human
That's a lonely cottage over there,
gpt
Oh, then, you may well call it lonely, said he,
human
That must have been a long time ago,
gpt
Ay, thin, it is. It's fifty years ago or more. 'Twas about the time that poor Boney was bet at Waterloo. Sure I mind it well. I was only a gorsoon then, yer honour, but 'twas often and often I did a hand's turn for the lady, and sure 'twas the rale illegant lady she was, yer honour, with her eyes that wor as blue as the sky above us this blessed and holy evenin', and her smile was as light and as bright as the sunbeams, and her voice was sweeter nor the blackbird that's singin' this minit in the elm beyant there, only twice as low.
human
And how long was she living there, and was she married?
gpt
Troth thin, she was married, or at laste the poor crater thought she was, and her husband was an illegant man, too. He was taller nor yer honour, but twice as dark. He was a foreigner of some kind, but his name was English, or sounded like it. It was Duran. And sure 'twas happy enough they seemed to be, although there were no childre, and they wor livin' there more nor three years, your honour, and you couldn't tell which of thim was fonder of the other. And the cottage, yer honour, t'was all covered with roses, and sure, 'tis myself that many a time trimmed the rosebushes that ye might see up by the strame at the back of the cottage, where the summer-house was. And did ye mind the pond in front of it, yer honour?
human
I did,
gpt
Well then 'twasn't a pond at all, yer honour but a quarry hole, and nothing would do the young mistress but that a lake should be made out of it, and didn't myself help to dam up the strame to let the water run into the hollow ye see in the field, and a purty little lake it made, to be sure. Ay, sure, 'tis I mind it well, for a few days after 'twas finished, the news kem in that Boney was bet.
human
And did they live there long after that?
gpt
Little more nor two years, yer honour, for the lake was made the first year they wor there. But sure, 'tis the quare story it was, but no one minds it about here now but myself. The neighbours' childre, that wor childre wud me are all dead and gone, and sure they were foreigners, and they didn't mix nor make with anyone outside their own two selves, and till the cross kem they were as happy as the day's long.
human
And what was the cross?
gpt
Oh, then, meself doesn't rightly know the ins and outs of it, yer honour; but ye see the way it was--one day when the master was away in Dublin, there drove up to the door a dark woman, that was more like a gipsy than anything else, and with big goold rings in her ears, and myself chanced to be in the garden behind the house trimmin' them same rose bushes, an' I only heard an odd word or two. But as far as I could hear, the dark woman, she was saying that the poor darlin' lady had no right to call herself Mrs. Duran at all, for that he was ayther promised to marry her, or was married to her, meself didn't rightly know till after, for I was only a gorsoon then, yer honour, and didn't know much about it; but when the strange woman went away, and I went into the cottage to ask the mistress if she had any more for me to do, she was as white as a ghost, she, that used always to be bloomin' like one of the roses ye'd see in them hedges there in the month of June. Well, yer honour, she told me she wouldn't want anythin' till mornin', and sure meself never set eyes on her alive again.
human
Why, what happened?
gpt
What happened is it, yer honour? Sure there never was a mournfuller story. The master kem home that night, but there was no sign of the poor mistress. I heard long after that she had left a letter, but I never heard tell of what was in it. Well, sure, he was nearly out of his mind, and then when there was no sign of her comin' back he went away to foreign parts, and myself thought he'd never come back ayther, but he came home one mornin' and he went on livin' in the cottage as he did before when they wor together. The only one, barrin' an old woman of a servant, that he ever let about the house, was myself, for ye see, yer honour, he knew the poor young mistress had a likin' for me, and he used to employ me in lookin' after the roses and keepin' the summer house in order, where I often saw himself and herself sitting together, and often it was he sat there lookin' as lonesome as a churchyard in the night, yer honour, and sure 'twas hardly a word he ever spoke. And then I knew that he was as fond as ever of the poor mistress, and that 'twas thinkin' of her all the time he was. And didn't myself see her picture in his bedroom, and ye'd think 'twas smilin' at ye she was out o' the frame, and then I knew the strange woman had wronged her and him.
human
And how long did he live there alone?
gpt
Sure, that's the quarest part of the story, yer honour. Ye see, when the poor mistress was gone he didn't mind the lake, and the water began to sink into the ground, and then there kem one dry summer when all the strames in the country ran dry. It was the driest summer I ever remember, and the grass was as thin and as brown as my old coat, and as little nourishin', and sure one mornin' we noticed somethin' under the shallow water of the lake, and what was it but the body of the poor mistress? And after that when we buried her in the churchyard beyond the hill there, the poor master left the place and the cottage was shut up, for no one would live in it, and the fields around it were tuk by Mr. Toole that had a farm next to it, and 'tis in the hollow where you might see the sheep browsin' this minnit the poor lady was found.