My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Lewis Wingfield

  CHAPTER V.

  THE ALTAR OF MOLOCH.

  Though Shane roared out gay toasts to the health of Nelson, he was byno means happy in his mind. No dwelling could be more disagreeablethan Strogue. His supposed participation in the capture of thearch-martyr was speedily punished by the people. His cattle werehoughed. It happened to be a late season; all his corn was cut andtrampled in one night by unseen avengers. He was in constant dread ofMoiley, of being sent to his account from behind a hedge--ignominiousexit for a king of Cherokees. He even felt inclined to do as manyfellow-proprietors did, namely, to barricade himself in his Abbey andendure a state of siege till better times should come. In order tocurry favour with the executive he underlined his open disavowal ofhis brother's acts, spoke flippantly of traitors; an unfeeling coursewhich did not raise him in the esteem of blunt Lord Cornwallis. Thatnobleman expressed his opinion of Pat in no measured terms, vowing, astestily he poked the fire, that the Irish were unfit to governthemselves; that, independent of the benefit which would accrue toEngland, the sooner a legislative union could be brought about, thebetter it would be for Ireland herself. The few months of hisresidence in Dublin had melted all his scruples on that head. Onprinciple, Mr. Pitt's game was an iniquitous one. There could be notwo opinions as to that. But the new Viceroy was not long indiscovering that a union would materially improve the condition of thepeople by freeing them from the persecution of bigoted factions,provided that the King could only be brought to allow that theCatholics should be permitted to exist. After all, how could a scuffleabout a union affect the lower orders? Under home-rule were they notalways slaves? Did they not profess to hate the yoke of English andAnglo-Irish equally? It would be a change of masters; a change fromtyranny to mildness; for it was understood by Lord Cornwallis that theReign of Terror had been brought about to disgust the country with itsruling classes; and that that result being attained, a skilfullycontrasted millennium was to be inaugurated instantly. The members ofthe senate had been cajoled, with a few exceptions, into disgracingthemselves beyond redemption. Could they be coaxed a stage lower--justone? Possibly. The Marquis Cornwallis, so far as his private honourwas concerned, drew the line at this. He would supervise the stew,without direct personal interference in its brewing. It did not behovea man who had won immortal laurels in the field, to stoop to put salton the tails of the Irish Lords and Commons. No! That unworthy workmust be done by the chancellor and such others as were ready to paddlein the _cloaca_. This is how it was that, despite the paling of hisstar, my Lord Clare was giving dinners--symposia intended to act asbirdlime to fluttering legislators--feasts at which hints were droppedof the future emoluments that awaited the complaisant. Mr. Pitt's ballwas rolling steadily to the goal, while my Lord Clare swept clear itscourse. The bloody drama was all but concluded now. One more trial andthe pageant at the Sessions-House would come to a close, and those whohad escaped so far would probably be permitted to disappear in themedley. Nearly all had been tried who could be safely sentenced; therewere some left whom it would be best not to try. The last seriousstate-trial must be got over without more ado--a trial complicated byprivate venom and a series of false statements which were twisted intoattempted murder as well as treason; a trial which must be soconducted as to bear sifting by the opposition, examination by thescrutiny of Europe--a trial wherein both sides would wrestle with alltheir strength and cunning. Which was to enact Jacob, and which theangel?

  Theobald Wolfe Tone having vanished from the scene, the eyes of Dublinwere still turned fearfully to the selfsame cell at the provost,wherein the companion of his last hours lingered. The people countedthe moments that were left to him. Coronachs were crooned in secretbefore their time in many a cabin, with beatings of the breast. Nonedoubted but that Charon, resting on his oars, awaited his next farewith confidence. As Terence himself expressed it--he stood on anisthmus between two lives. If one was desperately turbid, was it notbetter cheerfully to turn his back on it, and plunge with courage intothe other?

  Strogue Abbey from within, was no more pleasant to its owner than fromwithout. Doreen's serenity, which for years had made Shaneuncomfortable, assumed now a preternatural repulsion. Odours as ofgravecloths seemed to emanate from her garments. The phosphorescenceof the charnel-house was a nimbus to her head. Her brow was circled bythe calm that appertains not to mundane matters; which chills thecreeping souls of those who cling to earth. Instead of being shockedthat Theobald should have evaded the offices of the scrag-boy, she wascontent. Her hero was beyond the reach of vulgar slings and arrows.His fretted rope was snapped; the boundary was passed, the inevitableplunge taken, and he slept. A few brief days of swiftly speeding hoursand Terence would be conveyed with him in the boat of Charon, who waswaiting, to a less rugged shore. A little, little patience, and he toowould sleep. Then she, less blessed than they, would withdraw from thetroubles that weighed her down, and, meekly kneeling, would await theunveiling of the White Pilgrim. What a message was his! 'Home to thehomeless; to the restless rest!' Doreen's manner had something awfulabout it which scared another besides Shane--poor Sara, whose Robertwas unscathed and well. The cairngorm eyes of the elder damsel wereopened to their full width with the far-seeing blindness of asomnambulist. Her obstinate moods and perverse waywardness werequelled. She went about her avocations with mechanical deliberation;dusted her cousin's fishing-rods and guns in his little sanctum,as if he were only gone away upon a visit; wore her best clothes toplease her aunt; tendered regularly each morning to cousin Shane acorpse-cheek whose coldness took away the little appetite which hecould boast of; conversed calmly about events--all but the one event,which for that matter each member of the household was equallydesirous to shun. Strogue was full of spectres, and they rattled theirbones in grim concert.

