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he now attentively looked at the worshipful mayor, could not hesitate to believe that he was indeed a man of stern honesty and great determination."
With the ease of one accustomed to the civilities of life, his worship conducted the youths to the drawing-roomit was occupied by Maria and her fair friend; and the moment Henry called on them by name, his sister, with affectionate impetuosity, flew into his arms: Margaret was less precipitate; but her looks of undisguised gladness declared that her joy was not less sincere. When the tumultuous feelings of the moment had subsided, Gomez was more formally introduced; the ladies welcomed, with artless sincerity, their brother's friend; and such was their unaffected manners and gaiety of heart, that he quickly found himself almost in love with them both. Margaret he thought justified the praise Henry had been so constantly bestowing upon her, but to his mind Maria was the more perfect beauty.
The first three weeks of Gomez Sullivan's visit were occupied in those amusements which are most grateful to young people; he was invited successively to the houses of the principal merchants; he attended the civic shows and festivals; and he ventured into the country. On all occasions he was attended by Henry and the young ladies, and he found himself every day more and more indisposed for encountering the business of the counting-house. The gentle influence of woman's presence had operated on his heart, and without knowing why, or interrogating his own breast on the subject, he was deeply in love. He felt all that indistinct and confused happiness of being near the object most dear to him, but his emotions were too fierce and abrupt to allow his breast that calm repose, which a man, satisfied with himself and others, is disposed to feel. There is in love no tranquillity; whilst a single doubt can gain admission, the timid lover-and who loves sincerely that is not timid ?-dares not seek the truth--he lives in all the uncertainty of hope, rather than provoke his fate by a single interrogatory to the object of his love. The more his affections and imagination-for fancy has much to do in the business-exalt his mistress, the more humbly he thinks of himself, the comparison which forces itself
upon him is disadvantageous to his self-love, and persuaded of his unworthiness, he lives in all the torments which alternate hope and fear can inflict, and would die with the unspoken word upon his lips, unless some kind friend, or some unlooked-for accident, revealed his meaning.
Such at least was the feeling of Gomez Sullivan; he was miserable when absent from the society of the fair inmates of the mayor's house, but he had no sooner found himself in their company than he was unaccountably silent, unless when the subject of conversation was foreign to the business of his heart. When rallied he blushed; and when alone with Margaret, he could discourse with his wonted fluency. This Henry Lynch had long observed; he watched the movements of his friend with a tremulous anxiety; and at length persuaded himself that the young Spaniard wanted to supplant him in the affections of his mistress. With the impatience of incipient jealousy he taxed Margaret with her inconstancy, and her reply only served to increase the flame that consumed him. He, in his turn, became thoughtful and silent: he chose to be much alone, and avoided as much as possible the company of Gomez:Maria and her playful friend laughed at both.
It happened that about this time one of the most fashionable ladies of Galway gave a fancy ball, at which the mayor and his family promised to attend. The dresses of the younger party were chosen with some care, and all were different. Maria was habited as a shepherdess, and Margaret assumed the more stately and not less becoming garments of an Irish princess. Henry gazed on her as he led her to the ball, and he thought she never looked more ovely; but then she no longer loved him, as he supposed, and his heart maddened at the thought-his blood boiled tumultuously through his veins, and disdaining the society of one who could so grievously wrong him, he abruptly quitted her side, and hid himself amongst the crowd of maskers who were now assembled.
In the course of the night he missed the Irish princess from the ball-room; and he looked in vain for Gomez amongst the dancers. Suspecting that they had retired in company to the garden, he drew a mantle about him and descended a flight of steps that led to a parterre, which
communicated with the garden. By the moonlight, which "silvered o'er the scene," he distinctly saw two figures enter the summer-house, and, drawing near cautiously, he overheard Gomez breathing the most ardent sentiments into the willing ear of the lady at whose feet he was kneeling. Henry's eyes almost started from their sockets, his hand instinctively grasped his sword; and when he had satisfied himself that the fair one wore the dress which Margaret had assumed but a few hours before, his jealous rage overpowered him; he rushed upon his friend, and before any explanation could possibly take place, his sword was stained with Sullivan's heart's-blood! The lady gave one deafening scream, and in the sound Henry discovered not the tone of Margaret's voice, but that of his sister, and on turning to look at her, the moon-beams revealed to him those features which left no room to doubt that he had done his friend a horrible wrong.
