martyr!' he retorted. 'If you leave him languishing, and free the
rest, the injustice of the proceeding will set them plotting more than
ever. That which is now but a heat-spot may be irritated into a
prevailing gangrene. Mind, I have warned you. Yet how idle is it! Such
tricks as yours may be expected from a renegade!'

The last words were muttered to himself, yet Lord Clare heard them,
but pretended not to do so, as it was always his policy to excite his
adversary whilst keeping his own temper.

'I assure you I am powerless,' he remarked blandly. 'The Privy
Council----'

'Potent, grave, and reverend seniors!' scoffed the other;
'scene-shifters and candle-snuffers from Smock Ally, robed in old
curtains!'

'These turbulent fellows would destroy the Constitution, my good
Curran.'

'Turbulent! A pack of boys! What does not exist cannot be destroyed. A
Commons chosen by the people who hold thereby the strings of the
public purse--that is the first principle of a constitution. The sham
you prate about is, as you know right well, deluged with corruption,
flooded with iniquity, a mere puppet in your hands, Lord Clare. How
sad it is that the vital interests of millions should be sacrificed to
the vices of an individual! You, and such as you, who have risen from
small things to a place in the Upper House, should unite the nobles
and the people instead of trying to estrange them. But no, you think
of none except yourself. Erin is divided between the slaves of your
dominion, the servants of your patronage, the enemies of your tyranny.
Your ambition will wreck us all. Your monument shall be the execration
of your motherland--the curse of a ruined race your requiem!'

Lord Clare's impudent leer was doing its work, for Curran, with every
moment, grew more chafed.

'Really, our friend is quite amusing!' exclaimed the chancellor,
pleasantly. 'Your ladyship's jester assumes all the license which
custom accords to such persons. I confess that his exuberance bears me
down, for the art of managing foolish people is as distinct and
arduous as that of governing lunatics.'

'Whenever I see a man treat the world as if it were made of fools,'
sneered Curran, 'I suspect him instantly to be a knave.'

'Very pretty!' laughed the other. 'Parliament, my good fellow----'

'Parliament!' echoed his foe. 'You are always ringing the changes on
parliament and constitution in a jangle that means nothing. Your
parliament has as much to do with the country as a corpse with a
crowner's quest. The rulers of this unhappy land have played bowls
with the constitution. Our experience of government is through the
vices of its shifting plunderers, instead of the paternal protection
of its sovereign--harpies who encamp awhile, then retire laden with
spoil--all save one, who, to our grief, is bone of our bone, flesh of
our flesh. That one, my lord, is splendid indeed--by the grandeur of
his infamy--for he never knew shame or decency or conscience! He is
double-faced; a traitor to that which he should love most in all the
world. He degrades his talent to the vilest uses, and invents sham
dangers to hide real ones. Like the sailor who, to possess himself of
a bag of money, tossed a burning brand into the hold, he cries "Fire,
fire!" to divert attention from himself.'

'Really, really, my lady!' laughed the chancellor, with constraint,
'your jester improves daily. He wallows in imagery as the swine in
mire. My good fellow, I fail to follow your meanderings, though I seem
to apprehend that you are cross about these arrests? I have naught to
do with them--will you be more comfortable if I swear it?--but I must
admit, while doing so, that I am no advocate for ill-judged leniency.'

'If a man is so poor a rider as to cling to his nag by the spurs, he
must needs apply a strong curb to control the madness he provokes.'

'And I am that rider? Thank you. Your ladyship's palace resembles the
home of the tranced Beauty. It is grievously begirt with thorns and
stinging-nettles. I vow I know not why our dear Curran nourishes such
asperity against me, for I never did him a favour. But there, there!
He's politically insane. A mountebank with one half his talent for
rant would make his fortune!'

'Were I one, my lord,' returned Curran, with a bow, 'so presumptuous
as to set my little head against the opinions of a nation, I should be
glad if folks said I were insane!'

Lord Clare's cheeks were beginning to be unusually rosy, for Doreen
gazed at him with undisguised contempt, and my lady was evidently
amused in a half-malicious way at the encounter.

'If you think,' he said loftily, 'that it will help you into
consequence, you are welcome to bespatter me; but be assured that I
value you so little, either as a lawyer or a man, that I must decline
to address you further till you learn manners.'

Lord Glandore was enchanted, and almost forgot his headache, for he
sniffed a good duel in the wind, and was an artist in such matters.

'I desired to plead with you against yourself,' the little man said
stiffly, 'wherein I was a fool, because your heart, as we know, is
ice. Nay, I have done; for I may not carry on a conflict wherein
victory can bring no honour!'

The countess smiled with thin lips, as Bess may have smiled when
Leicester and Essex were bickering. The fact of these sworn foes being
constantly here together, was in itself an indirect compliment to her
fascinations. Bowing low to her ladyship, Curran trudged across to the
stable-yard, whither his pony had trotted before; and Terence, from
whose face the devil had been peeping ever since the speech about the
half-mounted, followed him in silence thither.

Lord Clare flicked the dust from his pink silk stockings, and plumed
himself complacently, as a hawk does after a tussle with some
formidable fowl.

'Fore Gad, my lady,' he said, 'you are too indulgent. That animal must
be banished from your menagerie, for he is too rough a bear!'

'A good man and true!' returned my lady, with decision; 'despite his
sharp tongue and unprepossessing shell. He was hard on you, touching
you on the raw, and you got the worst of it, and flew in a passion,
and were rude, though you pride yourself upon your temper. You must
make it up before you sit down to breakfast.'

Terence found his chief standing over his pony, a prey to violent
agitation.

'My boy,' he cried out at once, 'I must have a blaze at that rascal!'

'What rascal?' asked the other, who, wounded by his mother's
indifference, was brooding on his own trouble.

'There's but one rascal in the world, and his name's Clare! I'll make
a window through him, I will, with sword or pistol, as suits him best.
Go and tell him so.'

'Most obliging, no doubt,' said Terence, with a half-smile; 'but you
must refrain this time, for my sake. Indeed, you employed language
such as sure never before was used to a lord chancellor. If he
survives your words, no bullet can affect him.'

'It's no use!' persisted the little man, shivering like an aspen; 'I
shan't sleep until I shoot that rascal.'

But Terence passed his arm affectionately within his, and Curran
perceived that there was something amiss with him.

'You have other duties, my old friend,' the young man sighed. 'Come,
come--you must be dignified.'

'Is it I?' returned the other, rubbing his nose ruefully. 'I fear
dignity is a robe which he who would box must lay aside during the
sparring. Maybe, when the fight's done, he'll find that it has been
stolen during the battle! A fig for dignity! I'd rather have a blaze.'

'No!' pursued the young man, mournfully. 'For my sake, you will
abandon this quarrel. I must leave this house, and to whose should I
fly if not to yours? I must go away, for this can be borne no longer.
There is a limit to human patience, and mine is a small allowance.'

'Do nothing rashly,' Curran urged.

'I tell you I cannot bear it,' the young man retorted with vehemence.
'Who knows to what I might be tempted if Shane should go too far? I
tell you I dare not trust myself. And my mother has no sympathy for
me, as you saw; for she was superbly indifferent when he threw that
insult in my teeth. What cares she if I am insulted or not? Such words
from another man, and I would have sprung at his throat at once. When
we fear temptation, it is best to run away from it.'

Curran reflected for a moment, and then grunted:

'Boy! Coriolanus replied to his pleading parent, "Mother, you have
conquered." To oblige you, I will not shoot Lord Clare.'

'I thank you for making an old woman of me!' Terence replied, with a
tinge of humour. 'My conduct was somewhat like a woman's, I confess,
for sure no man should bear so great an insult, even from a brother!'

'You know best,' the little man said, patting his companion's shoulder
fondly. 'But it seems sad thus to shake off the dust of your ancestral
home. Maybe, if he sees you won't be put upon, my lord may grow more
civil. Shane no doubt is trying, and you are a warm-complexioned young
gentleman. Having no son, I would gladly take you to fill the vacant
place, as no one knows better than yourself. You shall stay with me
for a few months, and I'll speak to her ladyship about my lord, who
must be taught to cultivate a civil tongue and apologise; for there
must be no open rupture between you. We'll say it's for convenience'
sake, as I want to make a great lawyer of you. There are briefs you
must study for me, and they pour in, you know. How'll I get through
the papers at all at all, unless I have my junior near me?'

And thus the matter was settled between them, while the elder wondered
what Mrs. Gillin would think of the arrangement. She must be
hoodwinked without delay to prevent mischief, or she would come
clamouring up to the Abbey in her quality-clothes, and all the fat
would be in the fire at once.

Hearing a light footstep on the gravel, Terence turned, and a pang
shot through his heart as he beheld his cousin. It was dreadful to
leave her behind, in the maw as it were of Shane. Yet what difference
could his absence make to one who treated him so scurvily? And those
smart garments, too--that aggravatingly bewitching bonnet--for whose
behoof were they intended? Not for his, certainly. All things
considered, it was best that he should go.

Meanwhile my lady calmly discussed a late breakfast in the oak parlour
with Lord Clare, unconscious that the behaviour of her sons had been
more indecorous than usual, while the originator of the quarrel
trifled languidly with an egg, speculating about time and place,
whether the duel between Curran and the chancellor was to be with
sword or pistol. Why not directly after breakfast in the rosary? a
capital spot, sheltered from wind and observation. Terence would of
course be Curran's second; Cassidy here, who had been hanging about in
a deprecatory manner, first on one leg, then on the other, would be
the chancellor's; while he, my lord, would see fair play. An excellent
arrangement. Then the combatants might amicably return together to
Dublin in the golden coach to set about the business of the day.

Having settled the party of pleasure to his liking and reviewed its
details, the King of the Cherokees was no little disgusted to see Mr.
Curran enter presently and take his seat as if nothing had happened.
My lady, on the other hand, was mightily relieved, for she liked the
two almost equally well, leaning a little perhaps to the side of the
chancellor, on account of his polish and fine manners. She was not
blind to the faults of either of her friends. Clare, she knew,
despised literature, in which Curran delighted. He disdained the arts
of winning; was sullen sometimes, and always overbearing; and when he
condescended to be jocular was usually offensive. But then he was a
dazzling light. Curran was particularly interesting to the stately
countess by reason of his marvellous energy and originality. He was
quicksilver--surcharged with life--restless, sparkling, bewildering;
and it amused her to try to control his erratic movements. Many a time
she lectured, in private, Curran with reference to Clare--Clare with
regard to Curran.

The latter was in the habit of deploring that the former was a patriot
lost, seduced by England, because of his aristocratic proclivities. A
patriot cannot be a courtier, he constantly declared. The ways of the
aristocracy grow more brutal and more reckless with impunity; the
coarseness of their debauchery would have disgusted the crew of Comus;
their drunkenness, their blasphemy, their ferocity, have left the
ignorant English squires far behind. To this the countess would reply
(who knew little of the Dublin _monde_, living as she did a retired
life) that he was biassed by the prejudice of his Irish slovenliness,
in that he could not look upon a man as honest who wore clean linen
and velvet small-clothes. And so the friendly conflict would go on,
one scoring a point and then the other, one breaking into rage and the
other apologising; and so the incongruous cronies wrangled along the
road of life, battling with the breezes which blew round them, whether
from east or west.

Mr. Curran sat down to his breakfast as if nothing had happened,
tucking a napkin into his vest, and handing my Lord Clare, with biting
amiability, the salt or the butter or the bread, while my lady marked
with satisfaction that this tempest was but a squall. That the chairs
of Terence and her niece should remain unoccupied was a matter of no
moment, for the former was probably sulky after his snubbing; while as
for Doreen, her conduct was always more or less improper. Perhaps her
serene ladyship would have been ruffled if she could have looked on
them in the stable-yard, for they were standing very close together,
the one subdued by the prospect of leaving his home for the first
time, the other saddened with thinking of the arrests.

They stood very close together, oblivious of the morning meal; and
Terence caressed the moist muzzles of the hounds with lingering
fingers, while his cousin observed that an interesting air of sadness
suited him. A too healthy look, a too ruddy cheek, are to be
deprecated as unfavourable to romance; yet is there a peculiar and
specially captivating interest about a humdrum exterior with a blight
on it. Terence was too fat and sleek; unheroic, prosaic to an absurd
degree. At least his cousin chose to think so as she looked at him.
Then she glanced down at her own fine raiment with disgust, and hated
prosperity. What right had she to flaunt in delicate muslins while her
people were in bondage? Sackcloth and ashes would become her better,
now that the last champions of her faith were pining in duress. As for
the youth here, it was only fitting that he should be fat and sleek;
for was he not a Protestant, one of the oppressors? What was his
trouble to her trouble--sorrow for a race ground down? True, his
mother loved him not, and his brother was inconsiderate. He should
have spoken boldly, putting his foot down as Doreen would have done,
though his was big and hers was tiny--demanding at least some sort of
respectful consideration, instead of wrapping himself in injured airs
as he proposed to do. And as the thought passed through her mind it
was touched by a tinge of self; for if Terence were to go away, one of
the safeguards of his cousin's peace would slip from her. With the
instinct of intrigue, which is planted in the staidest of female
bosoms, she had determined that the best way, perhaps, of
counteracting her aunt's eccentric marriage scheme would be to play
one brother off against the other. As to a match with Shane, that was
out of the question; to marry Terence would be equally undesirable.
Even now, the wistful humility with which he surveyed her fairy bonnet
was conducive only to laughter. He did not care for her any more than
she cared for him--of course not. But is it not _de rigueur_ for
youths to sigh intermittently after domesticated cousins till the
moment for the _grande passion_ arrives, when they breathe like
furnaces and threaten to fling themselves out of windows? His was
clearly a case of primary intermittent fever, which was not a serious
cause for alarm; and the damsel was quite justified in employing its
vagaries for the protection of her own peace. My lady's project, she
considered, would tumble to pieces in time through inherent weakness.
Till that auspicious moment arrived it would be necessary to stave off
a crisis. It was merely a matter of time--a brief struggle between two
strong wills, in which my lady would succumb, as she invariably did
when pitted against her stubborn niece. For this reason it was
annoying that Terence should go away, and Doreen felt tempted to
employ such arts as she might, without being unmaidenly, for the
prevention of a family split. She said therefore, with a distracting
glance of her brown eyes, while eager muzzles wormed into her hand:

'Is this quite irrevocable? The house will be so dull without you.'