  Councillor Curran, who looked like a moulting bird, grey-skinned,unkempt, essayed to speak words of comfort; but she seemed not tounderstand. What comfort could there be for one whose fairest prospectwas the cloister and the grave? Theobald had passed; a procession ofyoung shades like Banquo's sons had passed; Terence was prepared tojoin the shadowy convoy into spirit-land. Why prate of comfort? Hadnot Mr. Curran done all that might be done by man to prevent thishideous nightmare? Then he murmured something of a postponement--of adelay which might save the life of the last victim; but Doreen onlyshook her graceful head. It was better, she averred, to put asideillusions, and look straight into Truth's hard face. The postponementof the trial was impossible, and it was better so, for a speedy endwas the best boon for a true Irishman to pray for. Mr. Curran's heartdied within him to hear this girl, in the full flush of youth andbeauty, speaking of this life as though existence had no charms.

  If his stately cousin was a kill-joy in the household, Shane's motherwas no better than she. My lady alternated between fevered activity,without apparent object, and helpless lassitude. Her own ghost keptfaithful watch and ward over the countess. When Lord Clare told hergently that all hope of saving her son was gone, she gave herselfover to the phantom hand and foot; and her old friend blamed himselffor rushing, as we all have a proneness to do, to hasty conclusionsof blame. It was evident that my lady was not indifferent to thefate of her younger-born. On the contrary, she was overwhelmedby a remorseful, fascinating ecstasy, which haunted her day andnight--something connected with Terence in the past, which took fromhis mother the power to reason in clear sequence. She blinked like awhite owl in the great chair in the tapestry saloon, heeding goers orcomers no more than drifting leaves--engrossed all day by witheringmeditation till Doreen announced to her that it was time for bed. Thenshe permitted herself to be undressed and laid upon her back without aword, and blinked on at the ceiling through the still hours; and thenwas dressed and propped up again in the great chair. Some said she wasbroken; some that her circulation was weak; some that paralysis wasimminent. Lord Clare and Curran alone amongst her friends perceivedthat it was her mind that was diseased--that there was a rooted sorrowfestering
there which no mortal hand might have strength to pluckaway.

  News of the countess's state was brought by Shane to the Little House,whither he escaped whene'er he could, to forget his dismal home in thecompany of Norah. But his welcome there was no longer what it used tobe, even though through his good offices the dreadful infliction ofsoldiers' wives had been removed. Madam Gillin felt too strongly theheartless selfishness of Lord Glandore to be decently civil to him,even though by civility her child might win a coronet. For a host ofreasons, her sympathies were all with Terence. When Shane talkedquerulously about his mother, she listened eagerly, seeing in fancythe dying man at Daly's, who implored his stern wife to save herselffrom the torment he then suffered. But she would not. Nemesis, if slowof foot, is sure--her vengeance complete, if tardy.

  The fatal day in due course arrived which was big with the fate ofTerence. Curran implored Doreen to stop at home--in vain. Her resolvewas immutable. Since her cousin's trial could not be postponed, shedecided to see the last of him whom she had dared to doubt. Underescort of the little advocate, she entered the Sessions-House, andtook her seat close to the dock. When the inevitable sentence shouldcome to be spoken, the brown hand which he loved best in all the worldwould grasp his firmly. His courage would not waver. He was too goodand true for that. But he should in that supreme moment read the lovethat went out from her, and with it a promise that she would not staylong behind.

  Her father was to occupy the bench with my Lord Carleton. Toler(bully, butcher, and buffoon), whose nose was like a scarletpincushion well studded, was down for the prosecution; he of thesilver tongue for the defence. The hall was close and inconvenient;its murky skylight thick with dust, its jaundiced walls sallow andblotched with damp. A lofty seat was prepared for the judges under acanopy at one end, surmounted by the royal arms. Below this were threecrazy benches for counsel and attorneys; then came an open space onthe floor of the hall; then a barrier enclosing a small pen, which wasintended for public use, but which was already more than halfmonopolised by soldiers of the yeomanry. On the right side of thecounsellors' benches was the dock; on the left, the jury-paddock, anda low table with a chair on it for the accommodation of witnesses.These, till they were wanted, leaned against the wall behind,conversing in loud tones with other members of the Battalion ofTestimony, or fawning with fulsome scrapings about Major Sirr, who,with the pompous airs of a jack-in-office, acted as master of thejudicial ceremonies. Government tried to make proceedings look lessdirty by making much of the informers; did its best to dignify them inthe eyes of those who were selected to decide the fate of the accused.These men, as all the world knew, were capable of anything, deemingthat he was a pitiful fellow who, to please his master, would stick ata little perjury.

