The House by the Church-YardLe Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
General
The House by the Church-Yard
Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
Country life -- Ireland -- Fiction; Ireland -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction
When Dr. Toole grumbled at his disappointment, he was not at all aware
how nearly his interview with Loftus had knocked the entire affair on
the head. He had no idea how much that worthy person was horrified by
his proposition; and Toole walked off in a huff, without bidding him
good-night, and making a remark in which the words 'old woman' occurred
pretty audibly. But Loftus remained under the glimpses of the moon in
perturbation and sore perplexity. It was so late he scarcely dared
disturb Dr. Walsingham or General Chattesworth. But there came
the half-stifled cadence of a song--not bacchanalian, but
sentimental--something about Daphne and a swain--struggling through the
window-shutters next the green hall-door close by, and Dan instantly
bethought himself of Father Roach. So knocking stoutly at the window, he
caused the melody to subside and the shutter to open. When the priest,
looking out, saw Dan Loftus in his deshabille, I believe he thought for
a moment it was something from the neighbouring churchyard.
However, his reverence came out and stood on the steps, enveloped in a
hospital aroma of broiled bones, lemons, and alcohol, and shaking his
visitor affectionately by the hand--for he bore no malice, and the
Lenten ditty he quite forgave as being no worse in modern parlance than
an unhappy 'fluke'--was about to pull him into the parlour, where there
was ensconced, he told him, 'a noble friend of his.' This was 'Pat
Mahony, from beyond Killarney, just arrived--a man of parts and
conversation, and a lovely singer.'
But Dan resisted, and told his tale in an earnest whisper in the hall.
The priest made his mouth into a round queer little O, through which he
sucked a long breath, elevating his brows, and rolling his eyes slowly
about.
'A jewel! And Nutter, of all the men on the face of the airth--though I
often heerd he was a fine shot, and a sweet little fencer in his youth,
an' game, too--oh, be the powers! you can see that still--game to the
back-bone--and--whisht a bit now--who's the other?'
'Lieutenant O'Flaherty.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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