'I would stay if you really wished it,' blurted out the inflammable
youth, pinching a cold nose till the dog--its owner--broke away
howling. 'You know there is nothing I would not do to please you,
Doreen!'

'Is there not?' she returned, with a ring of bitterness, for she was
too straightforward to feel aught but impatience for idle
protestations. 'To please me, would you give up all for Erin, as
Theobald has done? No--you would not. A fine-weather sailor, Terence!
_You_ give up anything, who have all your life been lapped in
luxury--and why should you? Thanks to Mr. Curran, the legal ball is at
your foot, and you only need to work to become rich and happy. But I
shall be sorry to miss your bright face, for all that.'

A second flash, as of a burn in sunlight, carried the lad beyond his
usual prudence. With disconcerting suddenness he seized her hand and
brought his flushed cheek close to hers.

'Doreen!' he gasped. 'If you will love me and be my wife, I will do
anything and bear anything. You've only to direct. I'm poor I know,
but I will work, for I am capable of better things if I have an
object.'

But Miss Wolfe, though far from a coquette, was gifted with presence
of mind. Her intention had been not to provoke an untoward declaration
such as would exasperate her aunt, and, possibly, Lord Glandore; but
to use this impulsive swain as a bulwark of protection against the
assaults of my lady. Perchance, under the circumstances, it was better
that he should depart for a few months to cool his too explosive
ardour. It would not do to encourage, nor yet to quarrel with him. She
escaped from him therefore, holding up her pretty hands, and said
demurely:

'Of course, if Mr. Curran really wishes it, you had better obey. It is
a long ride for you every morning from the Abbey to the Four-courts.'

The Priory, on the other side of Dublin, was about the same distance
from the Four-courts, Terence thought with anger. The girl was playing
with him, as she always did.

'I hope Sara will make you comfortable,' she went on. 'No doubt she
will, she is so sweet a girl. Then we shall meet at Castle balls, and
you shall lead me out for a rigadoon like a mere stranger. That will
be funny, will it not? You don't mean what you say one bit, and it is
a relief to me to know that it is all flummery--you silly, hot-pated,
blarneying Pat! Come along. We will go and eat our breakfast and be
thankful that we have one to eat, instead of talking nonsense. That is
all that you or I are fit for, I am afraid! For it is not such as you
nor I who are destined to save poor Ireland!'

                             CHAPTER IX.

                             THE PRIORY.

A year went by, and Terence was still away from home, an inmate of the
Priory; settled down, much against his will, as a sober councillor,
principal assistant to Mr. Curran, the continually rising advocate.
Sober is scarcely the fitting epithet, for conviviality was the
besetting sin of all classes of Irish in the eighteenth century, and
it was notorious that legal gentlemen, from Judge Clonmel to the
meanest attorney, were constantly in the habit of going drunk to
roost. Where lawyers led, Dublin was fain to follow, for the Bar
took the lead in the society of the metropolis, occupying a strong
middle position of its own between 'gentlemen to the backbone' and
'half-mounted' ditto, from, which it dictated to both. As the policy
of ministers grew more and more unpopular, it became more and more
urgent that Government patronage should be expended in purchasing
support for the measures under which the country groaned; and where
could support be more easily found than among the exponents of
forensic wisdom?

Successfully to do battle with Flood and Grattan it was necessary to
scrape together as much intellect as was available, and so every
promising barrister became certain of a seat in parliament if he would
furbish up his brains for the Viceroy's benefit. This gave to the
lawyers a prestige which drew sons of peers within their ranks, and
they assumed superior airs, which no man challenged, in that their
profession was a nursery to the senate--a step-ladder to the highest
honours. Younger sons of noble houses invariably lean towards the
middle class, because a wide difference of income divides them in
feeling and ways of thought from their elder brothers. Such lordlings
as possessed a competence chose to while away their hours elegantly in
gowns and bands. And so the Bar became the fashion, the lawyers being
credited with such attributes as they thought proper to adopt, and
being permitted to wield an arbitrary sway which was beneficial and
mirth-inspiring. They assumed the right of mind over matter, and
people bowed the knee without inquiry, for they were pre-eminently
jolly dogs who made life the merrier, whose scraps of legal lore
sounded mightily sonorous to ignorant ears, and who, if one was rash
enough to presume to dispute their law, were always ready to take
refuge behind the inevitable pistol. But human nature at its best is
frail, and even lawyers are not always pure. When came the tug of
war--when the Four-courts were closed and courts-martial juggled away
men's lives--the councillors prated no more of their incorruptible
virtue, but donned the uniform as others did, and truckled, with a few
bright exceptions, as meanly as the rest.

But we are now in 1796, when King Claret ruled the roast; when all
were besotted with drink, from Clonmel who gave sentence with a drop
in his eye, to the beggar in the dock who starved his stomach to buy a
drain of spirits; when out of the six thousand houses which formed
Dublin, thirteen hundred were occupied as boozing-kens; when guests
were deprived of their shoes by a host who understood hospitality, and
broken glass was sprinkled in the passages to prevent a man from
jibbing at his liquor.

Mr. Curran's fears were being realised in this year of '96, for the
criminal business to which he had turned his attention was increasing
on his hands through the swelling torrent of treasonable charges. My
Lord Clare's policy was bearing its full crop of evils, for he had
succeeded in moulding the too plastic Viceroy into the shape that
suited him, according to the plan laid down by Mr. Pitt. Lord Camden,
whilst meaning to do well, was repeatedly led astray, as many a better
man has been before him. To Clare he was a docile cat. He submitted to
the secret council of Lords--that mysterious wehmgericht--who were
urged by the chancellor to the most violent proceedings, and became
unconsciously a scapegoat for the bearing of the sins of others.

Under skilful manipulation the Society of United Irishmen flourished
prodigiously. Tom Emmett and Neilson were kept in prison, where they
languished without trial. Others were let out and caged again as
occasion required, that they might inflame their fellows with a
catalogue of dread experiences. Midnight meetings resulted, wherein
orators declaimed of the wickedness of the perfidious one, and
summoned all true patriots to take the fatal oath. The decision which
had been come to on the disastrous night in Trinity was carried out to
the letter, and was much assisted in its fulfilmeut by the harsh
treatment of the chiefs. The military system was engrafted on the
civil.

Faithful to his promise, Cassidy rode to Belfast, delivered Emmett's
order to the delegates there, and then with commendable prudence
subsided into the background. The provincial committee spread out its
arms, from which new ones were speedily engendered, and passed
resolutions of grave import, while England stifled her merriment.
Civil officers were to wear military titles. A secretary over twelve
was to become a petty officer with gewgaws on his coat; a delegate
over five of these, a captain, with more gewgaws; a superior over five
captains, a colonel with a plume; mighty fine! The colonels of each
county were to send three names to the central directory, from which
one was to be chosen adjutant-general of his county to deal directly
with the capital. And thus a national army was forming in the dark,
just as the Volunteer army had sprung up in the daylight, with the
important difference that by this time England had cured her wounds
and regained her pristine strength.

I protest that this linen-draper-medley masquerading in galoon would
be laughable, were it not so sad a spectacle. But who shall dare to
laugh at honest men, whose delusions are nursed and played upon
instead of being tenderly swept away? Curran's sympathies were with
the reformers, but not his judgment; and he became a sort of link
between two parties. His position as a lawyer gave him the _entrée_ to
the best houses, whilst his homely habits and untidy dress caused the
lower orders to look on him as one of themselves. Between the rival
parties he shillyshallied with a weakness which his character belied,
grumbling at the patriots for their imprudence, growling at the sins
of Government, very uncomfortable in his mind, and of no use so far to
either of the opposing factions.

As the members of the society committed themselves more deeply, Lord
Clare became more gay. He hinted to the half-mounted gentry that if
they liked it they might volunteer as active agents against the
misguided youths who were preparing to turn Ireland topsy-turvy.
Nothing could please the squireens better than this tacit permission
to give vent to their worst passions. Brutal, cruel, sycophantic (as
ignorant and depraved natures are), they began to band themselves in
regiments, with nobles for superior officers, and to commit outrages
on those below them, pretty certain that they would be indemnified for
any atrocity they might commit. _L'appétit vient en mangeant_. The
peasant, ground down and wretched to the level of the serf of
Elizabeth, howled out that Justice was indeed fled, and hearkened with
ravenous avidity to the voice of the charmer who sang of French ships
in the offing, and a proximate term to misery. Drilling went on under
cover of night, and the practice of the pike, since gunpowder could
not be purchased; and the shibboleth anent the bough which was to be
planted in England's crown might be heard a hundred times in whispers
on every market-day.

But, misery or no misery, folks must eat and drink, and the
Hibernian nature--as quick to resent as to forgive, as vehement as
indiscreet--is given to extremes, from sadness to mirth and back
again.

Mr. Curran, though his heart was sore, was fond of dainty viands, and
beguiled himself, as others did, with the pleasures of the table;
striving to drown, with a clatter of knives and forks, the din of
approaching tempest. His board was ever sumptuously garnished, his
claret of the best, his welcome of the warmest, and few who were
bidden to partake of it ever declined his hospitality.

Timid Arthur Wolfe, who was growing more cautious every day, and doing
his best to serve two masters for his daughter's sake, implored his
friend to take example by himself, demonstrating in the clearest way
that the history of my Lord Clare was becoming the history of all
Ireland, and that a man with a child's future in his hands has no
right to run a-muck. He had found out that the chancellor had
endeavoured to buy Curran, and failing ignominiously in that attempt,
was trying to undermine his business. Why be for ever snarling at Lord
Clare? It would be the old story of the pipkin and the iron pot. To
which arguments Curran answered, laughing:

'Is it I that's the frog, and he the bull? Maybe it'll turn out
t'other way. I'm mad, no doubt, to set my small pebble to stop his
chariot, but many a trivial thing has proved the factor in a great
catastrophe, and I'll even insert my pebble. Fudge, Arthur! I'm too
popular, and my life's too open for even Lord Clare to wreak his
vengeance on me.'

Then Arthur Wolfe persisted, entreating that at least he would avoid
the charge of holding seditious meetings at his house. The weekly
dinners at the Priory were jovial, he admitted, beyond compare. The
cup went round as merrily as if Erin were a buxom wench, dimpled, and
well-to-do--but there could be no denying that those who drank of it
were marked men mostly, who knew the inside of Newgate as well as the
Priory parlour, and these were ticklish times for political
flirtation. What would befall Sara, honest Arthur pleaded, if an
accident were to befall the councillor? So delicate a blossom would
shrivel under the first frostnipping. On her father's head must rest
the consequence if misfortune crushed his child.

At mention of Sara Mr. Curran would become exceedingly perplexed, torn
by two apparently incompatible duties, as he reflected on his pale
primrose. How wonderful are the decrees of Fate! Why are beings,
abnormally sensitive and delicate--whose fibres are liable to injury
by the most careful handling--pitchforked into a world of stones for
the express purpose of being bruised? Sara's nature was one which
needed sun and flowers, hourly solicitude and broidered blanketing,
yet here was she cast upon a rocky coast, battered by cold winds,
which threatened to become each day more easterly! Was she sent to
earth merely to bear pain, to linger for a space in more or less
protracted agony, and then to die? Possibly. It is a cruel creed to
accept, but the experience of the world we live in forces it upon us.
Perchance we shall learn to see a reason for it later on.

The crash was coming, as none perceived more clearly than Mr. Curran.
Might anything avert it? Nothing. What would happen to cherished
ones in the throes of the hurricane? But how bootless was such
self-communing! _Fais ce que devra!_ Mr. Curran was determined not to
shrink from duty to the soil which gave him birth. Though the days of
Roman virtue were overpast, he would sacrifice his heart's treasure on
the altar if need were, trusting to God's mercy for the rest; and it
was the kernel of his project to keep watch over the society--with it
in the spirit, but not of it in the body. He was wont to say with
pride that he had never wittingly snubbed any man who was in earnest.
Self-willed himself, he respected those who strove to make themselves,
and respected men doubly if their aspirations were unselfish. He said
to himself that the motives of this small self-sacrificing band were
pure where all else was foul; that though for their own sakes he dared
not espouse their tenets openly, yet it would be a coward's act to
deprive them of his countenance and advice because they walked in
danger. So he shook his head at time-serving Arthur Wolfe, and went
his independent way, and waited for his chosen guests each Wednesday
afternoon, caring no fig for Lord Clare's menaces, sorry only that he
continued to exist.

He stood straddle-legged at the hour of five on a reception-day, among
the dishevelled laurestinus bushes, which he was pleased to call his
avenue, swinging his portly watch by its ribbon--as his way was when
guests were late. The Priory was a snug abode, if not endowed with
beauty; but then the works of man in Ireland are seldom in beautiful
accordance with the handiwork of God. It was a frightful ungainly
villa erected in the hideous style of Irish suburban architecture,
with attenuated slits of windows and tall consumptive doors set
half-way up in a bald waste of rough whitewashed wall. The usual
alpine stair led to the entrance; arranged, as it appeared, for the
purpose of setting an honoured guest on a glorious pinnacle of
observation, till slipshod Kathy could hitch up her draggled skirts to
let him in.

