: Sink or swim? by Houstoun Mrs Matilda Charlotte - English fiction 19th century

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SINK OR SWIM?

WHAT DID HONOR KNOW?

"O sir, pray don't talk in that way. I never said--I--I never thought--no, no; things would have been different, must have been different, if I had." And the flush on Mrs. Bainbridge's pale cheeks grew deeper still, through the violence of her protest.

"She died very quiet, poor dear," the woman continued sadly, while the Colonel stood passively near her, biting with an embarrassed air the silver knob of the cane that he had flourished so debonnairily such a very short time before. "She wasn't much put about, thank God; and it was a lonesome place, you know. Even the priest, Father Donovan, him as you may remember used to have stations twice a-year in the village, didn't come to anoint poor Winny when she was dying. You see, they send for him so often when there's no occasion; and--"

"But, tell me," said Norcott impatiently, "does this girl, John Beacham's wife, know anything about her parentage? Did the old people, your grandfather and grandmother, keep the child at Moyfeckan after poor Winny's death? I don't understand it all. Was there any money to support her--the girl, I mean? And where has she been living all these years?"

"Where has she been living?" retorted the woman, speaking for the first time in a very decided Irish accent, for she was excited, and in anger the old familiar brogue cropped out unchecked. "Are you asking me that? And are you thinking that my father's daughter's child would be wanting charity to bring her up?"

"No; not that. I know you were not poor people. Old Phil Moriarty was a 'snug man evermore;'" he quoted, with an abortive attempt to be facetious; "but, you see, I didn't know but what he--"

"Might have turned his granddaughter out of doors, and left her to starve, poor girl, because of your sin! Is that what's in your mind, sir? Faix, you should have thought of that before you took--but that's neither here nor there. My grandfather, respectable as he'd always kep himself, was not the man to turn his back on his own kith and kin, let 'em be never so unfortunate. It's not the way of our country-people, and it was not his. Says he, 'That grand jintleman was a schoundrel'--I beg your pardon, sir, I only repeat his words--'and he's brought throuble on as good a gurl as ever trod the ground; but it 'ull come home to him,' says he--'it 'ull come home to him one of these days;' and with that he'd groan, as he sat in the hearth, like a possessed man."

Again Colonel Norcott, who was growing very impatient, was about to interrupt her with a question, but she stopped him peremptorily.

Norcott endeavoured to conceal his annoyance by a laugh. "The vindictive old beggar," he said, "and he used to be such a jolly old boy, and an uncommon good twist at the whisky-bottle! So the young lady was an heiress after all, and left off bog-trotting, I suppose, pretty soon? Come now, Mrs. B., you used to be a good-natured soul yourself in those days, and I really want to know something about my old friends in those outlandish parts. In the first place, how did the ho-tel business thrive? and--about Bainbridge; it's so long ago since I saw him alive--never half alive enough, though, for such a fine woman as you--that its almost risky asking after him."

But although her eyes had been thus effectually opened, and albeit her anger against the destroyer of her sister's life and character partook even of the character of rancour, so deep was it, and so endurable, yet nevertheless the worthy woman could not resist the tempting offer of repeating to a fresh listener the epitomised history of her widowhood, and the migration from her native land which followed on her "good man's" decease.

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