The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXV, Issue 17, 27 August 1897, Page 23

The Storyteller.

A WISE WOMAN OP MUNGRET. (By MAGDALEX Rock, in Catholic FircsiJe.') " Fanchea ! " " Coming,' 1 a clear, young voice answered, and a minute later Fanchea Neagle entered the room, dignified by the name of studio, where her brother stood in contemplation of a picture that had just been set up in a frame. '•Now, Fanchea," Patrick Neagle said interrogatively and triumphantly as the girl reached his side. "It is beautiful — beautiful," his sister said, "only," and she gave a little laugh, " it sounds like praising myself to say so.'' Patrick smiled and looked from the tace on the canvas to the living, laughing- face beside him critically. Disposed as he always was to depreciate his own work he could find little that might be amended in the picture before him. The tall, graceful figure in cap and gown was perfect in outline and in colouring ; the small, wellshaped head waa thrown back, showing the firm, white throat ; the red lips were apart, and the dark eyes had a look of mingled scorn and pity in their lustrous depths. " Yes," Patrick assented slowly, " I have hopes that ' A Doctor of Laws ' will find a place at Burlington House. If it does, and if it finds a purchaser, I promise you a new dress, Fanchea ; you were a really patient model." " Two ' ifs,' "' Fanchea laughed ; " but, Patrick, I have thought of another title. ' A Wise woman of Mungret.' " Patrick repeated the words slowly, "Yes," the girl urged, "You know we belong to Mungret, Patrick, and, besides, there is the story of the Wise Women." " What is it / " Patrick inquired. _ " It is told in Doctor Healy's book— the book Mr. O'Brien lent me," Fanchea replied, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. "Oh ! Well what is the story ? " Patrick asked with a quizzical smile. " It is only a story of course ; but it seems that long, long ago the school of Mungret was much renowned, and a dispute arose between its scholars and those of some other monastic school as to which was the more learned community, and it was agreed that the best scholars of each school should meet on a certain day and exhibit their knowledge in public. As the day approached the Mungret community grew fearful of the result of the disputation, and had recourse to strategy. A number of the best scholars dressed themselves as women, and going some distance from their college met their stranger visitors. The visitors put some questions to the seeming ladies in the Celtic tongue, but the ladies replied in excellent Latin and classic Greek. The strangers inquired how they came to be so well acquainted with the ancient languages. " Oh,' answered the ladies, ' that is nothing— only the crumbs from the monks' table. Everyone about Mungret speaks Latin and Greek. Would you iike to discuss philosophy and theology with us .' ' But the strangers returned home ratlier than risk the encounter in a place where women were so clever." Patrick laughed joyfully. "The very title, Fan. We'll pack the picture to-night and tomorrow off it goes. By the bye, isn't O'Brien coining to tea .' " Fanchea nodded. Dermot O'Brien and Patrick Xeagle had been school-fellovys years before in Ireland, and when th-y m >t by chance in London it wj,s but natural that the acquaintance-hip between them should ripen into intimacy. B )th the young men were pursuing their c ireers under difficulties O'Brien had chosen the life of a journalist only to liud that journ ili=»ta in Fleet street were plentiful and pjor. He was the younger son of an impoverished Irish gentleman, who had uiauigjd to give him a decent education and little else. Patrick Neagle and his sister had be3n bereft of their father at an c .rly age. Mr. Neagle had been an organist and mu-ao teacher in Liaierick. Previous to his death he had inherited a molest fortune from an American relative, which enabled his widow to give her children a so >d education. Patrick had from his boyhood showed a talent for drawing, and on the de.ith of his mother he had easily induced his sister to take up her abode with him in London. Fran jhe.i in-ist.»d th it he should use the small remnant of