CHAPTER III.
THE CLOVEN HOOF.
My lady's preparations were completed at last, and, thanks to hermaternal supervision, so were those of her favourite son. Though soclose at hand, she went little into Dublin; for the sight of manystrange uniforms reminded her of a past time, the associationsconnected with which she did her best to bury. She knew only,therefore, by rumour what was passing--by the reports of the_Gazette_, by conversations with Lord Clare. As for Curran, there wasnothing to be got from him. He was as surly and morose as possible;said rude things about the Orange Societies; told her details ofatrocities which, she felt sure, must be exaggerated; quarrelled withher about the scarlet woman; showed signs of becoming as bigoted onone side as she half admitted herself to be on the other.
She grew almost reconciled to the necessity of going northwards, forShane's conduct gave her serious alarm. He almost lived at the LittleHouse, and she saw the possibility, if the journey were delayed muchlonger, of his declining to go at all. For all Norah's influence wasevidently thrown into the scale against her, and she bitterlyregretted now having shot off that arrow at Crow Street.
The artful damsel was striving to instil into her lover's mind that itwas cowardly to go away at this juncture; and it was only bypretending to have private intelligence from the chancellor that hismother could soothe his _amour propre_ to sleep.
She was credibly informed, so she declared, that Paris spies had toldDublin spies, who had whispered it at the Castle, that the Frenchfleet would certainly make for the north. It stood to reason theywould not sail into Cork Harbour or Dublin Bay, where their foe wasready to receive them. Not a bit of it. They would make for thelonely, rock-bound coast of Donegal or Antrim, and young Lord Glandorewould cover himself with glory by appearing at the head of theyeomanry in the neighbourhood to harass the landing of the troops.
This was just such a wild idea as suited the youthful fire-eater. Hesaw, in his mind's eye, the shattered vessels on his iron rocks ofEnnishowen; a feeble resistance and surrender--for a mere handfulcould do anything on those cliffs--and gave way, as usual, to hismother. But she felt that, if they were to go, they must be off asspeedily as possible, or even her influence would fail at the lastmoment, and that which she most dreaded might take place, despite herefforts.
Her indignation against the lady of the Little House knew no bounds.That she should immolate her own daughter for the mean purpose ofrevenging herself upon a rival, was too horrible! It was reallyamazing to consider what these Catholics were capable of! They had noconsciences. They were ready to commit any enormity, because when itwas done they could go to confession, wipe the stain off the slate,and come back smiling. Lord Clare was perfectly right about thescarlet woman, and Mr. Curran in his dotage. For every sort of reasonthese Catholics must be kept down. No punishment was bad enough forthem--they should be locked in cages like wild beasts--they wereabsolutely incorrigible--at least, so thought the Swaddler. Doreen wasturning out abominably. If she too were not soon caged, she would berunning off some day with a groom--or a United Irishman, which wasworse, breaking her father's heart, and dragging his name through themire. She preached to her brother on this subject, making him veryuneasy, and gave up looking after her poor, lest, meeting Mrs. Gillin,she might forget herself.
Her preparations were complete, yet still she lingered at the Abbey.Society was in such a state of suspense that freedom of action seemedparalysed. The lady-lieutenant was frightened, and talked of fleeingto London, yet she delayed her journey. The mall and the Beaux-walkwere both as full as ever. People went thither in hopes of decidednews one way or other--which never came; and being there, they rodeand gossiped and joked, because it was the habit to do so.
Emmett and his friends were becoming grievously troubled, for thesplit in their camp widened daily. Were the French playing with theirIrish allies? This continued inaction on their part wasincomprehensible; for summer had faded to autumn, autumn wasshrivelling into winter--it was almost too late to expect assistancenow. Must the effort be postponed till next year? or a forlornhope be attempted single-handed? To make it now would be madness, forrains were pouring down with Hibernian vehemence--the country wassodden--would soon be frozen--the exposed patriots would die off likerotten sheep. To wait till next year was a bad prospect--who cancalculate what may happen in six months? The evil acts of theexecutive were piling up with terrible velocity. A sense of treacheryand of dismay seemed to hang over the capital, for none could becertain who had taken the oath and who had not. Fathers were known tobe loyalists whose sons had received the tonsure. Peasant mothers hadput pikes in hiding whose daughters were living with the soldiers.Friends met and dined, and laughed with each other about the widedivergence of their views, just as they had done for some time past;but the feeling that though they differed their friendship would notwane was beginning to be shaken, for Major Sirr and his sinister bandwere abroad. No one was safe from the informer.
