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L6a8
YIAHS

   

 

Cornell University Library.
Ithaca, Nes York

 

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE

FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND

THE BEQUEST OF

WILLARD FISKE

LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERS ITY 1668-1883
 

‘ornell Universit:

“Nin
HER MAJESTY’S REBELS
 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

THE MARPLOT.
ONE OF THE GRENVILLES.
POEMS OF THE UNKNOWN WAY.

MACMILLAN AND CO., Lrp., LONDON.

 

 
HER MAJESTY’S
REBELS

BY

SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT
as

Lonvon
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limrrep

NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1907
Na,

AM adwlele vecovneyd
NOTE

Ir will be obvious to the reader that there are many
points of resemblance between the public career of
the hero of this book and that of Charles Stewart
Parnell. The author hopes it may be equally clear
that no attempt has been made in the character of
Desmond to suggest a portrait of that great national
leader. There is an historical basis for the structure
of the story—not for the persons.
CHAP.
Ty

~ 2

oD Oe NTN SP YW

-

Il.

12.

13

15.
16.
17.
18,

CONTENTS

Tue Bounpary Fence . 5 4 ‘
Tue First APPEARANCE OF THE Hero . 3
Breakfast AND Dinner at BaLtyvopra . ‘
Connor Desmonp anp Katuieen O’Brien
Sir Henry Desmonp anp Miss Tempie-Cioup
Tue IncreprsLe VERDICT ‘ . ‘ ,
Lapy Suanpon’s Batt . ¥ ‘ ‘ :
Some Preparations FoR Marriace . A ‘
A Councit or War s 3 ‘ F
Tue Enemy’s Camp 2 ‘ F j
Desmonp and Corinna . ‘ ‘i ‘
Desmonp anp Corinna—TuHe AFrrernoon F

Desmonp and Cortinna— THe Eveninc anp

NicHt ‘ ; 4 . , r
Desmonp ano Corinna—T'HE Morrow . i
Tue Opentnc oF THE Battyvopra Horer ;
A Pennine ELecrion : ‘ : : é
Connor Dezsmonp’s TEMPTATION . é :

Connor Desmonn’s Decision . : :
vii

THE

PAGE

20
32
58
72
96

116

138

146

159

174

193

207
219
232
253
273
293
vill
cua.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.

HER MAJESTY’S REBELS

Connor Desmonn’s Reward
Tue Fére ar DunaLttow Court

Tre Tower in THE MoonLicur
DisHonour

Dzsmonp v. DesMonp

Tue BrorHers

A Lover’s FrrenpsHip anp A Frienp’s Love
Vox Poputr

Desmonp ano KatTuteEN—THE Morwnino
Desmonp, KarHieen, AND Corinna—THE AFTERNOON
Desmonp aLone—TuHe Nicur .

ConcLusion

PAGE

306
325
338
355
367
381
392
408
421
439
455
465
CHAPTER I

THE BOUNDARY FENCE

Ir there had ever been trees or flower garden
or pleasance round Duhallow Castle, no traces of
them remained. Its walls rose direct from the
grassy slopes of a little hill beside the river, and
the sheep fed up to its windows. Of the original
structure nothing was left except the square fortress
tower and one wing; but the stones of the. lost
building had been used in constructing the dwell-
ing, little better than a farmhouse, which had
risen on the earlier foundations, and blocks of
masonry centuries old, noble quoin stones, and
pieces of moulded plinth were to be seen in the
outhouses and sheds that surrounded the weed-
grown courtyard. It was all of the same grey
colour, and, though there was no beauty of design
in the newer buildings, time and neglect had given
harmony to the whole group.

The Castle stood half a mile from the village
and centrally in the country to which it gave its
name, midway between the Galtees and the eastern
highlands of Kerry. It looked out on a great
stretch of rolling pasture and moor, gay with the

gold of furze bloom, and bright with the sparkle of
B
2 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

running waters. At intervals of a few miles wooded
hollows among the bare green hills, or belts of trees
fringing the lower mountain slopes, marked the
positions of the greater houses ; walls of loose
grey limestone and broad banks divided the inter~
vening lands; and, here and there, a whitewashed
farmhouse or solitary cabin stood by the roadside.
Once a great part of this country had belonged
to the Desmonds: now the Castle and a few
hundred acres surrounding it was all that remained
to them—all at least that was held by the elder
and Irish branch of the family, for some of the old
property was still in the hands of the representatives
of the younger branch which had long since become
English.

The story of the way in which it had been
acquired was perhaps not known, perhaps ignored
in the English family, but it had been cherished in
hatred and handed down from father to son in the
Irish home. All that need be told of it now is
the bare fact that, some two hundred years ago, one
Henry Desmond took advantage of a penal law
which enabled a younger son, on becoming a Pro-
testant, to disinherit the elder who remained a
Catholic. He committed this act of treachery
obtained possession of the property, built on the
banks of the stream near the village the house
known as the Court, and, being well hated in the
oes afterwards placed his estate in the hands
2 a and took up his residence in

The elder brother, after ma
the Continent as a soldier of Reeds ae
French lady who brought him a considerable tone,
and with her and two children returned to his
1 THE BOUNDARY FENCE 3

native land. His elder son subsequently purchased
the Castle of Duhallow and a small portion of the
old property; and here, in their ancestral home
on the edge of the estate which they had lost,
his descendants continued to live,—a race of
impoverished half-educated country gentlemen, full
of the pride of birth and the memory of old
wrongs.

Half a mile to the west of the Castle, a long
belt of trees marked the division between its lands
and those of Ballyvodra, the estate of the O’Briens.
The boundary itself was a great earth bank drilled
with rabbit-holes and overgrown with heather and
furze and foxgloves—for the trees belonged to
Ballyvodra—and skirted a park in which stood one
of those square white country houses of the
familiarly ugly south-of-Ireland pattern.

To the young people of the two families the
great bank was a boundary in more than the
ordinary sense, because they were forbidden on
both sides to cross it. Mr. O’Brien, a Protestant
landlord, regarded his Roman Catholic neighbour,
who was in the habit of expressing his political
opinions freely, as a rebel; Mr. Desmond looked
upon him as one of the English garrison. Their
children were not allowed to speak to each other,
and the boundary fence had in consequence a natural
attraction for both parties.

They were unequal in numbers: Ballyvodra was
represented by three boys and a girl, and Duhallow
usually by one small boy, who in times of war
would patrol the borders of his territory accom-
panied by a large dog and hurl defiance at his
enemies, and in times of peace might be seen across
the barrier taking part in their games. His name
A HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

was Connor, and he had a brother Michael who
was ten years his senior, a schoolboy when he and
the others were but children—his hero from the
days of his earliest recollection. Michael was some-
thing of a hero too in the eyes of the Ballyvodra
children; and there were no prouder moments in
Connor’s early life than the occasions when he had
the opportunity of marching before them along the
boundary fence with his brother, gun on shoulder,
at his side.

Michael was so much older than the others
that the orders forbidding intercourse between the
young people did not affect him—they were
Connor’s friends or foes, not his—but a feeling of
pride kept him on his own side of the barrier. It
was the other boundary of the Castle property,
that which divided it from the Court and the lost
estates held by the English branch of the family,
that aroused his imagination and set him dreaming
of a day when he might regain the old place and
rebuild the family fortunes.