their father's fortune in pursuit ot his art, and Patrick, with youth's strong belief in himsilt. did so Then there came a tune ot trial. The young Irishman's sketches and paintings found no market, and Patrick was almost d^sp.ming ot his own und his sisi r h il uly bread who i lie mi t Uermot O Brien. The 1 .tter wan able to obtain work for his countryman on an illustrated paper, and it was at his suggestion the picture ot Franchea, in cap and gown, had been begun. That Ins visits to the little tour-roomed flat were daiuvrou., to his peacj of mind the journalist often bitterly told himself, but he fondly bel'eved that his love for Fanchea Ne tgle was a sejret known only to himself. v\hon the picture had been criticised from all points, Kanchea returned to the c ilinary d,itie> she h.i I b-e i eng,ig-d in, and an hour later Dermot O Buen aruvid lie was a young"man of five or six anl twenty, who^e bkiu eves and dark hair proclaimed his Celtic anuestry. It was ouy to sej that tho ehiet nurit iv Patrick's picture in his eyes was that it pori-r.iyed Fanchea. Oil the following day t.ie cam as was deposited at tho Royal Academy. There was a fortnight ot suspens •, and Patrica allowed himself to hope when a fortnignt elapsed .mi there came no message from the hanging co.nmittee. At last the news came : " A wise woman of Mungret " was ac -epted. Moreover, it got a fair place — much fairer, tae critics said, than it de,erved — a fact which was dou )tle»s due to the beauty of the pictured face and the htheso.ne grace of the tall, upright form.

Dermot O'Brien could not go to the Academy on the opening day The paper on which he was engaged demanded good work for

the money it expended ; but on the following- Tuesday he was free in the afternoon, and betook himself to Burlington House. He made his way at once to the room where his friend's picture was hung. It seemed smaller by far than in Neagle' s studio ; bub its charm for O'Brien was as great as eyer. The room was crowded, and the number of people that paused before 'A wise woman of Mungret " were, to Djrmot's gratification considerable. A tall, soldierly -looking old gentl :man, with smv- white hair and beard, attracted the attention of ihe journalist. He was accompanied by a younger man, who was scanning the picture through an eye-glass with a half-eontomptuo.is air. This ami something in the man's face was enough to m..ke Diruiot tak j an instant dislike to him. '• No," he said, dropping the eye- jrla s, and t iruing t > his companion, "no, I certainly fail to detect the resemblance yo.i speak of." "It is there all the same," the old gentleman sud,'t.'.stiiy. '■ My poor Anna might have been the original of thab pic.uiv. I wenckr you can't see the likeness, George." " Of course, I can only compare it with the portnit of Mrs. Derwent at the Hall," the person a ldre,sed responded apologetically " ■' but accidental resemblances often occur." The old gentleman looked from the catalogue to ihe picture wistfully. " I suppose it is only such," he said. '• By the bye, where or what is Mungret ? I fancy I heard the name." George laughed lightly. " I never did. Probably it exists only in the artist's brain." " Perhaps so, perhaps so ; still one can't tell." George shrugged his shoulders, and turned away to the next picture ; and O'Brien, obeying a suddjn impulse, ai dressed the stranger : •• Mungret was a famous school in early days in Ireland. It was situ ited some three miles from Limerick city."' '• Near Limerick !" the old man ejaculated. He gL.noed round narvously. George had met some acquaintance*, and was engaged in conversation. '■ Is — I wonder if there is an original of that girl." " Yes, indeed there is. Only Miss Neaglc is m >va beautiful than " Derinot paused as the gentleman laid a nervous hand on his arm. " Will you call with me to-night or to-morrow ? lam staying at the Metropole," he said in a carefully lowered voijo. '• This is my card. " Dermot read the name and considered. He was as much attracted by the elder man as ho had been repelkd by the younger. " Yes," he said, •' I am free this evening. Will < lghfc o'clock suit you, Mr. Derwent /" !' Yes, yes," hastily. Mr. Derwent moved away from the