A Child of the Glens | Page 9

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 or unwilling to shake off. 'Lisbeth, who for years had suffered severely from "rheumatics," and who had made up her mind that she was to die before the "old man," was but an indifferent nurse. Elsie, however, more than took her place. Michael had become much attached to the child, and as he daily grew weaker he came to look to her for everything.
"Ye 'r a brave wee lass, Elsie," he used to say, "and I doubt I 've not been over kind to ye, but I