His father ruminated on his wrongs like the
Desmonds before him, but was contented to let
things take their course: it was his mother, a
woman of strong character and indomitable spirit,
who kindled in him the fires which had lain dormant
in his race, and inspired his ambition to serve his
country. She did not hesitate, in the early days,
to accept the help of her only brother, a rich man
with whom she was not on cordial terms, in the
education of her children. He held political views
which differed from her own; but her instincts as
a mother overcame her scruples, and Michael, with
a view to a career at the bar, went to Trinity
College, Dublin, at his uncle’s expense. Connor was
I THE BOUNDARY FENCE 5

sent to a small school at Queenstown, and it was
during his first winter holidays, when he was about
fourteen years old, that a real friendship began
between him and his neighbours.

The prohibition as to communication had been
strictly maintained, and, on both sides, the tempta-
tion to explore the forbidden country had grown
greater. Wonderland lay for them on the further
side of their confines. "To Kathleen O’Brien, the
eldest of the Ballyvodra children, the old Castle
wall, the bare hill, and the gleam of the river,
with the plovers crying on the moorland beyond
it, had possibilities of romance not to be found
in her own spacious domains; and to Connor the
shrubbery paths of Ballyvodra, the old walled
garden, the busy adjoining farmyard with its barn
and threshing-machine, and the great fir- wood
that lay beyond the park, were full of mysterious
attraction. To Kathleen and her brothers the
inhabitants of the Castle had the fascination of
the wicked characters in a story. They believed
that secret meetings of the Fenians were held in
the tower at night; and when they heard the
horn old Kaylagher, the farmer, blew on winter
nights to scare the foxes from his poultry-yard,
they trembled in their beds in the conviction that
an army of rebels was being drilled on the hills
beside the river. Mr. Desmond, of whom they
had heard at home that he had once shot a man
in a duel, was in their eyes the personification
of all wickedness ; and Mrs. Desmond, the strange
dark lady who hardly ever appeared beyond the
Castle precincts, they believed to be a witch. To
Connor the Ballyvodra people had a different
charm. ‘They represented the society outside which
6 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

his family stood. In spite of all he had heard
against him from his father and Michael he could
not but admire Mr. O’Brien when he saw the hand-
some, erect, military-looking gentleman riding along
the road. The two Miss O’Briens, his maiden
sisters, the peculiar bloom of whose cheeks could
be seen even from a distance, were to him the
very embodiment of fashion, and all that he had
read of the gay society surrounding Dublin Castle
was suggested in their bearing; while even Mr.
O’Toole, the tutor, a humble individual, and Miss
Green, Kathleen’s governess, inspired him with
respect as vehicles of modern culture denied to
himself. On evenings when there was a dinner-
party at Ballyvodra he would take up his position
on his side of the boundary fence and watch the
carriages drive up the avenue with intense interest.
He knew Lord Shandon’s big coach, and Captain
Vandeleur’s greys, and many of the other con-
veyances; and he would marvel, at sight of a
side-car bearing Father Barry of Duhallow, that a
good man like him should dine at the house of
Mr. O’Brien and be the fellow-guest of Mr. Bolster,
the Protestant rector.

The friendship between Connor Desmond and
Kathleen O’Brien began in a dispute which took
place between them at the boundary fence on the
subject of religion and patriotism.

‘All good Irishmen are Catholics,’ said he.

‘All good Irish ladies and gentlemen are Pro-
testants,’ she answered.

‘Only the turncoats,’ said Connor, who knew
more Irish history than most boys at his age.
‘The O’Briens were good Catholics and they
turned over to keep the property.’
1 THE BOUNDARY FENCE a

‘It had nothing to do with it,’ said Kathleen
warmly. ‘They changed because they knew it
was right. You changed too when you became
Christians. If ’tis wrong to change you ought
to be heathen now, bowing down to wood and
stone.’

It was a fair answer, and Connor sought in
vain for a suitable reply. ‘If you think your
Mr. Bolster is a better teacher than St. Patrick
you're welcome to be a Protestant,’ was the best
he could find, but he thought the subject over after
they had parted, and appeared again next day full
of arguments with which he proposed to vanquish
her. Kathleen, however, had dismissed from her
mind an uninteresting subject and refused to be
led into any further discussion. She was in a
reckless holiday mood—her governess had gone
home, her father was in Cork, her aunts were
confined to their room with colds in the head, and
the desire to take advantage of the unusual freedom
from control possessed her.

‘They’re all away,’ she told Connor. ‘It would
be a fine chance for you to come and see our
place.’ /

The proposal was fascinating, but he was silent,
remembering the prohibition.

“Is it afraid you are?’ she said, noting his
hesitation.

Connor dismissed his scruples and climbed the
fence. The unknown wonders of Ballyvodra called
him on, the delight of the forbidden filled him. His
head was stored with old romances, and he felt like
one of his heroes entering the enemy’s camp in league
with the daughter of the hostile chief. For a time
they avoided the immediate neighbourhood of the
8 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

house and the farmyard, which was full of work-
people, and were content to explore the shrubberies
and the walled kitchen-garden. The shrubbery
paths were overgrown with weeds, a tree had fallen
and broken down a corner of the garden wall and
the gap remained unrepaired, the old flower borders
were untended and old fruit-trees unpruned ; but
Kathleen showed it all with pride, and Connor
beheld with admiration. Through a hole in the
garden wall they surveyed the back of the house and
the great stableyard. It was empty, but the coach-
house door was open and they could see Davy Dunn,
the harness-maker, at work with thread and cobbler’s
wax, and Kathleen’s two younger brothers, seated on
stools, watching him intently. Except the great
water-butt, now tipped on its shafts, and the beam
scales used for weighing wool, there was jlittle to
attract attention in the yard ; but through the arch-
way that led into the farmyard beyond they could
see the horses harnessed to the revolving capstan
shaft, and from the barn came the sound of voices
and ‘the pleasant hum of the threshing-machine.
Outside in the haggard the sheaves were being thrown
down from one of the stacks to a waggon for
conveyance to the barn, and the eldest boy was
watching below with terriers for the rats which
remained to the last minute in the stack. Tom
Condon, the shepherd, with a couple of dogs at his
heels, had just come back from his flock on the hill,
and was busy in the lines of dilapidated sheds
tarring nets. John Nagle and his son were at work
making a farm-cart, and two other men close by
were cutting timber in a pit full of sweet-smellin

sawdust. Connor looked at it all with regretful
pleasure : the scene was so cheerful and friendly, so
I THE BOUNDARY FENCE 9

different from the lonely life in his half-ruined home.
He and Kathleen spent some hours together, explor-
ing as far as the middle of the great fir-wood, and
always avoiding observation, till late in the afternoon.
It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the
neighbourhood of the house, and then again for
Connor the mystery of the place, partly lost on
examination, had descended upon it. The threshing
was over and most of the work-people had gone
home ; but Tom Condon, with a lantern, was busy
in the sheds where he penned his sheep with early
lambs ; there were still men at work stabling the
horses; and the sound of the bite of the chaff-
cutter, or the run of a chain halter across the wood-
work of a manger, broke the silence of the empty
enclosures. Though the day’s work was done the
night fell here with a feeling of homely shelter and
friendliness which contrasted with the loneliness
of the dark hours round the walls of Duhallow
Castle.

