The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole. W. H. Maxwell

Josiah.

      “Only with my pipe,” replied my father.

      “Then I’ll sit down a little, and take a drop of your Geneva.”

      I rose,—handed my uncle a chair,—Josiah took off’ his hat, and seated himself The lawyer having mixed his grog, I resumed my needle-work. Since Seymour had left, never had my heart felt lighter than it did that evening; but from the moment my dreaded uncle announced himself, a weight seemed pressing on my bosom; for every time he spoke, like a serpent’s breath, Josiah’s words seemed to wither the happiness of all who heard them.

      “I wonder,” said he, “where that fellow you were so fond of went to?”

      “What fellow?” replied the quarter-master, drily.

      “Why, Seymour, as he called himself.”

      “I can make you happy on that head. Lieutenant Seymour has gone to ———. Give me another light, Julia. Pipes now-a-days, are not what they used to be.”

      “But, where did Seymour go to?”

      “Go to?” and the quarter-master gave a puff. “His regiment, I suppose.”

      “Whatever news his last letters brought, egad!” said Josiah, “it regularly upset him. Mrs. Manby told me privately, that he turned pale when he read them; and he must have been confoundedly astonished, for he left the change out of half-a-crown upon the counter. I wonder what it will turn out to be? I think it will be debt; but George Gripp sticks to Ills first opinion, and says he’s sure it will prove felony.”

      I could not calmly listen while such infamous imputations were thrown out against the man I loved, but rose and left the room, and, retiring to my own apartment, I communed with my own sad thoughts, and asked myself whether Seymour could be aught but what my fancy pictured him. One moment’s reflection established him firmly in my estimation; and every insinuation to his disadvantage faded from my memory.

      I opened the easement, and looked pensively on the little flower garden beneath the window. How often had I watched impatiently where I stood now, until the trysting hour arrived, and my husband came stealing through the shrubbery to whisper in my delighted ear assurances of endless love! Suddenly a noise among the bushes startled me; a figure approached and stopped below the window; it was my brother. In a low voiee he told me to be silent, and next moment sprang into the apartment.

      I remarked that his manner was hurried, and his faee flushed, as if from some violent exertion.

      “What has happened, William? Speak; are you ill? Has there been an accident?”

      “I fear, Julia,” he replied, “that I have committed myself by intermeddling in another’s quarrel. But who could look on while three men were assailing one?”

      “You alarm me, William; go on.”

      “I was rambling homewards from the cliffs; I heard three or four shots in the direction of the landing-place; and suspecting that smugglers were at work, I hastened off in another direction, lest any suspicion might attach itself to me. My anxiety to avoid it, however, brought on an unfortunate collision. I heard a noise approaching loud and angry voices, oaths, and blows, and the clashing of cutlasses succeeded—and hastening on, at a turning of the path I ascertained the cause. The fight was most unequal, for three persons were attacking a solitary man. I joined the weak side, stretched two of our opponents on the ground, the third ran off, and for the first time, I found that the man I rescued was Frank Brown. He wrung my hand; muttered his hurried thanks; and then bounded like a deer across the heath, and vanished in the Miller’s coppice.”

      I kissed my brother ardently. “Well, William, English blood is warm—and who eould look on and not assist a brave man when assailed by numbers? Would, however, that it had been some other; Red Frank is such a desperado—a branded man—a felon.”

      “Ay, girl, but was he not the first to jump into the life-boat after me, when we saved the drowning Dutchman? I owed him, devil as he is, a good turn for his gallantry. For rescuing him I care nothing; but I fear that blood was spilled already upon the beach. The pistol shots, and the desperate haste with which Red Frank escaped, lead me to dread that some previous violence had occurred. Who is below, Julia?”

      “My father, and my unele.”

      “Hark! I hear hasty footsteps; slip down, Julia, and probably you may hear if any accident has happened. I would not alarm my father unnecessarily until we know whether the affray was serious.”

      I obeyed my brother’s wishes, and returned to the parlour. We heard men without; they seemed excited, spoke fast, and hurried rapidly along the street. Presently a knock was heard; I opened the door,—it was Gripp, my uncle’s clerk. He had come here to seek his master, and one glance at the evil agent of the lawyer, told that he was the bearer of heavy news.

      “Well, George,” said Josiah, eagerly, “what’s wrong?” The lawyer never asked, “what’s right?”

      “Nothing pertikler,” returned my uncle’s satellite; “only one man is murdered, and half a dozen nearly killed.”

      “When—where—how?” asked my uncle.

      “Why, down at the Tinker’s Cove; a row between smugglers and revenue men. Red Frank shot Nat Davis through the heart—and he was all but taken, when a comrade floored two officers, and Frank gave leg-bail to the other.”

      “Ha! that makes the other fellow an accessory after the fact; he’ll hang, that’s certain. Is he known?”

      George Gripp answered with a wink; the wink was an affirmative one. “What’s his name? Will he be able to fee counsel, and employ a solicitor?” inquired the lawyer.

      Gripp winked affirmatively.

      “His name?”

      “One very like your own.” was the reply.

      My father started—“Speak, fellow, who was the murderer’s comrade?”

      “Your son,” returned the bailiff, coldly.

      “My son? William Rawlings? ’tis false, by Heaven!”

      “You may depend upon it, Dick,” observed my precious uncle, “that George Gripp is well-informed.”

      My father drooped his head—I sprang from my chair and folded him in my arms.

      “‘Tis false! my father—believe me, the charge is false.”

      “I wish it were,” replied Josiah, in a tone that showed his incredulity.

      “Gracious Heaven!” murmured the poor quarter-master; “and is the son I loved so dearly, branded as accomplice to a murderer? Did my William consort with desperate men, and engage in lawless enterprise? I won’t—I can’t believe it.”

      “You may depend upon it,” returned the lawyer’s clerk; “I have it from the best authority.”

      Mv father turned wildly to my uncle—“Josh! speak, man! have heart, for once, and say if what that scoundrel says may be credited. You shake your head; well, if the misfortune has occurred, what will be its worst consequences? Can you tell? even—”

      “Tell?” returned the lawyer; “ay, and with as much certainty, as if the foreman of the jury had delivered a verdict ‘for self and fellows.’”

      “Out with the worst, man,” gasped my father.

      “They’ll be hanged, that’s safe,” responded the lawyer, with a decision that forbad all argument.

      “Hanged! my William hanged! Hanged as a felon, and share an outlaw’s fate, with one familiarized to crime, and grown grey in iniquity—Impossible!”

      “I did not say,” said Josiah coolly, “that their sentences would be the same. Ned Frank will probably be gibbeted for example—but Bill