My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3), Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  MR. CASSIDY IS IN DOUBT.

  Lord Clare's previsions were justified in the first instance. The newViceroy was obliged to refrain from positive interference for a time,in order that he might study the chaos and consider his future course.News of the affair of Vinegar Hill reached him on the second day afterhis arrival, and he thanked Heaven in that he was spared anyparticipation in the maltreatment of the south. But the first week inAugust brought unexpected news, which compelled his excellency to lookabout him with promptitude. The French--bugaboo that had given hispredecessor sleepless nights, only to prove afterwards the most vulgarof post-c[oe]nal nightmares--were actually present in the flesh atlast. An army had landed on the north-western coast; so the news ranwhich had flitted round the seaboard in a circle of flame. A veritablearmy had landed at Killala under false colours, flying a mendaciousUnion Jack: veterans to the number of twelve hundred, who had foughtin Italy under Napoleon.

  These at least were worthy foes whose presence set his martial bloodtingling. The hero of Vinegar Hill was despatched with all speed tothe northwest, while the Viceroy assembled his forces to follow him.Three frigates only, bearing twelve hundred veterans! A handful. Wasthis the _avant-garde_ of the invading army? Where was the rest of thefleet? Scattered as usual by wind, or delayed by some accidentalcircumstance? General Lake sent intelligence to his chief that thishandful really composed the entire force, which was commanded by oneHumbert, who had come on a fool's errand, without money or provisions,trusting to Tone's assurance that the countryfolk would rally roundhim so soon as he unfurled the tricolour. 'He would make short work ofthe adventurers,' he wrote, 'with the help of the "Ancient Britons"and the "Foxhunters." It would hardly be necessary for his excellencyto appear in person, for the brush would be over before he couldarrive.'

  The French met the royalists at Castlebar, where the latter weredisgracefully defeated. Humbert, delighted by his easy victory,occupied the town during eight days, astonishing the people by acourtesy to which they were little accustomed. So long as he commandedthere no house-burnings were heard of; no ravishing of maidens, orpillaging of household goods. The peasantry poured into his camp, butthey were worse than of no service to him--a half-savage horde of idlelookers-on, who howled and danced and quarrelled. The respectableportion of the community held aloof, for Protestants could have nosympathy with a French invader, while the higher class of Catholicslooked askance at Free-thinkers who had once been in the bosom oftheir Church. Moreover, the horrors of Wexford were yet ringing intheir ears--horrors concerning which there could be no doubt, for theFoxhunters, smeared with fraternal gore, were in their midst, who wereby no means inclined to put their firebrand under a bushel. Nor was itlong ere they gave a taste of their quality. They bade the fisherfolkupon the coasts to declare for one side or the other at once, andterrified the harmless people so that many tried to seek refuge in thecaverns which, as at Ennishowen, burrow under the western cliffs. Manyscores were drowned in the attempt, their bodies washed up upon therocks. It was not possible (no reinforcements arriving from France)that Humbert could maintain his position at Castlebar. Perceiving hisperil, he made an effort to move northward, under the impression thatif he could succeed in avoiding a decisive action, Tone would sooncome with succour.

  The forces of General Lake dogged his steps, amusing themselves withthe native hordes who hung upon their skirts; and if ever blood atonedfor treason, then were those western counties washed white as wool.Sword and halter were used with unsparing hand. An order went forththat any man in a frieze coat might be sabred, without questionsasked. A certain noble colonel's humour was so broad that for asecond time he was publicly rebuked; on this occasion by ColonelCampbell--whose nephew became afterwards Lord Clyde.

  Humbert and his men surrendered very shortly, and, cursing the peoplethey had come to save, were marched to Dublin as prisoners of war. Soended the third French folly.