Connor refused a reckless proposal of Kathleen’s
that he should come in to tea, but he had a look
through the schoolroom- window where ‘the boys
were already busy with their meal, and peeped into
the hall where a cheerful fire of logs was burning,
and a great clock ticking somewhere in the shadowy
distance. He was troubled by a recollection of the
hostility between the two families when the time
came to say good-bye.

‘Why shouldn’t we be friends,’ he said, ‘in spite
of our being Catholics and you Protestants?’

‘Perhaps you'll be Protestants some day,’ she said
encouragingly.

‘Indeed we will not,’ he replied, ‘but we can be
friends just as well. Will I see you at the fence
10 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

to-morrow? Twill be your turn to come and see
our place.’ aos

‘Maybe I might if there’s a good chance, said
she. ‘But tell me—when you get home to-night,
where’ll you say you’ve been ?’

‘I don’t expect they’ll ask me,’ he answered.
‘I’m often away on a long walk.’

‘But if they do?’

‘T shall tell.’

‘I suppose you must,’ she assented. ‘ We tell lies
to Mr. O’Toole and Miss Green—they don’t count
—but we generally tell the truth to father. And
what'll happen if your father knows?’

‘He may laugh or he may give me a licking, you
never know. But if he does, it was worth it.’

A bond of comradeship, a secret understanding,
was established between them ; and as Kathleen went
back hungry to her tea, and Connor crossed the dark
fields towards his home, each of them knew that a
real friend had been found.

It was not until a fortnight later that an oppor-
tunity came for Kathleen to pay the return visit
proposed by Connor. In the dusk of a winter
afternoon, when the wind was loud in the trees round
Ballyvodra and swept the bare hillside of the Castle,
she and Connor crossed the fields and stood amon
the ruined walls of the courtyard and buildings. He
knew a great deal about the history of the Castle,
and he was a firm believer in its legends, many of
them with supernatural details, which were current
among the peasantry, and had been told to him by
Tom Begley, the blind fiddler. Now in the windy
twilight, while the plover were crying on the darken-
ing moorland beyond the river, Kathleen was told
of old fights beneath the Castle walls; and with a
1 THE BOUNDARY FENCE II
growing feeling of timidity she heard of ghostly

ancestral visitors who might be still seen riding
through the courtyard on nights such as these.

‘Tis a pity it’s getting dark,’ he said; ‘I want
to show you some more of the interesting places.
There’s the spot where they threw an informer into
the river, and the coffin cut in the solid rock where
a hermit was buried, and lots of jolly things; but
now there’s no one about you can come and see the
room in the tower.’

Never before had the thought of the bright untidy
schoolroom and the society of her unruly young
brothers come so attractively to Kathleen as now. If
it had not been for her fear of Connor’s contempt she
would have gone no farther, but she was determined
not to let him see her timidity and followed him
without a word. The great sixteenth-century tower
adjoined but was not connected with the house.
Connor opened a heavy door and led the way across
a rude vaulted chamber, used as a tool-house, to a
stone spiral staircase which was built in a recessed
turret at one of the angles. The stair led to the
battlements of the tower, but half-way up a door
opened from it into a curious old room. It was
dimly lighted by narrow windows, little more than
slits in the deep masonry of the walls. The floor
was in holes, and the only furniture of the room was
an old bookcase, a cupboard, a deal-table, and a few
chairs. Over the hearth, on which a fire of logs and
turf glowed, there was a fox’s head set up on a
board, and a couple of guns and some fishing-tackle
stood in one of the corners.

‘This,’ said Connor, ushering Kathleen in with
some pride, ‘is my room. It is really Michael’s, but
now he’s away ‘tis mine. There’s one fine thing
12 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

about it, you have it all to yourself, No one ever
comes up here.’

‘It would be a splendid place,’ Kathleen agreed,
‘if there were others with you; but it must be
awfully lonely all by yourself.’

‘J don’t notice it,’ he replied. ‘I read a great
deal, and I generally ‘have one of the dogs for
company. Now,’ he added, going to the cupboard,
‘we can have some tea. You put the kettle on
while I put the things out.’

The wind filled the old tower with strange sounds,
and the flicker of light from the fire made ghostly
shapes on the walls for Kathleen’s eyes ; but though
she was afraid, the fascination of the adventure was
greater than her fear.

‘’Tis three hundred years ago,’ said Connor in
narrative tone. ‘You're the lovely daughter of a
hostile chief, the enemy of our race, and we have
your brother a prisoner. He’s in chains down in the
dungeon vaults underneath the tower. "Twas I
captured him, but you have come here alone. You
have evaded the warders and come to plead for him
at the risk of being captured yourself, and why?
Because, though our families are enemies, you really
love me.’

‘I don’t !’ said Kathleen.

‘Well, what’s the use of spoiling a good story?’ he
said, continuing : ‘In the middle of our secret inter-
view there is a sound of a step on the stairs. Hark!’

She listened, trembling. There was indeed a
sound of the opening of the great door beneath, and
while they were listening a voice called out—

‘Masther Connor, are ye above stairs?’

‘Hush!’ whispered Connor. ‘’Tis Thady.’

‘Masther Connor!’ came a louder call, but.
I THE BOUNDARY FENCE 13

though again there was no response, the old servant
had his suspicions and began slowly mounting the
stairs. Before he was half-way up Connor went out
and intercepted him.

‘Bad manners to you, Thady !’ said he. ‘What’s
this noise you’re making, bothering me just when
I'm trying to doa bit of study.’

‘Couldn’t ye answer at onest when I called,
instead of bringin’ me stiff joints up this hell of a
lather?’ growled Thady. ‘Ye’re wanted in the
house this minyet. The masther tould me to tell
you to go sthraight in. He have a telegram from
Masther Michael, and there’s good news in it, glory
be to God.’

The old man hobbled away, and Connor returned
to Kathleen..

‘What am IJ to do?’ she asked in alarm.

‘Oh, wait five minutes and I'll be back,’ he
replied. ‘You can’t go by yourself, you couldn’t
find your way through all the walls and places. You
go on getting the tea ready, and I'll promise you I'll
be back in five minutes.’

The moment the outer door closed she wished
she had accompanied him. Muffled tones of the
wind which swept round the tower came through the
thick walls : it was a wail in the window, a sound of
wings on the stairway, the rumble of a distant drum
in the chimney. The solitude of the place frightened
Kathleen ; the stories Connor had told her of hidden
dungeons and of ghostly visitors came to her mind.
Every minute her fear increased.. She was afraid to
look towards the window lest she should see the
misshapen form of the banshee crouching on the sill.
She fancied she heard footsteps overhead and whispers
on the stairs.
14 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

After waiting for ten minutes, which seemed half
an hour to her, she could bear it no longer and
determined on flight, though to go needed nearly
as much courage as to stay. Lighting a candle
which she found on the table, she went to the door
and paused before venturing on the dark staircase.
Then in great trepidation she began the descent,
slowly at first, but with quickening footsteps as she
went, and the fancy grew upon her that she was
being pursued by some unknown thing. As she
opened the door her candle blew out, and she found
herself in the wind and darkness with no notion as
to which way to turn for home. The lights of the
house were her only guide, she still felt she was
being pursued, and she ran with all her speed till
she came to the front entrance. A moment later
she was in the open doorway of the old hall, where
Mr. and Mrs. Desmond were seated by the fire and
Connor standing at their side. These dreaded
people alarmed her no longer, they were human
and promised refuge from the terrors of the
unknown outside ; but she did not go forward into
the room, and it was some minutes before her
presence was noticed.