From the parlour window might be admired a prospect of barn, dunghill,
dovecote, horsepond, piggery, which offered to the nose in summer a
bouquet of varied sweets; while the usual yard or two of road swept
round the usual dark circular grassplot with a mouldy rhododendron in
the centre of it. The orchard behind was christened by its owner his
pistol-gallery, but it was at the same time a forum; for there might
Mr. Curran frequently be seen of a morning, declaiming with
Demosthenic energy, whilst he lodged bullets at intervals in the bark
of special trees.

The odour of savoury viands assailed his nostrils as he stood
statue-like on the pinnacle and whirled his watch, for he hated
unpunctuality above all things. His beetle-brows were knit, his lower
lip protruded, and he wondered whether any of his guests had been
arrested. That was naturally his first fear, and he wagged his head
with gloom at some ducks that quacked in a neighbouring puddle as he
surveyed the lugubrious possibility.

'Idiots!' he moralised. 'Pictures of ourselves, who dream of dinner as
though sorrow could not wake. Alas! Fate is common and the future is
unseen, as the Arab proverb has it. You rejoice in the balmy showers,
do you?--not knowing, in your crass ignorance, that they will make the
peas grow! And here are we, as foolish as you, going in for a
jollification, as though a few months might not bring grief to all of
us! Ahem! It is well that we are a careless nation, or every Irishman
would cut his throat before he grew to manhood.'

Terence, who was drawing corks as if catering for an army, laughed
aloud, for he at least showed no signs of brooding melancholy; being
prepared rather to take life as he found it, and enjoy it too, for his
bright brave nature endeared him to all, and he was himself too frank
to believe in the pervading blackness of the human heart. As Doreen
pictured, he had attended the Castle balls during the winter, and had
led out his cousin for a turn of passepied or rigadoon without much
sighing; had dutifully called on his mother when Shane was safe away,
and had spent the rest of his time yawning over briefs for the behoof
of Mr. Curran.

These briefs caused little disputes sometimes between the two, which
it became Sara's duty to smooth away--for Terence was wofully idle and
abhorred his work, being wont to declare that intellectual labour was
one thing, and unintellectual drudgery another, till his chief waxed
exceeding wroth, and asserted that idleness led to mischief. Sometimes
there appeared a flickering flame of ambition in him, which Curran
tried hard to foster; but before he had time to fan it, Terence would
cry, 'Oh, bother?' and, flinging the brief into the garden, go forth
to fish with Phil. No one could be angry with him long. Idleness seems
to suit some natures, which appear moulded for the enjoyment of other
people's labour.

In the ways of the world Terence was an infant; in the balance of
right and wrong inclined to be unsteady from sheer indolence of brain.
His bubbling, brawling flow of spirits deceived casual observers, who
set him down as frivolous, impelled by the lightest breeze. Doreen,
whose experience was limited, thought him so with a feeling of
affection, in which contempt was mingled; but Curran knew better. He
knew that many a sensitive man wilfully assumes a disparaging exterior
to mask his holy of holies even from himself. He knew that few among
us ever quite know ourselves; but wake up sometimes in the decline of
life to discover new virtues or new vices, of whose existence we were
quite unconscious; that we come to know our own characters by flashes,
just as we learn those of our nearest and dearest friends.

Terence was a general favourite; a hearty devil-may-care young fellow,
with a good digestion and few individual troubles, and was looked upon
with awe by gentle little Sara, as he helped in her household cares.
Indeed, Mr. Curran was justified in being cross this day, for the
repast was ready, if the guests were not. Veal, turkey, ham--all
piping hot--smoked in their respective dishes. Powldoody oysters
smiled as a centre-piece, flanked by speckled trout, caught but an
hour ago by Terence's servant Phil. Rows of wine-bottles garnished the
parlour wainscoting; the trim little hostess was squeezing lemons into
a jug on the hearthstone, with a view to prospective punch. He spun
his watch faster and faster as moments waned, more and more certain
that something untoward must have happened, and was no little relieved
by the sound of horses' feet, and the sight of his party approaching.

'Hooroo, boys!' he cried cheerily, shaking off his gloom. 'Ye're late,
but no mather; ye're welcome, and shall carry home what ye like with
ye, rather than an appetite.'

Sara had a becoming blush ready for her undergraduate, as he
approached to kiss her hand. She looked shyly in his eyes, and marked
with uneasiness that they were growing very dreamy, while an habitual
contraction fretted his forehead, which she knew came from distress
about his brother. She knew--for sometimes she took entrancing walks
with him--that his temper was becoming soured and his spirit chafed,
in that Tom languished on in prison without trial. Was not such
injustice outrageous? The charges against him were grave, no doubt;
that bit of paper which blundering Cassidy had failed to swallow was
compromising in a high degree; but then others quite as much
compromised were let off long since with a fine, whilst Tom remained
untried. Any trial--before a jury however packed--would be better than
such lingering suspense. If the worst came to the worst, the crown of
martyrdom, which would go with conviction, would be some small
comfort; but to have lain rotting in a gaol for a year, to be immured
without a term till well-nigh forgotten, was like the death of a rat
in a hole; and as ardent young Robert thought of it, his
constitutional dread of bloodshed almost went from him. Seeing what he
was forced to see, he regretted his oath in nowise.

Among many enthusiasts few were so enthusiastic as this boy--few
looked so hopefully for news of Tone and of his doings in France. The
newspaper of his imprisoned brother had somehow revived, though the
guiding hand was shackled, and wonderful articles appeared in its
pages which might well have brought down, for the second time, the
chancellor's vengeful claw on it. But such rash ebullitions of an
imprudent ardour were just what Lord Clare required. Nobody knew who
edited Tom's journal now (possibly many had a finger in it). It
certainly was not Robert, for he was but eighteen and a student still
of Trinity; but that he helped and gambolled on the chasm's verge, his
friends did know, and remonstrated with him more than once.

Curran was constantly lecturing him, but without effect, for the
froward boy only bade him attend to his own affairs; suggested that if
he wanted to save somebody from the vortex he had better look after
his own future son-in-law, and this made Curran angry. Yes; this was
one of the things which had resulted from Terence's leaving home.
Busybodies had winked and nodded, declaring that the little lawyer was
wise in his generation; that, having feathered his nest, he might do
worse for Sara than introduce her into the peerage with a plump dowry.
If a trifle reckless he was shrewd, they said; for whilst dallying
with the United Irishmen he had taken care to drag along with him the
brother of a great lord, who could not well interfere on behalf of a
near kinsman without also throwing the ægis of his rank over another
who ran in couples with him. The busybodies talked nonsense, as they
generally do. Mr. Curran had no views as yet with regard to Sara, and
required the protection of no aristocratic ægis. His reputation had
risen so high during the last twelve months by reason of the splendid
bravery with which he had defended the foes of established government,
that neither Pitt nor Clare dared at this moment to touch the
champion. His place at the Bar was so unique that there was no man,
not merely next, but near him. Other advocates were to him as the
stars to the sunbeam. In court he was at once persuasive, eloquent,
acute, argumentative; striking with cunning hand the chord of pity,
then (for he knew his audience) checking the rising tear with
laughter. As a cross-examiner he was unrivalled. Let truth and
falsehood be ever so intricately dovetailed, he could part them with a
touch. Swiftly he would place his finger on a vital point, untwist a
tangle and involve perjury in the confusion of its contradictions. So
long as he retained his purity, it would never do to assail this
Galahad. All were aware of that, and so he needed no help from a great
lord.

Yet many wondered whether he might be secretly afraid of being
ensnared; whether, foreseeing the struggle that was imminent, he might
not deem it prudent to prepare a sure method of escape. The children
of darkness have more ways of circumventing the children of light than
it is at all pleasant for you and me (who of course belong to the
latter category) to reflect upon. He was ill-judged, possibly, in
throwing a young man like Terence into too close contact with the
would-be reformers. But then was not that youth already a friend of
the Emmetts and of Tone? Was not his innate laziness a bulwark of
defence? Was he not in the habit of defending Lord Clare, and of
pointing out that party-spirit embitters people to the point of
shameful slander? As yet he declined to admit that the chancellor had
horns and hoofs.

Although he scorned the worldly-wise advice of Arthur Wolfe, Mr.
Curran was careful, when he could, to check open expressions of
sedition at his table. On this very day he found it necessary several
times to change the current of talk before the cloth was removed, when
Sara, nodding pleasantly to Terence and to her undergraduate, rose and
withdrew to her chamber.

But there was a special reason on this particular day for an extra
amount of wrath on the part of the young men, his guests, which did
not fail to produce its answering growl from their host. That fresh
arbitrary arrests should have taken place surprised him not at
all--such proceedings were of daily occurrence. That Sirr, the
town-major, should be enlarging his paid army of false-witnesses, who
were becoming notorious as 'the band of testimony,' was also, alas, no
new thing. That a man's life could be sworn away by one witness who
had never seen him before was an awful fact; but then he, Mr. Curran,
was at hand to protest, and the recognised forms of law still
permitted an accused sometimes to baffle the paid malice of the
informer.

It was an open question, all admitted, how far a government might go
in espionage. In moments of peril to the public weal it is certain
that ministers must draw their information from any quarter, however
foul; but to offer a premium to rascality is surely criminal. To
gain information of facts from detectives is quite a different matter
from the employment of secret agents to tempt people into sin and
then hound them down. Robert Emmett brought news with him this day
that seemed to foreshadow a change of tactics on the part of the
executive--ominous news the discussion of which had made the party
late upon the road, and which caused the young men, so soon as their
hostess had retired, to abandon social gossip for more grave
communion.

'Friends,' Robert said, 'they intend to exasperate us. There can be no
more doubt about it, though I am in the dark as to their motives.
Please God, Theobald's mission will be accomplished ere 'tis too late;
the French will come to our succour before we are goaded to despair.'

Cassidy, who had such a blundering tendency to do the wrong thing in
the wrong place, here broke out into a new ditty which was beginning
to be popular, trolling forth in his mellow voice:

   'The French are on the say, says the Shan van Vocht;
    And will be here without delay, says the Shan van Vocht;'

but he was sternly bidden to fill his glass and pass the
round-bottomed bottle without making himself noisily objectionable;
and, whatever other peccadillo he might think proper to commit, above
all things to drink fair.

'Major Sirr's banditti,' the undergraduate went on, so soon as the
bottle, being empty, could be laid down, 'have taken on them a new
function. They arrogate to themselves now a right of paying
domiciliary visits without search-warrants, of forcing open a person's
door whensoever the outrage may suit their whim. A year ago they
wormed their way into Trinity, and by an accident we were unable to
rouse the college.'

'Arrah, thin,' grumbled Cassidy, 'will ye always be pitching my big
shoulder sand empty head in my teeth? I was sorry for my awkwardness,
and that's enough.'

'But at that time they were right to take us, if they could; for in
truth we were conspiring--a red-letter day in my memory, the day I
took the oath! Hearken to this, all of you! You know Tim Flanagan, of
Ormond's Quay, whose lady--God rest her soul!--was brought to bed a
week ago? She died, so did the child, last night; and Tim, gone wild
with sorrow, threw himself on the floor beside the corpse, refusing to
be comforted. There came a knocking at his warehouse entry; it was
barred, and the men away. His sister, from a window, desired to
know what was wanted. Sirr answered that he was come to search the
house--for what, in the Lord's name? Gunpowder cannot be bought. The
sister offered money if they would respect their grief, but not
enough. In the warehouses nothing compromising was found, of course.
The room where the corpse lay was to be searched also. They battered
in the door of the guarded chamber, but recoiled in a fright, for Tim
stood with a threatening glare of madness beside his young wife, a
knife clutched in his right hand. They fled, these myrmidons who
disregarded an agony of soul which a savage would respect; and Tim
knelt down there and then, with his appalled sister, swearing, on the
blue lips of her who was gone before, an eternal enmity against the
Castle tyrants.'

There was a long silence, during which Curran hung his head, while the
brow of his junior darkened, and honest Phil, his goggle-eyed
henchman, poured claret in his master's lap instead of into his glass.

'It is horrible!' sighed Cassidy, and swore a string of oaths. 'Tim
Flanagan had fought shy of the society,' he shouted, 'but now would
surely join it. His was but one case out of many. The wickedness of
those in power would surely drive all Ireland to take the oath, and
then the sons of the soil would rise as one man and hunt the tyrants
into the Channel.'

Mr. Curran shook his rough head.

'They are working for a purpose, as Robert says,' he remarked; 'a
wicked purpose, which aims at our eternal slavery. Instead of
sowing seeds of wholesome trees, beneath which our children may seek
shelter, they cherish poisonous roots, with the intent to squat like
witches in a plantation of nightshade. You will never hunt them into
the Channel. Do you know that they are flooding the island with
troops--_disciplined troops_, who will part your ill-trained myriads
like water? I see their aim, though they would fain hide it till the
fruit is ripe. They will goad us by insidious outrage to despair, then
stamp on us with an overwhelming force, and, when we are faint and
bleeding, will tie us, gagged and chained, to the car of England for
evermore.'

'What do you mean?' Terence inquired sternly.

'I mean,' responded his chief, 'that when we are ground into the dust,
they will sweep us from the list of nations. Cobwebs will gather round
the locks of our senate-house; our exchange will be silent as the
tomb, our docks empty, our quays deserted. England will swallow us
body and soul; will devour our liberty, and with it our existence.'

