The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 38, 20 September 1900, Page 23

The Storyteller.

DARBY CLANCY'S WIFE.

The sun was setting over lake and bog, casting a woif'.< rfnl purple huadu uij iJiv, j. ::c tr. c thrt "'gel tl >" "••iti-r ami 111 ikiiif an evorchanging background of crimson and gold to the brown turf-banks and tjatu fit Mo .<f L'cia. The rattle of far off cart-wheels, the cry ' pewir 1 pewit ! ' of the plover, the mournful call of the curlew, were the only rounds that broke the stillness of the evening, for Margot O'Leary's light footstep fell noiselessly on the springy he-i'her, and the strange, wild beauty around her had hushed the "song upon her lips. ' Thanks be to God for a lovely, lovely world ! ' she murmured, 'and for having put me in it.' As she spoke her eyes wandered away over the moorland to where a curl of smoke on the hillside i.ointul out the site of some solitary farm, and there they lingered resttuily. as though all happiness and beauty came from that spot: and in her heart Margut knew that for her it was really so. Yet her home was not over there at Clancy's farm of Baughan, but close to where she stood in Dera. The slated house yonder had once belonged to her grandfather, and it was her uncle now who owned it. Marmot's fath< r had got a younger son's share years ago, and had gone out iuto the world to make his fortune ; but thouirh he managed to get along, and to keep his wife and child in comfort, there was little to leave them at his death, and that little was boon swept away by the long illnes3 that finally took Mrs. O'Leary to r' join her husband, and bo left Margot friendless and alone. Her uncle'.s offer of a temporary home had been gratefully accepted by the penniless orphan, and now, though a year had sped by, she bad not yet left the grey house by the gravel-pit. At first the loneliness of Dera had overwhelmed the town-bred girl, and, despite her people's kindness, she had often thought of trying to find some way of earning her bread elsewhere. But after a time she became used to her surroundings, and grew to love the wide, desolate bogland and the kind, homely neighbors who had known her father as a child. Dan O'Leary, her uncle, had a comfortable bit of farm that edged the lake like a long grepn snake winding its way between turf and water ; and what with cows and pigs and poultry, there was plenty for Margot to do about the house, tor her aunt was not so young as she had been once, and Polly never cared to do more work than she need. There was only one son m the O'Leaty household, so the daughter would have a lair fortune? when they came to marry her. and as the months slipped by and Margot seemed willing to stay and take her place. Polly's parents thought the time had come to begin to look round and make a match for her. A suitable one was not far to >-euk. Darby Clancy's land touched O'Leary's at the end of the lake, and the two farms were joined by some rushy bottoms, originally fo u j]t out of the bog by some dead and gone Clancy, but which in .some way had now pa^std into Daniel O'Leary s Lauds. It was no secret that old Darby had his eyes on thene bits of grazing, and he had long ago determined that his son should marry Polly aud get back the coveted possession of the fields as her fortune. When the peop'e of Dera spoke of Clancy as old Darby they only did so to distinguish him trom his bon. young 1 Darby, i'or the title in itself was not suited to him at all. Tall and straight, with bright eyes an I a tirni, hard mouth, there was nothing a' out" him but his grizzled hair aud beard to show that he was not still on the right aide of ~>n. He was an honest, industrious man, and people liked him when they knew his worth ; as to his son, no one thought about his worth. They just took him to their hearts and kept him there because they couldn't help it. When Margot came to Dera she heard them talk of him, and with her knowledge of the world prepared to be politely contemptuous to this universal favorite, l'here was no ceremony on their fir^t meeting. She was taking her uncle's dinner down to the potato garden, and unaccustomed to the deceitful bog, laden with basket and tin can, Margot found herself muddy and breathless on a clump of heather, unable to go on, not daring to go back ; then Darby had come to her assistance. Of course he had to grasp her tightly to help her back to a place of safety, but was it necessary for him to hold bet hand all the way on until they had reached the garden? Was it necessary for him to loiter about and wait to show her the best and safest way to hir home .' Margot never a-ked. Her prejudice had vanished away, and the hours passed very slowly till evening, when he came a^ain to the waste land where the cows weie waitiug for her to drive~ them home. That was all i year ago, and now. as the girl's eyes rest.?/] on the Clancy's house at Baughan. and she thought of all her i.\.; wae to her, bhe wag filled with grititudo to God for sending hit auch happiness, farby wa3 her very own now. He had told her that he loved he) and nothing could separate them, nothing come between them : sl»e would never give him up unless it were for his own good. She tsmiied at such a possibility, yet the thought did not pass away without a pang. What would life without him be ? The glory of the.sunset paled before her, and the cattle she was seeking were hidepn away in a sudden mit<t of tears. But it was oily the weakness of a moment. No harm could reach her when L>rby was by, and from where she stood she could hear his voice, wifted on the evening breezes from the turf bank where he and his ! ather were at work. Unseen by tb?m she had to advance but a few yards to hear what was being £»id.