“We'll drink his health,” Mr. Desmond was saying
as he brewed a fresh tumbler of punch. ‘To come
out first on the list! And at Trinity, too, a place
full of Protestants and Cromwellians! B’ the
powers, the Desmonds ll be back in their old
place yet.’

He was a huge, square-shouldered man about
fifty years of age, weather-stained, blue-eyed, and
noticeably handsome. His dress was that of a
farmer, and though the day’s work was over he
had made no change beyond the substitution of a
a THE BOUNDARY FENCE 15

pair of carpet slippers for his boots. He wore no
collar because there were none to be obtained in the
shops large enough to fit him, and he would not take
the trouble to get specially measured, but his great
beard so completely covered his breast that the
omission was not very apparent. The lady who
sat opposite to him preserved in her middle age some
of the beauty for which she had been celebrated in
her youth, but her appearance was in every respect
a contrast to her husband’s—the expression of her
face as full of resolution and strength as his of easy
indifference, her attire as gracefully and carefully
considered as his slovenly and rude. The room in
which they sat, one of the few parts of the older
buildings which remained in use, was long and
low, with outstanding ceiling beams, a deep fireplace
set in a carved stone chimneypiece, and panelled oak
walls. It contained very little furniture ; but the
dark woodwork and some pictures, the work of
Mrs. Desmond, on the walls saved it from the
appearance of nakedness.

‘He'll be with us next week, keen for his bit of
hunting,’ said Mr. Desmond, ‘and ’tis wondering
I am what there is to put him on if it isn’t that
half-broken yellow colt. Well, ’tis great news, and
while ’tis fresh we'll drink his health.’

He poured out some diluted punch for his wife
and Connor and raised his glass. ‘ Here,’ said he, ‘is
to the health of Michael Desmond, God bless him !’

‘And in all his battles may he stand where* he
stands to-day,’ said Mrs. Desmond.

‘And may his enemies be the enemies of Ireland,’
said the master.

‘So they shall be,’ his wife added. ‘And he
will not have far to seek for them.’
16 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

There was a look of pride on her face and
exultation in her voice. Once she had been
ambitious for herself—in her youth she had cherished
hopes of becoming an artist of mark, and had after-
wards been satisfied to get a few pounds for her
pictures as a help in her housekeeping ; but she had
not lost her ambition, she had transferred it to
her son. She had given the new generation of
Desmonds their brains. In Michael’s success the
first step towards the realisation of her dreams had
been achieved, and she felt that his triumph was
hers.

A few moments of silence followed the honour-
ing of the toast, and Connor was just preparing to
escape when his father caught sight in the dark door-
way of a pretty little pale-faced girl, wrapped in a
scarlet cloak with a hood which had fallen back from
her shoulders.

‘Good God!’ he cried, ‘ here’s a fairy.’

The others looked round ; Kathleen stood quite
still, and Connor flushed crimson.

‘’Tis Kathleen O’Brien,’ he said, with desperate
veracity. ‘I brought her over to see the place.’

A look of anger came over Mr. Desmond’s face,
but it was the sin of omission, not of commission, that
he made Connor answer for.

‘And you left your guest outside on a night
like this, sir!’ he said, crossing the room. ‘You're
welcome, my dear. Connor was for showing you
the place, was he? Well, as we've nothing left to
show but hospitality, I’m sorry he forgot it.’

He took the child by the hand and led her into
the room. Connor did not fear his father—he knew
that his anger would pass—but he looked apprehen-
sively at his mother’s face and read his condemnation.
1 THE BOUNDARY FENCE 17

Not a trace of displeasure, however, appeared in
her manner as she welcomed Kathleen and placed
a chair for her by the fire.

‘And Connor left you outside, did he? and you
came in all the same,’ laughed Mr. Desmond.

‘I was afraid,’ she replied. ‘We were in the
tower ; we thought you'd be angry.’

‘ This is the first time an O’Brien has crossed our
threshold for twenty years,’ said Mr. Desmond,
‘and you’ve come on a lucky day. Michael—d’ye
know Michael?’

‘T’ve often seen him riding,’ replied Kathleen,
‘and once or twice he spoke to me.’

‘You'll stay and eat your supper with us,’ said
Mr. Desmond, ‘’twill be ready shortly.’

‘I think I must go home at once. Thank you
very much indeed,’ replied Kathleen.

‘Well, she must have something before she goes.
Some hot milk. Ring the bell, Connor.’

She had expected to be received with anger,
and in the overwrought state of her feelings the
kindness of her welcome brought her to the verge
of tears.

While the hot milk was being prepared Mr.
Desmond, who was in a very good humour, and had

_ begun to enjoy his part as the host of his hostile
neighbour’s daughter, continued to do most of the
talking.

‘The O’Briens have been in the county Cork
two hundred years now,’ said he. ‘They came out
of the county Clare, and there’s no better blood in
Ireland. They were great people. But indeed ’tis
the same with all the old stock. Some of them
with hardly the grass of a cow left. And look at
meself! All the country you see from the hill

c
18 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

above was ours, and now, begad! ’tis dodging the
bailiffs I am in the same way as a gnat in a shower
of rain dodges the drops.’ ;

He seemed to forget he was talking toa child,
and his wife made no attempt to check his garrulity.
She seemed amused at his remarks, and was wonder-
ing how much his success in eluding the bailiffs was
due to hereditary family instinct, as in the case of
the gnats, and how much to her own contrivance.

‘What is a bailiff?’ Kathleen asked with interest.

Mr. Desmond laughed loudly. ‘May you never
see one, my dear,’ he answered, with an afterthought
that, as things were going, Ballyvodra was by no
means an unlikely place in which to make their
acquaintance,

‘ How old are you now?’ asked Mrs. Desmond.

‘Thirteen,’ replied Kathleen.

‘Do you remember your mother?’

‘Oh yes,’ she answered with surprise. ‘I was
seven years old when my mother died.’

‘You will be tall like her. You are as tall as
your governess.’

‘Do you find her easy to manage?’ asked Mr.
Desmond.

‘I am sure of it, poor little woman,’ observed
Mrs. Desmond, ‘for judging by her appearance I
should say she represented the least amount of
individuality which could contain a soul’—a remark
which brought a short-lived smile to Connor’s
troubled countenance, and somewhat mystified
Kathleen. She was desperately anxious to be
gone. In spite of the kindness she had received
she felt shy and ill at ease with Mrs, Desmond ;
be ig: few sips of the hot milk brought

Y, who wore a black swallow-tailed coat
I THE BOUNDARY FENCE 19

for the occasion over his stable breeches, she asked
if she might go.

‘Thady Il drive you home,’ said the master.