Before he could recover from the stupor into which a sense of his crime, and the conviction of his mistake, had thrown him, the host and his servants had entered the garden. Henry did not seek to avoid discovery; he openly avowed the cruel deed, and from his sister's lips he now learned that she had only just exchanged dresses with Margaret in mere frolic, and that her fair friend had never been the object of Sullivan's attention. She was only the medium through which he had first conveyed his sentiments, and that evening was the first time he had ever unbosomed himself to Maria.
What was now to be done. The inflexible justice of the mayor left no doubt on their minds respecting the course he would undoubtedly pursue, and the only way therefore left was for Heury to fly to the country of the Irish until means were taken to disarm the severity of the law. The young man, with evident reluctance, yielded to this advice; the garden-door was open, he was provided with the watchword, and half an hour after he had been a murderer saw him a fugitive without the city walls.
When the sad intelligence was conveyed to the mayor, be felt as a father, but he acted as became the chief magistrate of a prosperous town. He commanded the culprit to
be brought before him; for he held the scales of life and death in Galway; and when he learned that he had fled, he offered an ample reward for his apprehension. No one, however, thought of earning this money-the young man had won for himself the esteem of his fellow-citizens; and much as they condemned his crime, they were not unwilling to acknowledge that it admitted of many palliations. The impetuosity of his youth; the vehemence of his jealous dislike; and the excitation of the moment, were taken as so many apologies for the rash deed; and although they thought he ought not to go entirely unpunished, they conceived that the blood of his friend, the ruin of his sister's hopes, and his own blasted prospects, were sufficient to make life to him anything but enviable.
In the mean time the wretched fugitive, oppressed with a sense of his crime, had sought an asylum in the country of the O'Flaherty's. The ceanfinny, or bead of the tribe, received him at first with the rough courtesies of uncivilized hospitality; but when Henry had detailed the circumstances under which he sought his protection, the look of rude and careless revelry, which sat habitually on his furrowed countenance, gave place to indications of fierce passions, as if some dark purpose had cast its shadow on his mind. He seemed, for some minutes, lost in thought, and on recovering from his reverie, he grasped Henry by the hand, and whilst his eyes looked as if they could penetrate his very soul, he held him at the full length of his brawny Young man," said he, in a tone of deep solemnity, "I had a son, on whose manly brow was stamped the maturity of just twenty summers. He was about your size but more compact-more Irish. These eyes beheld him with a father's fondness; and this old heart rejoiced in his presence; because he was the pride of all our race : he longed to make the deeds of other men his own; he shamed our bravest kerns where danger tempted; and he was wise beyond the sagarth's* wisdom. At the social board he drained the bowl without feeling its effects, and the fairest of Ireland's daughters essayed to look most lovely in his eyes. Such, Sassanach, was my boy. One
* The priest.
morning, tempted by Saxon promises, he entered your city -a purse-proud chapman provoked his wrath, and the wretch fell beneath his hand. He was seized-triedcondemned. One they call a justice-a mayor-your father," he continued in great agitation, signed his death warrant--and doomed the pride of his race to die a felon's death-to swing, a thing of scorn, upon your gallows-tree, and feast with his delicate flesh the ravenous fowls of air. Oh! God, that I lived to see that day! Where," he exclaimed abruptly, letting go Henry's hand, and pacing up and down, "where O'Flahertys were your good swords then? A blight had fallen upon our armsthe tribe shrunk from your ramparts-a coward's subterfuge and I alone entered your city. I sought your chief brehon-he looked humane-his eye appeared as if it held communication with his heart-seemed to melt in pity when his bosom throbbed at the calls of humanity, but I was mistaken-his was the serpent's beauty, but not the lion's magnanimity-he was inflexible. I tempted his avarice your Saxon loves money-offered twenty cumals of cows, the golden color of our ancestors, but all in vain, be persisted in his judgment. I then promised to swear an alliance with your hated race, but my friendship he scorned, and it was not till then that I-oh, sad disgrace! humbled myself at his feet. I besought his pity, thought to move him by a father's tears-I clasped his knees, I kissed the dust he stood on, but all in vain. He merely said, the calls of justice must be obeyed.
"I started to my feet, I breathed a curse upon his race, regained my hills, obtested heaven for the means of vengeance--I have it-I'll break his heart as he broke mineI'll see if he dare do justice-and you--you are my victim !" Saying this, he pounced upon Henry with a tigerspring, and almost instantly proceeded to convey the wretched youth back to Galway.
When he arrived at the city gates, he said "I seek your chief magistrate on an affair of importance," and he was instantly admitted. The mayor was then dispensing justice in the town-hall, and thither the ceanfinny pro
• A cumal was equal to three cows.