THE WICKED WOODS OP TOBEREEVIL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIII, Issue 12, 10 July 1885, Page 7

THE WICKED WOODS OP TOBEREEVIL.

BY BOSA MULHOLLAND. ATTTHOB OF v THE WILD BIBDS OF KILLEEVY" ETC. CHAPTER XIV. PAUL IS A COWARD. When the pedder fled from Tobereevil, he struck off across an outskiit of the woods, and got up among the hills. When he had walked for half an hour, and while the sun was still red in the sky, he xeached a purple terrace of the mountain on which lay a lonely lake. Here he flung himself down to draw breath, and to gaze backward upon the lower world. He leaned over the edge of the lake to drink from his hand, and started as his own face met his eyes looking at him from the placid water. "What nonsense is this 1 " he said, and immediately began pulling off his shock of black hair, his large bushy beard, and his heavy dark eye-brows. He dipped his face and head in the water, and rubbed both severely with a large pocket-handkerchief : after which divestment and ablution the peddler had disappeared, and a gentleman had taken his place. This gentleman had light-brown hair and moustache, and with very dark eyes and skin. His nose was large, his forehead broad, and with already some nervous lines upon it ; his mouth sensitive but firm It was a face that was sure to be called handsome becanse noble and pleasing ; yet if this were manly beauty, it was that of the boldest and least regular type. For a few moments he looked pale and languid, like one who had undergone great fatigue or mental trouble ; but by and by he started up, muttering : J "I am Paul Piniston ; and I had a right to come here : and I go away without harming anyone." And, as if reatsured by this declaration, his face brightened, and he set off to ascend the mountain sturdily. Paul Finiston had come a long way across the world, attracted by his uncles advertisement. It bad found him settled down in a distant country, with employment in his hands, and a good prospect for life before him. An old Mend of his father had met with him, taken him into his business, promised him a partnership. Paul had thankfully accepted the good lack thrown in his way, had appliedhimself to work, and had striven to forget home in the excitement of making a fortune. It was a dream of his to forget that he was a Finiston of Tobereevil, to acquire the means of livelihood by labour of his own, and, this done, to go home in search of something he had left behind, and could not manage to do all his life without. How diligently he had worked, and with what fair hopes, and how. meanwhile, he had been teased and haunted, it is better to let him tell with his own lips by and by. That he was of a wayward, fanciful and passionate nature, certain rough notes in a little pocket-book could tell. It might also be gathered from these jottings that there was a sort of woman-like twist about his heart and brains in spite of his masculine energy and bearing— something which made him look illogical, tender aud uncertain in his mood?. With a little more generosity, nature had made him a poet ; with a little less, a more contented man. ' The advertisement had found him pursuing his way steadily. It had Bhaken his purpose with a great shock, and had brought him face to face with the longings which had been tempting him to give up his projected exile for years. Here was a good reason for going home at once; his uncle, who was so rich, and whose heir he must be, desired his return without a moment's delay. Even Paul's matter-of-fact employer had looked upon his obedience as a thing of course. "There is no doubt at all," he said, regretfully, « that I bird in the hand is worth a good many in the bush. A fortune in prospect, and in exile, is pretty good ; but a fortune at home and ready-made is better. So Paul had come home, not dragged by a love of gain, but by a By the time he had landed in Ireland, however, the idea of presenting mmself to the miser of Toberoevil had grown so repulsive to h« i mind that he had almost stepped from one ship to another/and fled back whence he came ; and only that that hunger of the heart was unappeased within bim, his employer must have received him back ere he had ceased to be missed. Itwaain the midst of a confusion of attraction and repulsion which seized on him when he thought of the land of his inheritance W if* gaVe ?£T to tbat £ eak Of :|e * lOU8 ' humour, which brought a peddler over the mountains to the gate of Monasterlea He would see these women, and he would know if they remembered him May might be married; he would hear all about it. May YnS «f v? ' « namiable forgetful; he would see at a glance. And if either of these speculations proved the right one, then he would go back unknown to the other side of the world. In that case, he would not trust himself to the tortures of Tobereevil. The miser might have his gold all buried in his coffin, if he pleased -he might will hig estate to be kept as a vast burial ground l for his remains, and the mansion of Tobereevil a monument over his bones • he, Paul Finiston would at least be rid of haunting terrors and worrying superstitions for the remainder of his life. Bat if May should be found a maiden, still kind, mindful, with still in her heart all that anxiety for his welfare which had been painted in her face tT.S^T'M^ B^ 11^ fetched out her^hands to him from TooereSiC WCU d be a man ' aad bmve the carße °* Well, he had gone happy from Monasterlea. He bad seen May tender, true, and worthy to be loved. He would shelter himself under her womanhood, and- defy thecarse. His fears had become phantoms. His hopes had taken a lovely form of flesh and blood! He walked to wards Tobereevil a royal peddler, ready to bestow gifts on all whom he might meet ; but the long, foul shadow of Tobereevil