'Never!' bawled impetuous Cassidy. 'We will die first, if it's thrue
what he says, and he's more wise than I. We are men, aren't we, who
can die but once? Shall we lie down to be whipped, like dancing-dogs?
There's no going back, except for cowards, boys! All must fall in, or
be disgraced. What say you, Master Crosbie, will you sit by and see
Ould Erin sold?'

The excitement of this bellowing athlete was contagious.

'If I believed that there was one tittle of truth in the suspicions of
my old friend, I'd take the oath to-morrow,' cried Terence, with a
slap upon the table. 'But he exaggerates.'

'Do I?' growled Curran. 'I say that they mean to unite Ireland to
England, and that their present operations are tending to that end;
and I also affirm that, whether you take the oath or whether you do
not, that important ceremony will have no effect whatever on the
end--you coxcomb!'

'Be their intentions what they may, there is no going back now,'
echoed young Robert, sipping his claret dreamily. 'All who have a real
stake in the country must see that. Is not our first stake our
national honour? and how may we bow our necks beneath the Saxon's heel
without eternal shame? The truculent, bloody Saxon! who has left his
track like a livid welt across our land, in altars polluted and laid
low, pledges made and broken, a long trail of lust and rapine and
crime.'

A faint smile flitted over Cassidy's features, for this was the turgid
eloquence of the mysterious newspaper whose editor was in Newgate.

'Boy, you chatter balderdash,' Curran snapped shortly; 'such
balderdash as the ignorant drink too eagerly for truth. Oh for a
little ballast to keep us steady! An Irishman, when not stranded on
the Scylla of indolence, is certain to flounder headforemost on the
Charybdis of enthusiasm; and, of the two dangers, the latter is
generally the worst.'

'Deed, it's thrue what ye say, councillor dear,' Cassidy murmured, in
a coaxing tone. 'But sure, though you rail at us, you would not stand
by neither, any more nor this young gintleman? We know well enough
your heart is with us.'

'You are no better than baaing sheep following one another into the
shambles,' answered the host testily, for he was taken aback by this
open assault upon himself and Terence. 'Your ill-digested plans must
fail.'

'Fail!' echoed Robert and Cassidy together. 'Why,' continued the
former, forgetting his horror of bloodshed, 'when the time comes we
shall count upon a hundred thousand men. I know it by the returns sent
in to the Directory.'

'On paper.'

'And the French will be here in force--the veterans of the Republic.'

'The French, the French!' growled Curran. 'Say that they land and beat
the armies of King George, which I much doubt; will they not soon
weary of a precarious possession, and, carrying you to market in some
treaty of peace, barter you away to be well scourged? I vow I have no
patience with you, grieved though I be for the humble order of the
people, who from lack of education are easily deluded. Depend upon it,
your acts are all known in London. By the time you are ready, the
towns will seethe with British troops. I tremble to think of the
result.'

'Would ye have us turn the cheek like good Christians, then?' jeered
the giant, who, under influence of wine, was becoming warm. 'Are the
sons of the ancient kings meekly to become galley-slaves?'

'What would I have ye do?' retorted the host, who perceived with wrath
that he was being driven into a corner. 'I'd have ye keep a civil
tongue, and talk no treason till ye're outside my privet-hedge. If ye
do not, I'll report what's been said to Clare; I will, upon my honour,
to save ye from worse folly.'

The sturdy little man looked as if he were quite capable of carrying
out his threat. If he were to disclose all he knew of them, it would
be terrible indeed.

Cassidy, the claret mounting to his muddled brain, seized a decanter
with the laudable intention of belabouring his host with it.

'A traitor!' he muttered fiercely. 'That's the lowest beast that
crawls. If ye spake ere a word of us, I'll pistol ye in the street!'

The lawyer looked calmly up at the menacing giant and laughed. 'Put it
down, big baby,' he said. 'You dare to think me half-hearted because I
won't take a pike and try to knock down St. Patrick's. Does any man in
Ireland love Erin more than I? Learn, fool, that men have different
functions assigned to them. Do your best, if God wills it so. When the
battle's lost ye'll want me to bind your gashes. I've listened to much
rubbish this afternoon. Now you, in your turn, listen to the truth,
which is bad enough--ochone! I _know_ that all your martial goings-out
and comings-in are reported one by one; I _know_ that they are
broidured and embellished before they cross the sea. I have reason to
suspect--I admit I cannot prove it yet--that such cooked accounts are
given of your doings as actually to alarm the British cabinet. You are
playing into Pitt's hands. I have heard that they even talk of
"martial-law" as possible. If they come to that, the Lord be merciful
to our poor Erin!'

Mr. Curran's head sank on his breast, and tears ran down his rugged
cheeks; while the conspirators glanced one at the other with pallid
faces. Martial law! rough and ready tribunals presided over by the
tools of England! Sure their host's terrors must carry him away. And
yet he might be right, judging from the past. It was quite possible
that they were being deliberately driven to the shambles in cold
blood--like victims marked out for slaughter by some savage despot.
Cassidy laid down the decanter, and began to stammer apologies for his
petulance.

The noise of voices at high words brought Sara into the room, who,
frightened at the sudden dread which seemed to have invaded the party,
clung to her father, while she turned an inquiring glance to the
undergraduate.

'What is it, father?' she murmured with dim fear, for the adored face
of Robert was distorted with passion, while his hands shook like
leaves.

'A Union is it that they want?' the boy muttered 'twixt chattering
teeth. 'I will resist it to the last gasp of my existence--to the last
drop of my blood--and when death comes, I will call down the eternal
curse of Heaven upon the destroyers of our freedom!'

Sara felt dizzy, and would have fallen but for her father's encircling
arm. Dark shadows of foreboding were flitting across her mind. Was he
whom she elected to worship to be drawn into the whirlpool after all?
Was Robert to share Theobald's fate--to be banished from friends and
motherland? In her gentle loving heart she registered a vow that if
that fate should come on him, the sorrow of his exile should be
soothed by no hand but hers.

Mr. Curran set himself to calm his darling. 'Silly child!' he said,
patting her yellow curls. 'There, there, why not in bed? Fie! young
ladies mustn't rush in where gintlemen are toping. Well, as ye are
here, pick up the matarials from the hearth, my love, and squeeze in
another lemon. This won't do. I shall lose my reputation as a _bon
viveur_. A sentiment? Bravo! Here 'tis. Come, bumpers! "If a man fills
the bottom of his glass, more shame to him if he doesn't fill the top;
and if he empties the top, sure he'd not be so base as to deny the
bottom the same compliment!" Now we'll lock the doors, and my big
friend shall expend his exuberance in song. A toast first. You too
shall sip of it, my blossom, for there's ne'er a bit of treason in
it.' Then, clasping Sara's slender waist, he raised his haggard eyes,
and said solemnly: 'As God in these latter days is unfolding in His
creatures strange new powers, so may they all tend to Freedom, Peace,
and Harmony. May those who are free never be enslaved--may those who
are slaves be speedily set free. Amen!'

Cassidy, quite good-humoured and repentant now--for his bark was
always more awful than his bite--tuned up and sang his choicest
ditties; yet somehow there was a pall over the party which music could
not dissipate. Truths had slipped out in the desultory talk which
weighed down the souls of all. Mr. Curran, usually a pearl among
hosts, was worried and absent, for, look at the situation as he would,
there was nothing to be seen but impending disaster, and he thought
that perhaps he had spoken out too openly. Terence, too, seemed much
disturbed in mind; more moved at Robert's story and his own hints than
he liked to see. Perchance it would be safest to pack him home without
delay. Yet no--his was not the soul-harrowing indignation which
exercised the patriots. He was shocked, but there was no real danger
of his being trapped. It would lie heavy on his conscience, though, if
this artless joyous creature should be dragged into the vortex. Much
better that he should shoot, and hunt, and fish, and make the most of
the happy accident of his social standing. Certainly he would show
little affection for his _protégé_ if he permitted him to be trapped,
and Cassidy showed wondrous anxiety to trap him. An odd person,
Cassidy; a whimsical combination of opposing essences; one of those
dangerous hot natures whose ill-balanced zeal is more fatal to a cause
than enmity. No one could on occasion be more oafishly stupid than he,
or more rashly brave; and yet the way he kept up a show of intercourse
with Major Sirr and my Lord Clare, after the fashion of a safety-rope
to which to cling in peril, was worthy of quite a subtle plotter. That
the giant meant well there could be no doubt. But if he, Curran, had
had aught to do with the society, he would have stipulated that this
firebrand should be kept as much as might be in the background.

While he meditated thus the punch-bowl was emptied, and, as he made a
move to refill it, the party broke into knots and resumed the topic
which engrossed them.

Terence listened to young Robert's views, which, under the auspices of
liquor, grew more rosy and more loud.

'I don't mind telling you about it,' the boy was saying, 'for I know
that your honour is too fine to allow the smallest hint to be dropped
of what I say. The French will come with 15,000 men, and gunpowder,
and muskets. Pikeheads are being hammered out of hours on hundreds of
village anvils.'

'They will never send 15,000 men,' Terence objected, with a doggedness
induced by drink. 'Their coffers are empty. Holland, Switzerland, the
Rhine, claim the attention of their arms.'

'If they send but 5,000 the work can be done. You don't believe it?
With three hundred as officers to head our own people, we could make
an effort.'

'What can a rabble hope to do against a disciplined force?' exclaimed
Terence, with animation. 'The French could not spare three hundred
officers to this outlying island. Who have you amongst you who could
teach a single military man[oe]uvre? Who could save an army from rout
if attacked in rear, or judiciously decide upon a line of
entrenchment? What a reckless waste of life--a march into the grave!'

'There are cultivated gintlemen who will come forward when they see
that we are in earnest,' put in Cassidy slyly; 'lots of them. There is
no telling what mines of military genius may be found amongst the
high-born. I confess I'd like to know what we really may expect from
France. Theobald has been ten months in Paris, is hand and glove they
say with General Hoche, and Carnot, the "Organiser of Victory."
Strange he should never write.'

'My cousin Doreen has letters from him,' Terence said, in thick
accents. 'Maybe she'd tell us if we coaxed her.' Then, rising, he
flung wide the shutters and opened the window, through which streamed
such a flood of morning light and perfumed air as caused his wits to
reel. Cassidy grinned, as he marked the 'us,' and, encouraged by so
good a sign, made bold to clap the young patrician upon the shoulder.

'Sure she'd tell you, councillor darlint,' he whispered; 'for she
likes you, and I can get nothing serious out of her. Faix! it's the
dainty colleen she is!'

'I dare say she would,' returned Terence, while lines of latent humour
puckered up the giant's face. Councillor Crosbie's lofty patronage
amused him, for, of the two, Mr. Cassidy had seen most of the Abbey
during the past year. 'The day is come,' he urged; 'the very hour for
a ride. Will ye go and find out something to make our minds aisy, or
do ye think Misthress Doreen would be cross wid ye?'

Cassidy was taking liberties. Of that Terence felt hazily assured.

'Yes,' he replied, 'I will canter over to Strogue to see what I can
gather; a gallop by the beach will steady my nerves for the business
of the infernal Four-courts. Tell Phil, Cassidy, to saddle the horses
at once.'

Cassidy humbly obeyed orders, while Curran, who was watching, laughed,
despite his dreary thoughts. How translucent is the strategy of youth!
The squireen's familiar manner of mentioning Doreen had stung her
cousin, and filled him with a desire to warn her of the oaf's
presumption. It was a fine excuse for stealing a delicious hour with a
girl who loved not flirtation; who crumpled up her admirers with
scorn; who might, without some such excuse, resent even a cousin's
interference with the stern duties of matutinal chicken-feeding.

'Go!' Mr. Curran laughed, his conscience relieved, as he placed his
hand on the broad straight back of his favourite. 'Go, lad, and learn
what you can from that lovely conspiring siren. I think my Sally must
go too, to protect you. Stop a minute while I write a line to my lady.
I'm sorry we've not had so gay a time as usual--but sure gaiety is
being squeezed quite out of us. One Doughan Dourish before we
separate. Here's to Innisfail, and may God have mercy on her! And now
good-night, or rather good-morning. I've a heavy day before me, and
must e'en steal forty winks.'

The party mounted their horses and rode away, and Mr. Curran went to
bed and slept, quite persuaded now that Terence must go home and stop
there.

                              CHAPTER X.

                           LOVES AND DOVES?

Honest Phil saddled the horses and brought them round in a
twinkling, delighted always with a journey to the Abbey; for did not
red-haired Biddy, who held his large heart in keeping, abide at the
shebeen foreninst the Little House with her mamma, Jug Coyle? Jug
Coyle--the Collough--or wise woman, mistress of hidden arts, whose
little public-house, on Madam Gillin's land, had grown more orderly
than heretofore during the last few months. It was not that grooms and
soldiers frequented it the less, but that, instead of sitting on the
bench without, roaring ribald staves into the small hours, as had been
the objectionable custom, they now preferred the innermost room with a
well-closed door. Yet, roistering or silent, there was the shebeen
with its mouldering thatched roof and discoloured whitewash walls, and
one of its tiny windows roughly boarded up, at the very gate of the
lordly Abbey--an undiminished eyesore to the chatelaine.