' I was talking with Dan O'Leary in market yesterday.' The deep tones of the elder man were the first to strike upon her cars. 1 And had he any news for you ?' inquired the other carelessly. Old Darby seemed to be considering- what to say, for there was a moment's pause before he went on in a deliberate way : ' We're to go there on the holiday and settle things. He'll give us the bottom*, lad, and the polly heifer, or else a hundred pounds down, bin I stu.-k to the land for you, and I asked £20 in with it, but, 1 wuu'l. U l.^Mln,? oat for that if there's any <I«in£Ar, for oome what will we must get those fields, that should be ours, back ' What is it you mean, father V Darby knew only too well, but he still wanted time to collect hrn thought. His father* plan had been no secret, and before Margut came the young man had made no objection to it, but from the moment that he had met the newcomer on the bog, he had decided that she and not Polly should be his wife. Knowing hia father's determination, he had whispered no word of his intentions, hoping that if he made no advance? the O'Learys would find another match for their daughter, and with her married and the pushes .ion of the fields impossible, Darby hoped to get his father'B consent to marrying Margot, for he was not a grasping man as a mle. and her want of fortune would not have stood in the way of his boy's happiness if it had not been that through Polly they would get that wretched bit of land. ' What do I mean V repeated old Darby. ' It's yourself should know what I mean when it's day in day out you be down at Dera, and if ii isn't talking to Polly, I'd like to know your business there V 'Polly don't want me,' retorted young Darby defiantly, and seeing it was no use beating about the bush any longer, he added : ' and I don't want Polly.' A deep flush dyed the elder man's face, and he spoke throueh his clenched teeth. ' Want or no want, you'll marry her at Hollandtide.' 'I won't.' Darby threw down his spade and faced his father ' Don't take on so, father,' he cried, ' for I can't marry Polly. I didn't want for to have words with you, so I never told you how it was, but I tell you now that Margot O'Leary's promised to be my wife, and nothing will keep me from her.' For a moment old Darby stood thunderstruck. It was a rude awakening to the dream of a lifetime. A torrent of word'! broke from his lips; he vowed by all he held sacred that the young man should bend to his will. He swore he would not be cheated out of those bottoms now that their possession lay in his hand, and he assured Darby that unless he obeyed him he would cut him off from him for ever, and cast him out into the world with nothing but the work of hia two hands to keep him from the poor house. Then he began to speak of Margot, and for the first time Darby raised his voice. •You can say what you will of me,' he said firmly, ' but you'll leave my girl's name alone.' ' I'll hay what 1 choose of the hubsy,' thundered the furious old man Darby's eyes flashed as he spoke, and for a moment his father was silenced. But the eavesdropper kil heard enough. Falling on her knees amongst the heathei.she over, d her face with her hands, and forced herself to think Half an hour ago—my, less— she had htmled when she thought of it b.jing for her lover's good that she should eh e him up : now. with terrible distinctness, she realised that unwittingly she was leading him to ruin. Those threats and curse-, th.it in. i'U> her shudder to think of would most certainly be carried out it he niarnul her. She knew how deep his love was for the old home on the hill, and for the bogs and lakt-s. that he had never left . yet, unless he gave her up, he would have io leive them all and start life afresh. And what could the new life be ' With no trade, no capital, she knew what it meant —^he hat seen it so often in Dublin. No, she loved him far too well to let him make a beggar of himself for her. and she knew he would never fail her. It was for her to act. bhe umst give him up. She must go right away and leave him to marry Polly. He owned that had he never known her he would have done it, so why not now > She would go out of hia life and let it be as though she had never come into it But she must go now, at once ; there must be no time to think, or the agony of parting would be too unbearable ; there must, be no chance of Beeing him again, or her resolution must inevitably break down. Afterwards, when it was over, she never quite remembered how she had managed her flight. The reasons she gave for her hurried departure passed from her memory. The early drive throngh the mi->t* of morning, the journey up to Dublin, the rattling thiough the noisy street?, seemed like some part of a bad dream : it was as though she had fallen asleep on the heather-clad bog and had only wakened to find herself in the bare, familiar convent parlor, sobbing her very heart out at the feet of Mother Margaret, the class-mistresa of her girlhood, and now her only friend and adviser. Five years' training and hard work in a Dublin hospital, and once more Margot found herself near home and Dera. Little was changed at the ways'da station when she alighted from the train, yet no one recognised the quiet, dark-eyed nurse in her blue cloak and bonnet. It was the same face as of old, only marked by the inevitable traces that five years had left upon it five years gpent in working for others, and in trying to forget the aching loneliness of heart. ' Go 1 love you, nurse, dear,' exclaimed one lounger as she passed along the platform. 'It's badly wanted you are. We wouldn't be brought to what we are to-day if there were more of the likea o' you in the country.'