  Now hie we to Donegal with Cassidy, who, after the arrival of the newViceroy, saw more distinctly than ever how advisable would be a shortabsence. Whilst artfully pretending that he could not keep a secret,or conceal an emotion, or resist temptation, Mr. Cassidy was, as youpossibly have by this time discovered, a far-sighted, cold-heartedschemer. A hypocrite is not necessarily one who conceals vice behind asemblance of virtue. He belonged to a branch of the same stem whomakes a vice which he has no objection to show a stalking-horse tocover a darker and more profitable vice which it is essential heshould hide. It was clear to him, after a very few hours' experienceof the new-comer, that my Lords Clare and Cornwallis did not agree.There would be a tussle for power, during which the smaller fry wouldbe wise to remain quiescent. Lord Cornwallis, whose hands were full inother ways, showed no signs of desiring to interfere in the matter ofthe patriots; could not, indeed, do so without a dangerous stretch ofprerogative, for they were in the grip of the law, or rather of theantic creature who for the nonce assumed the name; but he made nosecret of his contempt of the Lords and Commons, and his unspeakableabhorrence of the behaviour of the yeomanry. More than this he darednot do as yet, for it was evidently not his policy to quarrel withthe ascendency party; so he shut his eyes to the gymnastics in theRiding-school, and popped his august head under the bedclothes with agroan, when the screams of the victims in the Exchange hard bypenetrated to his chamber in the Castle. His path was thick withflints. He complained bitterly of his position in letters to an oldbrother-in-arms. 'The characteristics of society here,' he wrote, 'arecruelty, intemperance, and profligacy. There is no trick too mean ortoo impudent for an Irish politician; no deed too wicked for an Irishsoldier. These last are ferocious in the extreme, when poor creaturesarmed or unarmed come into their power. Murder is their favouritepastime. The conversation of all the principal persons in the countrytends to encourage this system of blood, and the talk even at my owntable, where you will suppose I do all I can to prevent it, turns onhanging, shooting, burning, etc.; and if a priest has been put todeath, the greatest joy is expressed by the whole company. So much forIreland and my wretched situation.'[1]

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  Footnote 1: Marquis Cornwallis to Major-Gen. Ross, Correspondence,vol. ii. 369 _et seq_.

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  In their exuberant loyalty the Lords and Commons made a solemnprocession to do homage before a statue of that noble character,George I., which was set up in Dawson Street. Their chancellorstrutted in front, followed by Mr. Speaker and Prime Sergeant. But HisExcellency declined to take part in the edifying pageant--evenmuttered something uncomplimentary about a pack of donkeys. LordClare, in his anger at the soldier's want of polish, was unwise enoughto threaten that he would lodge complaints on the subject. Decidedlyit was prudent for those whose nests required feathering to retireinto the background until the difficulty was adjusted.

  Cassidy rode northward, scanning as he went the numerous signs ofrecent outrage. In the towns he was stopped and eagerly questioned,for coaches and mail-bags were erratic. Rumour was garrulous, andfrequently contradicted herself. He, too, was interested inobtaining information, for the citizens of Dublin know nothing of thenorthern rising, except that it had been quickly put down with verylittle trouble. He learnt that in the north, as in the south, thecollapse had come chiefly from lack of leaders; for preacherscould not be suddenly transmuted into generals, or traders intocommanders-in-chief. There had been a half-heartedness about the wholebusiness, arising from mutual distrust. The atrocities of Wexfordshocked the Northern Presbyterians, who were only told of the excessesof the Catholics. Derry, too, was jealous of Down, Antrim of both. Onthe other hand, the Hessian mercenaries irritated all classes--it wasthe armed occupation of a conquered territory by a swinish conqueror.The flame was skilfully fanned. Amnesty for political offences wasvaguely spoken of, which soon merged into sanguinary denunciation, andconcluded in the devotion of whole towns to fire and sword. The peopleknew not how to act. If
Wexford was subdued, the lash would surelyfall on their backs to punish them for their known detestation of theSassanagh. It would be better, then, to rise, some argued, so as atleast to gain something in exchange for inevitable punishment. And so,undisciplined and ill-led, Antrim rose and was crushed; then Down tookthe field, to suffer a like fate. It was the old, sad story over againof Wexford, without Father Roche or the priest of Boulavogue. Theinsurrection was evanescent; accompanied by much intermittent braveryon the part of the peasants, much imbecility on the part of theleaders, awful retribution on the part of the Hessians and squireens.Cassidy found everywhere the feeling which Lord Clare had worked for,and was overwhelmed with admiration at the cleverness of thechancellor. Every one was mourning for a brother or a son. A gloom offailure hung like a pall over the peasantry. The tradesmen of thetowns had lost all self-confidence, and were bowed in humiliation.Their lives were so miserable that they cared no more what happened;the iron heel had crushed them both in body and soul. The few whosespirit yet flickered formed themselves into banditti, who for yearscontinued to infest the mountains and wild tracts. How difficult aresuch memories to eradicate; how tenacious and how spreading are theirroots! What a long array of sedatives may be required to blot out theremembrance of a crime of such portentous magnitude as this which weare contemplating!