There was a dinner-party at the Abbey--a party of typical incongruity.The chancellor was there, all smiles and airiness. Mr. Curran wasthere, who was becoming strangely absent and sour; his little primroseSara too, who looked delicate and nervous, and shrank, as if in pain,from conversation, which of course turned on politics. Cassidy wasthere too, in humble attendance on Doreen; and young Robert Emmett,whom the chancellor condescended to twit scornfully on his behaviour.
'Keep your head out of the noose, my dear young friend!' he said. 'Noone is so small as to escape the vigilant eye of a paternalgovernment. Do you suppose we are not informed of your pratings withinTrinity? Your bursts of baby-eloquence, which are flowery but foolish?It is a harmless amusement possibly within those aged walls, and thewild talk of undergraduates is of little moment, yet I warn you thatit will not be permitted much longer. Oh dear no! We won't do you thehonour of arresting you. That would give you too much importance. Butit may become my painful duty, as chancellor of that university aswell as of this realm, to erase your name with others from its books,unless you mend your manners--that's all; so be warned and wise intime.
Robert chafed and choked at such language as this, which seemed tomark him for a schoolboy before his wistful love; but he stood in suchawe of the stately dowager that he only reddened and hung his head.Then Lord Clare, feeling merry, felt disposed to break a lance withhis ancient enemy of the Bar; he therefore gaily asked if he mighttake a glass with Colonel Curran of the Lawyer's Corps--whose militaryskill would soon be brought into play, considering that the paternalGovernment had decided at last to propose a suspension of HabeasCorpus. The United Irishmen were behaving so badly--were declaiming inso provoking a fashion about their bonds, that it was as well to showthem for a moment what slavery really meant. But this pleasant littlesally fell dismally flat; for Curran was already aware of thisdreadful resolve, and did not rise in vehement expostulation, as theother expected. So had Doreen heard of it. Her eye brightened alittle, but her hand never shook as she leisurely peeled a peach.
When the news had first gone forth, she had ridden over to the Priory,lest haply some one might be there who could advise what might best bedone. She found Curran on his doorstep, putting on his gloves.
'I knew they'd do it,' was all he said to her. 'You stop here till Ireturn. I am going to Mr. Grattan.'
Presently he came cantering back on his shaggy pony, and said to theanxious girl:
'There is nothing for it but patience. Mr. Grattan expected this, andso did I. We shall oppose the bill, but that will make no difference.This wretched land is doomed. If the bill is carried, Mr. Grattan willretire from parliament, and so shall I. We are both sick of themurderous farce.' Then, drumming his fingers on the window, in anattempt to keep down his agitation, he muttered forth at intervals:'Habeas Corpus! the very last guardian of our liberties! They'll bringin the knife when every one's asleep, and stab our guardian in thedark!'
So the lawyer--not taken unawares--only smiled, and, bowing stiffly
over his glass, asked quietly:
'Did you ever read AEschylus, my lord? I know you are a fine scholar.You always remind me of Mercury in "Prometheus Vinctus," who wasconstantly abusing the poor martyr for howling, when his onlygrievance was a stake of adamant through his breast!'
The party broke up early, as both of the elder gentlemen were due atthe House, and the social atmosphere was stormy. My Lord Clarewhispered to his old friend at starting that he would call round inthe morning, as he had something very particular to say to her. Doreentook the opportunity of imploring Curran to send a message to theshebeen, with intelligence as to the fate of the bill (care ofred-polled Biddy), that she might know from him what happened with assmall a delay as possible.
That astute person turned out but too true a prophet. The bill whichwas to close the courts of law, and place power over life and propertyin the hands of military despots (and such despots!), was shuffledinto the House by the attorney-general at 2 a.m., and read for thesecond time after _grave and mature deliberation_ at 2.10 a.m.; andDoreen, when she read the note which informed her that it was carriedby 137 against 7, had an extra douche of sorrow poured over her, inthat her too facile parent had been its godfather!