Irishman's side as he spoke, aud Dermot &j,w that George had parted from his friends. It was with no small share of eurio-ity th;it Dermot entered Mr. Derwonfs private sitting-room a-, the marble clock on the chimneypiece chimed eight. The occupant of the ro mi ro.e to greet him. "Thank you very much for gratifying an old nan's whim Mr. ," he paused. ■' O'Brien. Dermot o" linen," the young man sai 1, r r he took the other's outstretched hand. " I shall only bj toj glad to help you in any way." "The sight of that picture has unnerved ire striM<relv.' ! Mr. Derwent said, when his vi-dtor was seated. •• It bears .t wonderful resemblance — .it least I think &o — to my w.ie. fcshe di d nearly forty-seven year 1 * ago." "But it is not merely for that reis'm that I aai interested in the picture," Mr. Derwent continued afti ra, pause. '• Isly wife was Irish, and had in her service when we were marrud n. young girl named Kate O'Sullivan a, maid, shortly utter we s'eLtkVf in Derwent Hall Kate m.iried an idle, good-tor-u'itlnng iellow. who ostensibly followed the trade ox shoemaker, but vsho was m rtaluy a po.uh"r and little else. "Both my wire and I— l am a Catholic, I should tell you were annoyal at Kate's mairiage to one who was a Protest *uit, if anything, but tor a Line Bond seemed to bectuiij a steady and respect i bio member of so :ie.y. and Kate was often b ick :i id lot wards at the II ill. .My wile was never \ery robust, and she di 1 not regain strength atter the bath ot our ii r-t chid, hue wa . unable to imr-e her baby-girl her tit', and it .-.eemed to her prov i lential that lv ite lio.ul gave btrlh to a daughter ab tut the .. ane tin.o. Katj and hi r child were brought. <o the Hall j-, soon its |os-, ")le. aid my uiie ha 1 tlii* .-atisl.ution of '-eJng hir child i hmv and i-invu limit r the ( are of her torin r mad. BuL such a -l, L t' oL thing-, did nut la-t long. 'Ihe doctors in a lew wei ks oideud Aid ito , lie south of Franc, an 1 it wa- ariange.l Liiat a widowed -.-L.'i- ot lv rs should take up her residence at the ll.ill ami tliat X vr should continue to nur-e the b tby under her survulhuioe. histeid ot improving abroa 1. Anna rapidly deelin. d. and U lore a month Air.-. Cairull wus summoned from the Hall to her mM it's deist h-btd. (Mi the third day atter her departure, my mi nt d-iug liter sad Jen )y d.cd." Mr. Derwent paused. '• I thought little about the child's death. All my erief was for its mother, and t-even or eight years el p-ed before I returned to my home. Kate Bond had died during my absence, ai d lSond was nothing but a quarrelsome, passionate, drunken vag d> >nd. A week or two before my return lit , had wou.ideda ganiekei ]k r in a midnight scuffle, and I, long af v rvwird-, reaie.nkixl hih bitter laugh when I ret used to interfere lor him in tnu matter. Jfe had bet-n convicted of various oil\.ne<s in tlie past wars, and was sentenced to seven years' imprisonment. He served his tune, but was almost immeaiately charged wirh ,i robb* ry, and again sent to Portland His daughter had been claimed by a bister ot his wife's, and was taken by her to Ireland, Father fed by, the Catholic priest attached to our mission, always manifested an extraordinary, and, as appeared

to me then, a foolish interest in the girl. He had taken her education in hand from the time of her mother's death, and frequently sent money to the aunt when she took the child to Ireland from his own scanty stipend. He died about the time of Bond's second committal to Portland, and from that period I heard nothing of Catherine Bond, as the girl was called." Mr. Derwent again paused. Dermot was listening attentively. " I hope I am not wearying you," Mr. Derwent said politely. '■ No, no ; not at all," O'Brien protested. " Well, the years passed on. I had not married again ; and the gentleman you may have noticed with me at the Academy to-day was generally assumed to be the heir to Derwent Hall. The property is unentailed I should say. George Holmes is a second cousin only of mine ; but at the same time my sole living relative ; and it seemed fitting that the property should pass to him." *' Yes," Dermot agreed as the speaker stopped. " I was much surprised when