She took the boy by the hand, and led him over to the bedside.
"Put his hand in mine," said he, "put his blessed hand in mine."
She did so, and Art looked long and steadily upon the face of his child.
"Margaret," said he, "you know that durin" all my wild and sinful coorses, I always wore the lock of hair you gave me when we wor young next my heart--my poor weak heart."
Margaret buried her face in her hands, and for some time could not reply.
"I don"t wish, darlin"," said he, "to cause you sorrow--you will have too much of that; but I ax it as a favor--the last from my lips--that you will now cut off a lock of his hair--his hair fair--an" put it along with your own upon my heart; it"s all I"ll have of you both in the grave where I"ll sleep; and, Margaret, do it now--oh, do it soon."
Margaret, who always carried scissors hanging by her pocket, took them out, and cutting a long abundant lock of the boy"s hair, she tenderly placed it where he wished, in a little three-cornered bit of black silk that was suspended from his neck, and lay upon his heart.
"Is it done?" said he.
"It is done," she replied as well as she could!
"This, you know, is to lie on my heart," said he, "when I"m in my grave; you won"t forget that!"
"No--oh, no, no; but, merciful G.o.d, support me! for Art, my husband, my life, I don"t know how I"ll part with you."
"Well, may G.o.d bless you forever, my darlin" wife, and support you and my orphans! Bring them here."
They were then brought over, and in a very feeble voice he blessed them also.
"Now, forgive me all," said he, "forgive ME ALL!"
But, indeed, we cannot paint the tenderness and indescribable affliction of his wife and children while uttering their forgiveness of all his offences against them, as he himself termed it. In the meantime he kept his son close by him, nor would he suffer him to go one moment from his reach.
"Atty," said he, in a low voice, which was rapidly sinking;--"put his cheek over to mine"--he added to his wife, "then raise my right arm, an"
put it about his neck;--Atty," he proceeded, "won"t you give me one last word before I depart?"
His wife observed that as he spoke a large tear trickled down his cheek.
Now, the boy was never in the habit of speaking when he was spoken to, or of speaking at all, with the exception of the words we have already given. On this occasion, however, whether the matter was a coincidence or not, it is difficult to say, he said in a quiet, low voice, as if imitating his father"s--
"Daddy, won"t you come to bed for me, for your own Atty?"
The reply was very low, but still quite audible--
"Yes, darlin", I--I will--I will for you, Atty."
The child said no more, neither did his father, and when the sorrowing wife, struck by the stillness which for a minute or two succeeded the words, went to remove the boy, she found that his father"s spirit had gone to that world where, we firmly trust, his errors, and follies, and sins have been forgiven. While taking the boy away, she looked upon her husband"s face, and there still lay the large tear of love and repentance--she stooped down--she kissed it--and it was no longer there.
There is now little to be added, unless to inform those who may take an interest in the fate of his wife and children, that his son soon afterwards was perfectly restored to the use of his reason, and that in the month of last September he was apprenticed in the city of Dublin to a respectable trade, where he is conducting himself with steadiness and propriety; and we trust, that, should he ever read this truthful account of his unhappy father, he will imitate his virtues, and learn to avoid the vanities and weaknesses by which he brought his family to dest.i.tution and misery, and himself to a premature grave. With respect to his brother Frank, whom his irreclaimable dissipation drove out of the country, we are able to gratify our readers by saying that he got happily married in America, where he is now a wealthy man, in prosperous business and very highly respected.
Margaret, in consequence of her admirable character, was appointed to the situation of head nurse in the Ballykeerin Hospital, and it will not surprise our readers to hear that she gains and retains the respect and good-will of all who know her, and that the emoluments of her situation are sufficient, through her prudence and economy, to keep her children comfortable and happy.
Kind reader, is it necessary that we should recapitulate the moral we proposed to show" in this true but melancholy narrative? We trust not.
If it be not sufficiently obvious, we can only say it was our earnest intention that it should be so. At all events, whether you be a Teetotaller, or a man carried away by the pernicious love of intoxicating liquors, think upon the fate of Art Maguire, and do not imitate the errors of his life, as you find them laid before you in this simple narrative of "The Broken Pledge."