So martial law was declared, and the humane and benignant soldiery,whose good feeling had already been proven at Armagh and elsewhere,were to work their wicked will unrestrained. Doreen was too much upsetto appear at breakfast, so my lady picnicked alone on the window-seatwhich looked upon the stable-yard, watching for her vagrant darling,keeping a keen look-out, too, as to whether her niece went out for ascamper. For my lady had passed a sleepless night--one of thoseterrible _nuits blanches_ much worse than any nightmare--when all oursins sit heavy on our chests; when our brains throb to bursting, andwe hope there is no hereafter. She tossed--listening for Shane'sreturn--growing more feverish as hour after hour passed silently.Still at the Little House! This was maddening. The vision of Shane andNorah arriving to throw themselves upon their knees, danced before hereyes. Once or twice, when sinking into a doze, she sat up with astart, clutching the luxuriant braids of white hair which gave her inher looking-glass such an odd look of winter and autumn united.Manfully she had quelled any shrinking on her own account aboutreturning to Ennishowen. To her who had borne so much, what mattered alittle extra suffering? It was excellent advice that her niece hadgiven her. The way, and the only way, out of the labyrinth was totransfer the establishment _en bloc_; she had recognised the fact, andhad resolved, for her dear boy's sake, not to spare herself. But now,in dead of night, when the past stood out in phosphorescent light, andthe future loomed even yet more ghastly, she had to fight the oldweary moral fight again, in which she had so frequently been worsted.Again she saw her husband on that bed of chairs at Daly's. Again sheheard him say, ere the last rattle stopped his voice for ever, 'Makeright that wrong while there is time!' Again she welled over withimpotent rage, whimsically mixed with penitence, in that she must wearthe Nessus shirt which he had shuffled off long since. She realised,as she ruminated, that she had been deceiving herself as to themotives which kept her still at Strogue. It was a terror of the islandof Glas-aitch-e at Ennishowen--of the tales which each twig and shrubwould tell her there--of the songs which the waves would sing to heras they dashed against the cliffs--which had really delayed herstarting. But there must be an end of this weakness. All was ready.For Shane's sake she would like to start upon the morrow, for thesooner she drank her dose the better; but, unfortunately, a promisehad been given to attend their excellencies at a great ball which wasto take place at the Castle--and to retire suddenly, in ticklish timeslike these, would certainly be construed as big with political import.But after all, this fete (which was to show the scum that theirbetters did not fear them) would be past in a few days. Till that timearrived my lady would continue to wait; but in order to underline forherself in her midnight self-communing the determination that therewas to be no more cowardice, she then and there resolved that thegreat coach should take them upon the very same evening within theCastle-yard, and spirit them forward on their way, instead of making afresh start from the Abbey on the morrow. This resolution being cometo, my lady's mind became calmer. As the blue light of wintry morningstruggled in she felt quite relieved, and got up presently--asimperious as usual--to await Lord Clare's communication, and watch thestable-yard for Shane's return.
It was fully eleven o'clock before Lord Clare's carriage wheezed upthe avenue--the casket which held Ireland's great man. For once Doreenhad not bucketed forth on one of her wild rides. Shane had not yetcome in.
My lady swept out upon the narrow terrace in front of the hall-door toreceive her guest. He must stand in need of refreshment; what would heplease to take?
He would take nothing for the moment. Yes--he would. It was a strangeconceit in one who had visited there as a familiar gossip during somany years. He would take a view of Strogue Abbey--he would be shownover the mansion by its chatelaine. My lady was surprised. Indeed, shehad not been over the quaint place herself for ages. What did my LordClare desire to see? Was it the dungeon? or the ancient kitchen andbuttery, with its black woodwork, or the water-tower?
He would see everything while he was about it, he said. In the firstinstance the young men's wing, with its museum of fishing-rods andguns--and--what was that over it--an armoury? Oh, indeed! he wouldlike to look at it.
'But perchance I should disturb the young gentlemen,' her guest saidwith hesitation. 'By-the-bye, has your son gone out?'
To Lord Clare's genuine astonishment, my lady reddened and lookedaway. Could she know the mission on which he had come? If so, then shewas a greater mistress of her face than he supposed. If not, whattroubled her? He forgot that shrined in her love there was but oneson. That while he was hinting of the second, she, with sorrow, wasthinking of the first--who was dallying--where?
The twain wandered in the young men's rooms--in Shane's, whose bed wassmooth and neat--in Terence's, where faithful Phil was sitting, deeplyengrossed in fly-making, as innocently as if he had never heard of abough in England's crown.
'Both boys out, then? so much the better,' gaily quoth the chancellor,who chose for a moment to ignore Terence's mysterious absence. 'I hopeTerence is safe; I can assure you Shane is; I saw him not an hoursince. He roystered with the Blasters all night, and of course had tofight a duel in the morning. Is not the motto of their gay society"Nemo me impune lacessit"? But he didn't get a scratch--indeed he's asplendid swordsman--such a tactician--so sharp and quick of eye! Imust really congratulate him when he comes in by-and-by. Those spiralstairs? Ah! That's the armoury.'