  Curran marked uneasily that the battalion was in great force to-day.Was it out of curiosity, or were they here on business? Long impunityhad developed all the native ferocity and brazenness of theseStaghouse demons. They wore new modish suits of clothes, withfashionable bows of ribbon at the knee, provided at Governmentexpense. They looked sleek and well-to-do, for they were sumptuouslyfed and boarded, and provided with three guineas a day forpocket-money. Cockahoop was the jovial crew, for the band was toocompact and strong to fear Moiley now; though time was when one of thenumber who was ill dared not take his medicine, lest haply he shouldfind his quietus in it. Those times were past. The people were cowedand trampled. These men had, for a fee, sworn away the lives of theirbrothers and then fathers. Moiley had over-eaten herself--was languidthrough repletion. There was no room in her maw even for a strangledinformer. They were growing rich, budding into proprietors; somescreening their names under an alias from infamy some too callous tofeel any shame at all. Which of the rowdy knot was to do the workto-day? Since the battalion had become so highly trained, Lord Clare'singenious invention with respect to the testimony of a single witnesswas a dead letter. That the oath of one person should, at a pinch,consign a man to the scrag-boy was a wholesome and judicious rule thatwas likely to save much trouble. But when you have a whole pack ofhounds at your command, each one taught to yelp at a given signal, itis pretty sport to watch their tricks. Besides, a pile of testimony,more or less irrelevant and contradictory, has an improving effectupon a jury. The Irish are eminently superstitious. These trialssometimes lasted through the night. Men were apt to get frightened atshadows on the wall, at the flickering candles with their gutteringwinding-sheets. It was well to pile Pelion upon Ossa, to crush out anystray drop of pity. A heap of evidence confused and dazed them. Manycrawled home after sentence was pronounced, fully persuaded that theyhad only done their duty--that so many witnesses, each with his patstory, must of a surety have spoken truth; that they had earned theirhonest stipend without injuring their souls.

  Which of the rowdy knot--and how many--were to do the work to-day?Cassidy--finely dressed in a grand coat of padusoy, with a posy in hisbreast, and a new bobwig--was lolling on the counsellors' benchcracking jests with Major Sirr, behind whom stood a bevy of admirers.The presence of those two boded no good to either prisoner. Thetown-major, indeed, had openly told Curran that if his defence was tooclever it would be the worse for him; to which the little man hadreplied, with a finger-snap, 'In court a liar, in the street a bully,in the gaol a fiend--you shall reap your reward, meejor! I don't care_that_ for you or your murderers by the Book!' and so had left him. Hewas used to threats, and took no heed of them. They might as well havehoped to drive the stars from heaven by violence as to frighten JohnCurran into abandoning a client. And they were not mere clientsfor whom he had been pleading, for whose sake he risked his lifeduring these trials. They were dear friends whom he loved, whom asbrother-patriots he honoured. Some, despite his impassioned oratory,were slaughtered; others he saved. Ministers were secretly afraid ofthat silver tongue; for his burning words were reported andcirculated, despite the efforts of the executive. All the worldrespected Curran; his exhortations wormed themselves into men's minds,and warmed into fruition there.

  The Sessions-House in Green Street was filled with a strange companythat day, as people forced themselves in till it was crammed. Therewas a buzz of expectation, which rose into a hubbub and fell again.The dock remained empty, though the morning had passed to noon. Theheaviness in the air was sickening, by reason of the densely-packedassembly and moist garments; for the sun was veiled, the weathergloomy. A drizzling rain began to fall. Madam Gillin, in gaudyattire--a sight to kill parrots with envy--elbowed a passage throughthe mob, closely followed by old Jug, who, with her mistress, sat nearDoreen. What an odd condition of society was this of Dublin! Theprisoners who would stand at the bar presently were closely connected,either by ties of blood or friendship, with advocates, judges, andmany more in the surrounding audience. It was quite a family-party.

  Mr. Curran reflected that no judge could be more partial than LordKilwarden; that some among the jury, with whom he was to intercede,were his own cronies. Yet was he not happy about his case. Lord Clare,for once, would have juggled in opposition to his usual principles;but Lord Clare's hands were tied through his own act. Through his ownintervention the Viceroy had promised not to dip his finger in theStaghouse caldron till the cooking was complete. If the Viceroydeclined to interfere, no one else could take the initiative. It was adeadlock. A pebble or two, if authorities napped for a moment, mighthave been inserted to make a wheel veer awry. How was it that the saidwheel insisted upon keeping its accustomed track, and that extracelerity was even given to its motion? Some one unseen was pushing.Who was it? If higher powers were debarred from inserting pebbles,there was, unhappily, nothing to prevent interested inferiors fromexerting private pressure. Curran felt that Cassidy and Sirr were atthe bottom of this. What a cruel chance for Mr. Curran's client thatneither Viceroy nor Chancellor could interfere!