  Meanwhile the dreamland of Ennishowen knew nothing of these things.The fairy islet of Glas-aitch-e seemed defended from outer evil by aspell, which gave the sleeping knights in the sea-caves no cause forwaking. The seals rolled over on the blue-green waves as though theworld were not full of sorrow; the eagles soared high up in ether,dazzled by the glory of the sun. As month followed month my lady sawthat her pet project was brought no nearer to realisation than in theold days of Strogue; that it was further off, indeed; for Shane hadgrown as coldly indifferent to his cousin as she was to him. He madeno love to her, did not seem to see her; the intercourse of those whommy lady longed to see acting as lovers was as calm as that between abrother and a sister. It was exasperating.

  My lady hugged her religion, which taught her that those who followthe national faith were capable of any crime. She gloated over thenarrative of the horrors on Wexford Bridge; thanked God that she wasnot so bad as other people; affected a certain journal recentlyprinted by a missionary who had preached Christ's doctrine--or what hetook to be such--to the benighted heathen, in which was written: 'Hadmuch sweet enjoyment to-day in reading a sermon on the justice of Godin the damnation of sinners.' Her letters brought her news which bydegrees changed, so it seemed, the whole tenor of her way of thinking.At least Doreen thought so as she surveyed her aunt, who appeared nowto act in spasms of contradictory impulse. At one moment the world wasapparently to her so black that there was nothing for it but to sitdown without hope to await the welcome end. At another moment shebecame feverishly-restless and energetic, chafing evidently under somehidden goad which was too bitter to be endured with outward calm.Doreen watched her with increasing interest; for Time, which waschanging my lady, had changed her too, by removing the apatheticdreaminess that had, upon arriving in the north, lulled the tornfibres of her disillusioned nature with the anodyne which followsdisappointment. As events unfolded themselves, the two ladies changedplaces. My lady, so imperious and impatient of contradiction, becameapathetic, but with an uncanny resignation which increased her age allat once by at least ten years. The proud foot, instead of disdainingthe earth as it used to do, lost its elasticity and dragged upon theground. The incipient look of terror for which her eyes had alwaysbeen remarkable, developed into the amaze of one who has seen a ghostface to face, while the skin round them was dry and burning, anddarkened to a purplish brown. For hours and hours would she sit, likeone inanimate, staring at that ghost which she only could behold,turning with a nervous start if a door or window were opened suddenly.Sometimes--but that was seldom--her surcharged heart found relief intears; not soothing dew, but water which burned new furrows down herwasted cheek. It was evident that there was some awful weight upon hermind, which was growing heavier--was squeezing her life-blood out bydrops.

  Doreen set herself to wonder what this could mean. It looked like theeffort of an anguished soul to fly from memory and hoodwink remorse.Yet why should the punctiliously upright dowager be possessed by sodire a visitation? The old lady (really old now, though her years werebut fifty-three) kept muttering to herself when she thought she wasalone; then looked fiercely up, with glaring eyes like coals, from asuspicion that she might have betrayed something. Once her niececaught her in an excess of what seemed like madness--babbling somefrantic words out loud through a thick silken kerchief which she heldagainst her mouth. It was clear that there was some secret which wasbursting to come out--that was devouring her piecemeal--and that sheadopted this strange way of giving vent to it. Her sufferings mustindeed be terrible, Miss Wolfe thought, if that marble pride waspowerless to conceal them. No human frame may bear for long suchwrenching. Either the stern countess must go raving mad, or else shewould certainly soon die.

