Copyright. At a Safe Distance.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 16, 19 October 1910, Page 55

Copyright. At a Safe Distance.

By

JANE BARLOW.

{Author of "Bogland Studies,” etc.)

THE inhabitants of Rathkerin are fairly well used to the idea of emigration in some forms, and every now and then see with tolerable equanimity people going forth from among them, bound for England or the States. Such incidents are, no doubt, generally regrettable, but not necessarily to be regarded as entailing hopeless severance and perpetual exile. Even the. Atlantic can be crossed so quickly how, that news of . the departed may be had within a fortnight; and thenceforward letters sometimes continue to arrive with a speed and regularity, which encourages a 'belief in the possibility of a bodily return. But it is quite different when a person sets off to one of those vaguely situated places which can only be described as “outlandish altogether,” months intervening before the stay-at-homes need hope for tidings, and popular opinion running strongly against the probability of any further communications. • Accordingly there was much lamentation, both expressed and suppressed, at the departure of young Frank Cahill for a region called the Argentine, about which few facts were ascertained beyond its extreme remoteness and inaccessibility. For Frank was uncommonly goodlooking and agreeable, besides being a renowed sportsman and athlete, so that the gap made in the neighbourhood by his removal would not easily be filled. The loss, however, seemed unavoidable. His father’s sudden death, in unexpectedly embarrassed circumstances, left him little choice of plans, his means scantily sufficing for his transport to the distant dimes Where he had heard of an opening;—by worse luck, some of his friends considered. Indeed Lizzie O’Meara said to her sister Norah' tha't she wished Frank had been left without money enough for travelling expenses, because then he would have had; to stay in Rathkerin. To which Norah objected: “Sure he might better be away than fretting his heart out here, like some creature tethered with a short rope.” “Well, he’s pulled up his tethering-pin now, that’s certain,” Lizzie rejoined; and Norah replied: “Maybe he has.” But to herself she added: “And maybe he has not.” If it had not been for untoward circumstances, these Misses O’Meara would hardly have numbered among their acquaintances Frank Cahill, a small cattle-dealer’s son. For the O’Meara’s belonged to a family of old, ancient quality, who, within living people’s memory, had owned a fine, though much encumbered, landed estate. They had, however, long been coming down in the world and had, so to speak, descended several steps at a run- during the lifetime of Lizzie and Norah’s father whose unthrifty habits and convivial tastes led him into extravagance, the disastrous results of which were swelled by numerous children and an invalid wife. Little of their earier prestige, now remained to them, and still less of any more substantial possessions. One showery spring day about two years after Frank Cahill’s emigration, important domestic affairs were being discussed in the parlour of Joseph Dermody-, Rathkerin’s principal tradesman. The matter under consideration 'was nothing less than the marriage of his elder son. A rather curious feature in the conference was that Thomas, the person mo»t concerned, appeared, not at all deceptively, to be the most indifferent. He took only a slight part in the discussion, and when he did in-, tervenee, it was but liike-warmly to side with his father, whose views were being opposed by his mother and three sisters. Joseph Dermody was a man who as a rule got his own way in managing affairs of business, and, though thus out numbered and feebly supported, he would no doubt have done so on the present occasion, had not special circumstances been strongly against him. The fact that Mrs. Dermody was just re-

covering from a somewhat serious attack of pleurisy, which had greatly alarmed her family, gave her wishes unusual weight as well with her husband, who disapproved of them, as with her daughters, who shared them enthusiastically. She must therefore be admitted to have shown considerable judgment in selecting this time for the production of her favourite project, namely, that Thomas should marry one or other of the two grown-up O’Meara girls. It was a plan which she had long entertained; and a very propitious moment for carrying it out seemed to have arrived, now that Thomas had got a clerkship in Parclough, the country town more than a dozen miles away, where he would presently be taking up his abode. What recommended the match to Mrs. Dermody and her daughters was social ambition, with which their minds were much occupied. Mrs. Dermody always gave herself the airs of having married beneath her station in life; her neighbours could not think why, as “nobody had ever thought anything of them -Clarkes.” Nevertheless she had thoroughly imbued her daughters with her own sense of illustrious lineage and passionate desire “to climb aloft and others to excel” in rank as well as riches; and this alliance with the aristocratic though impoverished O’Mearas seemed to be an upward step which might most ex-

