LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 405, 29 September 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE BANSHEE OF THE MACSHANES.

Continued, “ Well, it’s a surprisin’ thing,” said one of them, “to see Mary Mac Shane goin’ to marry the hardest man in the counthry after all. Musha, thin, she’ll be sorry but oust, an’ that’ll be all the dear days in her life. ” “Ay, but shure if he’s hard he’s high,” replied her companion, “an’ she must put one agin t’other. We can’t have everything in this world, an’ she’s right not to be lettin’ the time pass. She’s nayther so young nor so purty as she was when she used to be meetin’ him that’s far enough away now, there in the glen beyant. Augh! shure them times brought these times ; but iv the trees could spake what a dale they’d have to tell iv promises med only to be bruck ; but shure iv hearts isn’t bruck wid them, we needn’t say a word. ” “Ay,” rejoined the first speaker, “ but iv she never heerd tale nor tiding’s iv him since he left her he can’t be afther blamin’s her iv she doesn’t wait for him; but God only knows how it’ll all end—the God above us this blessed night—an’ one other,” she added in a mysterious whisper. “What!” exclaimed the other. “It is that yer maimin’ 1 Have ye heard anything avic macree ? Shure I know a knowledgable woman like yerself couldn’t be mistaken. ”

“Ay, did I hear plinty, more than I wanted, for that matther; enough to make the bride beyant sink in her shoes, for all she’s dancin’ away so sperrity wid ould Randal ! Musha, thin, its makin’ his sowl he ought to be, the ould struckawn, instead iv caperin’ about like a young goat. Well avic,” she continued with a deep sigh, “ye know the MacShanes has a follower ; they’re the rale ould stock, none iv yer dirty upstarts ; an’ its six years this June since Miss Mary’s first sweetheart, young Hugh Forde, an’ her met for the last time. Meself was cornin’ up the glen, from Mark Nolan’s wake, it was be the same token, an’ I come upon the two on a suddent, but they war too full iv their own consarns to mind mine. She was cryin’ for all the world like a new-born babby ; an’ his words, widout tears, ’ud break the heart iv a stone. Thin she slipped a ring on his finger, an’ they both knelt side be side, an’ thin it was, in the dead silence, I heard the cry cornin’ through the air. I heard it agin when they parted at the garden gate, soft and sorrowful it was ; not the wail for present death, but for what might end that a ways.”

“May be,” suggested her companion, “ it was for him.”

“For him,” repeated the other, with great scorn, “ Arrah, its meself that’s ash uned iv yer ignorance, ye poor crayture ; one ’ud think it was in Connaught ye war born an’ reared ! What call ’ud the likes iv him have to a Banshee, an’ him only a Eorde ? ”

“ Well lave us our noses anyhow, an’ tell us, agra, did ye ever hear it since ?” “Ay, did I, sharper an’ clearer, louder an’ angrier for all the world as iv she was grievin’ to see what was goin’ on. The very day Miss May gave her promise to ould Randal, I happened to be up at the house for a jug iv tay I get from the misthress, an’ hadn’t the servants a dandy iv whisky punch a-piece to drink the health iv the happy pair ! It was on me way home I heard the cry, an : iv I was on my deathbed I could swear to the Banshee of the Mac-Shanes.” “ An’ it was near han’ ye say ?’ “ Ay, nearer and sharper too ; the first time it wound through the air for all the world like the mist creeping’ up the mountain, the second time it was bitther an’ angry.” “An’ the third time,javourneen,|whatwas it like the third time ?” “I haven’t heard it the third time yet, ” answered her companion, solemnly, “an’ may I be longer so : the good ould families ai-e dyin’ out in the counthry intirely, more’s the pity, an’ its interlopers like Randal Percival we have put up wid in their place ; but it’s not for them the Banshee ’ill take the trouble to come out. I wish the weddin’ was well over anyhow, iv it is to be, for, iv anything happened to her now, the poor old father ’ud break his heart. ” “ Well, the day afther to-morrow ’ill soon be here now, an’ shure a weddin’s a great godsend intirely these hard times ; we ought to get full an’ plinty at the bridal iv the heiress.” “ True, for ye, honey, an’ we’d better make the most iv it, for it is’nt much we’ll get out iv ould Randal, the nagur !” Just then Mrs Mac Shane was called upon to greet some guests who had come in late ; they were three in number, a mother and daughter, and a young man, whose handsome but sun-burned face was almost covered with a thick beard. “So glad you were able to come, Mrs Eorde,” said the hostess, making the polite speech which courtesy demanded. The MacShanes were not intimate with the Fordes, just knew them, in fact, but every one had been asked to the “ wedding ball.” “ Thank you,” Mrs Forde replied. “As my husband could not come, I brought my son with us; he only arrived unexpectedly this morning—you remember Hugh ?” Mrs Mac Shane murmured another polite platitude ; she w r as secretely amused at the idea that she was expected to remember any special member of the house of Forde, and the poor woman never dreamed that at that moment there were about her the elements of a dire tragedy to be forced suddenly into action by the presence of that quiet-looking man with the brown beard.

Mrs Forde was about to pass on with her son and daughter when Mary suddenly came up—a dance being just over —upon the arm of her partner ; she spoke to the two ladies, being both glad and sorry to see “ Hugh’s people,” but she did not at first notice their companion; then, as if by a kind of inspiration, she seemed to know that her lover was before her; she had not looked at him, but she felt that his eyes were upon her face, not gentle and loving in their expression, but cold and stern, and upon his ungloved hand she saw her ring, the pledge of her fidelity. They bowed formally to one another, but the parting with tears and kisses was vivid in the memory of each ; Mary’s face was as white as her dress, and she wished, with all her heart, that she could die ; but miserable as she felt, she was obliged to exert herself to play the part of the happy heroine of the evening ; she never missed a dance, and she tried not to see the stem, sad eyes, which seemed to watch her ceaselessly from a distance. Percival took her into supper, he was unusually demonstrative, and made sprightly little jokes about the approaching wedding breakfast which she tried hard to enter into ; but, in spite of all her efforts, she again grew faint and nervous when she found upon her other side the tall figure of Hugh Fords. Percival was not slow to notice the shifting colour upon her face, nor the look, almost of terror, in her eyes which were generally so gentle and soft in their expression, but not a word or sign could he detect passing between her and Forde. As she rose rather hurriedly to leave the table, after a very slight supper, something fell just beside her ; she looked down, but did not miss any of her ornaments ; the opal and diamond ring which Percival had given her as the seal of their engagement sometimes fell off, being too large for the finger, but it was still in its place. She was moving away, when Forde stooped and picked up some object which had escaped her notice. ‘-This is yours, I think, Miss Mac Shane,” he said in the most matter-of-fact tone ; and as he spoke he placed in her hand the antique ring she had given him about the same hour, and on the same night of June six years before. By the ruse he had adopted he had made it impossible for her to refuse the ring, or to get up a scene of any kind ) but for one instant she raised her sad eyes to his face, and, angry and disappointed as he was, the look went to his heart. _ “ To-morrow night in the old place, she murmured in a whisper so hurried and so faint that the words scarcely reached him. He bowed slightly in reply, and then, taking Percival’s arm, she went back to the ballroom. . “How came you to drop that ring, Mary' he said. “ I did not think you had it on to-night, indeed it is ages since I have seen it.” ‘‘ Oh ! I always wear it, at least almost always,” she replied lightly; she felt as if a load had been lifted off her heart by the knowledge that she and Forde were to meet once more in the old trysting-place in the glen. To be continued.