“The divull they do!” said O’Halloran, with a grin. “Well, thin, the quicker ye cheenge yer sintimints, the betther. Me own Nora — she’s not Miss O’Halloran — an’ lucky for me — she’s somethin’ betther — she’s — MRS. O’HALLORAN!!!”
Let the curtain fall. There, reader, you have it. We won’t attempt to enlarge — will we? We’ll omit the exploding thunder-bolt — won’t we? I will quietly put an end to this Chapter, so as to give you leisure to meditate over the woes of Macrorie.
Chapter 25
RECOVERY FROM THE LAST GREAT SHOCK. — GENIALITY OF MINE HOST. — OFF AGAIN AMONG ANTIQUITIES. — THE FENIANS. — A STARTLING REVELATION BY ONE OF THE INNER CIRCLE. — POLITICS, POETRY, AND PATHOS. — FAR-REACHING PLANS AND DEEP-SEATED PURPOSES.
I was to dine with O’Halloran, and, though for some time I was overwhelmed, yet I rallied rapidly, and soon recovered. O’Halloran himself was full of fun. The event had apparently only excited his laughter, and appeared to him as affording material for nothing else than endless chaff and nonsense.
As for Nora, she had been so agitated that she did not come to dinner, nor did Marion make her appearance. This was the only thing that gave me discomfort. O’Halloran seemed to understand how natural my mistake was, and I supposed that he made every allowance, and all that.
We sat at table for a long time. O’Halloran discoursed on his usual variety of subjects. Some thing occurred which suggested the Fenians, whereupon he suddenly stopped; and, looking earnestly at me, he said:
“Ye know I’m a Fenian?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I make no saycrit of it,” said he. “As a British officer, you’re my mortal inimee in my capaceetee as a Fenian; but at this table, and in this house, we’re nayther one thing nor the other. You’re only Macrorie, and I’m only O’Halloran. Still I don’t mind talking of the subject of Fenianism; it’s an important one, and will one day take up a great speece in histhory. I don’t intind to indulge in any offinsive objurgeetions ageenst the Saxon, nor will I mintion the wrongs of Oireland. I’ll only enloighten you as to the purpose, the maining, and the attichood of the Fenian ordher.”
With these words he rose from the table, and chatted on general subjects, while the servants brought in the spoons, glasses, tumblers, and several other things. Beneath the genial influence of these, O’Halloran soon grew eloquent, and resumed his remarks on the Fenians.
“The Fenian ordher,” he began, “has two eems. One is abroad; the other is at home.
“The first is that which is kipt before the oyes of the mimbers of the outher circles. It manes the libereetion of Oireland, and perpitual inmity to England. This purpose has its maneefesteetion in the attacks which have alriddy been made on the inimy. Two inveesions have been made on Canada. Innumerable and multeefeerious small interproises have been set on fut in Oireland and in England; and these things serve the purpose of keeping before the moinds of the mimbers the prospict of some grand attack on the inimy, and of foirin’ their ardhor.
“But there is an innermost circle, saycludhid from the vulgar oi, undher the chootelar prayiminence of min of janius, in whose moinds there is a very different eem. It is the second which I have mintioned. It is diricthid against America.
“Thus —
“In the American raypublic there are foive millions of Oirish vothers. Now, if these foive millions cud only be unoited in one homojaneous congreegeetion, for some one prayiminent objict, they cud aisly rule the counthree, an’ dirict its policee intoirely, at home and abroad.
“This, thin, is the thrue and genuoine eem of the shuparior min of the intayrior circles. It is a grand an’ comprayhinsive schayme to consoleedeete all the Oirish votes into one overwhilming mass which can conthrol all the ilictions. It is sweed by a few min of praysoiding moinds and shupayrior janius.
“And hince you bayhowld a systim roising within the boosom of the American raypublic, which will soon be greather thin the raypublic itself. At prisint, though, we do not number much over a million. But we are incraysing. We have hoighly-multifeerious raysourcis. All the hilps are in our pee. These are our spoys. They infarrum us of all the saycrit doings of the American payple. They bring constint accisions to our numbers. They meek us sure of our future.
