Grania, The Story of an Island; vol. 2/2Lawless, Emily
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Grania, The Story of an Island; vol. 2/2
Lawless, Emily
Ireland -- Fiction
The jeering tone, the laughter, the sting of all this from Murdough,
_Murdough_, of all people in the world, lashed Grania to madness. She
looked wildly round her for a weapon--physical or otherwise it mattered
little--blind, helpless anger possessing her. Suddenly the remembrance
of her thoughts a few nights before--of her momentary notion about Teige
O’Shaughnessy--returned to her mind, and she seized upon it. It was a
poor weapon, as she probably knew, but it was the only one visible upon
the spur of the moment.
‘Then it is no gentleman I am going to marry, so it is not! no gentleman
at all, for it is enough of fine, idle gentlemen I have had, God knows,
and that is the sort I am tired of!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is a quiet boy,
and a decent boy, and a poor boy that I am going to marry, one that will
work hard, and not drink, drink, drink, day and night, till he doesn’t
know his one hand from the other, or the floor from the roof over his
head, or the sun from the moon, or the grass from the stones, or God’s
green earth from the salt black bottom of the sea! It is a good man and
a faithful man, and a man that will love me, and care me, that is the
sort of man that I want and that I am going to be married to, so I am.
And if you wish to know the name of him, it is Teige O’Shaughnessy, and
_that_ is the man I have chosen, and whom I am going to marry, so it is,
Murdough Blake; the very same, no other!’
Murdough stared at her for a moment in open-eyed astonishment. Then he
burst into a still louder laugh, a laugh that might have been heard
right across the island. This time it was quite a genuine one. His
vanity, which would have been touched to the quick if Grania had thrown
him over for someone whom he could by any possibility have looked upon
as a rival, was left untouched, was even gratified, by the mention of
Teige O’Shaughnessy, between whom and himself no such rivalry was in his
eyes possible; nay, the very juxtaposition of their images was a sort of
indirect compliment to himself. His sense, therefore, of the ridiculous
was genuinely tickled. Besides, to do him justice, he did not believe
her in the least.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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