‘If Connor came with me as far as the fence
I'd be home the next minute,’ said Kathleen.

‘And if you drive they'll know where you've
been,’ said Mrs. Desmond, interpreting ‘her reason
for wishing to walk.

‘And would they be angry?’ asked Mr.
Desmond.

‘Indeed they would,’ she replied.

His brow darkened, but he repressed the com-
ment that was on his lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said; ‘but ’tis no night for you
to be out walking. Hark at the storm of rain on
the window! No, you'll just drive, my dear.
Connor, go tell Thady put in the grey horse.’

Connor went out on his errand in a dejected
mood, well knowing that though nothing had been
said of reproof in Kathleen’s presence there was
trouble in store for him when she had gone; and
when she drove away a few minutes later he felt
that they had said good-bye for many a day, and
that the comradeship which had begun to be such
a pleasant thing to both of them would be hence-
forth forbidden by orders which could not be
disobeyed.
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO

Tue man who achieves fame in our time so often
owes his success to some special faculty that he isa
disappointing figure for portrayal, and to find in our
hero those time-honoured qualities which appeal to
the imagination of the people and attract women is
to experience the embarrassment of riches.

The depictors of contemporary life have avoided
the old type. On the stage it is the villain who is
the handsome fellow, and in fiction we are accustomed
to see the chief character combating some hereditary
defect of mind or body, and as likely as not a person
without arms or legs. To show, therefore, in a hero
a young man endowed by Nature with admirable
qualifications for the part may invite incredulity or
provoke resentment, and we should not have delayed
in calling attention to his unprepossessing traits if
evidence of them could have been found. Indeed,
we may be content to wait, and belaud him ungrudg-
ingly while we may, having no doubt that time will
show the flaws, and the stress of life expose the
blemishes hidden beneath the freshness of youth.
Michael Desmond had enemies enough later on to
see that these did not escape notice, but in his
early days he not only compelled attention by his

20
cu: FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 21

personality and intellectual vigour, but was admired
on all sides for his charm of manner and appearance.
As to his good looks the portrait which his friend
Constantine Power, who afterwards became famous,
painted of him in his twenty-third year still hangs
in a public hall in the city of Cork to confirm the
testimony of those who remember him at the time.
In the pose of the head, the abundant dark locks,
the clear-cut features and absence of hair on the face,
the picture at a first glance has something which
recalls the early portraits of Lord Byron; and
though it is without the stern lines and lacks the
keen watchfulness of the eyes—traits which dis-
tinguish the better-known portrait of later times—
the fighting power, the look of strength, calm and
confident in itself, are already apparent. He seemed
born for leadership, and at school and college
accepted his position as a matter of course. At
Trinity he captained the small minority of Catholic
students and formed them into a solid party, ready to
follow his views in the debating society or to support
him in a raid on a hostile political platform. He
accomplished difficult tasks easily, or so it appeared ;
but in winning his academic honours he worked
harder than was known, and was indebted to the
great physical strength which he had inherited from
his father for his power of reading late into the night,
after a merry evening with his friends, and rising
next morning fresh and unfatigued. As a student
at the bar after leaving the University he became
conspicuous both for his ability and his power of
work, and was soon marked as a young man with a
future. His career began to shape itself earlier than
that of other men, and when he was only twenty-
four years of age he achieved a certain public
22 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAR.

notoriety in appearing as the hero of a piece of
politcal efiontery no less, indeed, than his can-
didature as parliamentary representative of ‘Trinity
College in opposition to Mr. Daniel, the eminent
historian. He made some speeches at the time
which contained the first published expression of his
hatred to the English Government, and he received
as many votes as he could expect ; but the fact that
so young a man should have been chosen for the
part of opponent, and that Desmond should have
accepted it, showed the reputation he had already
won and the confidence he had in himself.

It was immediately after this first public appear-
ance that he came down for a short rest to Duhallow
in the middle of the hunting season. Connor, who
was now sixteen, was at home for the holidays, and
had looked forward to the coming of his hero with
enthusiastic anticipation. He had been without
companions of his own age at Duhallow, for his
intimacy with Kathleen O’Brien and her brothers had
ceased. There was little comradeship between him
and his parents: his father seemed to forget his
presence at home, and he was quick to notice how
exclusively his mother’s interest centred in Michael.
He was allowed to go his own way, and spent most
of his time either wandering on the mountains or by
the flooded river on the chance of a shot at snipe or
wild-duck, or alone in the tower reading. Now and
then he would walk along the boundary fence of
Ballyvodra, and once Kathleen waved a distant hand
to him as she crossed the lawn ; but this was the
only sign he had that she was true to their friendship.
Michael’s coming altered everything, redirected his
thoughts, gave him new ideas. .No lad ever looked
up toa brother with more admiration or was repaid
n FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 23

with warmer affection. Michael found in him more
intellectual companionship than in many men of his
own age, and began even in these days to give him
that entire confidence which throughout his after life
was only once withheld. He spoke to an eager
listener of his political aims and personal ambition.
‘The history of our family wrongs is the history of
Ireland’s wrongs,’ he said to him, ‘and neither you
nor I must ever forget the one or the other, Connor.’
His candidature for the University had flashed him
into sudden notoriety; the speeches in which he
expressed his opinions with the rashness of youth
had been recorded in the papers; and he came
down to his own country with the knowledge that
he had made himself obnoxious to the gentry and
won a new popularity with the people.

Riding with Connor to the meet at Cahirmee, a
couple of mornings after his arrival, he commented
upon the fact that they were going among the
enemy. He had declared war against them ; he had
little respect for them as a class ; and yet he was not
indifferent to their opinion. He was sensitively
conscious that his family had fallen socially, and that
the Desmonds of recent generations had hunted
among the squires attired as farmers and un-
recognised as equals. He had been punctilious in
paying the subscription which he could ill afford to
the hunt, and had always managed to appear in the
field well mounted. Now as he rode to the meet he
was pleasantly aware that there was as good a young
horse under him as the neighbourhood could show,
and that Connor made a presentable figure.

Half the county was out thatday. Lord Shandon,
the master, brought a large house-party with him ;
a contingent of officers, most of them mounted on
24 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

horses more at home in jumping English fences than
in changing feet on Munster banks, had ridden over
from the barracks at Buttevant ; weather-stained
pink coats and old velvet hunting-caps, once dis-
tinguishing marks of members of the Duhallow
Hunt, were to be seen here and there ; and as it
was St. Stephen’s Day, a general holiday, a crowd of
farmers’ sons on half-broken horses, boys on donkeys,
and labourers on foot, passed along the roads leading
to the covert. Mr. Hewson of Liscarrol, who had
left home that morning with the bailiffs in his house,
rode up looking as happy as if he had just inherited
a fortune; of the five Miss de Courcys, whose
ancestor had come to Ireland with Strongbow, young
ladies who could groom their own horses, though
they found some difficulty in the art of spelling,
not one was absent; Kathleen O’Brien on a very
smart grey pony was there with her brother Jack ;
and old Tom Freeman in his eightieth year, a sports-
man who had ridden with the Duhallows since he
was fifteen, had driven to the meet in his outside car
and was exchanging merry greetings with every one.