“Oirishmin,” he continued, “will nivir roise iffikeeciouslee in Oireland. They can only roise in Amirica. Here, in this counthry, is their only chance. And this chance we have sayzed, an’, begorra, we’ll follow it up till all Amirica is domeeneetid “by the Oirish ilimint, and ruled by Oirish votes. This is the only Oirish raypublic for which we care.”
“But you’ve been divided in your counsels,” I suggested, “Didn’t this interfere with your prospects?”
“Oh,” said he, “that was all our diplomeecee.”
“And were you never really divided?”
“Nivir for a momint. These were only thricks intindid to disave and schtoopeefy the Amirican and English governmints.”
“So your true aim refers to America?”
“Yis. And we intind to saycure to Amirica a perpetual succession of Oirish prisidints.”
“When will you be able to begin? At the next election?”
“No — not so soon. Not for two or three to come. By the third eliction though, all the Oirish populeetion will be riddy to vote, and thin we’ll have our oun Oirish Prisidint. And afther that,” said O’Halloran, in an oracular tone, and pausing to quaff the transparent draught — “afther that, Amirica will be simplee an Oirish rapublic. Then we’ll cast our oys across the say. We’ll cast there our arrums. We’ll sind there our flates and. armies. We’ll take vingince out of the Saxon for the wrongs of foive cinturies. We’ll adopt Ould Oireland into the fameelee of the Steetes, as the youngest, but the fairist and the broightist of thim all. We’ll throw our laygions across the Oirish Channel into the land of the Saxon, and bring that counthry down to its proimayval insignifeecance. That,” said O’Halloran, “is the one schtoopindous eem of the Fenian Ordher.”
O’Halloran showed deep emotion. Once more he quaffed the restoring draught.
“Yis, me boy,” he said, looking tenderly at me. “I’ll yit return to the owld land. Perhaps ye’ll visit the eeged O’Halloran before he doise. Oi’ll teek up me risidince at Dublin. Oi’ll show ye Oireland — free — troiumphint, shuprame among the neetions. Oi’ll show ye our noble pisintry, the foinist in the wurruld. Oi’ll take ye to the Rotondo. Oi’ll show ye the Blarney-stone. Oi’ll show ye the ruins of Tara, where me oun ancisthors once reigned.”
At this his emotion overcame him, and he was once more obliged to seek a restorative.
After this he volunteered to sing a song, and trolled off the following to a lively, rollicking air:
Ye choonful Noine!
Ye nymphs devoine,
Shuprame in Jove’s dominions!
Assist me loyre,
Whoile oi aspoire
To cilibreet the Fenians.
Our ordher bowld
All onconthrowled
Injued with power, be dad, is
To pleece in arrums
The stalwart farrums
Of half a million Paddies.
To Saxon laws
For Oirelahd’s cause
Thim same did break allaygiance,
An’ marched away
In war’s array
To froighten the Canajians.
“‘We soon intind
Our wee to wind
Across the woide Atlantic,
Besaige the ports,
Blow up the forts,
An’ droive the Saxon frantic.
An’ thin in loine,
Our hosts will join
Beneath the Oirish pinnint,
Till Dublin falls,
An’ on its walls
We hang the lord-liftinnint.
The Saxon crew
We’ll thin purshoo
Judiciously and calmly —
On Windsor’s plain
We’ll hang the Quane
An’ all the royal family,
An’ thin — begob!
No more they’ll rob
Ould Oireland of her taxes,
An’ Earth shall rowl
From powl to powl
More aisy on its axis.
Now all the time O’Halloran was talking and singing, I had scarcely heard a word that he said. Once I caught the general run of his remarks, and said a few words to make him think I was attending; but my thoughts soon wandered off, and I was quite unconscious that he was talking rank treason. How do I know so much about it now, it may be asked. To this I reply that after-circumstances gave me full information about what was said and sung. And of this the above will give a general idea.
“He suddenly stopped; and, looking earnestly at me, he said: ‘Ye know I’m a Fenian?’”
But my thoughts were on far other subjects than Fenianism. It was the Lady of the Ice that filled my heart and my mind. Lost and found, and lost again! With me it was nothing but — “O Nora! Nora! Wherefore art thou, Nora?” — and all that sort of thing, you know.