Sara, whose gentle nature was perturbed by the scene at the
supper-table--the pale faces and haggard looks--slept not a wink all
night, and was most glad to join Terence in a canter by the seashore.
She daily grew fonder of Doreen, whose quiet manner seemed to instil
calmness into her own soul; who allowed the child in a gracious way to
cling to her, to prattle of her little troubles, her suspicions and
her fears, and her adoration of the undergraduate. Her father was too
busy to listen to her babbling; the dear young undergraduate too much
absorbed in what he called the cycle of injustice. All those with whom
she had to do--except Doreen--were for ever prating of the Saxon's
iron heel, shaking their fists at Heaven, venting dark anathemas and
muttering such threats as terrified her. Something dreadfully
mysterious was to take place soon--of that she felt assured--though
when she asked questions, Mr. Curran pinched her chin, calling her a
little silly kitten; then mused with eyes averted. Yes, there was a
heavy intangible cloud o'ershadowing those she loved; all the little
maid could do was to pour out her innocent soul to God, imploring His
mercy for her father and her friends.

Wiser eyes than Sara's saw the cloud--observed that it grew blacker
and more thunderous as it lowered nearer earth--that its lining,
instead of being silvern, was lurid red. Some, like wreckers on a
craggy beach, rejoiced in the approach of a storm which would bring
them pelf; others watched it wistfully, as it darkened the sun, with a
sickening sense of powerlessness to avert its coming. Among these was
Doreen, who, surveying the gloomy prospect as from a watch-tower, grew
hourly more grave and self-contained. Her position at the Abbey had
changed but little during the interval. The dowager had never directly
referred to the conversation in the rosary, but the damsel was not
slow in perceiving that Shane and herself were thrown together as
often as was practicable. Then this wild scheme was not to be
abandoned idly? What could be the reason for it? Once, in her desire
to escape from a false position, she begged her easy-going parent to
take her to live with him in Dublin, telling him plainly that she
could never marry Shane, imploring him to spare her a distressing
ordeal. He only patted her hands, however, and nodded perplexedly,
with an assurance that she should never be forced into anything she
did not like. It was clear that Mr. Wolfe was growing more and more
afraid of his sister, also that public affairs distressed him; for he
plunged daily more deeply into routine business, attempting in a weak
way now and then to pour oil upon the waters between Curran and Clare,
carefully keeping his daughter out of the capital as much as he was
able. Not but what he would stand up for his girl upon occasion, when
my lady was too hard upon her. The dowager never grew weary of lifting
up her voice against Doreen's unseemly proclivities, her free and easy
ways, her ridings hither and thither, her expeditions none knew
whither. It was a disgrace to the family, she averred--for in her own
girlhood Irish ladies were content to sit by the fireside, or look
after the pastry, study the art of dumpling-making, concoct cunning
gooseberry-wine and raspberry-vinegar, prepare delicious minglings of
roseleaves and lavender for the sweetening of the family linen. To all
of which Mr. Wolfe was wont to reply mildly:

'The maiden is of a masculine turn, who delights not in
sampler-stitching or pie-baking. She is three-and-twenty, of unusually
staid manners. I'd like to see the man who dared insult her! Let be,
let be. None would be more glad than I if she would think less of
politics and the dreadful Penal Code. Guide her inexperience gently,
if you will; but do not attempt coercion, or you'll get the worst of
it.'

Despite this prudent counsel, there were several tussles 'twixt the
maiden and her aunt; in one of which the elder dropped some incautious
words, which were a revelation to Doreen.

'You play with edged tools, girl!' she had said. 'You form friendships
with the enemies of the executive and urge them to deeds of rashness,
knowing that, come what may, you, as a woman, will escape scot-free.
Your unwarrantable proceedings fill your father with such anxiety that
he dares not have you home, lest in Dublin you should set up for a
heroine and disgrace us. You are the most stubborn stiff-necked piece
of goods the world ever saw! Yet what can be expected of a Papist?
This is Nemesis upon him for having married one.'

Then this was the cause of her being left at the Abbey--of Mr. Wolfe's
evident anxiety? He dreaded lest--in her sorrow for her people--she
should do something which would involve him in difficulties with
Government. Poor, weak, loving father! No. That she clearly had no
right to do. Yet she could surely not be expected to approve the acts
of the executive; she, a Catholic, whose heart was rendered so
sensitive by the iron which had worn into it from childhood. Was it
her fault if her mind turned itself towards passing events instead of
being absorbed by the manufacture of tarts? Surely not! Hers was a
sturdier, braver nature than her father's. Loving him as she did, she
strove not to perceive his truckling ways. Had she been a man she
would have done as Tone had done--have seized a buckler and girded by
her side a sword--to have at the oppressor, whose tricks were so
crafty and so base. So both her father and her aunt suspected her, did
they, of urging men on to conspire against the state? My lady would
doubtless have placed her under lock and key if her brother had
permitted of such a measure. And knowing or suspecting what she did,
she was still anxious to bring about a union between the young
people--her favourite son, the wealthy Earl of Glandore, and the
Papist heiress who was so unmanageable. It was most amazing. Doreen
failed to track out the slightest clue to the mystery.

Finding it so knotty she gave it up, choosing rather to ponder on the
turn affairs were taking. She hated Lord Clare now with an indignant
hatred, for he had raised his mask a little, and she had seen the
devil's lineaments looking out from under it. He made no secret of his
dislike of the Catholics, telling her to her face one day, with an
arrogant hauteur which made her blood tingle, that he was going to
make it his especial business to pull down the altars of Baal. Oh, if
this Sisera would only lie down to sleep before her--with what
satisfaction would she drive a great nail into his temple!

The lord chancellor was aware that the beautiful Miss Wolfe loved him
not, and was wont to jest thereat when taking a dish of tea with his
old flame the dowager. My lady smiled at his tirades, making merry
over the appalling catalogue of things which he intended to do; for,
being a brilliant Irishman, he of course had the national tendency to
romancing, and it never entered into her mind to conceive that he
actually could mean what he said. Though shrewd enough, my lady was
quite taken in by my Lord Clare, who seeing in her a swaddler--one of
those bigots who mistake rancour for virtue--was minded to make his
ancient ally useful to his ends.

He failed to realise that my lady's bigotry was only skin-deep--that
it was her way of protesting against the many disagreeable things
which she had been forced to endure, and, thanks to Gillin, was still
enduring. He therefore feared not to propose to her a something, at
which her pride should have recoiled with horror, but which--thanks to
his persuasive arts and her belief in his talent and integrity, she
agreed at least to consider before repudiating. First he commiserated
her position in being burthened with the responsible care of a damsel
who was like to bring disgrace upon them all.

Behind the scenes as he was, he could see farther among the machinery
than most people, and deeply deplored what seemed inevitable--namely,
that the rash young lady would certainly commit herself with regard to
the members of the Secret Society--be drawn into their schemes--and
work grave mischief, such as should bring shame on the names both of
Wolfe and Crosbie, unless something were done to circumvent her.
Violent means were of course vulgar, and dangerous to boot, by reason
of Miss Wolfe's character. My lady wished to unite her to her eldest
son, did she? Well, it was an odd fancy, at which it was not his place
to cavil. All the more reason then to render the folly of the girl of
no effect by artifice. Once settled down as a wife and mother, she
would forget the errors of her girlhood, and even thank her friends
for having saved her from herself.

Now my Lord Clare knew through Mr. Pitt, whose spies in Paris told him
everything, that Tone kept up a correspondence with Miss Wolfe under
the name of Smith--that she fetched her letters from Jug Coyle's
shebeen, where they were left for her under a prearranged name. His
own spies told him that she talked sometimes with mysterious men, who
came and went in a suspicious manner, between the environs of Dublin
and the outlying districts. Yes, it was too true; my lady might well
look shocked. The conspirators were making a catspaw of her niece, who
hovered between two duties--the one to her Protestant father, the
other to her crushed co-religionists.

Did my lady's eyes ask what was to be done? This, and only this. For
it was clear, was it not, that her mines must be countermined for her
own sake and that of her belongings? It would not do to seize the
letters, because the villain in Paris would then invent some new
method of communication, which it might take the spies some time to
discover, and time was important just now. The young lady, being
enthusiastic and inexperienced, was most shamefully _exploitée_--the
executive saw that, and were prepared to make allowances, provided her
family would play a little into their hands. Did she see what he
meant? No! Then my lady was duller than usual, and he must dot his
i's. The executive knew that Miss Wolfe was artfully used as a
spreader of secrets, because no one else in all Ireland occupied a
position of similar complexity. Her heart was with the malcontents, to
begin with. She, as daughter of the attorney-general--most cautious of
time-servers--was not likely to be suspected of overt acts of treason.
She was clearheaded, too, and resolute, useful in council. Ill-judged
in other things, the conspirators had done wisely to employ Miss Wolfe
as a means of intercommunication.

It would never do for Mr. Wolfe to be told of his child's
transgressions, as he would only whimper and cry out; the stronger
hand of his sister therefore must take the tiller, and steer the
family through this difficulty. Did my lady see now? No! Well, the
spies of the executive were cunning, no doubt; but their eyes could
not pierce stone walls or sheets of paper tied tight with ribbon. My
Lord Camden and the Privy Council wanted to know what the letters
contained which were dropped at the 'Irish Slave' for Miss Doreen.
Would my lady undertake the little service of finding out, and then
tell her dear friend Lord Clare what plans were suggested, what names
mentioned? He, on his side, would of course promise to be prudence
personified, and swear never to divulge by what means the information
had been obtained.

The countess winced at the suggestion, and her face crimsoned. If
Government chose to establish a bureau of paid informers, who were
dubbed the Battalion of Testimony, it was no affair of hers, though
she could not approve the principle; but as to becoming one herself,
the bare idea was an audacious insult. The chancellor laughed airily
as she turned on him, for he expected some such ebullition of feeling,
and waited a little while ere he proceeded. Then, like the serpent
luring Eve, he strove to decide her with specious arguments. He showed
that, by helping to circumvent their plans, she might do signal
service against the Catholics; that both her brother and eldest son
might be made to benefit indirectly by her acts, and that nobody would
know anything of what she had done. In love and war all means are
fair. The girl had no excuse for the line she chose to take. It was
right and fitting that the lower orders should be cowed; that the
Papists should be stamped down into the serfdom from which in their
insolence they struggled to escape; that this Tone, whom people had
liked till he took up the cudgels of Antichrist, should be brought to
punishment.

These were good reasons--strong enough surely to decide my lady. If
she wanted another, let her think of Gillin and her 'Irish Slave.' It
would be strange if that hateful enemy could not be mixed in the
coming struggle, and crushed in the downfall of the conspirators. This
last stroke almost settled the resolve of the wavering countess, whose
mental mirror had been blurred by long dabbling in questionable
waters, which, rising in her husband's throat to choking, had wrung
that last cry from him before he died. It would be delightful to
discomfit Gillin. It would be odd, too, if Doreen, in the contrition
which follows upon being found out, did not throw herself on her
aunt's mercy, and joyfully do as she was told, on condition of being
saved. After meditating awhile, my lady said she would think about it;
and Lord Clare, having planted his arrow, rode back to town, satisfied
that he had gained his end.

Doreen was not chicken-feeding, as Terence had thought probable, on
the morning when the riders started from the Priory. Yet was she up
and about, for there is naught so invigorating as fresh sea-air with a
whiff of tar in it, and the evenings at the Abbey were dreary enough
to induce the most wakeful to take refuge betimes in bed. She tended
the flowers in the tiny square called Miss Wolfe's plot, spent a few
moments in affectionate communion with some eager wet muzzles and
wagging tails in the kennels, then tripped away to the rosary, to
study a letter received the night before--a letter signed 'Smith,' in
a cramped hand. When such reached her, she invariably retired thither
to decipher them; for in the seclusion formed by the high clipped
hedges, she was sure of privacy, none being able to wander among the
shady avenues of beech without giving notice of their intention by the
clang of the golden grille, or the creaking of a lesser gate situated
at the other end of the pleasaunce.

It was a letter which gave food for concern. Impetuous, hot, Keltic;
dealing, too, with details which told of action imminent.

'I will have no priests in the business,' it said. 'Most of them are
enemies to the French revolution. They will only do mischief. The
republic is on the move; will give us five thousand men. I would
attempt it with one hundred. My own life is of little consequence.
Please God, though, the dogs shall not have my poor blood to lick. I
am willing to encounter any danger as a soldier, but have a violent
objection to being hanged as a traitor, consequently I have claimed a
commission in the French army. This to ensure being treated as a
soldier in case of the fortune of war throwing me into the hands of
England.'

'His life--noble young hero!' Doreen reflected. 'Suppose that he were
to lose his life in the coming struggle! If Moiley needed such a
sacrifice, better that he should fall fighting than die a dog's death
by the noose!'

As she thought what a blow his death would be, her bosom swelled with
anxiety; for every earnest woman sets up an idol in her heart, to be
clothed in the trappings of her own belief, which she takes for its
native adornments. She sits and keeps pious vigil over it, and weaves
ennobling legends concerning it, seeming to become purified by contact
with a nobler power, which, after all, is but the reflection of her
own better self. That her influence over Theobald was great, Doreen
knew, but not so great as his was over her. There seemed to her mind,
twisted as it was by circumstance into a sombre shape, something
sublime even in the light way in which he wrote of gravest things. His
letters were schoolboy documents, full of homely jests, quaint
sayings, quotations from bad plays. Yet what a marvellous work was he
achieving. A year ago he had gone forth a wanderer, armed with a few
pounds and a large stock of hope. He had sailed to New York, narrowly
escaping seizure by the crimpers on the sea; had then made for Paris,
whither he arrived almost without a penny. He knew scarce a word of
French, yet went he straight to Carnot, who, in a satin dressing-gown,
was holding _levées_ at the Luxembourg. Partly in broken words, much
more by signs, he made known his wishes to the Organiser of Victory,
and, through him, to the Directory. They saw in his project for an
invasion of Ireland a tempting way of harassing perfidious Albion, but
unfortunately their treasury was empty, their armies disorganised, and
so they gave to their suppliant a cool reception. But Tone was not to
be easily put off. He haunted the antechambers of the ministers,
learned their language, prepared statements, suggested plans;
importuned all and each in broken jargon, till, amazed at his energy,
filled with respect for his pure motives and simple life, they gave
him a high place amongst their own officers, and promised that his
desires should be gratified.