‘They all know each other—they’re like one
family, and I wish to God they were on our side
instead of against us and the country,’ said Michael
as they drew near. ‘We ought to be fighting side
by side and they compel us to fight against them.
And they’re Irish at heart. Is there a man amongst
them cares a thrawneen whether his neighbour is
rich or poor? And compare this with a hunting
field in England where there are sets and shades of
class distinction, but a man’s own breeding is of no
account if he has money enough to buy well-bred
horses. A man can’t be called a sportsman in
England unless he’s rich, and then you'll hear how
1 FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 25

many thousand pheasants he and his friends shot in
their hired preserves, or you'll see his picture in the
papers as the popular owner of a Derby winner,
when probably a few years before, when he was
speculating on the Stock Exchange, he couldn’t have
distinguished a three-year-old from a brood mare.’
He spoke without much knowledge of English life,
but with fuller information he did not afterwards
change his view. .

‘And ,they’re Protestants,’ he continued, referring
to the Irish gentry, ‘ when they ought to be Catholics,
and that’s another barrier between them and their
country. But their forefathers were compelled to
change by the English Government. Those, like
ourselves, who did not turn were ruined. They
were not like that fellow of our family who turned
traitor ; they did it to hold their lands and for the
sake of their families, and begad, Connor, I respect
them more than those English Dissenters’ sons and
daughters who are turning Church of England as
they get rich all over the country, not because they’re
compelled to it, but because they want to belong to
a more respectable religion.’

If these illiterate squires, who prided themselves
on their love of their country no less than Desmond,
could have heard the patronising tone in which he
spoke of them, they would have found it more
exasperating than any of those violent things which
he had said in his speeches about the English Govern-
ment, and his reception among them would have
been a very cold one that morning. As it was he
received friendly greetings on all sides. Comrade-
ship is ready among sportsmen; they share a
common joy, and the last place where there is time
for remembering political differences is at the covert
26 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHAP.

side on a winter morning when there is a good scent,
and the country lies grey and still under a soft south-
westerly sky. :

There was one run that day of only thirty-five
minutes, a straight line from Cahirmee to:Ballyhoura,
when the hounds were never more than a couple of
fields ahead, and the hunt swept across the country
like a flight of birds, each rider taking his own
course and yet all in touch, the recollection of which
made all those who took part in it think kindly of
each other long afterwards. The day was memorable,
too, for an incident in which Michael Desmond came
to the front in the part of hero.

In the afternoon the hounds were running in
the neighbourhood of Buttevant where the railway
crosses the river and the banks are steep. The
passage had been made at a ford lower down, but
some of the riders, Kathleen O’Brien among them,
who had been left some little distance behind had
followed the road on the farther side of the river,
and were parted from the rest of the field by some
half-mile of sloping downland. Here Kathleen’s
pony became excited and bolted in a straight line for
the river at a part where the cliffs were twenty feet
high. As the field drew near the railway bridge she
came into view, and the sight of her imminent
danger had an effect like that of an unexpected shot
in the midst of a troop of cavalry. There was a
sudden check in the pace, a wheeling or reining in
of horses, a feeling of the immediate need of action
without any plan being visible. The riders on her
side of the bank were too far behind to have a chance
of overtaking the pony and heading her off ; those
on the opposite side were barred by the steep banks.
The only possible way of crossing was by the railway
1 FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 27

bridge, but here the line was laid on open sleepers a
yard apart, a possible passage for a mule, but hardly
a place on which you could hope to lead a horse
safely. Michael Desmond in a moment took in the
whole situation. He saw that the pony was com-
pletely out of hand, and that the child was doomed
unless she could be intercepted. Her distance from
the cliffs towards which her pony was galloping was
about a third of a mile; his own distance from this
point being about the same in a direction nearly at
right angles. The attempt was worth making, and
he did not hesitate. There were some exclamations
of surprise, and then dead silence and quickened
pulses among the lookers on as he put spurs to his
horse and jumped the fence on to the railway line.
Then, without dismounting, and leaving the pace to
his good horse, he rode across the perilous timbers
and reached the opposite bank. It now became a
race. Kathleen was about four hundred yards from
the cliffs, Desmond some forty yards farther, and
both of them on level ground. No man riding to a
winning-post or flying before an enemy ever got
more out of his horse than Desmond did now. He
gained rapidly on the pony, and every yard he won
was counted by the eager eyes that watched him
from the other bank. As they grew closer there
were involuntary exclamations and pale faces in the
group of motionless horsemen. Connor, who was
among them, could bear it no longer and turned
away his head ; an old shepherd in the fields was on
his knees with hands extended to heaven. The
pony held on, and though Desmond, whose horse
was doing a superb pace, continued to gain, he saw
in the last fifty yards that he could not’ reach the
cliffs in time to deflect Kathleen’s course. Having
28 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

perceived this he rode his horse with a final burst of
speed straight at the pony’s head and struck him on
the shoulder with a force that hurled him into a
shattered heap and threw Kathleen violently to the
ground. He himself kept his seat for a moment till
his ‘horse also stumbled and fell. Helpers enough
came on the scene without delay, and Kathleen was
extricated from the ruins of her pony. She was quite
unconscious, but before the doctor, who was on the
field, had arrived she recovered. Then kind faces,
lightened with smiles of intense relief, looked down
on her, and Desmond, who had been standing at her
side pale and anxious, stooped and kissed her.

The news of his exploit reached his home before
Michael arrived himself that evening, and exaggerated
accounts of it were spread abroad in the district.

It was told in a public-house in Buttevant, on the
authority of the shepherd who was an eye-witness,
that the Dublin express was approaching at the time
at full speed : ‘Sixty miles an hour, divil a less,’ said
the narrator, ‘and Misther Desmond lept the rails in
front of the ingin, almost undher the wheels them-
selves’ ; and when one of the company observed
that the express did not pass until six o’clock his
remark was received with disapproval, and a man
who had been in another parish all day promptly
snubbed him. ‘Would ye doubt the word of Andy
Kearney, ye blackguard?’ he cried. ‘Sure I seen
the thrain meself, and if ’twasn’t the express "twas a
spicial, and *twasn’t sixty but seventy miles ’twas
going, making up time.’

Desmond’s horse was a good deal cut and bruised,
but not seriously injured. After Kathleen had been
placed in a carriage he went to a neighbouring farm-
house and borrowed a mount for the homeward
un FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 29

journey. The strain on him had been great, and the
reaction made him gay and ready to talk as he rode
home with Connor. Of the two it was the lad who
seemed shaken and preoccupied.

‘You shall have your little friend back new,
Connor, my boy;’ he said. ‘You'll find old O’Brien
will be over to call in the morning and make friends.
She’s a dear, and so pretty !” he added involuntarily.
‘One of us might ride over to-night to inquire how
she’s getting on. She’ll be sorry when she hears her
pony had to be shot.’

‘Nobody would have done it but you,’ said
Connor, with almost religious admiration of his
brother’s courage.

“©Oh, I don’t know. I was handy to the spot,
but I like them to see a Desmond in the front when
something wants doing. We have to try and restore
the old name of the family, Connor, whenever there’s
a chance.” And Connor fervently believed that his
brother would do so, but had doubts about himself.