  One night when (sleepless herself) Doreen rose to listen at her aunt'sdoor, she caught, amid inarticulate babble, the oft-repeated words,'Terence--Shane!' muttered in such tones of anguish, that, shivering,she crept back to bed, warned as by chilling vapour from the thresholdof a secret which 'twere better not to know. Terence--Shane! Her twosons, then, were at the bottom of the mystery--the two sons who intheir mother's mind stood on such different platforms. Doreen watchedon, but still found no clue to the labyrinth. The countess seemedsometimes, she observed, to be much occupied with her project--thatwild notion, unpractical in the beginning, which events had made evenmore incongruous--of uniting these cousins who had so little in commonat the first, and who had now between them the gulf of the laterebellion. Then she would seem by a mental reaction to recoil from theidea, and do her best to prevent the two from meeting who, as it was,so seldom met. Perhaps the lady really had a brain affection, MissWolfe's mind suggested to her at times. Perhaps she, Doreen, wastrying to solve a riddle to which there was no solution. All whom itconcerned knew only too well that my lady disliked her second son. Itwas preposterous to suppose that his joining the popular party shouldaffect his mother in this manner. It was natural that her pride shouldbe hurt, because he flouted her known opinions and embraced the tenetsof those whom she chose to consider as unworthy of consideration. Butthat she should be absolutely sinking under the agony of the disgracewas altogether out of the question. When the news came that, aftereluding pursuit for a long while, he had been taken, seriouslywounded, and incarcerated in the provost, she showed no emotion; whileher niece, who professed to hate him, was dreadfully distressed inspite of herself. The struggle which had been tearing the old ladyappeared to have worn itself out. She appeared to have resignedherself at last to accept the inevitable, to be too fatigued with thefight for her intellect to be capable of a new impression. The ghosthad been looked in the face--the ghost which, ever since the late lorddied, had been hovering more or less near to her. She had felt hisscathing breath upon her cheek; she was under the gaze of a basilisk,whose scorching fascination reduced her will to coma. Should the newscome that her son was publicly hanged like a felon, with all outwardtokens of ignominy, it could stir her now to no visible emotion. Thecoldness which in her letters surprised Lord Clare was not one ofindifference, but of a despair which had ended in collapse. Shedisliked her son, yet it was his fate that was corroding her lifeaway. Why was that? If Shane, the well-beloved, had been in similarplight, the wreck, so far as she was concerned, could not have beengreater--nay, nor so great. Then her agony would have found vent inindignation; she would have done something wherein might be detected,through a veil, the old imperious ways of the chatelaine of Strogue.But this utter breakdown--this abject wreck--and all about one forwhom she could not pretend to care! Here was an enigma which puzzledMiss Wolfe more and more, serving to abstract her somewhat from herown private woes.

