A Rivermouth Romance | Page 4

hale owld couple they are."
"Has n't he any family in the town"--
"Sure, mum, he has a family; was n't he married this blessed mornin'?"

"He said so."
"Indade, thin, he was--the pore divil!"
"And the--the person?" inquired Mrs. Bilkins.
"Is it the wife, ye mane?"
"Yes, the wife: where is she?"
"Well, thin, mum," said Mr. Donnehugh, "it's yerself can answer that."
"I?" exclaimed Mrs. Bilkins. "Good heavens! this man's as crazy as the
other!"
"Begorra, if anybody's crazy, it's Larry, for it's Larry has married
Margaret."
"What Margaret?" cried Mrs. Bilkins, with a start.
"Margaret Callaghan, sure."
"Our Margaret? Do you mean to say that OUR Margaret has married
that--that good-for-nothing, inebriated wretch!"
"It's a civil tongue the owld lady has, any way," remarked Mr.
O'Rourke, critically, from the scraper.
Mrs. Bilkins's voice during the latter part of the colloquy had been
pitched in a high key; it rung through the hall and penetrated to the
kitchen, where Margaret was thoughtfully wiping the breakfast things.
She paused with a half-dried saucer in her hand, and listened. In a
moment more she stood, with bloodless face and limp figure, leaning
against the banister, behind Mrs. Bilkins.
"Is it there ye are, me jew'l!" cried Mr. O'Rourke, discovering her.
Mrs. Bilkins wheeled upon Margaret.

"Margaret Callaghan, is that thing your husband?"
"Ye-yes, mum," faltered Mrs. O'Rourke, with a woful lack of spirit.
"Then take it away!" cried Mrs. Bilkins.
Margaret, with a slight flush on either cheek, glided past Mrs. Bilkins,
and the heavy oak door closed with a bang, as the gates of Paradise
must have closed of old upon Adam and Eve.
"Come!" said Margaret, taking Mr. O'Rourke by the hand; and the two
wandered forth upon their wedding journey down Anchor Street, with
all the world before them where to choose. They chose to halt at the
small, shabby tenement-house by the river, through the doorway of
which the bridal pair disappeared with a reeling, eccentric gait; for Mr.
O'Rourke's intoxication seemed to have run down his elbow, and
communicated itself to Margaret. O Hymen! who burnest precious
gums and scented woods in thy torch at the melting of aristocratic
hearts, with what a pitiful penny-dip thou hast lighted up our little
back-street romance!

II.
It had been no part of Margaret's plan to acknowledge the marriage so
soon. Though on pleasure bent, she had a frugal mind. She had invested
in a husband with a view of laying him away for a rainy day--that is to
say, for such time as her master and mistress should cease to need her
services; for she had promised on more than one occasion to remain
with the old people as long as they lived. Indeed, if Mr. O'Rourke had
come to her and said in so many words, "The day you marry me you
must leave the Bilkins family," there is very little doubt but Margaret
would have let that young sea-monster slip back unmated, so far as she
was concerned, into his native element. The contingency never entered
into her calculations. She intended that the ship which had brought
Ulysses to her island should take him off again after a decent interval of
honeymoon; then she would confess all to Mrs. Bilkins, and be

forgiven, and Mr. Bilkins would not cancel that clause supposed to
exist in his will bequeathing two first-mortgage bonds of the Squedunk
E. B. Co. to a certain faithful servant. In the mean while she would add
each month to her store in the coffers of the Rivermouth Savings Bank;
for Calypso had a neat sum to her credit on the books of that provident
institution.
But this could not be now. The volatile bridegroom had upset the
wisely conceived plan, and "all the fat was in the fire," as Margaret
philosophically put it. Mr. O'Rourke had been fully instructed in the
part he was to play, and, to do him justice, had honestly intended to
play it; but destiny was against him. It may be observed that destiny
and Mr. O'Rourke were not on very friendly terms.
After the ceremony had been performed and Margaret had stolen back
to the Bilkins mansion, as related, Mr. O'Rourke with his own skilful
hands had brewed a noble punch for the wedding guests. Standing at
the head of the table and stirring the pungent mixture in a small
wash-tub purchased for the occasion, Mr. O'Rourke came out in full
flower. His flow of wit, as he replenished the glasses, was as racy and
seemingly as inexhaustible as the punch itself. When Mrs. McLaughlin
held out her glass, inadvertently upside down, for her sixth ladleful, Mr.
O'Rourke gallantly declared it should be filled if he had to stand on his
head to do it. The elder Miss O'Leary