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Updated: May 23, 2025
The Squire of Cronane grasped the hand of the Squire of O'Shanaghgan, and the Squire of O'Shanaghgan looked up at the other man's weather-beaten face with a pathetic expression in his deep-set, hawk-like, dark eyes. "I am bad, Murphy very bad," said the Squire; "it's killing me they are amongst them." "Why, then, it looks like it," said Squire Murphy.
"Dear, dear! the light will be coming in no time, and we can quench the glim then," said Biddy. "I've got to be careful about candles. We're precious short of everything at Cronane just now. We're as poor as church mice; it's horrid to be so desperately poor as that. But, hurrah for the cold taters and bacon! We'll have a right good meal.
But anyhow, father is in worse trouble than he has been yet; I never, never saw him look as he did tonight." "As if looks mattered." "The look I saw tonight does matter," said Nora. "We were coming home from Cronane, and I was driving." "It is madness to let you drive Black Bess," interrupted Terence. "I wonder my father risks spoiling one of his most valuable horses."
"But the very last. Your father has to pay back the money which Squire Murphy of Cronane lent him. It is the queerest thing; but the mortgagee means to foreclose, as he calls it, within three months if that money is not paid in full. I know well what it means." Nora smiled. She took her mother's hand in hers, and began to stroke it gently. "I suppose," she said, "it means this.
Why, it was on your own outside car that I came across country, and I cannot walk all the way back to Cronane. Oh, but what a truly beautiful house! I never saw anything like it. Why, it is a sort of palace!" Biddy's open admiration of the glories of O'Shanaghgan absolutely made the good mistress of the mansion smile. Mrs.
It was nothing more than a grass path in the midst of a lot of rock and underwood, but the girls were like young chamois, and leaped over such obstacles with the lightness of fawns. Presently they arrived at the back entrance of Cronane, the Murphys' decidedly dilapidated residence. They had to cross a courtyard covered with rough cobbles and in a sad state of neglect and mess.
A huge fireplace had been built out at one end, and the Squire did not object at all to a large turf fire on a cold night; but the old bedstead from Cronane still occupied its old place of honor in the best position in the room, the little deal table was destitute of cloth or ornament of any kind, and the tarpaulin on the floor was not rendered more luxurious by the presence of rugs.
He shall have his potatoes and salt, and his bit of salt bacon, if he wishes, and he shall have his great big bare room. I tell you what it is, Molly, he'll never get well unless he is brought here." "What a girl you are! But how will you do it?" "Leave it to me. Do you mind driving with me on the outside car as far as Cronane?" "The outside car? I have never been on it yet."
Do you know why he is ill?" "Why so, Nora? Upon my word, you're a very handsome girl, Nora." "Oh, never mind about my looks now. My father is ill because because of all the luxury and the riches." "Bedad, then, I'm glad to hear it," said the Squire of Cronane. He slapped his thigh loudly. "It's the best bit of news I have heard this many a day; it surprised me how he could put up with it.
He said he would look around about this hour." Nora left her father, and wandered out into the soft summer gloaming. She went down the avenue, and leaned for a time over the gate. The white gate was sadly in need of paint, but it was not hanging off its hinges as the gate was which led to the estate of Cronane.
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