She placed a purse in my hand--and taking from the leaves of her Missal a small silken bag, opened my shirt collar, and bound it round my neck. I smiled at the ceremony, and submitted. It was, of course, some charm or reliquary; and though the one-armed commander would have laughed, at what he would have considered on my part a symptom of apostasy, I thought it was no crime to carry an inch or two of silk upon my person, when my compliance would render happy a mother who loved me so tenderly.
“Hector,” said she, after investing me with this important amulet, “promise, for my sake, that you will wear it night and day; and, until misfortune overtakes, and all other hope fails--which Heaven grant may never happen!--that you will not unclose the cover, or read the writing of the Gospel.”
* Gospels are worn in Ireland as a protection against diseases and “_diablerie_.”
I gave the pledge she required; took an affectionate leave; and, lighted by Susan, returned to the parlour.
Lobbies, like flower-knots, are dangerous places for adieux! Poor Susan was faintly remonstrating against a second kiss, when a third actor popped upon the stage unexpectedly, and terminated at once the contest. The intruder was my foster-brother. All parties evinced annoyance; Marc Antony looked very silly, and the _demoiselle_, bounding up the stairs, leaned over the balustrades, and spoke a hurried farewell.
“Heaven bless you, Master Hector--mind your poor mother’s parting words, and all prosperity attend you.” Then, turning a wrathful look at the “fosterer,” * she continued, “Don’t mind what that false villain says. Ah, you wicked wretch! are you not afraid the roof will fall?” and, shaking her clenched hand at him, vanished.
What could have roused the anger of the dark-eyed Abigail was to me a puzzle: I entered the parlour, and the crest-fallen fosterer followed, and closed the door.
“Why, Marc, what’s the matter? Your old friend, Susan, seems in but indifferent temper with you.”
Mr. O’Toole fiddled with his hat, picked the wool off by pinches, and appeared wofully confused.
“Did you want me, Marc? or was it Susan you were looking for?”
“I just wanted to speak to you,” said my foster-brother, “for fear I should miss you in the morning.”