Bond had served some six years of his second term of imprisonment to receive a message from the Governor of Portland. To this hour Ido not know whether the confession Bond made to me was prompted by a spirit of repentance or by malice. He was dying when I, in answer to his summons, reached his side, but quite conscious. His confession was that it was not my daughter who had died years before, but his own child. His wife, dreading his fierce temper, and, hoping to retain the affection that was fast slipping from her, concealed the fact from him as from others. There was no one to suspect the fraud she practised. Circumstances prevented Mrs. Carroll from re-visiting Derwent Hall, and, as I told you, it was years afterwards before I settled down there. " According to Bond's story, the wrong she did preyed upon his wife. She grew strange and moody, and kept away from her religious duties. It was only in her last sickness that she sent for Father Selby. Whatever communication she made to him was made under the sacred seal of confession. The priest left her, intending to return next day, but the woman sank suddenly. In her last moments she confessed everything to her husband and bagged that the wrong she had done might be righted. Bond doubtlessly intended to reap some lasting benefit through the disclosure that had been made to him, but he wa3 in gaol when I saw him, and my refusal to aid him incensed him against me. " I at once put the matter into the hands of skilful detectives, but I never succeeded in finding either Bond's sister-in-law or the child. I did learn that the woman and child had settled near the little village of Adare in Limerick, but they left it and no further trace of them could be found. George has always insisted that both were dead, otherwise our advertisements would have been answered, and I at length adopted that view ; but to-day " " Yes ? " Dermot said inquiringly, breaking the silence that fell as Mr. Derwent hesitated. " To-day I thought I was looking into my dead wife's eyes. That picture in the Academy is marvellously like her. Her beauty was of an uncommon type." " Miss N eagle is uncommonly beautiful," Dermot said. " I must see the girl," Mr. Derwent said. "Of course she is much too young to be my daughter, but she may be my granddaughter." " Then you believe Bond's story 1 " " Certainly, why should I not / Besides, Father Selby's interest in the girl would imply that he knew something of the matter. Do you know Miss Xeagle well .' " " Yes ; and her brother also. He is the artist." '• And they belong to Limerick ? " " They were boru in it, but have resided in London for some time." "In London ! That is well. I suppose you could arrange a meeting between us, Mr. O'Brien I " "Oh, yes." " Do you know their mother's name — her maiden name ? " Dermot shook his head. " I have a feeling that it was Catherine Bond," Mr. Derwent said, and Dermot smiled doubtfully. Nevertheless the speaker was ri^ht. In one of the churches of Limerick City the record of the marriage of Patrick .Neag-le and Catherine Bond was found, and also the baptismal certificates of their son and daughter. Mr. Derwent's agents had gone too far afield in their search. Catherine and her aunt had merely gone from one part of a county to another, and the aunt's death and her supposed niece's marriage had taken place within a few months of their settlement in the city. There was no one dissatisfied when Mr. Derwent took his grandchildren to Derwent Hall, except, perhaps, George Holmes. He was wise enough, however, to conceal his anger and dissatisfaction. Dermot O'Brien's joy in the good fortune of his friends was not altogether unalloyed. It seemed to him that Fanchea as Mr. Derwent's grand -daughter could never be won for a wife by a poor journalist ; but Fanchsa had given him her love and Mr. Derwent had conceived a warm liking for the young Irishman. Patrick, too, was lavish of his invitations to Derwent Hall ; and at last there came a day when Fanchea and Dermot plighted their troths in the private chapel at the hall. The wedding gift of Patrick to his sister was an exact reproduction of the picture that had brought them fortune : " A Wise Woman of Mungret."