Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Irish -- England -- Fiction
Here I sprang quickly to overtake her, but she danced away like a
fairy in the moonlight, throwing a glance of mischief over her
shoulder at me, with her finger on her lips. It seemed to me a pity
that so sylvan a dell should merely be used for the purposes of speed,
but in a jiffy Mary was at the little door in the wall and had the
bolts drawn back, and I was outside before I understood what had
happened, listening to bolts being thrust back again, and my only
consolation was the remembrance of a little dab at my lips as I passed
through, as brief and unsatisfactory as the peck of a sparrow.
CHAPTER XXVIII
It was a beautiful day, as lovely as any an indulgent Providence had
ever bestowed upon an unthankful generation.
Although I wished I had had an hour or two to spend with Mary
wandering up and down that green alley through which we had rushed
with such indecent haste, all because two aged and angry members of
the nobility might have come upon us, yet I walked through the streets
of London as if I trod on the air, and not on the rough cobble-stones
of the causeway. It seemed as if I had suddenly become a boy again,
and yet with all the strength and vigour of a man, and I was hard put
to it not to shout aloud in the sunlight, or to slap on the back the
slow and solemn Englishmen I met, who looked as if they had never
laughed in their lives. Sure it's a very serious country, this same
land of England, where their dignity is so oppressive that it bows
down head and shoulders with thinking how grand they are; and yet I'll
say nothing against them, for it was an Englishwoman that made me feel
like a balloon. Pondering over the sobriety of the nation, I found
myself in the shadow of a great church, and, remembering what my dear
Mary had said, I turned and went in through the open door, with my
hat in my hand. It was a great contrast to the bright sunlight I had
left, and to the busy streets with their holiday-making people. There
were only a few scattered here and there in the dim silence of the
church, some on their knees, some walking slowly about on tiptoe, and
some seated meditating in chairs. No service was going forward, so I
knelt down in the chapel of Saint Patrick himself; I bowed my head and
thanked God for the day and for the blessing that had come with it. As
I said, I was like a boy again, and to my lips, too long held from
them, came the prayers that had been taught me. I was glad I had not
forgotten them, and I said them over and over with joy in my heart. As
I raised my head, I saw standing and looking at me a priest, and,
rising to my feet, I made my bow to him, and he came forward,
recognizing me before I recognized him.
"O'Ruddy," he said, "if you knew the joy it gives to my old heart to
meet you in this sacred place and in that devout attitude, it would
bring some corresponding happiness to yourself."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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