  How much longer was the delay to last? It was three o'clock. Sirr andCassidy had retired and returned refreshed. Curran sent out forsandwiches, which he divided with the ladies. Old Jug somehow seemedfeverishly ex
cited; nodding and mumbling to herself, moping andmowing, muttering weird incantations, which were impressed on the airwith a gnarled finger. Mrs. Gillin ate her meat with a relish, inspite of grief. There are some appetites which no trouble mayvanquish.

  Doreen was in a trance-like state. Her skin was mottled, her eyes adusky fire, surrounded by dark discs; a singular, unearthly smileplayed about her lips. To please her friend the advocate, she stroveto eat, but her throat was contracted by spasms. She lookedappealingly to him, and Curran took the food away with a sigh.

  Toler came over to discuss matters with his adversary. All this waswoefully illegal; but what did that matter? It was a melancholycomfort that a tattered remnant of the robe of Justice yet remained.Maybe in time, with coaxing, the lady would come back to Ireland. Whomight tell what would happen next?

  'Will ye inform me, Toler,' Curran interrupted, 'who your witnessesare? I'm quite in a muzz, I tell ye.'

  Toler clapped the little man upon the back, and roared with hoarselaughter.

  'That's the critical brook in the steeple-chase, mee boy!' hechuckled. 'We rely on a surprise to confound the prisoners. But I'lltell ye this, ould chap. Sirr, for some reason, is bent upon aconviction. Nothing you can say will make a difference. So cut itshort, and let us out of this nasty hole. Be good-natured, and keepyour breath to cool your porridge.'

  So his suspicions were correct. Sirr was at the bottom of this,impelled by revenge for those slashes on his calves; urged too,probably, by Cassidy, who had made it up with the town-major. Whatcould they gain by surprising the prisoners? Truly, the mechanism ofthe law was lamentably out of gear.

  At last there was a stamping without--a surge of feet--a murmur ofcommiseration in the street. The judges, clad in crimson, took theirplaces. Lord Carleton, ponderous and overbearing; Lord Kilwarden,nervous and subdued, with wrinkled brow and downcast visage--the onedetermined to do his duty, the other to avoid it if he could. Shortlyafterwards a side-door opened. Terence and his henchman, Phil, werethrust into the dock. Terence peered round with contracted pupils,unable to distinguish friends from foes in the dim haze. He saw notDoreen, though she was close below. She clasped her hands upon herbreast to still a rising sob when she marked how changed he was. Feverhad paled his ruddy cheek, shrunken his burly frame. It was not thatwhich shocked her, for that was to be expected. It was the uncannyglitter, the reflection through open portals of a radiance belongingto another world--the look she had last seen in Tone, the glimmer ofthe grave--that it was which caused her heart to bound. He stooderect, one hand resting on the rail, the other supported by a greenscarf about his neck. Even his gaoler had remonstrated as he dressedthat morning: 'Don't wear such things. Why prejudice the coort?' Towhich he had answered, smiling: 'The cause is already judged. Itmatters not what I wear; Erin will be green again when I rest underher sod--all the greener for her recent soaking.'

  In striking contrast to his quiet dignity was the behaviour of hisfaithful henchman. He walked crooked and stiff, by reason of thewhippings he had undergone. Jug Coyle scrutinised him with meaningfrom beneath her penthouse brows, and seemed satisfied. The trim,obliging, smiling Phil was transmuted into another and quite untidyperson. 'Twas not only pain that caused his steps to waver; therecould be no doubt about it--he was _drunk!_

  Terence was woundily annoyed; a flush of anger overspread his face ashe placed his arm about his companion to check his stumbling, and gavehim a savage shaking. Phil drunk, at such a time, who used to be sogood and sober! He had not improved under the town-major's auspices.This was no doubt one of the arch-devil's tricks to turn a solemn andimpressive scene into a subject for laughter and contempt. It was apity Phil was not more strong-minded. Had he disguised himself inliquor to steal a march upon his fears? The poor fellow was ignorantand underbred; fortitude was hardly to be expected from such as he.The jury sitting opposite had their orders. Perhaps it was as well forPhil that he could drown the knowledge of the present. On the morrowit would all be over--blessed morrow! Both he and his master wouldknow by dawn the secret which oppresses all of us.

  But Major Sirr appeared as surprised as the rest of the watchfulaudience, and was even heard to utter unseemly execrations. Who haddared to give his pet victim drink? It was no part of his intentionthat his troubles should be soothed. On the contrary, he had kept asurprise in store which was meant to be wormwood to the haplesscreature.

  After a deal of whispering and wig-shaking, counsel for prosecutionplunged forthwith into the matter of the town-major's calves, and theshocking behaviour of certain ruffians to an upright gintleman, withthe connivance of certain leedies, who should be nameless.