  The same motive, singularly enough, had wrought th
e change in both theladies--Terence, the hapless councillor, who lay now under shadow ofthe gallows. At the time of the discovery of the pikes, when hismother's careless words had suggested to the high-spirited damsel thather cousin had sold the cause for gold, she had had a glimmeringsuspicion that her heart was no longer fancy free--that it had goneforth without the asking to one whom it was now her duty to contemn.At least there was a vague whisper (thrust aside at once) within herof the fact, which had caused her to comport herself in a way which ata calmer moment her judgment would have rejected. Then, many causescoalescing into one, she had devoted herself to birds and boating,under a delusion which she strove hard to accept as truth, thatbecause they were beyond her helping she cared no more for herill-used people, or for the champions who in their weak way would havedefended them. It has been shown that she sank into a condition ofapathy--of mental numbness--which had about it a sort of negativeenjoyment. Then came news of events in the south--garbled offensivenews sent up from Letterkenny barracks--news which filled Shane'sanimal soul with glee, and caused him, abandoning the ladies, to rushoff on his own account to emulate the antics of his class. Thisintelligence struck on the maiden's heart like so many reiteratedblows, and, breaking the charm, produced a queer kind of hope. Was itpossible after all that Terence could have behaved so shamefully? Ifnot, then how was the matter of the pikes to be explained? Possiblythis was another mesh in the net which Judas had been weaving--themany-headed Judas--to catch the tripping feet of all the patriots. Themaiden had been too hot to ask for an explanation. Had she wronged hercousin, or not? A strange bubbling of joy welled up within her at thethought that a doubt was possible; but this she repressed with guiltyvehemence. It was no time for joy or hope. Then the news dribbled inof Wexford and Scullabogue--the awful crimes committed by theCatholics, without so much as a whisper of the Protestant outrages atCarlow and the Gibbet-Rath; and she longed with a wild longing to gosouth once more. Was it possible that these reports were true? At theworst, they must be much exaggerated. But men are only human. Drivethem too hard, and they inevitably turn to beasts. It is only thepurest metal which comes improved out of the crucible; and how rarethat metal! If the reports were true, how the men of Wexford must havesuffered! It was with a whimsical feeling of distress that she markedher aunt's growing indifference with reference to these reports. Timewas when my lady would have chewed the cud of Scullabogue, extractingtherefrom a savoury text on which to found a discourse upon the sinsof the scarlet woman, pointing innuendoes at her niece such as mightquiver in her Papist soul. Doreen would rather have endured thispillory than see the old lady so undone. Nor Scullabogue, nor Carlow,nor the iniquitous Fathers Roche or Murphy, Kearnes or Clinch, couldrouse her from her lethargy any more, or distract her attention fromthe contemplation of her ghost.

  Doreen determined to write to her father about the countess, whosestate really grew quite alarming: there was no use in talking to Shaneabout it; he was quite too besotted. Granted that she cared little forher second son, it was astonishing (for she was not hard-hearted) thatmy lady should evince no desire to nurse her boy, who was lyingwounded in a prison cell. Lord Clare was no doubt doing all that waskind; yet a mother's hand on a sick pillow is likely to be even moresoothing to an invalid than a lord chancellor's. But as her soulbecame more shrivelled she pointedly avoided even the mention ofTerence's name, and showed general signs of a peevish querulousness,which was alien to her strong character. It did not seem to strike mylady that it was time to pack up and return to Strogue; maybe she knewthat her ghost would pursue her thither, and felt callous as to whereshe abode or what she did, provided that there was no escape from thepetrifying phantom.

  Doreen had another reason for imploring her father to use hisinfluence as to the return of the family to Dublin. The intelligenceof the state-trials moved the damsel much. Her people, it was evident,were to bow under their burden in obedience to Heaven's decree. Intheir travail she might be of use to the patriots--still more to theirdistressed wives and families. She wrote, therefore, pointing out thatno one could dream of conspiring now, and that, so far as she wasconcerned, it was idle to detain her a prisoner.

  One day my lord returned from his accustomed cruise down Lough Swillyin huge delight. The circle of flame, which had swept past thisportion of the coast as well as others, had informed the dwellers inEnnishowen that peril threatened somewhere. Then had come suspense andvague rumours of the French nightmare, which people put from them atonce as idle chatterings of a danger that was over. My lord had sailedfrom tower to tower--those stalwart towers whose creation he hadhimself superintended--but no keeper could tell him more than that hehad lit his bonfire upon seeing one blazing to westward, and that hisown warning had been answered by a similar blaze to eastward. Thesoldier-sprigs of Letterkenny even could say nothing positive. It wasreported that the French had come at last, they said; but at thiseleventh hour the notion was absurd. Doreen's heart had leaped withinher. The French! Was Theobald with them? She condescended to coax andwheedle Shane, and put forth all her blandishments to obtain morepositive information. Suspense was racking her. She even offered to gowith him on his yacht, and be civil to those horrible bumpkins inuniform, if he would sail forthwith to Letterkenny and discoversomething tangible. He went alone; but wrung from her a promise thatif he organised an aquatic _fete_ shortly, to which he proposed toinvite the aforesaid bumpkins, she would cast aside her reserve, andmake herself agreeable to them.

