Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackeray (english readers .TXT) 📖

something whizz by me, and my antagonist, giving a most horrible groan, staggered backwards and fell.

‘He’s down—he’s down!’ cried the seconds, running towards him. Ulick lifted him up—Mick took his head.

‘He’s hit here, in the neck,’ said Mick; and laying open his coat, blood was seen gurgling from under his gorget, at the very spot at which I aimed.

‘How is it with you?’ said Ulick. ‘Is he really hit?’ said he, looking hard at him. The unfortunate man did not answer, but when the support of Ulick’s arm was withdrawn from his back, groaned once more, and fell backwards.

‘The young fellow has begun well,’ said Mick, with a scowl. ‘You had better ride off, young sir, before the police are up. They had wind of the business before we left Kilwangan.’

‘Is he quite dead?’ said I.

‘Quite dead,’ answered Mick.

‘Then the world’s rid of A COWARD,’ said Captain Fagan, giving the huge prostrate body a scornful kick with his foot. ‘It’s all over with him, Reddy,—he doesn’t stir.’

‘WE are not cowards, Fagan,’ said Ulick roughly, ‘whatever he was! Let’s get the boy off as quick as we may. Your man shall go for a cart, and take away the body of this unhappy gentleman. This has been a sad day’s work for our family, Redmond Barry: you have robbed us of 1500(pounds) a year.’

‘It was Nora did it,’ said I; ‘not I.’ And I took the riband she gave me out of my waistcoat, and the letter, and flung them down on the body of Captain Quin. ‘There!’ says I—‘take her those ribands. She’ll know what they mean: and that’s all that’s left to her of two lovers she had and ruined.’

I did not feel any horror or fear, young as I was, in seeing my enemy prostrate before me; for I knew that I had met and conquered him honourably in the field, as became a man of my name and blood.

‘And now, in Heaven’s name, get the youngster out of the way,’ said Mick.

Ulick said he would ride with me, and off accordingly we galloped, never drawing bridle till we came to my mother’s door. When there, Ulick told Tim to feed my mare, as I would have far to ride that day; and I was in the poor mother’s arms in a minute.

I need not tell how great were her pride and exultation when she heard from Ulick’s lips the account of my behaviour at the duel. He urged, however, that I should go into hiding for a short time; and it was agreed between them that I should drop my name of Barry, and, taking that of Redmond, go to Dublin, and there wait until matters were blown over. This arrangement was not come to without some discussion; for why should I not be as safe at Barryville, she said, as my cousin and Ulick at Castle Brady?—bailiffs and duns never got near THEM; why should constables be enabled to come upon me? But Ulick persisted in the necessity of my instant departure; in which argument, as I was anxious to see the world, I must confess, I sided with him; and my mother was brought to see that in our small house at Barryville, in the midst of the village, and with the guard but of a couple of servants, escape would be impossible. So the kind soul was forced to yield to my cousin’s entreaties, who promised her, however, that the affair would soon be arranged, and that I should be restored to her. Ah! how little did he know what fortune was in store for me!

My dear mother had some forebodings, I think, that our separation was to be a long one; for she told me that all night long she had been consulting the cards regarding my fate in the duel: and that all the signs betokened a separation; then, taking out a stocking from her escritoire, the kind soul put twenty guineas in a purse for me (she had herself but twenty-five), and made up a little valise, to be placed at the back of my mare, in which were my clothes, linen, and a silver dressing-case of my father’s. She bade me, too, to keep the sword and the pistols I had known to use so like a man. She hurried my departure now (though her heart, I know, was full), and almost in half-an-hour after my arrival at home I was once more on the road again, with the wide world as it were before me. I need not tell how Tim and the cook cried at my departure: and, mayhap, I had a tear or two myself in my eyes; but no lad of sixteen is VERY sad who has liberty for the first time, and twenty guineas in his pocket: and I rode away, thinking, I confess, not so much of the kind mother left alone, and of the home behind me, as of to-morrow, and all the wonders it would bring.