  Toler's inflamed visage glowered at Madam Gillin; but she tossed herhead and tittered. She dreaded not free-quarters, or the visits ofvirago soldiers' wives, now that Lord Glandore was back to protectNorah. Toler might bray any fiddlefaddle that he chose. Sure my LordCarleton, up there in the fine robes, had been mighty glad, once on atime, to spend his evenings at her cosy house. So counsel, discoveringthat he made no impression on her (she had always abstained frominviting him, which made him spiteful), droned on about his client'swrongs--for he had but done his duty in capturing such notoriousrebels--his excellent qualities and virtues, the services he had donethe state, the wicked wounds upon his calves. Was the law, which allrespected so much, to leave a faithful servant without protection? Andso on and so forth, in a tangle of verbosity, for an hour and more.

  Irritated possibly by his husky voice, Phil's conduct grew more andmore outrageous, drawing on him marks of indignant disapprobation frommy Lord Carleton, a look of pained bewilderment from Lord Kilwarden.'Was ever anything so indecent?' clamoured the members of thebattalion, in loud whispers. 'Face to face with conviction, too! Hehad put himself beyond the pale of mercy. The brute ought to bescragged untried. He reeked of whisky, the besotted pig!' The odour ofit, they vowed, reached their shocked nostrils across the court. Intruth, he did comport himself after an intoxicated fashion. It was asmuch as his master could do to keep him in tolerable order. His legswere in constant motion. He sang and talked in a low tone,occasionally breaking into convulsive fits of laughter; grimacing andnodding his head to the witnesses, as one by one they sat on the tableand swore away his life.

  As the case proceeded--crushingly against the prisoners, who wereproved beyond a doubt to have taken and administered the oath, to haveworn green orders, and otherwise misbehaved themselves--his moodaltered. He was getting over the madness of his drink. That was amercy. Soon he would drop into a maudlin sleep, and his master might,unheedful of the monotonous and confused proceedings, take refuge fromthis mockery within himself until the verdict came. How dreary and howlong was all this useless evidence! The case looked as if it wouldlast for ever. What an array of witnesses--and what lies they told! Atthis rate it would be morning before the judges pronounced sentence.Already it was dark. Candles flared in rough iron sockets. The redjudges loomed like lurid phantoms; the jury were haggard in theflickering smoke. Mr. Curran leaned back in his seat exhausted, hisneck supported on his clasped hands--resolved to husband his strengthfor a great effort by-and-by.

  Drunken, disgraceful Phil became quiet. Old Jug, whose keen visionnaught escaped, suggested to an usher to let him have a chair. He sankinto the seat, his chin buried in his breast. His face was blue (wasit the effect of light?), his pupils dilated, his breathingstertorous. The air was sickeningly close. Sweat stood in drops uponhis forehead. Could he be fainting? No. He rallied, and commencedmuttering again.

  The hours went by, and yet the farce continued. No jot of the informalformalities was omitted. Those who had resolved to hang the prisonerswere evidently determined that there should be no lack ofjustification for it. Half the battalion had told their story. Curranlistened, and said nothing (what was the use of cross-examining thesemen?) till he saw the big figure of Lieutenant Hepenstall advance.Then, turning to the judges, he grunted:

  'They're not content with witnesses, my lords; they've brought in theWalki
ng Gallows, to work them off at once! Sure, isn't it convanientand obleeging?'

  Time moved on steadily. Terence was as upright and motionless as astatue. He had learned by this time who was sitting near. A smallbrown hand had fluttered into his, to tell by occult pressure its ownsweet tale. Doreen was as still as he.

  Drunken Phil tore open his shirt, gasping. How dense the air was! Itwas cruel to drag out the proceedings thus. His head was heavy--hecould not hold it up; so, resting his fingers on the dock-rail, helaid his wet face on them. By degrees he sank into a snoring slumber,his limbs twitching now and then with a tremulous convulsion. Thevisage of old Jug was illumined with a mysterious satisfaction. Notone of his movements escaped her keen observation; she drank in everyshiver. Presently she plucked her mistress by the robe, and, like awild woman, whispered something in her ear. Madam Gillin, who,overpowered by heat, had been dozing, woke with a cry, and turned heraffrighted gaze from Phil to her nurse and back again.

  'Is it thrue, Jug--is it, by the Holy Mother?' she asked, in an awedwhisper.

  'Thrue 'tis, by mee sowl!' returned the other. 'He is a farrier, isn'the? And Crummell's curse is on the likes of him, isn't it? He beggedthe ould collough for a root, and she gave it; and, by St. Patrick,'twas well done!'

  In deep agitation Mrs. Gillin motioned Curran to her side. She saw itall. It was by her own order that Jug had visited the farrier.Farriers and colloughs are national foes. Phil--faithful fellow!--hadbegged the collough to exercise her skill in herbs on him. He couldbear hanging--had thus far endured the lash. But torture may be pushedbeyond our power of bearing. Rather than run a risk of betraying themaster whom he worshipped, he had taken poison, and was dying.