  'You know, Doreen,' he said, 'that my lady's breaking up. She lookslike a ghoul. By the Hokey, she'd frighten 'em all away! and it'sdevilish dull here for a young man like me. For political reasons I'veborne the penance all this weary time. But may I be well triangled ifI put up with it much longer.'

  Though the speech was rude, as conveying a hint to his cousin that herconstant presence by no means made up to him for the vanished orgiesof Cherokees and Blasters, yet did she smile her sweetest smile onhim. It proved that she need never dread being tormented with hisattentions; and so she promised, and he went. He was several daysabsent; then returned, as I have said, in huge delight. The festivalwas organised. The squireens were much _obleeged_, and would makea point of responding to his lordship's _feevour_. It was to takeplace in ten days. Doreen must see to details. They would dinein the low-arched hall, and take their claret in the garden. Whatpleasanter than to enjoy the delicious autumn air, laden as it waswith health-inspiring brine?

  Doreen commanded herself sufficiently to listen to his prattle. Whatwas my lord's _fete_ to her--the odious boozing boors! She was piningfor political news--was about, losing all patience, to interrupt hercousin--when, to her surprise and delight, he stopped of his ownaccord with a string of oaths, vowing that in this accursedhole he was forgetting his manners. He had picked up a guest atLetterkenny--one whom she used to like. He jerked his thumb over hisshoulder towards the yacht. She looked, and beheld--Cassidy--the oldfriend and true, who was as hearty and as jolly as ever, with hisroguish twinkle and double-chin, smiling and waving salutations toher! Cassidy, who had promised once to be a friend--on that day afterhis silly declaration by the kennels! Cassidy, escaped by some kindlyturn of fate from the ills which had fallen on the rest! He would knoweverything, could tell her private details of persons whose names shedared scarce mention to herself.

  This was a delightful surprise. Dropping her ordinary coldness, sheadvanced quickly to him with flushed cheek and both hands extended. Heread in her face that she was genuinely glad to see him, and thankedhis stars that he had bethought himself of trying once again. She hadbeen coy--needed persistent wooing--was, like all women, a borncoquette. He held both her trembling little brown hands in his, andwould have kissed her if grinning Shane had not been looking on. Sheliked him. There could be no doubt of it. The sweet lovely minx--brownas a berry--all the lovelier and the browner for long exposure to thesun and blustering blast and wholesome air. She had betrayed herself,the demure siren! The Castle and its people might go to the devil now.He need not trouble
to feather his nest. She evidently loved himenough to take him as he was, and had gold enough for both. Hementally resolved to choose the first opportunity to put the tenderquestion in due form. Pretty, stately creature! What a charm there wasin the toss of her shapely head, the tawny depths of her solemn eyes!

  Her first question somewhat disconcerted the amorous giant.

  'How is Terence?' she asked, recovering her usual calm.

  He glanced suspiciously down, but there was no tremulousness about theserene face such as his own coming had provoked. It was natural to askafter a cousin who was once a playfellow, and was now on the thresholdof an ignominious death.

  ''Deed, and he's bad, acushla!' he returned bluntly; then, with anaffectionate hand-squeeze, followed beckoning Shane to pay hisrespects to my lady.

  With heartfelt thankfulness the girl, who went with them, listened toShane's budget of gossip, as he tumbled it out, a confused medley, forhis mother's benefit. This French expedition was but the wild freak ofan adventurer unwisely brave. He and all his men--Frenchmen all--weregone in chains to Dublin, a mirth-provoking spectacle for the goodtownspeople, who were getting weary of badgered Croppies. The boys atLetterkenny were coming to his little _fete_--he was to send the yachtand a whole fleet of boats for them. It would be rare fun!

