The Story of Bawn

Jasper Tuite, was it not, that waylaid Miss Cardew on her way from Kilmany C

ver came back till the whole thing was over. Miss Cardew, poor thing, never could tell what happened, rightly. And Sir Jasper, if he was dead, he hadn't died of the pistol-shot, but of an old trouble of the heart. The bullet was in the fleshy part of his shoulder, and the doctors would have got it out as easy as possible. And, sure, if he'd l

uld not have go

stories. I never believed them myself. People asked how it was that Master Luke cam

peated after he

believe it myself. He cared for none but Miss Mary, although she'd been hard to him. And Miss Irene Cardew would have gone with Master Luke willin' en

e been a great man

in the county this minute 'ud hold the same opinion about it. Not

d on me with a terrible wistfulness, as though she longed to speak and could not. I felt a great pity for the old dog. What a sad lo

ard of him?" I asked

got off to America. Others said the same hooker-she was a stranger in these parts

he were living he would never have le

g, Miss Bawn. Maste

uneasily an

rattle and stopped at our door. It never has, Miss Bawn. What you've heard has never stopped at our doors. To hear wheels i

yet," I said, "why y

lame. It was some stupid and ignorant prejudice of old Maureen's. I knew she had fostered my Uncle

lips met

o one can say that I am one to talk. After all those years,

nce. I knew Maureen better than to try to win talk from her when she had once made up h

ke, Maureen, when I

n the house. Och, the days I could tell of when there was the fine company-keepin', and the divarsion, and the carriages of the quality drivin' up to the doors, and the music and the dancin'! Them were the

d. "He made enough noise, Maureen; didn't he?

ugh, Miss Bawn, but you're not to be compared with Master Theobald, let alone

d, with enjoyment. Mary Cashel is my foster

ureen said. "If her Ladyship had listened to me

to the Cardews, and has been empty, as its owner, Anthony Cardew, has been away from it many years. The sun wa

hey were lighting fires over there

ce and peered curiously i

and him never comin' home. 'Tis an unlucky country so it is where the houses of the gentry

nside of Brosna," I said. "

nd ruin for want of an owner to look after it. But as for seein' it, I wouldn't be talkin' about such

seen in this country, that he had a leg and foot as elegant even as Uncle Luke's, and that to see

, I never put him before my own boy. There, don't be t

rp and woof the thought of Anthony Cardew, who had gone away before I was born and of whom so many romantic stories w