  Curran's genius embraced at once the new element in the situation. Itstruck him instantly that by this sacrifice the poor fellow mightperhaps unwittingly have saved his master. When did he take thepoison? How long would it be before its work would be accomplished? Ifhe were to fall dead--there--in the dock, before the court assembled,under the eye of the public, it would create such a sensation that thetrial would be perforce adjourned. The harrowing details of thesuicide would then be spread abroad; they would do much to bring thevile cruelties of the yeomanry home in all their loathsomeness to theBritish mind, which was so culpably indifferent as to what happened inthis colony. There would be a revulsion--an energetic protest. In theconfusion Terence might be saved! Poor faithful Phil! He knew not theextent of the service that he rendered. His life would not besacrificed in vain!

  'How much longer will the poison take to work?' Curran whispered inJug's ear. 'What was it?'

  'Sure, it was a tiny root of water-drop wort. Like an illigantparsnip, faith! How much longer? An hour perhaps--maybe two--certainlynot more than three.'

  It was eleven at night. Toler had two more witnesses to call, he said.If cross-examined they might be made to detain the court for an houror so. After that the silver tongue must move to good purpose--musttoy with argument and rhetoric till the doomed man dropped.

  The virtuous ire of the town-major was kindled.

  'The drunken brute is asleep!' he called out. 'What an insult to thecourt! Sure, he'll have a long sleep enough when Moiley eats him. Wakehim up!'

  Major Sirr was particularly anxious that he should be aware who thenext witness was. By dint of shaking, the ushers roused the prisonerfrom lethargy. With brows painfully knitted he tried to raise hisleaden lids, beheld with dilated pupils a blurred vision on the table;sank again without recognition into unconsciousness. Jug toobeheld--and gave a low growl.

  The new witness was Croppy Biddy; she of the russet locks, who sincethe burning of the 'Irish Slave' had given herself up to drink and todebauchery--who was become one of the shining Staghouse lights--one ofthe pet agents of an honourable executive--the Joan of Arc of theBattalion of Testimony. She was dressed like a lady, in a costlybeaver with ostrich plume, and a laced riding-dress--the same as shewas wont to wear when galloping at the head of a troop of dragoons insearch of food for Moiley. No longer a slattern serving-wench in a lowshebeen, but a paid and honoured favourite of Government; a lying,drunken, brazen hyaena. This was an admirable joke of Major Sirr's.What a pity it was that it should miscarry! What humour could be moresly and delicate than to clinch a man's fate by the false witness ofher whom he had elected to love? Yet, thanks to some officious idiotor other, the bit of fun was spoiled. Biddy was there--saucy, pert,shameless, ready to go any lengths; but her lover was asleep, with hischin upon his breast. The surprise missed fire.

  As it turned out, though, the joke was just the least bit too racy.The loud giggling laugh, the palpable untruths flung carelessly aboutby Biddy, shocked and disgusted the entire audience. Lord Kilwardenturned red, and bowed his face over his papers; even Lord Carletoncoughed; and there was an angry murmur from the public who packed thefloor.

  Mr. Curran, no longer listless and dejected--for hope had revivedagain--turned the wretched woman round his finger; ensnared her withsoft suggestions; led her floundering along from perjury to perjury,turned her inside out; then with a sarcastic bow to Toler,congratulated him upon his witness. By skilful fence half an hour wasgained. Counsel for prosecution glared at Sirr. Was this the way totrain up witnesses? Biddy was hustled off the table, for her trainingwas lamentably incomplete. There was one more yet to come. It was tobe hoped he would do away with the bad impression she had left.

  This time it was Doreen's turn to utter a stifled cry, while herfingers clasped more closely those of Terence. Had that wretch nocompunction? Had he no mercy--this villain who had wriggled himself byspecious arts into the confidence of honest men--this snake inthe grass--this bravo who, smilingly looking in your face, couldcoldly choose the most fitting moment for stabbing you? It wasCassidy--actually Cassidy, who before her, before Lord Kilwarden,before Curran, could get upon the table to swear away the life of himwhom he had called friend.

  Even the little advocate, whose faith in the innate goodness of humannature was not strong, was staggered.

  'I've heard of assassination by sword and dagger,' he muttered; 'buthere is a ruffian who would dip the Evangelists in blood!' The gianttook the Testament and kissed it.

  'Why make him swear at all?' scoffed Mr. Curran. 'Why let amurderer's touch pollute the purity of the Gospel? Well! if you willgo through the mockery, let it be, I pray you, on the symbol of hisprofession--the knife.'

  Cassidy scowled down on the sturdy scoffer, and looked round at hiscomrades with an air of reproachful innocence, which was speedilyanswered by a burst of menace and a clash of arms from the yeomanrybehind, accompanied by threatening looks and gestures. Mr. Curran,drawing himself up to the full of his small stature, fixed his eyessternly on them, and exclaimed in a loud voice:

  'You may assassinate me, gentlemen, but you shall never intimidateme!'

