra, Mr Eustace, alanna! what mcd ye die ? What mcd ye die, and we behonlden to ye for ivery.. thing?' ■ Still, with alt their noisy laments* iB seemed even to them thab a certain blackshrouded figure, sitting motionless and silent at the head of the grave, spokej a more eloquent language of gnec than they had ever learned. And now, as the dew gathered thicker and thicker on the long dank grass, as tho darkness grew denser and deeper, and aa the grey walls of the abbey became -teas, and less distinct, the crowd gradually began to melt away. The rattling and rumbling of wheels along the country roads was heard, and Eustace was left alone.' The blackcloaked figure was the last to move reluctantly away, while Peggy Brennan whispered, ' It's the sperrit; make way for tha sperrit, boys. Sure we always ought to bS respeotin' the sperrits, for we can niver tell whin they may stand our frinds. In a few hours Knoeknaroon Abbey was iM silent as if no footsteps had trampled down the black boggy mould, and as if no voices had sounded among the moss-grown avohes The wind thab moaned, thrquga the ivy and sobbed by the tall round tower uW>he only sound that could beheatdm that lonely mountain valley, for that nightj even tv'ie owls and the bats seemed fes k&sp quiet.

{To be Continued.)