Whatever question there might be about the
standing of the Desmonds among the gentry of the
neighbourhood, there was none as to the respect in
which the old family was held by the people. Mr.
Desmond had not lost it, though he appeared among
them dressed as a farmer and was ready to gossip
with the first comer. Michael, who added a certain
dignity of bearing to his friendliness of manner, and
whose appearance was noticeably distinguished, they
looked up to as a fit representative of a great name.
As he rode that evening through the little street of
Buttevant he was greeted on all sides with a deference
which he remarked with satisfaction. His future
career had begun to shape itself in his mind. These
were the people he was going to lead, and he already
30 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

felt conscious of his power of leading and of the joy
of leadership. Here were his forces. The men he
had been hunting with all day, good fellows and
pleasant company, were on the other side. They
were enemies. There must be no compromise. As
they rode over the hill beyond the town a great
stretch of country came into view. The long folds
of the low grey cloudland above it were touched with
the glow of sunset, and far away in the west there
were openings of clear sky. The little river caught
the light here and there and flashed from shadowy
windings into luminous pools, and a sudden bright-
ness struck the limestone walls of the uplands and
made the grey tower of the Castle a landmark in the
darkening valley.

Michael paused for a moment to look at the scene
—the old country of the Desmonds ; but it was not
on the Castle that his eye rested, but on the woods
half a mile to the eastward, where the gables of the
Court were just visible through the bare trees.

‘That’s the place I want,’ he said; ‘it has a
fascination for me. It was taken from us and it
must be taken back. When I think of it I feel
ashamed of wasting a day of my life that might be
spent in bringing the time nearer. And look at the
owner, as \he calls himself, our English cousin!
Was there ever a finer specimen of the absentee?
Neither he nor his father before him was ever here
for a month.’

“I suppose he’d sell cheap,’ said Connor.

*I wouldn’t ask him to sell.’

‘But of course,’ Connor added, ‘it would be
much jollier to take it.’

Michael laughed. ‘He shall have no choice
Connor ; we'll compel him to sell, him and every
u FIRST APPEARANCE OF THE HERO 31

other absentee in the country, if we play our game
properly. That will be the next best thing to
taking it.’

He became thoughtful, dreaming about the future
of Ireland and his own hopes and ambitions. At
another time the subject he had opened would have
been intensely interesting to Connor, but now he too
remained silent. He had his own dreams, but they
led him no farther than the darkening valley where
the west was a glow of crimson behind the fir-woods

of Ballyvodra.
CHAPTER III
BREAKFAST AND DINNER AT BALLYVODRA

In the household of Ballyvodra there was no govern-
ment, no order, no rules that were not habitually
broken. The master would allow things to take
their course until some abuse became unbearable,
and then express his feelings in a burst of anger.
Carmody the butler and Mrs. Irwin the cook, both
old servants and loyal to the family, were continually
quarrelling together; Mr. O’Toole, the tutor, was
secretly in awe of the boys, and Miss Green,
Kathleen’s governess, shed many a tear over her
pupil’s wilfulness. Mr. O’Brien’s maiden sisters,
Miss Bridget and Miss Honora, superintended the
housekeeping on alternate weeks, and each lacked
the authority of a permanent mistress.

Both within and without the place was amazingly
untidy and neglected, partly from bad management
and partly from want of money. In some of the
fine old rooms the paper hung in strips from the
walls, the carpets were in holes, hardly a window
was in working order, and many of them were
kept open by the insertion of a boot-jack or a
log of firewood. Outside it was much the same:
the once orderly garden was a wilderness of over-
growth and weeds, the front avenue was used by

32
CHAP, III AT BALLYVODRA 3 3

farm-carts, and the entrance gates were off their
hinges.

The master of the place had undergone a similar
change. Once, as all the neighbourhood knew, when
the old mistress was alive, Ballyvodra had been
among the most hospitable houses of the county,
and Mr. O’Brien the gayest of hosts. After his
wife’s death things had begun to drift, and as money
troubles accumulated, and some of the less generous
influences of religion took hold of him, he allowed
indifference to appearances to degenerate into neglect.
Like most Irish squires he had received but an
indifferent education, and at school had shown no
power of acquiring such knowledge as was within
his reach. Indeed, according to the account of his
school-fellow and cousin, Dr. O’Brien of Dublin, the
only thing he had. ever really learnt was a piece of
poetry beginning—

In yonder glass I see a drowning fly,
Its little wings how vainly doth it ply.

But though he had certainly little book-learning
he was a man of bright intelligence, and on some
particular questions, such as the treatment of horses,
an authority in his county. At sixty he was still a
handsome man, with eyes so blue and a smile so
kind that every child loved him at once ; still a man
of distinguished bearing in spite of the shabby clothes
he usually wore; and when he was not weighed
down by money troubles or oppressed with the
recollection of the sins of mankind in general and
of his neighbours in particular, his inborn geniality
and even, at times, his old high spirits would
reappear. His friends attributed the change which
had come over him to his religious principles, though
D
34 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHaP,

they were, perhaps, less the cause than an expression
of that change. His nature was emotional, and in
his sorrow for the loss of his wife he had felt the
need of spiritual comfort, and had not found it In
his weekly visits to Duhallow church, which were
more memorable for the gossips in the churchyard
before service, and the lunches with one or other
of his neighbours afterwards, than for anything
Mr. Bolster said in his sermons. As time went on
he grew more dissatisfied, and at last, under the
influence of an old friend, a certain General Baggs,
who, after having taken more than his share of this
world’s pleasures was entering a claim for those of
the next, he left the church which had neglected his
soul and joined the little sect of Plymouth Brethren.
His defection caused much regret to his friends and
filled his sisters with consternation. He had hoped
that they might be induced to follow his example,
but they had shown such unusual decision in their
refusal on the first occasion when he had made the
suggestion that he did not repeat it. In his visits
to the little meeting-house in Mallow he had to
be content with the company of Mr. O’Toole,
occasionally followed by Miss Green, who secretly
loved the tutor, for the children after one or two
trials had shown their boredom in such unseemly
behaviour that they were afterwards allowed to go
to church as before with their aunts. The children
were too young to be much affected by the change
which had gradually come over the Ballyvodra
household, but Miss Bridget and Miss Honora felt
it acutely. They had not yet abandoned the hope
of marrying, though they had come to that age
when _ Possible husbands presented themselves to
their imagination in the shape of widowers. At
Ir AT BALLYVODRA 35

Ballyvodra, without society, they felt they were not
having a fair chance. Their jointures were neither
large nor very regularly paid by their brother, and
they had no choice but to make their home with
him, though once a year they took a holiday at
some English or Irish watering-place, and were
reported in a recent summer to have been seen
paddling at Tramore. They made some feeble
attempts to keep their brother up to the mark in
the performance of his social duties, but without
success, and on one occasion when they had ventured
to suggest that he should call on the newly-arrived
regiment at Buttevant their proposal was angrily
received. ‘What’d I want to be calling on them
for?’ said he; ‘and is it thinking of finding
husbands you are among a pack of boys—at your
age when you ought to be preparing your souls for
Eternity ?? They had wept together in their room
over these hard words of their brother, and as soon
as his irritation had passed he himself felt that he
had been harsh, and tried to make amends afterwards
by an extra kindness of manner and a payment on
account of overdue income.