Doreen followed the rapidity of his proceedings with astonished
admiration, marvelling that he should work as he worked from sheer
love of humankind; was quite persuaded that all he did was right;
compared him daily to the men she saw around her--arrogant Clare,
swinish Shane, idle, prosaic Terence--and felt almost prepared
sometimes, if need were, to cast in her lot (as the chancellor
surmised) with her mother's oppressed people, rather than with those
of her highly-connected father. Gusts of loathing swept over her soul
for the feudal magnificence of the Abbey; she seemed thrown on a bed
of roses whose perfume sickened her. The idea of wedding all this
splendour while her people groaned, was in itself revolting; to
espouse Shane with it, filled the measure of her horror. Rather than
submit to my lady's eccentric wish, she was prepared to run away--to
hide herself in Connaught, anywhere; and this being comfortably
settled, she went on with Theobald's last letter.

'Independence at all hazards. If the men of property won't help us,
they must fall, and we must support ourselves by the aid of that
numerous community, _the men of no property_. Alas for poor Pat! He is
fallible; but a lame dog has been helped over a stile before now. The
_arme blanche_ is the system of the French, and, I believe, for the
Irish too. At least I shall recommend it, as Pat, being very savage
and furious, takes more naturally to the pike than the musket, and the
tactics of every nation should be adapted to its character. As for
Dublin, one of two things must happen. Its garrison is at least five
thousand strong. If a landing were effected. Government would either
retain the garrison for their own security (in which case there would
be five thousand men idle on the part of the enemy), or they would
march them to oppose us, and then the people would seize the capital.
Any way, we could starve Dublin in a week, without striking a blow.'

'Starve Dublin in a week!' Doreen pondered. 'What would happen to
outlying places like the Abbey?' Then an idea struck her, whereby her
own annoyances might be considerably lightened. 'Why not,' she
thought, 'work on my aunt's prudential fears, and induce her to
transfer the establishment to Ennishowen, in the north? Thus may
Shane and his mother be removed from danger, whilst I am free of a
dilemma--for, of course, when the moment of peril comes, my place will
be beside my father.'

The golden grille clanged. A slight female figure, in a blue velvet
habit and peaked hat, after the new mode, made its way among the
roses, and Doreen advanced to welcome Sara.

Mr. Curran's pet was always a favourite of Miss Wolfe's, to whom her
prattle was a rest in the midst of many perplexities. She rallied her
archly about the undergraduate, marking, with a grave smile, the
confusion in the young maid's face; listening absently to ecstatic
descriptions of his numerous perfections, with a tender indulgence
mixed with sadness; for it undoubtedly was sad to observe how blindly
and artlessly the gay kitten gambolled, in spite of that threatening
cloud; wondering, wide-eyed, whether he really and positively ever
could come to care a tiny bit for a silly little thing like her.

Doreen knew quite well that Robert Emmett's was a lovable nature, that
he was free from the ordinary frailties of youth, sensitive to a
fault, just such a visionary as would suffer terribly in a great
crisis such as was at hand. Just as Tone was a chivalrous man of
action, so the younger Emmett was a dreamer of the most unpractical
kind--one who, staring at the stars, and striving to pierce their
mysteries, would plunge head-foremost into the first pitfall that was
made ready for his feet. His admiration for Theobald was as great as
Doreen's. When that cloud should burst, he would surely be found
by his side--might possibly stumble where the other could stand
erect--and, if aught befell him, what then would happen to the
Primrose? But what is the use of courting melancholy? Doreen this
morning, as at other times, shook off the dismal effects of her gay
friend's castle-building, made efforts to meet her half-way, spoke
hopefully of days to come, when Ireland should be content, when Sara
should have become a wrinkled matron with a parterre of yellow
blossoms round her, and beloved Robert a happy old paterfamilias with
a treble chin.

Sara's peachy cheeks broke into dimples of pleasure at the
description, as she looked up sideways like a bird.

'You are wasting your holiest affections, my child!' Doreen observed
demurely; 'for men are dreadful, dreadful creatures who deceive and
ride away. They don't care about our love one bit, unless we pretend
to withhold it.'

'I love him so very much,' returned Sara, with a rapt gaze and
trembling accents, 'that I could be content to worship him from a long
way off if he would let me--he is so good and kind and noble!'

'He has never spoken to you of love?'

'Never.'

The child's eyes filled with tears, and Doreen's heart tightened for
her. Poor fragile blossom. What might the nipping blast have in store
for it?

'If any mischance were to befall him----' began the elder girl.

'I should die,' Sara answered simply, as though such a result was the
only one which could be possible.

Doreen walked on in silence. She was twenty-three, her companion five
years younger. Yet she could not comprehend this innocent pure heart
which at eighteen gave itself unconditionally away to be trampled upon
or treasured as its recipient should elect. She was sure that she had
herself never loved any one, except Tone, and her father, and her
mother's memory. The iron of the Penal Code had seared the germ of
such a love within her if it ever had existed. She recalled the cold
way in which she had calculated her capacity for playing Judith, and
felt ashamed. But why should she, after all? The practical and the
romantic were singularly blended in her character. What had a Catholic
to do with love and the exchanging of young hearts? Fretfully she
turned away from the enchantments of conservatories and hen-houses
which she was displaying to her friend, and remarked as she led the
way to the kennels:

'You said you had brought Terence with you. Can he be closeted all
this while with his mother? That would be unusual. He does not favour
us with much of his society. As I live, here's another visitor. It is
such a lovely morning that I shall lay violent hands upon you all. Mr.
Cassidy here is one of the best yachtsmen on the bay. We might go for
a sail round Ireland's Eye if Terence would only condescend to show
himself.'

'Oh yes!' cried ecstatic Sara, 'it would be entrancingly delicious.'
She would run and tell my lady, who was probably breakfasting, that
she must give us her son for the general good.

It was the jolly giant, who on his big bay hunter clattered into the
courtyard; come, probably, in search of news on his own account, in
spite of what he had said to Terence a few hours before. He had
watered his horse at the shebeen, had taken a plunge into the sea to
dissipate the fumes of last night's revel, had given red-haired Biddy
such a smacking kiss as would have roused the ire of Terence's devoted
henchman if he had been within fifty yards, and was now come to pay
his respects to the inmates of the Abbey.

He praised the dogs in a flurried sort of way, stood on one great foot
and then the other, rapping the dust from his full-skirted riding-coat
with his hunting-crop, whilst his eyes devoured the fine lines of Miss
Wolfe's figure, which indeed compelled admiration through its
tight-fitting, high-waisted frock. During the last year he had made
considerable advance in the good graces of the chatelaine, and of her
first-born. She, as chatelaines ought to be, was delighted to have a
host of philanderers hanging about the Abbey, swilling its liquor,
devouring its beef, while my lord deigned to make the squireen useful
in a multitude of ways. Belonging as he did to the half-mounted class,
such homage as he could pay was due to a great lord, who was kind
enough to smile upon him. That he might be hand and glove with the
United Irishmen was neither here nor there; was he not also an ally of
Major Sirr's as well as a _protégé_ of the chancellor's--tolerated too
by Curran, Lord Clare's arch-enemy? He was all things to all men, a
typical 'tame cat:' it remained to be seen which side he would take
when the crisis should come--at least so people remarked who did not
know, as we do, that he had taken the oath and was given to mystical
questions anent the placing of a bough in the crown of England. A man
who can turn his hand to anything, rides well to hounds, sings jovial
ditties, makes genteel play with a rapier, can sigh like a furnace,
and look languishingly at a pretty girl, is sure of being a general
favourite. Doreen liked Mr. Cassidy as much as Shane did, an unusual
circumstance, for his likes and dislikes were generally in direct
opposition to hers. She was wont to jest at his many blunders, lecture
him for his stupidity, allow him greater liberties than were usual
between an heiress and a 'half-mounted.' For there was no harm in him.
He would not be likely to try to run off with this prize, for Shane's
sword--champion-spit of the Cherokees and Blasters--was a universally
dreaded weapon, and Mr. Cassidy was too fond of the good things of
this life to think of suddenly quitting it with daylight through his
vitals. Sometimes he made love to her. Then she held out a warning
finger while smiles wreathed her ruddy lips, as she would have done to
any inmate of the kennels that should dare leap with dirty paws upon
her flowered muslin.

This morning his behaviour was not what it should have been. Sure that
dip in Dublin Bay had not washed away the impudence begot of claret.
She looked so ravishingly fresh and neat in the chip hat which, with a
plain white ribbon knotted beneath the chin, gave a yet fuller glow to
her rich complexion, the close-clinging robe spangled here and there
with a bunch of poppies, that there was little wonder if prudence was
for once outrun by passion. She was not Miss Hoyden any more. Her
clothes were of the most fashionable cut; nimblest-fingered of Dublin
tailoresses made her frock; long mitts of daintiest Carrick lace
masked only to accentuate the golden ripeness of her finely modelled
arms; a pair of stout pointed brogues, silver buckled, drew down the
eye to the clean ankle and high instep, which told of healthful
exercise by a series of suave contours and voluptuous curves.

Now the mind of Cassidy was gross in its essence; jaded too by
appetites in riot. What would be more likely to stimulate a coarse
illiterate squireen than the aspect of such a living paradox as this?
His political intentions were admirable, doubtless; possibly when the
time came he, like a few others, would rise to the occasion, cast
aside low vices, and, passing like gold through the fire, achieve
deeds which would endear him to his countrymen. That was possibly in
the future. The present only whispered, as his eyes wandered over the
figure of the girl before him, that such a morsel could not be too
dearly bought. With unwonted courage, he blurted out the original
remark:

'Mistress Doreen, you're monsthrous beautiful!'

'Am I?' she replied, raising her eyebrows. 'Alas! it's of little
consequence.'

'Is it now?' returned Cassidy, endeavouring in his murky brain to plod
out a reason for the statement. 'Oh!' he said at length, 'becase
you're booked, and you don't care whether my lord is pleased or not.'

'My lord?' inquired the girl, her brows arching yet higher.

'Aren't you to be the future lady of Ennishowen? I can put two and two
together.'

So this hateful match was being freely canvassed. Even muddlepated
Cassidy had penetrated my lady's plans. He was peering straight into
her eyes, trying to find what he could at the bottom of their brown
depths. The heat of angry humiliation sent the blood bubbling to her
face. Cassidy observed it, and leered pleasantly.

'He's not good enough for you--I don't like your marrying him,' he
observed with decision.

'No more do I,' returned calm Miss Wolfe.

Cassidy's looks sought the ground--his big hand fondled the muzzles of
the dogs. After a long pause, he said in a low voice:

'If you don't care about him it's small blame to you.'

'Neither for him, nor anybody else.' (The slightest contraction of a
fine nostril.)

'Don't say that, Miss Doreen, darlint,' said the giant, quickly.
'There's many a stout fellow about, whose heart it would plase if ye'd
rub your pretty brogues on it, who'd like to set fire to the tobaccy
in his pipe every blessed day by the light of your lovely eyes.'

Doreen glanced up at the giant with an amused smile.

'Fie! Mr. Cassidy. If I didn't think you too sensible a man, I should
believe you were trying to propose to me.' Then it struck her that it
was on this very spot that Terence had asked if he might hope.

'What possesses the men? How odd it is,' she said, thinking aloud.
'Fate settled long since that I was to die an old maid; and everybody
seems to want to marry me. Why? I am surely not so irresistible? There
are scores of girls who would be delighted to marry any one, but
somehow nobody cares to ask them! Why not try Norah Gillin--Shane at
least thinks her a paragon--and she has the advantage of being a
Protestant.'

'Miss Doreen,' Cassidy whispered, 'if I undertook to work heart and
soul for the cause you care so much for; if I made use of my
opportunities--went about for you--as your agents do (you see I know
all about it); if, when the hour comes, I promised to risk my life and
all I have for you--'tisn't much--would you change your mind then?'

Miss Wolfe felt his hot breath upon her hair, and began to feel
uncomfortable. It was her own fault. She should have cried 'Down!' to
this importunate dog before.

'Mr. Cassidy,' she said, with the quiet dignity which was her best
protection, 'you show yourself in a false light. You belong to the
society--I fully believe--from conviction of the holiness of its aims.
Although a Protestant, you are an Irishman, as I am an Irishwoman. Our
wrongs are common. Don't let me suppose you to be suggesting a
bargain.'

'It is that good-for-nothing young councillor!' the giant muttered,
grinding his teeth fiercely. 'If I was sure of it, I'd run him
through! Have a care, young lady; don't trifle with honest men--or
wigs will be on the green, and you may be sorry!'

The interview was becoming extremely painful. Cassidy, when tried, was
showing the cloven foot, as under-bred persons will. Miss Wolfe drew
herself up to her full height, knitted her dark brows, and said
coldly:

'You forget yourself strangely, sir! My aunt and my cousin have been
over-kind to you; I have tried, for my poor part, to make your visits
pleasant, believing you, as I still believe, to be honest, if bearish
and uncouth. If you dare to persecute me any further I will speak to
my aunt, and the doors of the Abbey will be closed to you for ever.
Then seeing how rueful, how dismayed the hapless giant looked, she
took compassion and held out a frank little brown hand. 'Come, come!
This is childish nonsense. I must not be hard on you. We must not
quarrel, you know, but cling together closely for the good cause's
sake. If petty private feuds begin to divide us, the enemy will dance
for joy. I want a friend in whom to trust. You shall be that friend.
Will you? Come! Be good, and I will pardon you.'

