A Child of the Glens | Page 9

a
public car-driver between Cushendall and Ballycastle, who deposed to
having had a passenger who corresponded to the description of the dead
woman. She had no luggage, and walked away when the car stopped. A
woman was also found who had given deceased a night's lodging. She
said she had seemed excited and somewhat flighty--was restless at
night, and started off early, having paid a shilling for her lodging and
breakfast. This last witness added to the confusion by saying she saw
no chain, and did not believe her lodger had a watch, since she had
several times asked her the hour, and had annoyed her into saying she
ought to have a watch of her own. This witness's "impression" was that
deceased had replied, "I wish I had, and I wouldn't trouble you." This
was absolutely all that could be ascertained. And accordingly the dead
woman was buried by the Rev. Cooper Smith, in Rossleigh graveyard,
which she had told Hendrick she had known well in her childhood. All
the neighbourhood flocked to the funeral, and even Michael McAravey
was for the first time in his life seen inside the doors of a Protestant
church. The old man seemed much cut up, probably owing to the
doubts cast on his honesty. So sad was the fate of the unknown
wanderer, and so great the interest excited, that it was determined to
record the mysterious event in a simple headstone, erected by
subscription. To the surprise of everybody, McAravey, who had never
been known to trouble himself about any one else's affairs, or to give
away a shilling, took the matter up warmly, and himself subscribed
fifteen shillings, which he paid in three instalments. The stone was
erected, bearing this inscription:--
"In Memory"
OF MRS. E. D. (NAME UNKNOWN),
FOUND DROWNED NEAR TOR POINT
On the 13th of March, 186--.

This Stone is Erected by Subscription.
CHAPTER V.
The events narrated in the last chapter were not without lasting effects
on most of the persons immediately concerned in them. Michael
McAravey was an altered man. His proud reserve seemed changing into
petulant self-vindication. He began to look fully his age, and, like many
other men of so-called iron constitution, when his strength began to
give way it collapsed at once. He also conceived a violent antipathy to
George Hendrick. The children were forbidden to attend the class,
which had now been resumed; and although they came twice
surreptitiously, Mr. Hendrick was no sooner aware of this than he felt
obliged to tell them that their first duty was obedience to their
guardians. It was a hard parting both for teacher and pupils. It cost
George Hendrick no slight effort to dismiss his two favourite scholars,
nor could he at once see his duty plain in the matter. As for the children
they were broken-hearted and rebellious; but the quiet, sympathetic
tenderness of their friend at length reconciled them to their lot. Except
on this point, McAravey was far more considerate with the children
than formerly. He was now a good deal in the house, having become
very asthmatic, and often shielded Elsie and Jim from Mrs. McAravey's
harsh tongue.
The effect of what they had gone through was no less evident in the
children, though they were very differently affected. Jim never
recovered the panic of that March day. Nothing could induce him to go
near the shore alone, and the very sight of the sea excited the lad. It was
otherwise with Elsie. That solitary interview with the dead had sobered
her. The dead woman's face was seldom absent from her thoughts.
Elsie had grown to love it, and to regard it as something mysterious and
superhuman. She had never before seen so refined and beautiful a
countenance; and there was something in the rigid aspect of death that
quieted and awed, while it did not the least terrify the child. As the
months went by, and the actual event began to fade in the distance, the
pale sweet face, with the dripping brown hair drawn back from it,
became more and more of an ideal for veneration and love. Thus, while

Jim could never be induced to pass near the sandy cove alone, Elsie
ceased to have any special association with the actual scene of the
occurrence. But in her moments of passion or heedlessness she ever
saw before her the dead face--kind, but so calm and firm, that it
repressed in an instant her most impetuous outbursts.
As the autumn drew on it became evident that Michael McAravey was
dying. That he knew it himself was gathered from the fact that more
than once, during the summer, he had walked over to Ballycastle to
attend Mass. There seemed a weight on the old man's mind, which he
was unable