pediently accompany Thomas’ establishment in a genteel situation away at Parclough. They foresaw themselves visiting him there, discreetly veiling all connection" with the vulgar Rathkerin shop, and entering the highest circles of society. Against these advantages Joseph Dermody urged the sordid fact that Mr. Considine O’Meara, so far from having a penny to give his daughter, owed her proposed father-in-law, what ■with one thing and another, over a couple of hundred pounds; while Thomas diffidently suggested that “maybe the O’Mearas would have nothing to say to the likes of him,” an argument which his mother disdainfully demolished. “No fear of that,” she declared. “Sure I’ve now and agin let fall a word to poor Mrs. O’Meara, and plain enough it is that only too thankful they’d bo to have a girl off their hands, along with our account settled.” “A fine sort of fortune, bedad,” her husband grumbled; but grumbled vainly, as some judiciously interpolated fits of pathetic coughing and gasping proved more than a match for all his practical arguments. And the end of it was that this very afternoon Thomas set off

to the O’Meara’s, in the character of suitor for the hand of either Lizzie. or Norah, “according as might happen.” Long and lean, in his new broad doth suit and low-crowned felt hat; Thomas Dermody looked rather like a theological student, his mother and sisters thought', watching him down the street with admiring eyes. No admiration, however, awaited him when his journey ended three miles off in the O’Mearas’ untidy sitting-room. On the contrary, Lizzie O’Meara, whom he found tlieie; trimming a hat, considered his smooth, colourless visage and sleek black hair positively repulsive. It is true that in ordinary circumstances she had really no particular dislike for him, but the linfliittering light that falls on an unfavoured wooer seemed to bling out innumerable defects. Lizzie was not unprepared for his advent in that capacity, because her mother had of late thrown out many broad hints, not failing to accompany them with strong remarks about the opinion which all sensible persons would have of a girl foolish and wicked enough to let slip the chance of becoming Mrs. Thomas Dermody. As Lizzie was fully determined upon being that reprehensible girl, she had made up her mind beforehand that when the time came she would refuse Thomas’ proposal in unambiguous manner, likely to prevent any repetition of it, and thus to shorten the contentious period, which she knew would follow. Therefore she now hastened to confirm her assertion that she would never dream of marrying him. if he was the only man left standing on his two feet in the width of the world, by adding: “And, sure, I’ve promised to somebody else this long while,” a statement for which no foundation whatever existed. “He’s the lueky chap then,” Thomas declared, as was befitting, but with rather less than due conviction. “And who is he at all might I ask?” he inquired after a pause, which had clearly

been spent in conjecture. Meanwhile it had suddenly occurred to Lizzie that guesses of the kind might have awkward consequences, so she replied on the spur of the moment: “Suppose it was Frank Cahill.” For she thought to herself that about Frank, at such a safe distance, and not in the least likely to return or communicate from it, this might be said with very little risk. “Frank Cahill? Why nobody’s heard tale or tidings of him this month of Sundays,” said Thomas. “Oh, haven’t they not?” said Lizzie with ungrammatical mysteriousness. “Well, he was always a very decent ch’ap anyhow,” Thomas said, displaying a generosity towards his rival, which perhaps appeared greater than it really was. “And don’t you be tellin’ anybody a word about it, Thomas, for your life,” said Lizzie. “I will not,” said Thomas, rising to depart. He was on the point of asking her where he could find her sister Norah, when itastruck him that there would be something too crude about this mode of procedure, and he refrained from doing so. Fortune, however, favoured him; for ucar