aSnßr^w! ll^! 111 }^ beento ° u much ftwPfcttlsPtalston. The old STfIJT W M h *•"??. f ° rce ,' nOW that he had looffipon him in evUhadi fl^^ d i 1 l. 8 - good . genin r 8 were gotten. The spirit of evil had taken hold of him again. Let him fty from this blieht this ftem 1 ° n ' CUMe ! Let Mm return t0 Wsho meßrworkm eB rwo r k beyond W7l ?n/ aY l n f Bpe ? i ., a l l U \ of his P aßßion in the w *>°d and on the fti'™ ? - ted a ? hlle by , the mar S iQ of the lak e, he set off to cross the mountains on bis way back to Australia. nauaS^VJf i} 6 *! of f \eagerneßs to be gone had abated, and he paused as he went, to look behind and beneath him. The slow of the evening was still ruddy on the land. A golden film had bluwedthe line of meeting between the sky and sea. Higher, long bar" of weightier gold had shot from behind the hills, and laid themselves ££J tol & ll t y*' aß i f barring the S ate *^h wbff ttaSTS paesed. The hills on the horizon had wrapped themselves in violet and seemed to nestle close against the warmth of the sky? TiJ mid! landscape rose towards the light in every tint of yellow.green and wiS «™?l and f tawn y- br ( ow "» and fell under the shadows, saddened wth every hue of gray end olive and brown-purple. Here and there tffi Z M T&e r n l *S a Btreamlefc g lan <«d upward, like a flame out of the depths of a hollow. Here and there a farmhouse or a cabin stood wrapped m a luminous haze of its own smoke ; and the woods curled out and wreathed themselves over all the foregiound-^ne half amber and ruddy, fused in the burning glamor of the hour ; the other buried under the sombre purple of theiF own dense shade. All tM?,j£S 7K7 X i? 8 °T& Sm ° te bim ' like a blow trom a «en«. A 1 this might be his ; all this barren, wasted lovelineas might be SKK teeming strength. He might do it, with his Strong £ a * m ' bel Ped by the meaner but mightier power that lay rotting and rusting among guineas and title deeds in the miser's safe. How strange it waß that heaven's work should be defaced by the wickedness of one poor dotard! How strange that Paul .Finiston, who panted to give renewed We to a crowd of his fellow-creaturea should have to fly from the fear of hurting an old man ieailUre8 ' w«* -TV 1016 BloWly UOW ' onward and B Pward, higher and higher, into the upper mountains. The plover* cried, and whirred close to him, as they descended to their nests among the heather. A few faint echoes came floating up from tbe valleys, too few and too faint to brms a throb i of : human life into the lonely stillness ; yet there, aud quite suddenly, Paul came face to face with a fellow crc&turc* It was Con the fool ; and he was sitting on the heath, one lee gathered up in an attitude of pain, the other extended at full length tne foot quivering and swollen. He grasped the heather with both hands as he leaned on them. He made no complaint ; but the tears rolled heavily from his round black eyes, and there was a tragic look upon his broad white face. " Hallo !" cried Paul, " what's the matter, my good fellow ?" Consfoct killed," answered the idiot. "Con walk no more. Con die, too, on the mountains." "Die?" said Paul, « nothing of the kind. Come,' now, where am I to carry you to 1" By this time he had seated the idiot on his back " Nan 1" cried the idiot. '•Where am Ito find Nan ?" asked Paul, in a puzzle. He made | two steps forward, but seemingly in the wrong direction, for the fool j began to cry again. "This way, then," said Paul, and took another course. The idiot laughed, and clapped him on the back. j. J^V*}^ he mi £ ht have strayed over the hills seeking the way to Con s friends by means of such signs, we need not guess. Chance sent a guide to his aid. Coming up the hill he saw a figure, wending slowly, and with the help of a stick, up the slippery braes. It was a little woman dressed in a long, gray cloak, which had seen many winters, a scarlet handkerchief on her head, her face as brown as a nut, and her hair lying like a white silk fringe along her wrinkled brow. " God save yer honor !" cried she cheerily. " Who'd think to meet a gmtleman on the mountains— let alone wid a poor omadhaun on his back I ' " Are you Nan ?" asked Paul. "Nan ? Ochone I is it Nan Kearney ye mane ? Then it's fifty long years since I waa the cut o' Nan Kearney !" "I never saw Nan, and how am Ito kuow ?" said Paul « I'm a Btranger here, and I found this poor fellow lyiag hurt on the heath. He calls out for Nan." "Nan and Bid!" cried Con ' i°y ful] y» and with a friendly gaze at the old woman. J ° "Oh, ay 1 thrust him for a fool , but he knows his own friends," said the new-comer. "I'm Bid, an' I know the way to Nan's : an' if it dbe a thing, young gintleman, that ye would carry him that far —why it a the Lord himsel' that'll give ye a lift for it in yer need 1" Paul laughed, and forgot that he was the miser's heir, and strode on contentedly with the fool on his back, and the old woman for his guide. They struck out on a path which leaned slantwise through a pass between two peaks of a cloven hill ; and following aloa» thw they heard a soft, girlish voice, saying,, somewhere near : ° '" Co «"3 back, now, Patsie 1 Don't go dowa there, or ould Simjn'll eaten ye I •• Nan 1" cried the fool, in a tone of delight. And then they turned the corner of a rock, and cama upon a rustic scene. (2b he continued )

* • %v ? ld . est b .? ok m exisb ence, of American origin, is the « Doctrina Christiana,' a manual of Catholicity, printed in Mexico in 1539 They were printing dooks in that country over 100 years before literature was born in New England.— Pilot ««»wj

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