Phil dropped his flies, and leapt up from his seat. My lady and herguest, taking no heed of him, climbed upward, opened the armoury-door,went in and shut it. He could hear the creaking of their feetabove. What could he do? Nothing! He sank panting on his seat,bewildered--then, stealing out, made the best of his way to theshebeen.
'By-the-bye, where is Terence?' asked Lord Clare. 'You don't know? Ido. My poor old friend, prepare yourself for a shock. Sit down.'
With a gentleness which would have astonished his numerous enemies,the chancellor laid his two hands on my lady's shoulders and pressedher into a seat. The pupils of her eyes assumed that look, as of astartled hare, which shone in them sometimes. She sat down silentlyand waited.
Had Terence been guilty of something base? That was her first thought,in which there was a touch of remorse. Then came a feeling of anger inthat he existed at all. Oh that he had never been born, or had diedin his early childhood! This in its turn was followed by intenseself-loathing; but her face remained immovable, while she looked upwith inquiring gaze.
'I have most unpleasant news for you,' said Lord Clare kindly, for heliked my lady better than any one except himself, 'and thought itwould come best to you from me. For we'll hush the matter up--resteasy on that score, trusting that no worse may come of it. Terence, asyou know, was rude to me at Crow Street, t'other day. I didn't mindhis petulance, of course; but for your sake I
was hurt that he shouldhave gone astray and made an exhibition of himself in public. It'syour rough diamond Curran's fault, with his romantic balderdash abouthis country. He threw the young man into dangerous society, forgettingthat it takes a seasoned head to weigh the hollowness of enthusiasm.Terence has been bitten by the prevailing rabies; the fever's hot uponhim, and being of a higher breed than his companions, has rushedstraightway into action, instead of merely prating like the others. Ashis mother, you should have greater influence over him than any one.Argue him out of his dangerous course. You think he's at Cork on lawbusiness? He's strutting up and down the landing-stage at Brest, withTone and Hoche, and all the rest of the jays in peacock-plumes. He'surging the bevy of juvenile generals there to come across the water,despite the lateness of the season; in fact, he's beginning the riskygame which brought Balmerino, Kilmarnock, Lovat, to the block. I'msure of what I state--trust me for that. Why! these hot-pated fools donothing that we're not informed of; and Mr. Pitt's staff in France isevery whit as sharp as ours here. Do you desire a proof that I speakwith authority? What are these things stacked here, under thesecloths, within these presses, even piled, as you see, right up thechimney!' Lord Clare moved about the room with the precision ofone who is sure of what he does. 'Pikeheads, my lady--rough butefficient--which are to rip his Majesty's soldiers when the struggleshall begin. It was an ingenious notion to store them under the roofof a known loyalist. Who placed them here? Your ingenuous boy,Terence, with the assistance of the people at the shebeen below. That"Irish Slave," by the way, must have a visit from us; also the fairdame on whose ground it stands. Look at this paper. A design for apikehead, precisely like these, with written directions--in whosehand? Terence's! I gave five hundred guineas for that piece of paper.See! do not tremble--it's destroyed--the evidence is gone.'
My lady sat upright in her chair without moving, staring up at thespeaker, scarcely comprehending what he said, through the singing inher ears. Terence, her son, had actually joined the disaffected--thesedeluded persons whose proceedings shocked all her prejudices--whom shesincerely believed were only fit for Bedlam. He might come to anignominious death unless she put forth all her influence to drag himfrom the danger. What influence could she expect to have? Whose faultwas it that she had none? Her sin was finding her out in an unexpectedfashion. A great cry rose up within her, that her fortitude was nearits end. It broke from her bosom in a sigh of weariness. She lookedold and haggard as she stared up at the chancellor. Her ancientfriends poke of the situation: of how the commander-in-chief my LordCarhampton must inaugurate a new regime, now that martial law wasdeclared; of how, all things considered, in the complications whichwere arising, it would be wise for the denizens of the Abbey to departshortly. Terence might be expected back in a day or two; then hismother must speak to him and take him with her if she could. It wouldbe well to take Miss Wolfe away too, as she was playing the fool mostegregiously. She, too, had a hand in this pike-stacking.
My Lord Clare laughed in his disagreeable manner as he recounted howhe had succeeded in terrifying poor vacillating Arthur Wolfe abouther. At all events it was most wise that Lord Glandore should go; forit would be a terrible thing--supposing Terence proved obstinate--ifthe brothers should come to be in rival camps upon the scene ofaction.