the gate in the O’Meara’a weedy shrub-bery-walk he eame face to face suddenly with Norah, and thus with a chance of carrying out his original plan, which wa “to get the ,business settled one way or the other.” before lie returned - home r Norah's way of settling it was remarkably like Lizzie’s, the most striking point of resemblance lying in her final declaration that she had already promised somebody else.; whereupon Thomas once more inquiring: “And who at all, might i ask?” received the answer: “Ah, well, I .wouldn’t say but it might be Frank Cahill.” -. ? “Och, don't be quizziu’ me,” saic Thomas. ~ “What talk is there of quizzin’ anybody?” said Norah. "But sure it’s the very same thing that your sister Lizzie’s after tellin’ me about herself,” Thomas protested. Thomas had honourably intended to keep Lizzie’s secret, but, taken by surprise, he blurted it out, and gave himself away simultaneously-. "It’s a great lie she was tellin’ yoii then,” said Norah. “And is it just after coinin’ away you are from askin’ her too? Saints and patience, Thomas Dermody, but yourself's the quare big gaby. If you aren’t the laughing-stock of tlu? parish, ’tis no fault of your own. So good evening to you now; and I needn’t bid you hold your fool's tongue, for I might as well lie biddin’ the ould cow in the field there quit switchin’ her tail.” As Thomas turned homewards his feelings were a mixture of relief and dismay, sprung from a sense of mingled success and failure. But they were to be still further complicated before he reached Rathkerin. In the O'Meara’s lonely lane there was only one other dwelling, a small farmhouse, inhabited by a large family- of Geraghtys people who were even more needy than their next door neighbours, and who were not accredited with having seen better days. Indeed the Geraghtys seemed at all times to have beeri

thought badly of, not without some cause, and their existing representatives were no improvement upon their predecessors. Consequently Rathkerin was disposed to commiserate an orphaned niece, Ne’-Jra Magrath, “a nice quiet little girl,” who had been obliged to take up her abode with them. It was commonly believed that “they gave her none too good' treatment among them all. and worked her-like a black slave.” Now, as Thomas was passing the Geiaghtys’ rusty gate, a sudden shower came on so heavily that he sought shelter under the robust elder-bush, which supported one of the tumble-down posts. As he stood there he reflected on his recent interviews “up at O'Meara’s,” considering with some mortification that he had certainly made, a greater fool of himself than was necessary, but finding no slight comfort in the fact that he had failed to fetter himself for life to one of those large, supercilious, sandy-haired sisters. A small, dark-eyed girl — such as Nellie Magrath —- who always looked shyly pleased to see him, and who, he was afraid, hadn't overmuch of anything pleasant, would be far and away more to