For fever, nursed by poverty, nourished by ignorance and dirt, was devastating the neighborhood, and there was no house, nor cot, nor cabin that had not lost some of its inmates. Already three nurses were busy in the workhouse infirmary, but Margot found work riady and waiting for her. The tovvnsland of Dera. cleansed and purified ns it was by the Bweet bog air, had so far e«cipid the contagion ; but some of her patients from other di-trict« Margot had once known To them, flOW^V 01 " sVio ■\Y r ' a or>lv n nnrgp from T)n hi in 'irwl tin v fnlr] linr nntVp'n<r of her own people. s inC" a he V" I'l1 ' 1 In^t (lion- aVm h-\r\ rrnln n-riHon niw fi To*- <-yir>m know that she had found work to do ; but she had put no address on her letter, purposely, for she felt that it her aunt knew her whereabouts Darby would not be long learning it ai.d if he came to her — as most assuredly he would, she could n.'wr have the strength to send him from her, determined :is she was to bun in spite of himself. Later even, when she tried to hope th it Polly had become his wife, she thought it for his happiness that she should Btill be silent, and so pass quite away and be forgotten. Nurse o' Leary had been a week and more in the fever ho-pital when one evening, going to the matron's room to give in her daily report, her eyes fell on the open book in which the inmates names were written. Close to the end of the column, entered only yesterday, were four words — just the name and address of a patient : a name that she had repeated over and over again to herself, first in joy and gladness, then to steel herself against its eting ; yet the si^ht of woke again the old, old pain. Now that she saw them in black and white she realised how, despite all that had passed, she had hoped against them. 'Mrs. Darby Clancy, Baughan,' they stood, and below was the nurse's comment : ' Very critical.' 'Are your hands quite full nurse?' askei the matron without noticing the sudden pallor of Margot's face, 'or could you help Nurse O'Brien with some of her patients .' She was already very busy, and now a younsr farmer's wife had been brought in — Mrs. Clancy, whose husband is paying for her, and who wants almost undivided attention. If only 1 could get another nurse from tho Board I As it is now it is impossible that some of the inmate - should not be in danger of being neglected.' The certain result of neglect in a very critical state tlaslud across Margot's brain. She had already as much to do as -he could possibly manage without encroaching on her hours of rest, yet she answered the matron as though this extra duty was a favor for which she was entreating. •Mrs. Clancy is my cousin,' she said, 'and if I might attend to her it would leave Nuise O'Brien free for the others.' 'If you can manage it I shall be only too grateful, replied the matron. And so it was settled. Poor Polly ' She was indeed in a critical state, and the doctor, quite as much overworked as were the nurse*, shook his head over her. ' She has not been half-starved all her life, like many of tlm-e I have to attend,' he said, • so that gives one something to start on . but even with your devotion, nur-e, I'm afraid It was indeed devotion. For a whole week Margot hardly gavi herself time to close her eyes — fortunately, she thought, the other nurses were too much occupied to notice this tran*irre-—ion of rules — and she seemed to live solely and wholly tor lur patient-, and above all for the wan, senseless woman above uko-t head was the name ' Mrs. Darby Clancy ' At first sight Margot had hardly recognised her cousin The full, red cheeks had fallen in and faded : the soft, fair hair had been cut off close to the burning hea 1 the white hands, once so -oft and comfortable, were nothing but bone and skm On the fourth finger the broad uold band hung so 100-ely that Nurse O'Brien had been obliged to take it off and put it away in a place of safety. With that gone, it was easier to identify the sick woman with the plump, placid Polly of long ago, and both for her own sake and for the sake of him whose name she bore Nurse O Leary made up her mind to drag her back to life again. And her efforts at last were crowned with success. The ward had been partly cleared — some had gone to rest for ever — and Nurse O Brien had time to notice her companion's weary looks and drawn, anxious face. ' You're worn out, Nurse," she said, laying her hand kindly on Margot's shoulder. 'Come; you've donr more than your share of work these days past, and now you must rest.' ' Let me stay a little longer - don t send me away yet.' w hi-pi red Margot entreatingly. ' She is sleeping now, and when she waken we shall know how it is to be.' The doctor had come up to them, and now he bent oven Polly n bedside. ' There is no need to wait,' he said quietly. ' You can go now, for your work is done. You've saved your patient, Nurse O'Leiry.' For a day and a night Margot slept the dreeniless sleep of pure exhaustion, and on the second morning she awoke rested and refreshed, ready to betrin her work again ; but Nurse O Brien had taken her under her charge, and she was ordered out for ' half an hour's fresh air to blow away the infection.' The soft morning winds touched her check caressingly, and she etood for a moment enjoying the bree/es, fresh and lite giving as they seemed to her, though they did come over the grey walls of the workhouse. The world seemed brighter to-day than it had been for years past. It was as though she had at la-t eouqutrc d in the fight that had been going on for so long in her heart. As she came nearer to the porter's lodge voices fell on her ears. People coming, in all probability, to ask after their sick relations. The epidemic was wearing itself out, and there was sad news for some ; for others —for those at Baughan and Dera, there would be hope and gladness. The doctor's voice &he could distinguish from amongst the others.

