The Woman Thou Gavest Me | Page 4

discussing his son's name.
It was to be Hugh, because that had been the name of the heads of the
O'Neills through all the ages, as far back as the legendary days in which,
as it was believed, they had been the Kings of Ellan.
My mother was no less overjoyed. She had justified herself at last, and
if she was happy enough at the beginning in the tingling delight of the
woman who is about to know the sweetest of human joys, the joy of
bearing a child, she acquiesced at length in the accepted idea that her
child would be a boy. Perhaps she was moved to this merely by a desire
to submit to her husband's will, and to realise his hopes and
expectations. Or perhaps she had another reason, a secret reason, a
reason that came of her own weakness and timidity as a woman,
namely, that the man child to be born of her would be strong and brave
and free.
All went well down to the end of autumn, and then alarming news
came from Castle Raa. The old lord had developed some further

malady and was believed to be sinking rapidly. Doctor Conrad was
consulted and he gave it as his opinion that the patient could not live
beyond the year. This threw my father into a fever of anxiety. Sending
for his advocate, he took counsel both with him and with Father Dan.
"Come now, let us get the hang of this business," he said; and when he
realised that (according to the terms of the ancient Patent) if the old
lord died before his child was born, his high-built hopes would be in
the dust, his eagerness became a consuming fire.
For the first time in his life his excitement took forms of religion and
benevolence. He promised that if everything went well he would give a
new altar to Our Lady's Chapel in the parish church of St. Mary, a ton
of coals to every poor person within a radius of five miles, and a supper
to every inhabitant of the neighbouring village who was more than
sixty years of age. It was even rumoured that he went so far in secret as
to provide funds for the fireworks with which some of his flatterers
were to celebrate the forthcoming event, and that one form of
illumination was a gigantic frame which, set upon the Sky Hill,
immediately in front of our house, was intended to display in brilliant
lights the glowing words "God Bless the Happy Heir." Certainly the
birth was to be announced by the ringing of the big bell of the tower as
signal to the country round about that the appointed festivities might
begin.
Day by day through September into October, news came from Castle
Raa by secret channels. Morning by morning, Doctor Conrad was sent
for to see my mother. Never had the sun looked down on a more
gruesome spectacle. It was a race between the angel of death and the
angel of life, with my father's masterful soul between, struggling to
keep back the one and to hasten on the other.
My father's impatience affected everybody about him. Especially it
communicated itself to the person chiefly concerned. The result was
just what might have been expected. My mother was brought to bed
prematurely, a full month before her time.

SECOND CHAPTER
By six o'clock the wind had risen to the force of a hurricane. The last of
the withered leaves of the trees in the drive had fallen and the bare
branches were beating together like bundles of rods. The sea was
louder than ever, and the bell on St. Mary's Rock, a mile away from the
shore, was tolling like a knell under the surging of the waves.
Sometimes the clashing of the rain against the window-panes was like
the wash of billows over the port-holes of a ship at sea.
"Pity for the poor folk with their fireworks," said Father Dan.
"They'll eat their suppers for all that," said my father.
It was now dark, but my father would not allow the lamps to be lighted.
There was therefore no light in his gaunt room except a sullen glow
from the fire of peat and logs. Sometimes, in a momentary lull of the
storm, an intermittent moan would come from the room above,
followed by a dull hum of voices.
"Guess it can't be long now," my father would say.
"Praise the Lord," Father Dan would answer.
By seven the storm was at its height. The roaring of the wind in the
wide chimney was as loud as thunder. Save for this the thunderous
noise of the sea served to drown all sounds on the land. Nevertheless,
in the midst of the clamour