  By-the-bye, Sir Borlase Warren and some English ships of war werecruising somewhere close by--their mission to prevent another Frenchband from landing, if another leader should be found as foolhardy asthis Humbert. That was not likely. Sir Borlase would have his cruisefor nothing. The laws of hospitality demanded that he should beentertained. Shane had left a message at the tower on Fanad Head tothe effect that Lord Glandore would be glad to be civil to SirBorlase. Maybe he and his officers would grace the prospective _fete_.With this Shane descended to the cellar, to look out some bottles ofprime claret for the delectation of Cassidy. Being but a half-mounted,my lord had consistently treated that personage at Strogue withindulgent patronage mingled with hauteur; but now he was so tired ofgetting drunk alone, or with the rough skipper of his yacht, that hecondescended to kill a fatted calf for the behoof of the new arrival.

  So the third French expedition had gone off like a damp squib! Doreenwas in nowise sorry for the prisoners. Faithless as the French hadbeen, great in promises which were never fulfilled, it served themright to be punished for their folly. But she was deeply thankful thatTone was not among them. It rather surprised her, till she reflectedthat her young hero was wise beyond his years, and far-sighted too. Hesaw, no doubt, as she did, that the moment was come and gone; thatthere was nothing for it but endurance now. He was galloping in hisgeneral's uniform on the banks of the Rhine, or perchance was one ofBuonaparte's staff in Egypt or elsewhere. He had slaved with thepower of a young Samson for motherland; but treachery had done herwork--Samson was shorn. He could do no more. Like her, he could onlywait. It was a mercy that his life was spared.

  Cassidy's presence was certainly a relief to all, by introducing a newelement of interest into a household devoured by ennui. He was so gayand willing. It was a pleasure to hear his rich voice carolling one ofthe dreamy songs of Ireland, as he caught fish for breakfast over thegarden parapet. Even my lady had a wintry smile for him. Shane draggedhim out with glee to look at the Martello towers, to shoot a seal, tohave a blaze at the puffins about Malin Head. The cheery, pleasantcreature! Sir Borlase and his fleet sailed by. The admiral's boat,manned by its natty crew in dazzling white garments, shot to thestaircase hewn from the living rock, to scrape acquaintance with thehermits of Glas-aitch-e. He thought he had never seen so singular ahousehold. The scared aristocratic-looking lady, with snowy locks anddeep furrows of sorrow ploughed on her faded cheeks--each line in thefretwork of whose brow told of carking care, each rustle of whosesilken robe spoke of overweening pride; the beautiful tall gipsy, withpride as great as hers, which was tempered by a serene sadness thatbecame her beauty well. And dwelling with this pair of cold, haughtywomen, two men of such a different stamp! The young lord, a recklessdevil evidently, and fierce, despite his somewhat effeminate figureand tiny hands; given, too, to the modish vice, as was evidenced bythe coarsening of his fine features. And then, culminating surprise,the great jolly giant--type of a rollicking Pat--vulgar and humorous;who somehow was of much commoner clay than his three companions, whoyet treated him with indulgent friendliness. What a strange life thisquartet must be leading? the admiral mused, as he went upon his way.They would repay careful study. He had no particular orders as to hiscruise, except that he was to watch the northern coast. He wouldinspect the inlets of Lough Foyle, and then come back again. Why werethey leading this odd hermit life? Decidedly it would be worth whileto examine them more closely. The maiden and the giant went abouttogether a good deal, he remarked, in two frail coracles, side byside--paddling among banks of heavy seaweed, landing on the strand tovisit cottagers, skirting the beetling cliff in search of rare fernsand lichens. Could they be about to make a match of it? Some of themost happy couples are composed of the most conflicting elements. Yetit did seem a pity for a refined girl like this to unite herself to acommon farmer-fellow!