'My dear lady,' he concluded, 'we shall have a hot time of it beforewe've done, I do assure you. Take your measures as I advise. Now Imust be off to turn the screw upon the "Irish Slave."'
The coach rolled citywards. My lady, face to face with a new trouble,clung to the one speck of brightness which glittered like a star.Gillin certainly was committing herself. There was to be a search uponher premises. Her ruin would surely follow. The pressure from thatside would be removed. Thank heaven for that! Yes! This was a real rayof light shining from out the gloom. Things at their worst must mend.With firm step the countess swept along the passages, striving tostifle the remorse which whispered that if evil came to Terence, shewould be responsible. She would follow her friend's sage advice to theletter, she determined. It was time to do battle with Doreen, as toher proposed visit to the north.
Miss Wolfe was bending over the sun-dial in her little flower-plot,which was sad-looking with quaint-toned chrysanthemums, her head bowedupon her arms--a statue of despair. An open letter lay crumpled at herfeet. My lady saw it and smiled grimly. Indeed, the poor maiden hadreceived a terrible blow--one heavy enough to stagger even herfirmly-knit nature. The beauteous _Chateau en Irlande_, which she hadbeen so busy building, had come crashing down. Its gargoyles andturrets were admirable to behold--but, alas! its foundations were ofsand. It had toppled bodily upon her head, and she was stunned by thecompleteness of the ruin. Her fond parent had indited her a notebidding her pack up her clothes; for, that she might be removed fromdanger, she was to go to Glas-aitch-e with her aunt.
She was caught in her own trap. Those dainty visions of returning toher father, of weaning him from the flesh-pots, of bolstering him upin the buckram of her love against his weak sensual self, werevanished. 'She was to be taken away out of danger,' her cruel fatherwrote, as though she did not pant for danger as doth the war-horse!The misfortunes which might result from this unlooked-for arrangementrose up before her one by one, each armed with its separate shiver.The struggle would come. She, whose heart was wrapped in it--who hadmade up her mind in which direction duty lay--would be a prisoner faraway in a desert island, to which news would trickle slowly: that wasbad enough. But of late she had become morbidly anxious, on account ofthe disorganisation which delay was causing among the United Irishmen.It was only by her own personal influence that Russell and Bond hadbowed to Tom Emmett's dictum, and consented to await Terence's return.Were the French coming, or were they not? If not, would the societyfling down the gauntlet alone? If it should do so, what would be theresult? Would Emmett continue to carry his point as to delay? If hefailed in his endeavours, what could be expected to take place? Evenif he should be able to control the unruly, how fraught with dangerwas the prospect. Help from France was the willow that bound thesticks; that band removed, with what ease might each separately bebroken!
At sound of my lady's footstep, Doreen started from her crouchingattitude. Her aunt's were the last eyes on earth which she would wishto pry into her despair. She was vaguely suspicious too that heraunt's wild projects of matrimony had something to do with this lastarrangement. It was, beside the others, a mild phase of annoyance nodoubt, but it certainly was annoying to consider that in Donegal shewould find herself shut up well-nigh alone with Shane, who, urged byhis mother, might tease her dreadfully. Taken altogether, her futurelooked black as Styx. She promised herself to make one effort more toremain behind in Dublin. Then it flashed upon her that perchance someone had warned her father of the prominence which she had assumed oflate. Yet who would tell him? Her precautions were always well taken.In public she acted with extreme reserve towards Tom Emmett and therest. Private interviews had always been held at obscure cottages,whose owners she knew would be hanged ere they betrayed her. There wasno doubt though, she reflected with sore foreboding, that there weretraitors somewhere. If only they could be unmasked. Well, well! timeunravels many tangles.
'I see your father has written to you,' my lady said, stepping downinto the garden. 'He must even defend you against yourself. Upon myword, the Irish are all insane. I shall have the honour to be yourkeeper for awhile--in a most impregnable asylum.'
Then it was her aunt who had suggested this step. At this instant howbitterly she hated her!
'I have yet to learn,' she said with hauteur, 'what business you haveto interfere with me. I am of age, and not your daughter.'
'You will not presume to disobey your father, I suppose?' the countessinquired coldly. 'Though I ought rather to be surprised if for onceyou are dutiful.'
'My duty is to my mother's people!' Doreen murmured absently.