  This was a scandal. Things were going ill. Lord Carleton came to therescue.

  'Beware, Mr. Curran,' he said, 'lest you forfeit your gown. A littlemore of such unseemly language and I shall commit you.'

  'Then we shall both have the consolation, my lord,' Curran retorted,with a bow, 'of reflecting that I'm not the worst thing you havecommitted.'

  Lord Carleton looked up with wonder at the skylight. What was theworld coming to? He glanced at Lord Kilwarden, who leaned on hiselbow, taking no share in the business, his eyes shaded with his hand.

  Counsel for prosecution played skilfully on his witness--an admirablewitness, who merely answered questions, instead of blurting forth rashand inconvenient statements. Mr. Curran cross-examined him ascleverly, but with little effect. He could elicit nothing new orspecial. People were accustomed to find themselves handed over to thescrag-boy by their most intimate friends. Mr. Curran, indeed, wastedious to lay such stress on the point. The jury shuffled on theirseats. Lord Carleton yawned. New candles were placed in the sockets byattentive ushers. At this rate it would certainly be morning beforethe affair was settled.

  Very monotonous and very dreary! A rat-tat of
subdued voices inquestion and reply. The paled candles dim and wan through a mist ofcollected breath--a stifling, noisome atmosphere of clammy heat whichmade the temples of all to throb, the ears to sing. Though the casewas one of palpitating interest, men's strength gave way, women feltill and dizzy. Lord Carleton, to keep his wits clear, inhaled thefumes from a sponge dipped in vinegar. Mrs. Gillin sniffed at the rueupon the dock-rail.

  Still Terence stood erect and pallid--motionless. Still Phil'srespiration laboured with stertorous snores. His teeth chattered atintervals, as if from cold; his fingers twitched, his knees trembled.Was it the effect of light? his eyes seemed protruding from theirsockets. But there were no signs of the end yet.

  It was past midnight when he of the silver tongue arose for thedefence, and people roused themselves to listen, for they wereaccustomed to expect from him rapid electrical transitions frompassion to passion, from the deepest emotions which agitate the soulto the liveliest combinations of sportive imagery; whimsicalmetaphors, such as at one moment seemed culled from the dunghill, atthe next to be snatched from heaven. He implored the jury to considerthe reputation of the witnesses who had striven to wreck these men. Heentreated them to consider what objects save the highest and most purecould have induced a noble to desert his ease and risk his neck forErin.

  'Do you dare,' he cried, in crystal accents which rang with startlingclearness along the cobwebbed rafters, 'in a case of life and death,of honour and of infamy, to credit a vile informer--the perjurer of ahundred oaths--a beast whom pride, or honour, or religion cannot bind?He dresses like a gentleman--the tones of his soft voice savour ofgrowing authority. He measures his value by the coffins of hisvictims, and, in the field of evidence, appreciates his fame as anIndian savage does in fight by the number of scalps with which he canswell his triumphs!'

  The advocate laid stress upon the awful responsibilities of a jury;striving to wring their consciences, though he knew that each manamong them had received his wage. He knew that nothing he could saywould make them waver. Yet now he had a new courage and a new hopethat distilled jewels from his lips, which almost caused the degradedjurymen to blench. From time to time as his eloquent periods rolledout in majestic waves, he turned an anxious eye upon the farrier whomJug sat watching with the gaze of a lynx, How she had botched the job!How long the soul wrestled ere it could burst its bonds!

  Then, to the amazement of Toler, he lost his temper with the jury, andtold them unpleasant truths, rating them soundly for their sins. Hisopponent thought he must be mad to rage where it was so evidently hisinterest to conciliate. But Madam Gillin listened and nodded approval;for she knew that it was only a matter of gaining time, and that asthere was to be no verdict there was no use in blarneying the jurors.With what eloquence he talked! His words seemed to flicker insunlight--a kaleidoscope of gems, some rough, some polished, strungloosely on a cord.