  My lady, too, remarked the apparent flirtation, and frowned. 'What'sbred in the bone will come out,' she muttered, as, sitting on themarble seat among the straggling flowers, she basked in the sun. 'It'sthe blood of her mother. She has a predilection for common people.That is why she went on so shamefully at Strogue, consorting with thesons of old Doctor Emmett, who, in his way, was a good man, inpreference to cousin Shane!' Then, remembering the behaviour of hersecond son, she contemplated her ghost again. 'That he should come toa shameful end,' she groaned, wringing her hands together. 'Is this adirect judgment on me? Did my husband foresee this when he spoke uponhis death-bed? Had I acted as I ought, would Terence have been saved?'

  Doreen was so accustomed to be led by her wayward will that it did notstrike her that she was doing anything peculiar in going thus aboutwith Cassidy. She occupied her boat, he his; sure, nothing could bemore proper. She had always looked upon him as on a Newfoundland dog,whose rough gambols are amusing, and courted his society now to heardetails of her Dublin friends without interruption from her aunt. Shelearned much that was true and much that was false. With grief shelistened to the weary tale of treachery, marvelling with Cassidy as towho the traitor was. She burned with indignation at the conduct of theexecutive, observing that there is an unwritten law in accordance withwhich the ignorant are to be protected from themselves; not coaxed tocrime and then murdered for it. For some reason of his own, the giantavoided the mention of Terence; and Doreen respected his delicacy, forshe thought that perchance he had ill things to tell of him, and sheshrank from hearing them; clinging rather to her present state ofdoubt.

  One day as they drifted on the glassy sea--the one pensive, withher chin upon her hands, the other distracted by his increasingpassion--Cassidy remarked that her coracle was leaking, that a tinyrift had been cut in the side by a jagged stone, and that the waterwas lapping in unawares. He swore there was peril--lost his head in anabsurd manner--while she smiled. Why did she not choose to come outwith him in a bigger boat? These frail cockle-shells were ridiculous!What greater delight could there be for him than to row so precious aburthen?

  'I prefer my liberty,' was her demure reply, as she measured herdistance to the islet, and then the incoming water. 'If I put mystrength into it I shall get safely home, so don't excite yourself.'

  With rare skill she plied the light oars, baring her shapely armsand stretching them to their full length, and arrived at thestaircase-foot out of breath, but safe, ere the coracle had time tofill.

  'There!' she said in smiling triumph, as she stood on the slipperystep, her ripe lips half opened, her bosom heaving. 'Am I not quitefit for the _role_ of an old maid? Can I not look after myself withouta protector?'

  Cassidy, with emotion, was as breathless as she. 'Like the poor Irishboys,' he blurted out, 'you should be protected against yourself. Whenyou are my wife you shan't
play such pranks!'

  Doreen, who was moving up the steps, turned swiftly and looked down athim. There was pained wonder in her tawny eyes--scornful anger in theknitted arches of her brow.

  'Mr. Cassidy!' she said, panting. 'Oh, I'm so sorry! Is this my fault?I thought it was quite understood that your former nonsense was merepassing fancy. Never, never speak like that again, or I must tell myaunt, who will turn you out of doors. Indeed, after this, I'm very,very sorry, but the sooner you go away the better!'

  Her face was crimson. Gathering up her skirts, and thereby displayinga silver buckled brogue and ribbed woollen stocking, she trippedlightly up the flight and was gone, leaving her forlorn admirer to seeto the boats alone.

  Was it for good or ill that she went away so hurriedly? Would it havebeen better for her to have beheld the true man without his mask? Shecould scarcely be more pained and astonished than she was already. Shewas not intentionally a coquette. The manner of her bringing up andthe atmosphere of melancholy by which she was enwrapped, caused her tothink it possible to be on platonic terms with men upon a purelybrotherly basis. Neither Tone nor the Emmetts had dreamed of makinglove to her. She did not consider her own beauty and the inflammablenature of the Hibernian heart--that is, when it is not fully engrossedalready by national grievances. Perhaps she would look on Cassidy ashe really was ere long--most probably indeed--for as he bent down totie the boats, the water reflected a villainous expression ofcountenance, whilst he swore under his breath to be revenged forhaving been tricked and fooled by a born jilt.