'I told you once before,' her aunt went on, unheeding, 'that you woulddisgrace the family and break your father's heart. Fo
r both reasons itis my distinct business to interfere with you. The friends whom youhave chosen to make, are rushing like sheep to the slaughter. Youshall not be one of the flock if I can help it. I have spoken gravelyto your father about you; and so has some one else--Lord Clare.'
'Lord Clare!' echoed Doreen, astonished. 'What does he know about me?'
'Too much,' retorted her aunt, dryly. 'He showed me, just now, adelectable sight in the armoury, a discovery which cost him fivehundred guineas. For shame! It is kindness to deem you mad.'
'How did he know of the pikes?' startled Doreen inquired.
'Through Terence,' replied my lady, shortly--for she knew not how muchor how little her niece and son were mixed up in this affair, andalways instinctively avoided talking of the latter to the former.There was a long pause, during which the dowager continued to eye herniece.
'Aunt, I will go with you to Donegal!' Miss Wolfe said slowly, herlarge eyes peering with vague terror into space. 'I think now I willtake a walk, for I am rather upset;' and quietly taking her garden-hatfrom the bench hard-by, she knotted its ribbons under her chin, anddisappeared between the beech hedges of the rosary.
There are moments in most lives when so sharp a pang shoots throughour hearts, that we feel there is nothing left but to seek a remotecovert and wait for death. Such strokes age us suddenly and surely. Tofew is it given to become old by slow and imperceptible steps. Weremain in the solitude of our covert without speech; almost withoutfeeling. Presently we perceive that we were mistaken about death (forthe White Pilgrim comes not for the bidding); and emerge into theworld again, apparently the same as before--young outwardly, andsmooth-browed, but really altogether different. Poets have sung muchof broken hearts, at which cynics have scoffed, time out of mind.Hearts have broken under a sudden mental shock, but seldom. They aremore usually turned inside out and changed.
Doreen had just received such a shock as calls imperatively forsolitude. Then the snake in the grass--the Judas--was Terence--her owncousin! Rapidly she walked through the rosary, and out by the woodengate into the open--away--inland across the fields, for miles.
She was surprised to find that she felt more grieved than was at allnecessary, in that the snake was Terence. Only a few minutes ago shehad been praying heaven to unmask the villain, with the laudableintention of pointing him out to the reprobation and contempt of thesociety. But Terence! The open-visaged, careless youth who exasperatedher, as a woman, chiefly because he was prodigal of promise which wasnot likely to be fulfilled. He had been so importunate in blunderingpuppy fashion (really almost as ridiculous as Cassidy), heaving absurdsighs, carrying on his intermittent wooing in so ludicrously naive amanner, as to provoke scorn in so high-spirited a mistress. Lookingwithin herself, she discovered that behind her light estimate of hisamatory ravings there was a genuine liking for the lad. Could she havebeen entirely mistaken in him? Could her judgment have been utterly atfault when she decided, that if feebly endowed by nature, he was atleast honest and true? For the more she considered the subject as shetrudged across country, the more she felt that it would be indeedgrievous if that fine open face, which had looked so noble in itsindignation on account of the martyr Orr, should turn out to be only agrinning mask.
Terence the Judas--the betrayer of the innocent--the snarer of theunwary! Terence, her cousin, whose jocund visage she admitted to berather dear to her. If he proved so base a scoundrel, in whom thenmight an earnest soul place trust? Was his perfidy a fall, or originalsin? She remembered how she had read wise thoughts in books, whereinsages had explained that our nature is unstable, liable to trip--thatnone can resist temptation if clothed in the fittest garb. Is not theprayer which should be oftenest on our lips, 'Lead us not, O God, intotemptation?' Women are perverse, choosing always the left one, whenthey ought to take the right turning; and with the perversity of womenDoreen chose at once to accept the most distasteful phase of thesituation. She took it for granted that Terence was in the wrong,instead of more prudently suspending her judgment till his return fromFrance.
The feet of her cousin were cloven. He wore a tail and smelt ofbrimstone. She stood still beside a paling as she thought of him, andshook it in a rage with both her hands, while a vague feeling ofuneasiness came over her in that she should care so much that Terenceshould prove the Judas. Yet was she not quite justified in her dismay?Was it not natural that her faith in truth and goodness should bethrown out of gear by such low calculating turpitude? Clutching thegnarled paling, the unhappy lady bowed her face on it and burst intosobs which shook her to the centre.