  'Life can present no situation,' the orator said, 'wherein the humanpower of man can be so divinely exerted as yours should be now; and ifany labours can peculiarly attract the approving eye of Heaven, it iswhen God looks down on a human being assailed by human turpitude;struggling with practices against which the Deity placed His specialcanon, when He said, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thyneighbour; thou shalt not kill!" We embrace the principles of theBritish constitution; and when I look on you, the proudest benefit ofthat constitution, I am relieved from the fears of advocacy, since Iplace my clients under the influence of its sacred shade. This is notthe idle sycophancy of words. It is not crying, "Lord! Lord!" butdoing "the will of my Father who is in heaven!" If my clients had beenarraigned before a jury of Cornhill shopkeepers, they would ere now bein their lodgings. The law of England suffers no man to be openlybutchered in a court of justice. The law of England recognises theinnate blackness of the human heart--the possibility of villainsthirsting for the blood of their fellow-creatures; and the people ofIreland have but too good cause to be acquainted with that thirst. Atthe awful foot of Eternal Justice I call on you to acquit these men.Their characters have been given. Nothing could be more pure. In thename of Justice I implore you to interpose, while there is time,between the wanton perjurer and his ensanguined feast; that in thenext life your reward may be more lasting than the perishable crownwhich the ancients gave to those who saved a fellow-citizen in battle.Your own turns may come, for the informer has bowels for himselfalone! If it should be the fate of any of you to count the moments ofcaptivity, in sorrow and in pain, pining in a dungeon's damps, may youfind refuge in the recollection of the example you this day set tothose who may be called to pass judgment on your lives! Recollect toothat there is another, more awful tribunal than any upon earth, whichwe must all some day approach, before which the best of us will haveoccasion to look back to what little good he has done this side thegrave. I do pray that Eternal Justice may record the deed you areabout to do, and give to you the full benefit of your claims to anundying reward, a requital in mercy upon your souls!'

  The growing fog, the deep silence, the midnight hour, the flickeringcandles, enhanced the effect of Mr. Curran's words, which were spokenwith a rapt solemnity that sent a thrill of awe through hisimpressionable audience. The vision of a wrathful angel with a fierysword rose before their excited imagination--of an avenging God whoknew that they, the jury, were bought. Women rocked themselves andwrung their hands, and stuffed ends of shawls into their mouths tocheck their wailing. The jurymen hovered 'twixt greed and fear. Theadvocate paused for an instant, to wipe his brow, and to allow hissentences to sink into their minds.

  There was a hum of muffled talk, of groans and lamentation, beforewhich the moaning in the court was hushed. It came from the dock. Philwas awake and sensible; had risen on his tottering feet, was swayingfrom side to side as he clung to his young master. Terence saw nowthat he had wronged his henchman, who was not drunk, but ill. Hisfeatures were livid, his lips blue, so was his swollen tongue; histeeth rattled as in ague; his eyes saw nothing, though they staredpainfully; a steam ascended from his hair.

  'Master Terence!' Phil gasped, with thick effort, 'I could not helpyour being taken--though it was--it was my fault. They pushed theheap--of rope--off of my head. They shall get ne'er a word outof me--ne'er a one--though they flay me to the bone. MasterTerence--master--will ye forgive----'

  Phil staggered and slid from the grasp of his fellow prisoner to thefloor, and lay there on his face.

  'One of your victims appears to be insensible,' Mr. Curran remarkedshortly.

  ''Deed it seems so,' acquiesced Lord Carleton, peering through hisglasses. 'A very indecent exhibition. Does there chance to be e'er adoctor in the coort?'

  One of the jurymen was an apothecary. He left the box and turned theprostrate figure over.

  'Can ye speak with assurance of the man's state?' demanded the judge.

  'He is near his end, my lord,' answered the juryman.

  'Is he now--are ye sure?' What with the heat, and what with theuntoward incident, my Lord Carleton was puzzled. No help could he getfrom Lord Kilwarden, who leaned with his elbow on the desk and hiseyes shaded by his hand.

  'Open the windy!' puffed the judge. 'For the Lord's sake let's have alittle air; maybe he's only sick. Can ye rouse him to hear hisjudgment?'

  The apothecary laid a palm upon his patient's heart.

  'I cannot, my lord,' he replied. 'The man is dead!'

  Already powerfully impressed by the surroundings and the lawyer'swarning, the people could endure no more. A panic seized them. Theyrushed to the doors as though stifled by some fell miasma, and battledto get out. The women screamed that they were being trodden underfoot; the men rained frantic blows upon the doors, tearing clothes andfingers as they dragged them down. It was a scene of unreasoningfrenzy, such as none who were involved in it might ever forget. Theangel with the fiery sword was there; though invisible, his presencecould be felt. Lord Carleton ordered the remaining prisoner's removal.Doreen's robe gleamed white in the first tinge of morning as, standingby his sid
e, she wound her arms about his neck. By-and-by Currangently disentangled them, and led her to her father, whilst dragoonsformed round the patriot, and cleared a passage for him through themob.

  'More men to secure him in Kilmainham--there'll be a rescue!' bawledCassidy, who was driven to overmastering wrath by the posture of MissWolfe, under his very nose.

  'Fear nothing,' Terence replied; 'I will go quietly.'

  Lord Kilwarden and Curran bore the maiden to a coach, and carried herback to Strogue. Both were so filled with thankfulness for thisreprieve that they shook hands again and again, while Miss Wolfe layspeechless in the carriage-corner. Her nerves had been strung toextreme tension for the worst. Sudden joy is more hard to bear thansorrow. The finely tempered steel which had withstood so manyassaults, gave way under the last shock. She remained long obliviousof the world's affairs, tenderly nursed by Sara, who wondered, as dayfollowed day, whether her reason would ever return from the far-offgroves in which it wandered.