She placed her hand in his, where it lay like a small leaf, and her
companion said sulkily, as he stroked it with a great finger:

'You evaded the question about Mr. Crosbie.'

'Well then,' she answered, 'I care no more for him than for Shane or
you. I will never marry till Erin is righted. Ah me! doesn't that look
like perpetual maidenhood? My husband, too, must have won his spurs as
a hero, and heroes are scarce. There. Shake hands, and let there be an
end of it. Your heart is in the cause, as mine is. Your acts speak for
you, and Theobald shall thank you some day. Depend on it, the best
tenure of earthly attachment is tenancy at will. You have the use of
the soil, and nothing you plant in it shoots so deeply but it may be
removed with ease. Let us be friends--trusty friends, Mr. Cassidy--no
more.'

At this juncture, Terence came briskly round the corner, and started
to see the attitude of the twain. His sudden suspicion cooled,
however, upon perceiving that his cousin was no whit confused. Her
hand still remained in that of Cassidy, and she said, laughing, as she
swung it to and fro:

'Here is a big creature who threatens by-and-by to bud into a hero of
romance. When he kneels victorious in the lists, I, as queen of
beauty, am to bestow the laurel crown. What a delectable picture,
isn't it? Glad to see you, Terence. You are determined we shall value
your society. You give us so very little of it.'

'You look like having quite enough of it by-and-by,' Terence answered
moodily. 'I brought with me a note from Mr. Curran to my mother, in
which he says that he won't have me at the Priory any more; that I
must come home like an obedient child, and wash my face and brush my
hair and say I'm sorry. If I had known what was in the letter I should
have stayed away.'

'But you'll stop,' Doreen said, so earnestly as to cause the giant to
look askance at her. 'It is sad for members of a family to be at
daggers-drawn. Come--to please me--let me be peacemaker. Shane shall
say you are welcome, and we'll all be in harmony together again.
Promise me--and I'll tell you some rare news that has been burning my
tongue this month past. You are both to be trusted, I know.'

'I would every one was as thrue as the councillor here and I!'
ejaculated the giant, his frown breaking into sunshine, as if suddenly
convinced, by some queer reasoning, that there was nothing between
Terence and Miss Wolfe. 'It's mighty careful we'll have to be
by-and-by with them rapscallions of ould Sirr's. Wisht! now, and I'll
tell ye what he told me,' he pursued, lowering his voice and glancing
round as though the dogs could speak. 'There's a place called the
Staghouse, over foreninst Kilmainham gaol, bad cess to it, where the
Battalion of Testimony are housed and fed, as these hounds are. They
have their rations and potteen and a penny or two for toh-baccy--for
all the world like gentlemen born. I'll make it my business to stroll
in there some day, just to draw their pictures on my mind's eye. Maybe
it'll be useful to know the spalpeens' faces.'

'This system of spies is terribly base,' Terence said, sighing.
'Enough to bring down chastisement upon any cause. I don't believe
Lord Camden knows of it. The gentry are arming right and left, my
mother says, in case the people should be ill-advised enough to rise.
Yeomanry corps are being formed in every county. Shane has been this
morning applied to, to take the lead in this district.'

'Shane raise a regiment? With what result?' Doreen inquired quickly.

'With none as yet,' answered Terence, laughing; 'because my lord is
sleeping off the effects of a terrible bout last night, which ended in
two duels and the killing of a baker, and probably will allow my
mother and Lord Clare to settle such a thing as that, as they may deem
most wise.'

'It is too late for such organisation to be dangerous,' Doreen
affirmed gaily. 'Now I'll tell you the great secret, for it is only
fair you, Mr. Cassidy, should know, and Terence will not divulge. Now,
lend me your ears. The French fleet is almost ready to sail. Our
friends will start in two parties before the summer's over, from a
northern port; making the one for Cork, the other for some point on
the west coast. Hoche himself has promised to lead the expedition. The
delegates of our own provincial centres have secret orders. We may
expect to look on the ships which shall bring us deliverance by the
commencement of the autumn at the latest. Here's Theobald's last
letter; you may read it.'

The giant looked eagerly to seaward, sniffing like a war-horse, as
though already he could discern the vessels in the offing; and
whistled a subdued whistle, as if saying to himself, 'This is news
worth taking that early ride for.' With each great fist deep in a
breeches-pocket, he listened to the letter, and then said: '_Arme
blanche_. Eh! He agrees with us then, and is right. The pike's the
thing for Paddy. The difficulty of landing powder enough to be of
service would be enormous. Moreover, since the Gunpowder Act, Pat
knows nothing of its use, and would do more harm to himself in the
long-run than to the enemy.'

Doreen declared that of such details she could of course know nothing,
to which the giant retorted that there were hosts of reasons in favour
of the pike. The Hessian and Hanoverian mercenaries who were being
slowly drafted into Ireland were experienced only in the orthodox mode
of warfare. The courage of armies is so uncertain that they are often
disconcerted and panic-stricken by a style of fighting to which they
are unaccustomed.

'See here!' the giant said, drawing a paper from his pocket and
presenting it to Terence. 'This is a model by which thousands are
being made all over the country. Long, flat, ugly no doubt--but easily
forged. Could ye improve on that?'

Now Terence, had he been wise, would have refused the challenge,
sapiently declining to know anything of the model pike, for the giant
was bent somehow on securing him--but, intoxicated by the enthusiasm
of his pretty cousin, whose cairngorm eyes, under their long lashes,
were as usual making sad havoc of his judgment, he took the design and
thought he could improve upon it. Cassidy's muddle-headedness stood in
the way of his understanding, and the young councillor was forced to
sketch out a new design, with elaborate instructions as to how it
might be hammered out with a maximum of wounding power and a minimum
of labour. Of course 'it was just the thing,' Cassidy declared,
delighted, and brought down his sledge-hammer palm upon the other's
shoulder.

'We'll have to crimp you?' he vowed, with a peal of merriment in which
Doreen softly joined, 'and so gain a gineral, as the Sassanagh gains
sailors. Ye'll be with us some day, Masther Terence, see if you
aren't!'

And now, too, he declared that he must have more advice about these
said pikes--there was terrible difficulty in storing them as they were
made. He had an audacious idea. What did Master Terence think of it?
Some of the gentry from the Staghouse were, he was informed,
constantly on the prowl in search of such information as might be
bartered against good living; for Major Sirr laid it down as an
initial axiom, that a member of his battalion who remained silent
beyond a certain limit of time was to be cashiered as incompetent. It
was literally a case of 'singing for supper,' and one of the simplest
methods of obtaining credit with the town-major was to discover and
denounce a depot of concealed weapons.

Now Jug Coyle (mistress of the shebeen hard-by)--this was a tremendous
secret--was deeply involved in the affairs of the society. Her back
garden contained many more pike-heads than praties. It stood to reason
that she should be so involved, for was she not a collough, a
trafficker in charms and simples, who was called in by the peasantry
around for the curing of their bodily ills; and was it possible for
one who was bone of their bone to refrain from meddling with their
wrongs also? Well, she could store no more without awaking the
suspicions of the Staghouse gentry, who seemed already to suspect that
seditious meetings were held under her thatch; and yet it was very
necessary that many more weapons should be stored somewhere in the
immediate neighbourhood of the city. The question was, where could a
spot be found for them to lie snugly--a place where folks would least
suspect their existence?

The giant was becoming so earnest, and so lucid in his earnestness,
that Doreen quite marvelled at him. She knew more of Jug Coyle's
manage than he was aware of, and listened with growing interest, for
red-polled Biddy, whilst acting as Theobald's post-office, was
constantly declaring that she felt like living on a powder-magazine.

'It has been suggested,' the giant went on, 'that Mrs. Gillin of the
Little House should take some; but that would not be wise, for she is
a Catholic whose opinions are well known, though latterly she has
cultivated a discreet tongue. It might enter the head of the
town-major to search her place.'

'It would certainly be unwise!' Terence said. 'Remember her daughter's
connection with my brother. May she be trusted? There are female spies
as well as male, I suppose. You people are dreadfully rash, Cassidy.'

'Never fear, Master Terence,' returned the giant, with a twinkle in
his eye. 'Both she and her daughter are children of the people, who
would sacrifice this lord and many another to boot for the good cause,
if need were. Her heart is with us, like many another; but in this
case at least it's best she should play blind.'

'But what is your suggestion?' Doreen inquired, for the giant was
beating about the bush in an exasperating manner.

'This is it. Don't cry out now when ye hear it.' He glanced round with
caution, and lowered his voice. 'The ould armoury above in the young
men's wing there.'

'What! Here at the Abbey!' Terence exclaimed. 'You are mad.'

Cassidy was watching him in sidelong fashion as he felt his way.

'Sure there's a power of blackguard knives there already, which no one
touches from year's end to year's end, as the cobwebs show. I'd stake
my life ye've not been in there yourself this year or two. Nobody
would search there, would they? They might be passed up from the
shebeen at night-time--Biddy and your man Phil would see to it--over
the old ivy wall, and exchange a kiss or two into the bargain.'

'Phil is not affiliated,' objected Terence.

'Is he not?' grunted the giant, shortly. 'It's surprised I'd be if he
could not tell us as much about a green bough in England's crown as is
known to you or I.'

Doreen's eyes were on her cousin. Her face wore its usual serene look.
The enormity of the proceeding did not seem so great to her as it did
to him. He did not take into consideration the sublime manner in which
women look straight to a goal, without marking the mud which may have
to be crossed to reach it. A thought shot through his brain, flooding
it with joy. If she could contemplate such a trick being played upon
the earl, she could not care about him. That was a rare thing to know.
And why should it not be played on him? The brothers were so
estranged, that the younger one felt no call to interfere in such a
matter on behalf of the elder. It was impossible that he should have
lived so long on terms of familiarity with the disaffected without
being unconsciously tainted to at least a small extent with their
oft-repeated complaints. Not that he was prepared to admit that these
modern grievances were well-founded. No doubt it had been very
improper--all those years ago--for a Protestant invader to seize, _vi
et armis_, the territory of a Catholic nation--to eject the sons of
the soil by force, in favour of themselves and their heirs. But really
it was too late now to remedy that misfortune.

The English were to all seeming a happy and contented people, who had
long since given up groaning over the Norman invasion and the
freebooting proceedings of William the Conqueror. It was merely
a matter of time. Ireland must accept the past, and pick out the
thorns from the bed on which she lay as well as she could. Thus was
Terence, in his idle good-humoured way, accustomed to argue when his
personal friends gnashed their teeth at the Sassanagh. But these new
theories that were beginning to be broached--even by Mr. Curran
himself--charging the executive with motives which, if they in
truth existed, were _lèse-patrie_ of the most heinous kind, caused
even his careless junior to pause and think. And then he consoled
himself with considering that high-principled King George could not be
Blunderbore--that my Lord Clare was not a Feefofum. Yet there was no
doubt that my Lord Clare was unduly harsh--that the low-bred squireens
were apt to treat the common folk cruelly to curry favour with the
Castle. He did not pause to ask himself why cruelty to common folk
should be pleasing in the Castle's eye. These yeomanry corps were
likely to be productive of much evil. Terence had said as much to his
mother but now. It was possible that Shane, in his overbearing pride
of birth and fierce tendency to fire-eating, might become a terrible
flail if he accepted the task of organising a regiment--indeed from
his nature he was sure to do so. It would be a whimsical revenge for
the people that he should be unconsciously guarding their weapons for
them.

Councillor Crosbie laughed loud at the conceit, declaring that he saw
no reason why pikeheads should not be added to the 'blackguard knives'
in the armoury, and his cousin gave him such a distracting look of
thanks that he chid himself for considering the matter at all; while
Cassidy, who also caught the look, glared out to seaward, clenching
his fists in his deep pockets.

'That eccentric person, Mrs. Gillin!' Terence cried gaily. 'So she's
mixed up with all this plotting, is she? Has she taken the oath,
or is she but a privileged outsider like myself? And my man Phil,
too--that's to please red-polled Biddy, doubtless. Let's take the
oath, Doreen, while we can make a favour of it, for all Ireland will,
it seems, be in it soon. The good lady was in her garden as I passed
this morning, strutting about with leather gloves and garden-shears,
and bowed solemnly to me as I passed. What a queer woman! At the
Rotunda the other day she came and stood before me, though we have
never been introduced, and said, "Are you sure, young man, that you
left your home of your free will?" When I said "Certainly," she
gave a satisfied nod and disappeared in the crowd. If her daughter is
pining for Shane, her mother evidently sets her cap at me. I trust you
will all be civil to the future Madam Crosbie. This is the way she
walks----' and the irreverent scapegrace proceeded to waddle up and
down with so exact an imitation of Mrs. Gillin's peculiarities that
Cassidy fairly shouted. That lady and her doings being a tabooed
subject at the Abbey, there was special delight in talking of her on
the sly.

All three were guiltily startled by the opening of my lady's bedroom
window (which looked upon the courtyard), and the apparition of Queen
Bess in a bad temper, summoning Miss Wolfe to her presence.

                             CHAPTER XI.

                           STORMY WEATHER.

My lady was walking up and down the tapestry-saloon with hands clasped
behind her back, when her niece joined her--a prey evidently to
considerable agitation. Doreen marked the deepened wrinkles on her
forehead, the tightening of the thin lips, the contraction of the
nostrils, and waited with accustomed self-possession to hear her
elder's pleasure. The countess was displeased about something. Her
fine face was pale, her eyes tinged with red. Her majestic draperies
seemed to whisper in their soft rustle that something was seriously
disturbing the spirit of the chatelaine. Wheeling round presently, she
faced her niece, and, scrutinising her narrowly, spoke.

