The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-03-14

God knows there was small cause for
joy in the heart of a young MacMahon
of Glare in the reign of Anne the
dutiful daughter.
And so he sighed.
Down the wind there came, swift
and sharp, woman's shrek.
With a touch of his knee Mac
Mahon sent the cob into the middle
of the road, and waited, alert, grim,
the soldier. His life was in his hands.
Death, he knew well-it might be
shameful death-could be the only
end of capture and conviction through
the horde of spies who watched for
such as he. Yet he did not pause to
think. Death had no terror for an
Irishman of the Brigade, in any case;
but when woman shrieked on lone
road in the dim dawn of March
morning-oh, well what would you?
He had not long to wait. From the
east there came a murmur: then a
rumble; then, with a rattle and a
clatter there was the swift rush Of
the laundering hoofs of mad fright.
Through the dusk, two bright eyes of
carriage-lamps swayed and swung to-
wards him at break-neck speed.
MacMahon wheeled the cob and can
tered along the near lockspit away
from the runaway pair; then, he shook
the reins, and the gallant animal
spread herself. Faith, for moment
he enjoyed it. But that shrek! and
the long hill of Moreen hundred
yards ahead! now was the time for
brain of ice and heart of fire and arm
of steel. And now they were on him.
One skilful touch of the left hand and
he was alongside the near horse. One
swift swing to the right to grip the
rein-but no rein was there. Neck
and neck, neck and neck, neck and
neck-and then the pace told on the
cob. They were gaining, and death
was certain for the girl. But these
dragons of Glare were horsemen-
and they were Irishmen, quick of brain
and quick of hand. One little check
on the cob's neck, as delicate as a
child's caress, and then-to stoop and
wrench open the carriage door was
the work of an instant. He leaned
over and hooked his arm. The maiden
understood "Now!" he shouted. She
slipped into the hollow of his arm;
with the ease of lifting a dainty trinket
he swung her across his saddle. At
once he dismounted and assisted her
to the ground.
ooh, good sir!" she half whispered
in voice that trembled, chow am
to thank you? You have saved my
life"
''It is nothing, madam, pray you
do not mention the matter" and Mac
Mahon swept the toe of his right boot
with his hat in that magnificent ges-
ture which he had learned from his
friend, Viscount O'Grady of the Kings
Guard. II trust you are not hurt.
No? Then permit me-" He took off
his riding-coa and gently placed it on
the shoulder of the trembling maid
Her protests he laughed off with a
jest; "but," she said, my poor father,
he will think me dead"
"Let me bring you to your father"
he said gravely.
But even as he spoke, down the
road came the thunder of hoofs, and
two horsemen appeared from the
shadows. At sight of the lady they
pulled up and dismounted. The first
a thick-set, middle-aged man with a
strong, kindly face, rushed forward
and clasped her in his arms. Thank
God! thank God! my little grille, Mar
jorie," he cried, as he kissed her fore
head and hair, while she chung to him,
sobbing. The second man was a
groom. One glance at MacMahon was
enough for him. They had played as
boys together on Doughmore strand;
but he made no sign.
Squire Stodart wheeled around. Two
hats together aourished in the salute
courteous of the time. Was there a
sudden CLINT of recognition in the
Squire's eye, or was it but reflection
from the east where now the sky was
bright?
"Sir," said he, hand outstretched,
II am everlastingly in your debt. I
perceive you are stranger Mac
Mahon bowed-''but let me tell you
that in these parts the name of Stodart
of Carrigmore carries weight. Count
me and mine at your service. May I
have the pleasure of knowing, to whom
owe my daughters life?'
"My name is MacMahon. I am a
dealer, in search of good horse'-"God
forgive me-" he thought; "but, sure,
cavalry is horse"
"MacMahon? MacMahon? Anything
to the MacMahons-Ah! Yes, yes" "
suddenly producing a snuff-box, and
taking huge supply which produced
a violent fit of coughing-then, ito
be sure, Mr.. MacMahon, can show
you some in my stables that will be
hard to beat. BY CAD! that reminds
me- Lynch, go and look after those
poor brutes."
Tim Lynch leaped into his saddle.
When thirty good yards away he said
to himself: GLORY be to God! Is Mas
ter Charles mad, or what the mischief
is he doing here?"
Continued the Squire: Faith, sir,
tbs cold place to welcome stranger
here on this road. IT'S but short
way to my house May l have the
pleasure of your company to break
fast?"