CHAPTER XXVIIL

GIVING AN EXAMPLE OF MAGISTERIAL SEVERITY AND MATERNAL TENDERNESS.

In some days, the disappearance of the Collector produced a great sensation in the country. As far as a day went, his absence from home without being accounted for, however it might cause surprise, gave nobody any uneasiness; but when a second day clapsed without his reappearance within his own walls, it caused inquiry, and inquiry seemed only to perplex people more-that is, as long as they inquired where most they expected to find intelligence of him. But in this case, as in most others of the sort, chance did more than intention, and the clue to the disappearance of the Collector was found by the casual visit of a customer to the 'Black Bull.' This person was no other than Sweeny, who was a crony of Scrubbs, and supplied his wife with patent medicine, while her husband gave him pettifogging jobs of various sorts; therefore, when his patron was missing, Sweeny offered his services in the endeavour to find him. In so doing, he had overridden his horse one day, and arriving at the 'Black Bull,' he stopped to give the animal some rest and a feed, for it was yet some miles to his own home.

On following his horse into the stable, what was his surprise to see Scrubbs' steed, which still remained under the care of Larry Finnegan, who kept him until he should be sent for, and had not as yet heard of the Collector's disappearance.

'Hillo!' exclaimed the attorney, 'what brings Mr. Scrubbs' horse here?'

He left him here himself last Sunday,' was the answer. 'And where is Mr. Scrubbs himself!'

'How should I know ?'

'Because he was here last!'

'Last Sunday he was, sartinly; but

'Ay, but there's the thing !—what has become of him since?' "How should I know?'

'Because this is the last place at which I have heard of him▸

and if you can't give a satisfactory account of the matter, I can tell you it will be a serious business.'

This led at once to an explanation of the circumstances which had occurred at the 'Black Bull;' and the upshot of the business was, that Scrubbs had left the house in company with Rory O'More, and had not since been heard of. The next step to take, of course, was to go to Rory O'More and ask him what had become of the Collector: but Sweeny did not like to make the visit alone, for this bit of mystery, connected with Rory's name, aroused all the latent suspicions of him, which the appearance of the Colonel's pass had somewhat qualified, if not dispelled; and the remembrance of De Lacy's case of pistols, and his manifest promptness to use them, exercised so potent an influence over the attorney, that he determined to visit Rory with witnesses. This was his legal reason for the step; but the fact was, that Sweeny's courage was of a very companionable nature,

To the captain of the yeomanry corps, therefore, he hied him, and that noble commander, on Sweeny's detailing the occasion of his application, determined to pay a second visit to Rory's cottage, with all the force of his troop he could muster at a short notice.

In this determination let us leave them for the present, and take a peep at the quiet domicile they threatened with their visit.

Though Rory was expected to return to his home the day he left it with De Lacy, yet his absence created no alarm, though Mary and his mother sat up late in expectation of his coming home. When the next day elapsed without his making his appearance, they concluded he could not prevail on himself to part with De Lacy at the village, and that he had accompanied him all the way to the coast.

In this satisfied belief they had indulged up to the period that the yeomanry captain put his plan of making an armed descent on the widow's cottage into execution; and it was with no small surprise and alarm she saw her humble walls again environed by the amateur dragoons. The Captain and Sweeny demanded, on entering the house, to see Rory.

'He's not here, plaze your honour,' said the widow.

'Where is he?' said they.

Now this was rather a poser, for the widow did not like to tell

the cause of Rory's absence-or, indeed, it would be fitter to say, did not dare to tell it, and so she 'beat about the bush' as Well as she could for some time, until, from the nature of her answers, the captain had his deepest suspicions strengthened, and he said: 'The fact is, he is afraid to show himself, and is concealed.' 'What should he be afeard of, sir?' said the widow.

'He's concealed!' said the captain, and we must search for him. And where is the gentleman you had living here with you?'

'He's left the place, sir.'

'Ho, ho! the same story of him too! We must look for them, then.'

With these words, they proceeded, with those under their command, to pull to pieces a stack of hay and another of corn that stood in Rory's haggart, much to the dismay of the poor widow. In vain she protested, in vain she besought: they were bent ou the work they had set about.

'Sure, if you think they're hid, gintlemen, sarche the house first, at laste, before you go pull my little bit of hay and what-3 to pieces!'

Oh, we know better than that! They wouldn't hide in the house; but they may be here.'

'Well, sure, if they be, you can prod the stacks with your swoords; but, for God's sake, don't pull the stacks to pieces, and it rainin'. Sure, you won't lave them worth a thraneen! and you wouldn't ruin the little thrifle of substance the poor widow has left!'