Five hundred guineas! That was the sharpest of the many thongs whichsmote her. She had declined to look at the sordid motive--it was sovery mean and vile. But now it clamoured with open palms at the gatesof her brain, and shouted deafeningly. Vulgar money troubles are atthe bottom of everything that's base! What a pity that there should besuch a thing as money! Five hundred guineas! How small--how miserablea sum! He was always in debt, she knew: to such easy-going creaturesas he always seemed to be, debt was a state of nature. But could hehave sunk so low as this? Was he capable, for five hundred guineas, ofsuddenly assuming a noble love of motherland, which was a farce--oflaying a gin for the feet of persons who had never injured him--nay,whom he reckoned among his dearest friends? For the wretched price offive hundred guineas, could he look her--his cousin, almost hissister--in the face, and endeavour to steal her heart, that he mightstick it on a pole for the amusement of fellow-traitors? Traitor!Arch-traitor--wretch! Tears having come to her relief, Doreen sat onthe grass and wept, and felt like the wounded beast within the covert.
Piecing scraps together, with the key which my lady had furnished,many cloudy matters became clear. My lady was proud and prejudiced,but her pride revolted against treachery. If not, why had she suddenlywarned her niece to see that her correspondence was not tampered with?Who should tamper with it? Not Jug, or Biddy, or Phil. They werechildren of the soil, who knew not treachery. How could my lady knowof any tampering of theirs? No! It was against Terence--the son whommy lady loved not--whose unworthy proceedings filled her aristocraticsoul with repugnance--that she had warned her niece. Lord Clare knewthe very wording of Theobald's last letter--through whom? ThroughTerence, of course--for five hundred guineas--alas! alas!
All of a sudden a new idea struck Doreen, and she sat up, her cheeksblanched and tear-stained. The traitor had worked well for thedegrading pittance. He had succeeded in hoodwinking the society aswell as herself. He was now at Brest, with every secret in hispossession--every detail--every aspiration--cut and dried--in coldblack and white--and she it was who had despatched him. The Emmetts,Russell, Bond, were doomed men. Their young lives were unconsciouslysacrificed by her. There was no end to the blood for which she wouldbe answerable. The cycle of her frenzied thoughts came back to thepoint at which she started. She had been trifling like some innocentchild with burning brands which had scorched her. Not herself alone.Her life was her own, for better or for worse. When she should becalled to appear before the throne to account for her deeds, she wouldbe asked, 'Why broke you your father's heart for a chimera? why didyou lead Emmett, Russell, Bond, by your wiles to the scaffold? Whowere you to set yourself up as a teacher? To lure honest men, like asiren, to destruction? What could her faltering answer be? I meantwell. I acted for the best. I was presumptuous. I am sorry.... Canregret undo the injuries which are due to our presumption? No. Thewretched Doreen was crushed by an overwhelming sense of her ownlittleness and failure. There was nothing for it but to kneel down andcry, 'I have sinned;' to clasp her sorrow and take it to the north,there to hold vigils of unfruitful repentance, whilst praying humblyto be released from earth. The wilds of Glas-aitch-e should be hercovert. Into it she would creep like a stricken doe. If the WhitePilgrim would obey her summons, with what gratitude she would cling tohis filmy raiment! If he refused to hearken to her pleading--why thenshe must, kneeling on the stones, endure unto the end with suchmeekness as a vengeful heaven might vouchsafe to her.
The wild paroxysm past, she got up and returned with trailing feettowards the Abbey. Her limbs were aching from contact with dankherbage: her brogues and stockings soiled with clinging mud. Adrizzling veil was settling on the earth, which looked, as far as kenmight reach, dun-toned and colourless. Raising dazed eyes, she behelda slim figure moving with rapid strides, and recognised young Robertfrom afar.
What could he be doing? Was he also crushed in spirit, as weary of theworld as she; wandering in search of peace? or on one of his manymissions of private charity?
He had been to the Abbey in quest of her; was told by a garden-ladthat she had passed through the wooden postern, and had tracked herwanderings from hut to hut.
'They are going too far!' he said abruptly, with bent brows, as heturned to walk back with her. 'Already the squireens are abroad,imitating their fellows in the north. Dublin's in a ferment. It needsbut the coming of the French to settle the affair at a blow. Everymagistrate has received orders to raise twenty men to preserve thepeace in place of the militia, should these be ordered to the coast.But they overreach themselves. Decent people are so furious at thetactics of Lord Clare, that even the militia are dying to turn againstthe Government. Cassidy says so, who should know, seeing that he keepsup a friendship with the Castle. I speak to-night at the DebatingClub. Look at these notes,' he added, smiling. '"Recipe to make aRebel! Take one loyal subject uninfluenced by pension; burn his houseover his head; murder his wife and babes before his eyes; march awaywith such plunder as you choose to save from the flames----" But whatis the matter? You look ill!'