his liking, if only he could see any chance of his people’s tolerating his views. But almost anything appeared less unlikely than that. And in the middle of these not unwonted meditations, aeross the wet road came Nellie Magrath herself, iwith a pail of water tugging at one hand, and raindrops, shining in her soft hlack hair, and her eyes suddenly shining more brightly than the rain-drops. Her arrival did not so much divert the direction of his thoughts as swell and quicken the current with which they flowed. Swiftly his mind filled with a sort of rage against the circumstanced Which had set little Nellie Magrath to fetch and carry out under the rain, and toil and moil from morning till night, among a cross-tempered pack, from whom she got nothing better than illusage; while he himself was provided with a position where, for writing a few letters daily, and adding up a few accounts, he would be paid enought to keep her in what she would consider the height of comfort altogether, and the pnly thing to hinder him from doing it was his mother’s senseless notions about gentility. You wouldn’t easily find a prettier-looking slip of a girl, and it was a scandalous shame to see her going about with a little thin wisp of an old shawl over her head, fit to give her her ideath of cold, when there were more stacks of good clothes than they well knew what to do with lying in the shop fit home. Bedad now, if he had the ■management of some things, it's entirely .different they'd be. Thomas’ feelings on these points were bo strong that he could not quite refrain from mentioning them to Nellie; find having once introduced the subject, fhe said much more than he had at first intended. In fact, when the shower was Hone, and Nellie went oft’ with her Bplashing pail, she felt as if a glorious guardian angel had wonderfully flashed into her life, with promises to throw open for her anon the door of truest paradise. Meanwhile, however, anticipations less radiant accompanied Thomas on his homeward way. It was impossible for him to be completely satisfied with his afternoon’s work, in view of the violent disapprobation with which the Dermody household would regard his deceit. To marry without his parent’s sanction would wreck his prospects in life, as he would thenceforth, lie well knew, be left unassisted to make the most of the Insurance office clerkship, which should otherwise merely have {preluded his launch' on a busniess career of his own. tracked up by liberal supplies of capital “to put in it.” Although the loss of this seemed by no means a trivial sacrifice, it weighed less with him, to do him justice, than the consideration of the effect which his undutiful behaviour might have upon his mother's health. Tor Thomas was. all interested motives apart, an affectionate and devoted son. That had been what had sent him on his reluctant wooing of the O'Mearas; what had long withheld him from avowing. even to himself, his sentiments towards Nellie Magrath, and what now loomed as the most insuperable obstacle in his way. Yet it must be, on Nellie’s account, got past without much delay, since to leave her indefinitely among “them Geraghtys’’ was not tolerable. As his home came in sight, he resolved that he would this evening divulge only the result of his authorised proposals. Il he collapse of her scheme for an aristocratic alliance was as much disappointment as Mrs. Dermody could be expected to endure with any degree of composure; if to the tidings,' were added the announcement of a penniless and disreputably connected daughter-in-law, who could say what disastrous consequence might follow? He must wait for some less unfavourable opportunity. Also he hoped that, contrary to his suspicions, his father might not have some wealthy match up his sleeve, ready to produce once the O’Mearas were out of the way. Altogether he looked forward with much confidence to a stormy and contentious time. Thomas’ expectations were speedily and amply fulfilled. The news of his failure to win either of the O'Meara sister was received by his mother with a prodigious outburst of -wrath and lamentation: and when she had retired. Robbing and coughing reproachfully, to bed, his father hastened to unfold a plan for immediately setting about negotiations preliminary to Thomas* marriage with the daughter of Daniel Green, a prosperous local farmer, who “would as soon give a couple or hundred pounds along with her as a couple of old hens.” As circumstances precluded

Thomas from accepting this scheme wfth an alacrity congenial to his father’s mind, or rejecting it with a decisiveness congenial to his own the day ended in general dissatisfaction. It was intensified during the course of the week by disquieting rumours about the Insurance Company which had offered Thomas employment, and the affairs of which were now stated on good authority to be in a far from nourishing condition. In his present position the matter seemed to him a very serious one, making him all the less able to contemplate with equanimity any grave family quarrel, which might leave him most inconveniently destitute of resources. But on the very next Sunday an acute crisis arrived, through the intervention of a good-natured friend, who called with the report that there was a deal of talk in the town about young Thomas Dermody and little Nellie Magrath getting married, because they had been seen walking together near the Big Tree after the ten o'clock Mass. From tire dilemma in which he was thus Bet, he extricated himself so lamely and ■unconvincingly that all his family’s suspicions were raised to the utmost pitch,

and his mother developed symptoms threatening an imminent relapse. Nor was it the Dermody household alone who found these blustery spring days a period of unususal storm and stress. At the O’Mearas’ strained relations prevailed, leading to promiscuous wrankling. Lizzie’s refusal of Thomas Dermody had come to her family’s knowledge, and had brought her into deep disgrace with her elders, who regarded her as a reckless thrower away of chances that might in some measure have mended their dilapidated fortunes. That they should take such a view appeared to her quite natural; but she was disposed to wonder why Norah wouldn’t speak civilly to her, and looked as if she had suddenly bitten a sour apple whenever they met. Often enough they had both agreed that they would rather weed in the fields than marry Tom Dermody. For lazzie knew nothing.of Norah's interview with Thomas and had kept her own counsel about her untruth respecting Frank Cahill, of which she therefore supposed her sister to be unaware. Not that Lizze had any ground for thinking Norah likely to disapprove of it. And, indeed, had it not been for special circumstances, Norah would heard the fiction with unconcerned incredulity. As rt happened, however, Thomas’ communication had been preceded ‘by a