'No thanks to me,' ho was sayinpf. 'It was the nurse's unremitting care, and that alone, that saved her. Ye->, you will find the matron in her room.' Then, before the door opened, Marmot knew that ahe was about to -cc young Darby again. The passing of year.-* had changed him moie than it had changed her Me seemed taller, strai^hter than b-fore , his clothes were dark, and had a town-made look about them, he was more alert than formerly, and he looked and moved like a man accustomed to obeying orders and being oh< yed. Polly, whom she had brought to life nem'n. W! m his wife vet. after all these years of struggling to forget. Margoc loved him — loved him still. Ho*' should -he meet him? As he approached she bent her head to hide tho crimson blushes that dyed her cheeks, jiiid he would ha\e passed Ik r by, merely raising his hat, if something familiar in the figure h id not struck him and made him lock again. ■ Margot ." he cried, standing before her. What was there in his tone ' Margot dared not stop to think. He h-id loved her once, but now he was Polly s husband. • Yes, it is I,' she --aid quickly, holding out her hand. ' I came back v. hen I was wanud, and — and 1 have saved her life for you." •Saved her life !' he repeated, only half believing his eyes and ears. ' Whose life ?' With an effort she forced the words from her lips : • Polly's— your wife ».' •My wife '' The reproachful tone smote upon her, but he went on • ' Though you scorned my love and left me. in the eyes of Heaven you were my wife, and no other woman will ever have a right to the name. I have learnt something of the world since we parted, and I see now what a fool I was to think you could ever care for such a country clown as 1 was , but I loved you truly, Margot, then as now, and t vtr. • But— but Polly,' faltered Margot. trembling, scarcely daring to hope. 1 Polly ■ My father married iPolly. She's been my step-mother these years back. Margot, Margot, you never thought I'd marry her " One look between them was enough. 1 Forgive me, Darby, forgive me ! she cried, and Nurse 0 Bnen. coming to look for her model helper, found her, regardless of contagion, clasped close in the arm- of a stalwart, blue-eyed man. As soon as she could be spared Nurse O Leary sent in her papers to the Dublin hospital where she had striven and suffered and l.iboied. and went back with Polly to Dera. But in the meantime she had learnt, from Darby and from hid step-mother, the story of the past. Old Darby was s 0 firmly set on getting those fields that when his son failed him the only tiling was tv marry ihe gnl himsilt , and this plan had answered so v\ell that he t-ocn forgave young Darby and v. . is wilhiu to take him b.u_k !<> favor again. But the 111-tut Margot had ui,s,ttltd him ton much ; he could not stay in the -pot where he had lo>-t her. and, wandering away to Dublin, ho had man.igtd at la-t to get tak* n imo the police force, so that Baughan only knew him during his yearly holiday. Two days ago lie had come down, and oik 1 t,f his fir-t visits had been to the infirmary to inquire alter hi- -tepmother ; so that a whole long month of summer day* l.iy bi fere him For Margot, backing once mui e in tho sunshine of love and home they parsed by too qaickly ; but whin he left her it was not tor long. Before many weeks had pa--* dhe < aine back to her again with the necessary pi lnv.^ion. and I hey wci manicd as joyfully and as happily a- though waituv and pnting were things unknown. And though mon* gludn(-s <■ ime than sorrow to their little home out in the world, th< y always lovid limghan and Dera be--t , and when, after s<une year-, young Darby's tune w.is up. they came back to the old homestead, \\ here, with increased capabilities and a nice little pension, the s-i«i was invaluable to his father, and in the hou u e a very juung Datby leimud suprt tin in the hearts of the mothei and the granny, who both emit claim the title of ' Darby Clancy's Wiic.'—Catboltr I'nr-,,!,.