'I am leaving Dublin almost at once,' Doreen said, 'and am glad of it.If there is one power which has the gift of withering up the soul, itis treachery! I am sick of the world. Go to your brother. Tell him thecause is lost. One who held all their secrets has betrayed them--forfive hundred guineas; that is their value in his eyes.'
Here the girl broke into wild laughter--she who never laughed; andRobert looked at her in surprise, with a sense of coldness, creeping.Then, with a hectic spot upon each cheek, she eased her breast withwords; recounted all she knew, and much more which was conjecture,though in her perturbed state she was not aware of it. Explained thatthey were all dupes of Terence's false _bonhomie_--that he had coldlyand deliberately played a part; had, as it were, eaten their bread andsalt, and then stabbed them in the back. In the midst of the hideousrecital, her voice choked in a great gulp, and clasping her hot facewith her hands, she burst into a flood of tears.
Ardent young Robert was shocked, but not convinced. Terence! whomevery one loved for his bright eyes, through which shone forth anhonest soul. To whom Robert and fellow-undergraduates looked up as toa _preux chevalier_ in the matter of grouse-shooting and the beguilingof the wily trout. He could not believe such a thing, and would not.Lord Clare was capable of any amount of lying. His ways were sotortuous that they were difficult to follow. His spies were legion,who ferreted out everything. No doubt Phil and Biddy had been watched;they had billed and cooed too loudly as they had handed the pikes overthe wall. Terence was unduly heedless about money; his friendsfrequently declared that he didn't know its value. It was absolutelyout of the question that he should suddenly be tempted to do so craftyand mean a thing. As for the delegates of the society being betrayedand their secrets known, there was nothing new in that. Had they not,months ago, been arrested at his own chambers, their papers seized,themselves arbitrarily imprisoned, and afterwards as arbitrarilyreleased? He could not fathom the tactics of the executive, the youthwas forced to confess, for their movements seemed planned tocircumvent each other. The rank and file were being captured by dozensand hanged, while the commanders and organisers of the scheme werepermitted to remain at large.
It was not unpleasing to Doreen to hear her cousin defended; but sheshook her head.
'If the French were to come now,' she said, 'they might set thingsright; but then they must come in force; and Terence, having gone toBrest, would probably clinch the irresolution of Hoche, andeffectually decide him not to come at all. Verily, the world and itsaffairs were vexation of spirit; conspiracy a disheartening game;Ireland an accursed land, foredoomed to eternal misery.'
By the wooden postern which gave access to the rosary, stood a groupof peasants, who humbly bowed to Miss Wolfe, then returned to thedirge of lamentation which her appearance had interrupted.
'Jug Coyle, what is the matter?' Doreen inquired; for she recognisedin a heaving heap before her the shattered remains of that lady.
'Whisht! acushla!' a man whispered. 'Let her tears flow. Sure she'sburned out of house and home. Her cabin's desthroyed. The sodgers--badluck to 'em!--have taken her bit of bacon and the dhrop of potteenthe quality used to loike, and thin they began to turn up thepratey-garden, and Biddy gave a yelp and wanted to run to the LittleHouse, but the blagyards gagged her mouth with an ould rag, and tukher away screeching.'
'The "Irish Slave" destroyed?' inquired Robert.
'Yes, your honour,' replied the man, lowering his voice as he glancedaround. 'But they didn't find much. Phil, Masther Terence's man, camedown from the Abbey to give the office, and most of the pike-headswere tossed over the wall, till we can put 'em back to-night. Wake up,Jug, and spake with the lady. Sure the shock has druv the colloughcrazy. When the thatch was all ablaze we went up to Madam Gillin, whoalways has the kind word and bit and sup; but she said she could donothing, and bade us come to you.'
'To me!' echoed Doreen, bitterly. 'Am I not too a Catholic, andhelpless?'
'But it's your father's the great gintleman,' urged the fellowcoaxingly, as he twisted his corbeen between his horny hands. 'If ye'dspake the word, acushla----'
'My father!' Doreen groaned, breaking abruptly through the knot ofsuppliants. 'What can he do? He is sending me away. I'll pray to Godfor you; but He has been deaf this long while.'
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3) Page 3