very unusually long pause in .Frank Cahill’s always scanty and intermittent correspondence, and a gloomy, discouraged tone had pervaded his last letter. Hence Norah, already oppressed with the burden of two years’ anxiety and separation, was prone to despondent misgivings about everything, and now felt half inclined to doubt whether Lizzie might not actually also have a secret understanding with Frank, highly improbable though the treachery appeared. Consequently she gave herself the benefit of the doulh, to the extent of deeming herself justified in assuming an aggrieved and hostile attitude towards the possible culprit. Clouded days had likewise set in for Nellie Magrath, whose fears lest her strange new- happiness should prove too good indeed to be true were strengthened by the absence and silence of Thomas, as well as by the ill-natured jests and gibes of her unamiable kinsfolk. So that the harsh east wind, and the grim, leaden- coloured haze which it conjured up, symbolised fitly enough the inward experiences of several people at Rathkerin. Then one mominar. albeit the weather

showed no improvement at all, a marvellous change tame over their moods. For in the middle of a chilly April shower borne on a rough March wind, Frank Cahill made his wholly unexpected reappearance. And good luck it was that had caused his surprising return. .Some investments had suddenly acquired a value which would enable him to start without delay his long-desired horseranch; and he had therefore set off home to fetch out his sweetheart as a partner in his prosperity, tine of her brothers should, they arranged, accompany them, to the further lightening of the family’s many-headed burden. This, of course, sufficed to disperse the cloud which had been over-shadowing the O'Mearas in particular; but this was not by any means the whole event. Along with Frank Cahill came a man of middle-age, verging upon elderliness; and who should he turn out to be except Andrew Haslett, mother's brother to little Nellio Magrath? He, having emigrated at an early age, and risen io great affluence, had entirely lost sight of his Irish brethren, until upon falling in lately with young Cahill, he had discovered the existence of his favourite sister’s orphan girl. Now he had returned, a very wealthy bachelor, without encumbrances, openly avowing that “poor Nelly's daughter should have as fine a fortune ae any young woman in County Sligo.”

As he was clearly well able to carry out his intentions, his niece found herself all at once raised to the rank of an important heiress, whose eligibility he enhanced by providing her discreditable Geraghty kin with the means of removal from the country. \Ve can easily imagine how swiftly in .these .circumstances, melted away every ■ehred of opposition on the Dennodys’ part, to their Thomas’ romantic attachment. In fact they considered it a subject for sincere congratulation that he should so opportunely have been first in the field, and they thenceforward showed indefatigable zeal in assisting him to follow up his advantage. Mrs. Dermody assured Andrew Haslett that she had looked upon his niece as a daughter, long before there was any talk of Thomas courting her; not but what he had thought Nellie Magrath the jewel of the world ever since the two of them were children going to school. On the conscience of Mrs. Dermody a convenient fiction was the merest feather-weight, and she seldom gave one a second thought. Perhaps Lizzie O’Meara was less case-hardened; at any rate she did certainly feel some embarrassment when unexpectedly confronted by a person about whom, believing him to be at a safe distance, she had told such an entirely unfounded falsehood. Norah and Thomas, however, both behaved with a generous forbearance, and discreetly refrained from making any awkward disclosure: if indeed the incident had not in their pre-occupation altogether escaped their memories, and Lizzie’s own mind was presently diverted to a more agreeable topic. For very soon after Thomas Dermody had brought home his richly dowered bride, it occurred to Andrew Haslett that he might as well find himself a wife to share his still abundant wealth; and he lost no time in fixing upon the eldest Miss O'Meara, who on this occasion had no need to explain a refusal by an untruthful excuse, seeing that her acceptance of his offer was genuinely delighted. Thus Fortune must be considered to have dealt more kindly with these neighbours than she had at one time seemed at all likely to do; and though Mrs. Dermody did entertain-the opinion that Andrew Haslett might have found among his niece’s three sisters-in-law a match far more suitable than penniless Lizzie O’Meara, even she, despite all her querulous inconsistency, felt on the. whole tolerably well satisfied witli the turns which affairs had taken.