Lost and found! Lost and found! A capital title for a sensation novel, but a bad thing, my boy, to be ringing through a poor devil’s brain. Now, through my brain there rang that identical refrain, and nothing else. And all my thoughts and words the melancholy burden bore of never — never more. How could I enjoy the occasion? What was conviviality to me, or I to conviviality? O’Halloran’s words were unheeded and unheard. While Nora was near, he used to seem a brilliant being, but Nora was gone!
And why had she gone? Why had she been so cut up? I had said but little, and my mistake had been hushed up by O’Halloran’s laughter. Why had she retired? And why, when I spoke to her of my love, had she showed such extraordinary agitation? Was it — oh, was it that she too loved, not wisely but too well? O Nora! Oh, my Lady of the Ice! Well did you say it was a dreadful mistake! Oh, mistake-irreparable, despairing! And could I never see her sweet face again?
By this, which is a pretty fair specimen of my thoughts, it will be plainly seen that I was in a very agitated frame of mind, and still clung as fondly and as frantically as ever to my one idea of the Lady of the Ice.
One thing came amid my thoughts like a flash of light into darkness, and that was that Jack, at least, was not crossing my path, nor was he a dog in my manger; Miss O’Halloran might be his, but she was nothing to me. Who Miss O’Halloran was, I now fully understood. It was Marion — Marion with the sombre, sad face, and the piercing, lustrous eyes.
Well, be she who she might, she was no longer standing between Jack and me. I could regain my lost friend at any rate. I could explain every thing to him. I could easily anticipate the wild shrieks of laughter with which he would greet my mistake, but that mattered not. I was determined to hunt him up. All my late bitter feeling against him vanished, and I began to feel a kind of longing for his great broad brow, his boyish carelessness, his never-ending blunders. So at an early hour I rose, and informed O’Halloran that I had an engagement at eleven o’clock, and would have to start.
“It’s sorry I am,” said he, “but I won’t deteen ye.”
Chapter 26
A FEW PARTING WORDS WITH O’HALLORAN. — HIS TOUCHING PARENTAL TENDERNESS, HIGH CHIVALRIC SENTIMENT, AND LOFTY SENSE OF HONOR. — PISTOLS FOR TWO. — PLEASANT AND HARMONIOUS ARRANGEMENT. — “ME BOY, YE’RE AN HONOR TO YER SEX!”
“It’s sorry I am,” said O’Halloran, “but I won’t deteen ye, for I always rispict an engeegemint.”
He stopped and looked at me with a benevolent smile. I had risen from my chair, and was standing before him.
“Sit down a momint,” said he. “There’s a subjict I wish to mintion, the considhereetion of which I’ve postponed till now.”
I resumed my seat in some surprise.
“Me boy,” said he, in a tender and paternal voice, “it’s now toime for me to speak to ye about the ayvint of which I was a casual oi-witniss. I refer to your addhrissis to me woife. Don’t intherrupt me. I comprayhind the whole matter. The leedies are all fond of ye. So they are of me. Ye’re a divvil of a fellow with them — an’ so am I. We comprayhind one another. You see we must have a mayting.”
“A meeting!”
“Yis — of coorse. A jool. There’s nothing else to be done.”
“You understand,” said I, “of course, the nature of my awkward mistake, and the cause of it.”
“Don’t mintion it. Me ondherstand? Of coorse. Am I an owl? Be dad, I nivir laughed so much these tin years. Ondherstand! Every bit of it. But we won’t have any expleeneetions about that. What concerns us is the code of honor; and the jewty of gintlemin. A rigid sinse of honor, and a shuprame reygard for the sancteties of loife, requoire that any voioleetion, howivir onintintional, be submitted and subjicted to the only tribunal of chivalry — the eencient and maydoayval orjil of the jool.”
I confess I was affected, and deeply, by the lofty attitude which O’Halloran assumed. He hadn’t the slightest hard feeling toward me. He wasn’t in the smallest degree jealous. He was simply a calm adherent to a lofty and chivalrous code. His honor had been touched ignorantly, no doubt — yet still it had been touched, and he saw no other course to follow than the one laid down by chivalry.
“My friend,” said I, enthusiastically, “I appreciate your delicacy, and your lofty sentiment. This is true chivalry. You surpass yourself. You are sublime!”
“I know I am,” said O’Halloran, naively.
A tear trembled in his eye. He did not seek to conceal his generous emotion. That tear rolled over and dropped into his tumbler, and hallowed the draught therein.