'Terence has come home to live,' she remarked. 'Mr. Curran cannot bear
him any more, and I am not surprised. We must put up with him; he's
enough to vex a saint!'

Doreen's cheek flushed with swift anger at his mother's unwarrantable
speech.

'Oh, aunt!' she said, 'dare you speak thus of your own child!'

'Ah!' ejaculated the countess, still frowning at Miss Wolfe, 'let us
understand each other at once. I will never allow of any nonsense
between you and that boy--do you hear?--NEVER. I presume that he would
not dare to marry without my consent. You are capable of anything, I
know. I sincerely believe that he, as yet, is one shade less
undutiful. He has been showing much independence lately, though.
There's no knowing,' she went on in a low absent manner, 'what he
might not do if he knew----'

'Knew what?' asked Doreen.

My lady started and pushed her fingers through her white hair.
'Nothing, nothing! Mind this--_I will never give my consent to a union
between you and my second son_. Understand this, once and for all.'

'You need not distress yourself, aunt,' Doreen replied.

'Doreen!' my lady said abruptly, after a pause, 'you were talking
about _that woman_ at the kennel gate just now. I could see you were,
by Terence's mimicry. What was it about?'

This was the real cause of her aunt's ill-humour: the red rag, Mrs.
Gillin. That foolish idea about Terence was of course only a cloak to
conceal unreasonable wrath. It was quite too tyrannical of her,
though. They were speaking no ill of their neighbour.

'We were talking of Norah and Shane,' the girl replied, with a touch
of hauteur. 'Nothing wonderful in that, for all the world talks about
them. I suppose I may be bridesmaid, aunt?'

To her surprise the blood faded slowly from my lady's face, leaving
her lips white, while her breast heaved and her fingers tightened. The
girl regretted her pert remark, though her aunt speedily recovered
herself.

'You could stop this disgrace if you would,' she said in husky tones.
'Last year I thought that you encouraged Shane; then you turned round
again. For shame! That Arthur Wolfe's daughter should be a flirt! But
it's the other blood that's working in you. Your father was always too
weak and too indulgent. You are a sly, artful girl! Yes, it is right
that you should hear the truth. You do no credit to your bringing-up.
Is it maidenly to receive letters from a man in secret--to retire, as
I have ofttimes seen you do, to a secluded spot in the rosary, there
to gloat over them--and that man married, and an outlaw! Fie upon you!
Your father is not aware of this, or it would break his heart; for,
God help him! he loves you beyond your deserts. But there, there! I
will not waste my breath in railing; for what else could be expected
of your blood and your religion?'

Doreen's cheek, too, had paled. She trembled violently, and was forced
to cling to a table ere she could still her anger sufficiently to
answer. At length she mastered her voice, which rang out low but
clear.

'Lady Glandore,' she said, with flashing eyes, 'it ill becomes one of
your years to say cruel things to one of mine, for if you crush out my
respect for you as a woman, I choose to remember your white hairs.
However bitter you may allow your tongue to be, I will not lower
myself to a retort; but let me beg you to remember that some
things spoken intemperately will rankle in the heart for ever. No
after-apologies will quite wash them out.'

Oh, naughty damsel, to prate of white hair, and suggest that my lady
was an octogenarian! She was no more than five-and-fifty, as her niece
knew right well--but, bless my heart! we must not survey feminine
weapons too closely.

'I am a disgrace to my bringing-up!' pursued Doreen, warming to the
fray. 'Yet she who brought me up condescends to act the spy on me! A
flirt, am I? I never, upon my honour, gave the least encouragement to
either of your sons. They are not such Admirable Crichtons! Seeing
that you are beset by some hallucination on this subject, I have again
and again implored my father to take me hence in vain. I hereby swear
to you by the Holy Mother and my hopes of salvation, that I will never
be Shane's wife--never, never, never! Perhaps now you will leave me at
peace. Though I am a Catholic, madam, I decline to brook insult. Here
are my cards--face upwards on the table. Show me yours.'

The girl, who was usually so quiet and grave, had lashed her wrath to
foam, and was grievously exercised to restrain fast-gathering tears.
She would rather have died, however, than have lowered her standard to
my lady. With a violent effort, then, she kept them back, and faced
the chatelaine with a front as proud as hers.

This was all very shocking: the ill-mannered allusion to hoary locks,
the rash oath never to marry Shane, the truculent bearing. Mild
Arthur's counsel was wise. My lady generally got the worst of it in
conflicts with this girl. It would have been best to have vented her
ill-humour upon Terence: who was forbearing towards his mother. But
then her victories over him were too easily gained to be worth
anything, for he was good-tempered, and respected his mother greatly;
and besides, every well-ordered man will always gladly resign to a
female antagonist the glory of winning a battle of words.

My lady stalked in silence up and down, retiring behind the
entrenchments of her outraged dignity. But Doreen perceived that to
make her triumph good she must dare another sortie, and disarm her
antagonist; so, after a pause for breath, she repeated:

'I have shown you my cards, Lady Glandore--show me yours. You are bent
upon my marrying Shane--the compliment is great--far greater than my
poor worth deserves. Though you constantly fling insults at me about
my manners, my blood, and my religion, yet you are willing--nay,
anxious--condoning these crimes, to accept me as a daughter! Why? The
lady of the Little House, who is good and charitable, if innocently
vulgar, is a standing bugbear to you. Why? Yet, by a singular
contradiction, you allow your paragon to make himself at home with
her, and make much of her child, who, to be sure, is a Protestant, but
low-born. She is penniless--I am an heiress: hence, of the two,
I should be the better prize for him. I see that; but what, in
Heaven's name! is to prevent his sallying forth in Dublin, and
finding there a fitting partner? Sure there's not a noble Protestant
family in Ireland that wouldn't jump at him! A drunkard, no doubt,
and a fire-eater--which some folks are rude enough to translate
murderer--what of that? It is the custom of his cloth. A coronet well
filled with gold covers a multitude of sins! No doubt Mrs. Gillin
would dearly like such a son-in-law--it's the way of the world, and I
do not blame her--but you, I know, would not care for such a daughter
as Norah. Are you not afraid that some fine morning holy Church will
join them, and that you will come down to breakfast to find them in an
edifying position on their knees, claiming mamma's blessing?'

My lady had sunk into a chair, her pale face paler.

'No, no,' she murmured; 'that could not be. He toys with a pretty
wench as a young spark will. Why would I gladly have him marry you?
Because I know he has faults--the faults of youth, which time will
remedy--and I feel, dear Doreen, that your strong common-sense will be
a stay to his weakness. Once united to you, he will change, and you
will be very happy together.'

There was something so pitiable in this abject discomfiture--in this
refusal to be insulted--that Miss Wolfe's resolution failed her. Yet
her curiosity was too thoroughly roused to permit of dropping the
subject.

'Then I'm to be the scapegoat?' she said, with a tinge of scorn. 'I'm
to lick the whelp into shape--no matter if my heart is broken in the
process. Thank you! A vow once sworn need never be repeated. Yet do
not forget, aunt, if you please, that it is registered. He refuses to
go into highborn society where noble ladies are, preferring play and
duelling-clubs, and you dread his making a _mésalliance_, rather than
which you would accept poor me as a _pis-aller_.' (Here the young lady
made a curtsey.) 'Many thanks. Is this at all like the truth? Pardon
my speaking plainly. It's best to be aboveboard. After this time we
will, with your good leave, never return to the hateful subject. That
I shall not be poor can surely claim no part in your calculations, for
he is thirty times wealthier than I can ever be. Rich!' she repeated,
with a harsh laugh. 'A rich Catholic will be a curiosity, _n'est ce
pas?_ If this is at all your course of thought, why not prevent his
going to the Little House? Speak to Mrs. Gillin as harshly as you
began to speak to me to-day, and there will surely be an end of the
matter. Or,' pursued the crafty maiden, remembering Tone's last
epistle, 'brush Norah from his mind by change of scene. Why not remove
for a few months to Ennishowen? It is long since you were there. Your
presence would do much to keep disloyal tenants quiet in these
disloyal times. Would not that be a capital example? The boys used to
love Ennishowen. Shane will forget the objectionable Norah whilst
pursuing the shy seal or shooting wild birds round Malin Head. Do you
remember the delirious delight of him and Terence when they dragged
their first seal into the boat under Glas-aitch-é Cliff, and how you
told me not to be afraid of looking over the garden parapet into the
green water dashing so far below? Ah, those were days!' the girl
pursued, kindling. 'Our only care whether the fish would bite or the
shot carry----' then she was stopped by a lump rising in her throat,
stirred by the thought of how different those days were from these,
when the thunderous cloud was drawing lower, lower--and she--a
reserved young lady--was becoming alarmingly familiarised with secret
despatches; a political phantasmagoria; a threatened collision between
two classes, whose hate was bubbling over.

The rebellious tears well-nigh burst their bonds; but a strong will
was throned within that shapely head. My lady turned angrily upon her
niece; for though discomfited and prepared to run up a flag of truce,
it was not to be expected that she should endure this last speech
without resenting it. Miss Wolfe's pertness harrowed her proud soul.
She had pretended to look on her aunt as in her dotage--a toothless
harridan, with no distinguishing attribute except white hair, and had
presumed to charge her with ridiculous motives; had torn the dazzling
glamour of his rank from Shane, exposing to view a skin as shaggy as
the ass's; even going so far as to stigmatise him to his doting mother
as a drunkard and a murderer; and, to cap all, had wound up with
patronising advice. An ordinary lady of middle age would resent such
treatment; how much more then the stern Countess of Glandore, whose
nature was toughened by contact with the fire, who was always regarded
with awe-stricken terror when she deigned to honour any of the Castle
festivities, and who was quite a terrifying personage even to the
wives and daughters of contemporary grandees.

Would the stubborn girl be true to her hasty vow? My lady feared she
would, though for the moment she was too angry to consider calmly of
it. Fierce wrath darted from under her squared brows; her high nose
grew thinner; a network of small meshes twitched about her mouth; her
long fingers tightly clutched the gold snuffbox which usually lay
within them. Yet Miss Wolfe, having recovered her self-possession,
looked sombrely at the frost-crowned volcano without a tremor.

'Doreen,' my lady said, 'if your father knew of you what I know, it
would kill him; but I elect to hold my tongue, because I love my
brother more than you your father. That you should be insolent to me
is what I might expect; so I bear that with equanimity. Thank you for
showing me how wrong I was in forming a Utopian scheme for joining my
brother's child to Shane. We will say no more about that.' (Doreen
heaved a sigh of relief.) 'The indelicacy of your proceedings has
shown me that such a thing would be an insult to our name. What! a
girl who corresponds clandestinely with a married man; who gallops
like a trull about the country, regardless, not only of her own fair
fame, but of her family's; who is on terms of familiar intercourse
with a parcel of scatter-brained youths who make the capital of
notoriety out of the jingle of sedition. Is this a girl to be received
in respectable society? You spoke plainly; so do I. If I were to
publish what I chance to know of you, no decent family would receive
you within their doors. But I must bear with you for many reasons;
your base mother's blood among the rest. You must be the skeleton in
our cupboard. All I beg is, that you will rattle your bones less
publicly.'

Doreen's dark skin was mottled with pallor; her breath laboured; her
lips formed words, yet no sound issued thence. At last she panted out:

'Aunt! you do not believe this of me! You must know me better!'

Then she stopped, perceiving Miss Curran's startled visage in the
doorway, which my lady could not, having her back turned to it.

'Believe it? Yes, I do,' cried the exasperated countess; 'I believe
that you----'

'No! Hold your tongue! If you have no respect for yourself or me, have
some for Sara!' Doreen exclaimed, as she hurried to the door.

My lady was filled with remorse, and bit her lips. Her temper had got
the better of her prudence; and regret followed swiftly upon angry
words.

'Doreen!' she cried, in a sudden desire to make good in some sort the
mischief which was done; 'Doreen, at least be careful with your
correspondence; see that no one intercepts it; that no one tampers
with your letters!'

'My letters are my own,' Doreen retorted over her shoulder, haughtily.
'Don't you ever dare to touch them.' Then passing her arm round the
waist of trembling Sara, she led her away to enjoy a delightful duet
of tears in private.

My lady remained for a long while looking straight before her,
bewailing much the unexpected turn which things had taken. It was
unwise, considering what lay at the bottom of her heart, to have
goaded the damsel as she had done. A high mettled steed resents the
curb. Now all that had been said about clandestine correspondence, and
so on, was strictly true; was only what it behoved a judicious
relative to place in its true light before an impulsive girl, who
might come to find her reputation gone before she was aware there was
a stain on it. Yet her heart smote the countess when she marked the
look of horrified dismay which dawned in her niece's face during the
last harangue. It is an ill thing to corrupt a mind which is innocent.
Unhappily this is a wicked world, in which it is necessary for us to
note certain sinful details for our own safety's sake. Yet it is not a
pleasing job to impart such intelligence for the first time,
especially when ill-temper bids us make the worst of it. Lady Glandore
knew perfectly well that there could be nothing in the letters from
the married man, except treason; and that she had done wrong in
suggesting something else. Doreen, she thought, was not a girl to
break off the correspondence in consequence of this new light.
Indignant, strong in the purity of her motives, she would only hate
her aunt and cling the more persistently to the married man and all
the other scatter-brained young persons, and plunge more deeply into
danger, through bravado.

As she meditated, examining each thrust that had been made on either
side, she regretted bitterly her foolish speeches; and then her heart
grew sick within her as she came upon a barb, which, flung without
aim, hung from a smarting wound. As the maiden had suggested, what
should prevent reckless Shane from marching off to church some day