The appeal was unheeded; they searched not within the honse nor did they satisfy themselves by prodding the stacks with their blades (which was a common practice in those times), but they pulled down the scanty savings of her little farming, under the pretence of finding those they were in search of; and in doing this, they were not guilty of any extraordinary atrocity, for in those times it was the common practice to destroy as much of the property of suspected people as the slightest pretext would admit. But these merciless fellows did not only bereave the lone woman of the accumulated produce of her little farm, but bragged of their humanity in not burning her haggart before her eyes.

'God help me!' said the distracted woman, wringing her hands. Sum, it's all one whether you desthroy me by fire or wather I

You've pulled my little hay and corn about the place in the middle of the rain; and what good is it afther that? Oh, how will I ever pay my bit of rint! Oh, weira! weira! Burn it, indeed!' said she, as her wrongs gave her courage to speak more openly; 'throth, you're welcome to burn it, if you're able, afther the wettin' it has got now.'

In the Dublin Castle journals of the day, this circumstance was set forth at great length, with a flourishing encomium on the Christian forbearance of the Horse, in having merely searched the haggart of the person who had murdered (as it is believed) Jonathan Scrubbs, Esq., of Lodge, in the County of, without having burnt to the ground (as they ought to have done) every stick and stone belonging to the papist ruffian.'

6

The widow, as yet, had not heard of the disappearance of the Collector, nor of his having been last seen in company with Rory; therefore she was unconscious of any cause of uneasiness on the score of her son, and had nothing to lament over but her ruined haggart. Another day, however, had not passed without her hearing of the occurrence, with all the varieties of account that Rumour with her hundred tongues sends far and wide on such occasions. The 'Black Bull' was the centre whence these reports radiated; for, from the moment of Sweeny's visit there, and recognition of Scrubbs' horse, curiosity was at work to know what in the world could have become of the Collector;' and, when Rory O'More could not be heard of, the anxiety to unravel the mystery increased. In this state of things it was that the crow-bar which Rory O'More had taken with him from the public-house was found in the glen of the Folly:-this led to further investigation; recent footmarks near the ruin, bearing the appearance of a struggle, were observed. The bars wrenched from the grated window, and the evidences of the recent habitation of the vault, gave rise to many conjectures; and a grand field of mystery, with a noble standing crop upon it, was thus opened to the whole community, who began to reap away at it with might and main, and a very noble harvest of wonder was soon gathered; nor were there wanting gleaners to follow up the work and bring in the last precious grains of the incomprehensible.

The widow heeded not the various forms which the story assumed, for every subordinate interest was lost in the one allabsorbing consideration to her, that her son was missing; and in

this feeling Mary participated. In a few days, however, a additional pang was added to her grief; for the Scrubbs party had no hesitation in saying the Collector had been murdered, and that Rory O'More was guilty of the crime. When the poor woman became possessed of this report, her agony of mind was excessive-an agony relieved only by occasional indignation that her boy should be so maligned: but this temporary relief being of an exciting, instead of a soothing character, her mind was kept in a state of tumult almost bordering on distraction.

'Oh that I ever should see the day,' she would exclaim, 'my darlin' boy should be accused of murdher! Oh that my grey hairs should suffer the disgrace! Oh, Rory, Rory! where are you-where are you? Why don't you come and give them the lie ?-for you never done it-never, never, never! You murdher? -You that wouldn't hurt a fly? Oh, my boy! my boy!'

'Mother dear! 'exclaimed Mary, weeping as she spoke, 'don't take on so--don't, mother dear, or you'll break my heart!'

'Oh Mary, Mary isn't it bad enough we've lost our darlin', our pride, and our prop-isn't it bad enough he's gone for ever from us, without his name bein' blackened to the world? Sure, when my darlin' was taken from me, the laste they might have left me was the bright remembrance of him without stain or blame! Oh, the hard-hearted crew !-to rob the lone widow of a mother's pride; and when the grave had swallowed her darlin', to put disgrace over him for his tombstone !'

She wring her hands, and kept rocking in her seat, while Mary in vain attempted to soothe her.

'Don't be talking of his grave, mother dear; sure, we don't know but-'

Here the mother interrupted her with a wild burst of thought caught up from the passing word:

" Thrue, thrue!- -we don't know where he lies. Oh, if I did, I'd go there and throw myself on my Rory's grave, and break my heart, and make my last bed there with him! But my heart is broke-broke-broke and the sooner the grave closes over me the betther l'

'Oh don't talk that way, mother-for God's sake, don't! Sure, you wouldn't lave your poor Mary alone !'

'No, alanna /-no, if I could help it :-but how can I live afther him. And you-you won't live afther him either for you