“So then,” said I, “we are to have a meeting — but where, and when?”
“Whinivir it shoots you, and wherivir. I’m afraid it’ll take you out of your wee. We’ll have to go off about twinty moiles. There’s a moighty convaynient place there, I’m sorry it’s not nayrer, but it can’t be helped. I’ve had three or fower maytings there mesilf this last year. You’ll be deloighted with it whin you once get there. There’s good whiskey there too. The best in the country. We’ll go there.”
“And when?”
“Well, well — the seconds may areenge about that. How’ll nixt Monday do?”
“Delightfully, if it suits you.”
“Oh, I’ll be shooted at any toime.”
“What shall we meet with?” I asked.
“Sure that’s for you to decoide.”
“Pistols,” I suggested.
O’Halloran nodded.
“I really have no preference. I’ll leave it to you if you like,” said I.
O’Halloran rose — a benevolent smile illumined his face. He pressed my hand.
“Me boy,” said he, with the same paternal tone which he had thus far maintained, “don’t mintion it. Aihter will do. We’ll say pistols. Me boy, ye’re as thrue as steel — ” He paused, and then wringing my hand, he said in a voice tremulous with emotion — “Me boy, ye’re an honor to yer sex!”
Chapter 27
SENSATIONAL! — TERRIFIC! — TREMENDOUS! — I LEAVE THE HOUSE IN A STRANGE WHIRL. — A STORM. — THE DRIVING SLEET. — I WANDER ABOUT. — THE VOICES OF THE STORM, AND OF THE RIVER. — THE CLANGOR OF THE BELLS. — THE SHADOW IN THE DOORWAY. — THE MYSTERIOUS COMPANION. — A TERRIBLE WALK. — FAMILIAR VOICES. — SINKING INTO SENSELESSNESS. — IS REVEALED AT LAST AMID THE STORM!
As I left the house there came a blast of stinging sleet, which showed me that it was a wild night. It was not many days now since that memorable journey on the river; and the storm that was blowing seemed to be the counterpart and continuation of that. It had been overcast when I entered O’Halloran’s; when
I left it, the storm had gathered up into fury, and the wind howled around, and the furious sleet dashed itself fiercely against me. The street was deserted. None would go out on so wild a night. It was after eleven; half-past, perhaps.
For a moment I turned my back to the sleet, and then drew forth my cloud from my pocket, and bound it about my head. Thus prepared, and thus armed, I was ready to encounter the fiercest sleet that ever blew. I went down the steps, took the sidewalk, and went off.
As I went on, my mind was filled with many thoughts. A duel was before me; but I gave that no consideration. The storm howled about and shrieked between the houses; but the storm was nothing. There was that in my heart and in my brain which made all these things trivial. It was the image of my Lady of the Ice, and the great longing after her, which, for the past few days, had steadily increased.
I had found her! I had lost her! Lost and found! Found and lost!
The wrath of the storm had only this one effect on me, that it brought before me with greater vividness the events of that memorable day on the river. Through such a storm we had forced our way. From such pitiless peltings of stinging sleet I had sheltered her fainting, drooping head. This was the hurricane that had howled about her as she lay prostrate, upheld in my arms, which hurled its wrathful showers on her white, upturned face. From this I had saved her, and from worse — from the grinding ice, the falling avalanche, the dark, deep, cold, freezing flood. I had brought her back to life through all these perils, and now — and now! —
Now, for that Lady of the Ice, whose image was brought up before me by the tempest and the storm, there arose within me a mighty and irrepressible yearning. She had become identified with Nora, but yet it was not Nora’s face and Nora’s image that dwelt within my mind. That smiling face, with its sparkling eyes and its witching smile, was another thing, and seemed to belong to another person. It was not Nora herself whom I had loved, but Nora as she stood the representative of my Lady of the Ice. Moreover, I had seen Nora in unfeigned distress; I had seen her wringing her hands and looking at me with piteous entreaty and despair; but even the power of these strong emotions had not given her the face that haunted me. Nora on the ice and Nora at home were so different, that they could not harmonize; nor could the never-to-be-forgotten lineaments of the one be traced in the other. And, could Nora now have been with me in this storm, I doubted whether her face could again assume that marble, statuesque beauty — that immortal sadness and despair, which I had once seen upon it. That face — the true face that I loved — could I ever see it again?
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