On the day of Kathleen’s accident the ladies had
decided that it would be their duty to remind their
brother of the propriety of calling at the Castle and
expressing his thanks to Michael Desmond, and next
morning at breakfast they were considering how best
to approach the subject when he opened it himself.

‘Girls,’ he said, ‘be ready at three o’clock this
afternoon to come round with me and call on our
neighbours !’

‘Indeed, we were hoping you'd suggest it,
William,’ replied Miss Bridget. ‘Under Providence
Kathleen owes her life to this courageous act. Mr.
36 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

O’Toole, could you keep the boys quiet a moment ;
we can’t hear our own voices.’ ;

«I shall never be able to repay him,’ said Mr.
O’Brien. ‘He’s a fine young fellow, and ’tis a
thousand pities he’s a rebel like the rest of his
family.’ :

“And a Roman,’ added Mr. O’Toole, in whose
eyes that was the greater sin of the two.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. O’Brien impatiently. ‘Dan,
sir, he cried, as he noticed a puppy’s nose on the
edge of the tablecloth, ‘how often did I tell you not
to be bringing your dogs here! Turn him out!’
and without waiting to see whether his order was
obeyed, and oblivious of the babel of voices round.
the table, he propped up a tract against a salt-cellar,
according to his daily custom, and commenced
reading while he continued his breakfast.

‘Ah!’ said Mr. O’Toole, observing the work in
question, ‘that’s a very satisfying little pamphlet. I
read it meself.’

‘ What is it named ?’ asked Miss Green.

‘’Tis great reading,’ said Mr. O’Brien, * ’tis called
“Crumbs of Comfort for Chickens of Grace.”’

‘Children of Grace, I think,’ corrected the
tutor.

‘Ah yes, well, so it is,’ he admitted, after taking
a glance at the title. ‘Baggs recommended it to me.
By the bye, I did not ask you about the meeting
yesterday afternoon. "Twas as well I did not go, as
it happened, or I wouldn’t have been home when
they brought Kathleen back. And you were there
too, Miss Green? Tell me now who conducted the
meeting.’

‘Colonel Daunt offered the first prayer,’ she
replied, speaking very slowly and with a fine brogue,
i AT BALLYVODRA 37

‘and afterwards Mr. Menus was very beautiful on
Psalms seven, thirteen.’

‘And Ho-sea two, eleven,’ added the tutor
solemnly.

‘Was he now! Well, I'd like to have been
there, but "twas for the best,’ said Mr. O’Brien.
‘Dan, run upstairs like good boy and find out
if Kathleen is asleep still. Go quickly now!’ and
for the second time he settled himself to the study
of his pamphlet.

Meanwhile Jack, at the request of his aunt
Honora, was for the tenth time giving details of the
accident, and during the narrative found himself
contradicted on almost every point by his brothers.
“They had not been present, but that did not matter ;
they had heard reports in the stables which they
preferred.

‘Shut up, will you, Jem, or I'll beat the life out
of you after breakfast,’ cried Jack, furious at a fresh
interruption ; ‘if ’tis Hickey you’re going by he
wasn’t within five miles of the place himself.’

‘Shut up yourself,’ said Jem. ‘I don’t believe
you were there either.’

‘Ah, boys, be quiet!’ remonstrated Miss Bridget,
‘or I'll complain of you to your papa. Go on, Jack,
and tell me who was it carried her out to Mr.
Freeman’s carriage.’

‘’Twas Dr. Reeves and Lord Shandon, and :

‘They did not,’ said Jem, ‘she got up and
walked and they no more than holding her by the
arms. I had it from herself.’

On this point a fresh dispute followed, and the
sound of voices, including that of Dan’s pup, which
had been secretly retained under the table, grew so
loud that Mr. O’Brien was aroused from his studies

 
38 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

and brought his fist down upon the table so violently
that he set the china rattling.

‘Silence there!’ he cried. ‘ You mannerless young
cubs! Faith, Mr. O’Toole, your pupils are a credit
to you. I’d go into one of the cabins at the Cross
and find better behaviour than at my own table.
One word more from any of you and, believe you
me, tis with a stick you'll get your answer.’

The boys knew by experience that on the rare
occasions when their father threatened punishment
he did not fail to carry it out, and dead silence
followed.

‘And now one of you get the Bibles,’ he con-
tinued. ‘We're getting later with prayers every
morning. Bridget, you were behind with breakfast
again to-day. The whole house is neglected and
everything three-and-a-haly.’

‘You were outside giving orders to Robert Owen,
William. We were waiting for you to begin break-
fast,’ replied his sister meekly.

‘Ah, what nonsense, woman! Waiting for me
indeed!’ cried Mr. O’Brien. ‘’Twasn’t ready, and
that’s the truth of it. Fine managers ye are. Fine
wives ye’d make to poor men.’

They were accustomed to these occasional un-
reasonable outbursts and remained discreetly silent,
while Mr. O’Toole bestowed a glance on Miss
Green as though to say, ‘See what an example of
unrestrained temper for a Christian gentleman to set
his children.’

Meanwhile a Bible had been placed in front of
each member of the family, and the boys were busy
in finding their places when Dan returned to the
room.

‘ Well, is she awake ?’ his father asked him.
m AT BALLYVODRA 39

‘She is, sir,’ replied Dan ; ‘and what’s more, she
wants some breakfast, and she said she’d be glad if
you'd go up yourself.’

‘Did she now?” he exclaimed. ‘Tl be with her
in a minute. We'll omit the chapter this morning,
but while we’re together we must not forget to
thank God for the mercy He has shown us.’

Usually he read from a book of family prayers, but
this morning, in a few simple words of his own which
breathed the genuineness of his faith and a Christian
charity not very noticeable in the sect to which he
belonged, he gave thanks for the Divine protection
of his own house and asked the Divine blessing on
his neighbour’s.

The afternoon call passed off pleasantly enough
in spite of some coldness of manner on the part of
Mrs. Desmond. The Miss O’Briens, who hardly
knew her by sight, were somewhat taken aback
when they met in this recluse a self-possessed woman
of the world, gracefully attired and still beautiful.
They had entered the house determined that their
manner should show no suspicion of condescension
though their visit might be regarded as gracious:
they had left with the feeling of having received
rather than granted a favour. Between Mr. Desmond
and his neighbour the greeting had been cordial, and
they were very soon outside on the hill discussing
the points of some young horses. Michael was out
shooting with Connor, but Mr. O’Brien intimated
his intention of calling again to express his thanks
and gratitude to him personally.

An invitation to dinner which included the whole
household followed the visit, and was accepted by
Michael for himself and Connor, not altogether with
his mother’s approval. She was jealous of any
40 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

growth of friendship between him and the neighbour-
ing families, lest the hatred for their political
principles which he had inherited and she had
fostered should be weakened. But she understood
him too well to raise objections, nor had she any
real grounds for apprehension : his political faith
was secure, and already pointed his path to so clear a
goal that it was in no danger of being disturbed by
casual sympathies. The only guests at first invited
to meet them were Captain and Mrs. Boyle, near
neighbours, and among the very few friends of the
family who still remained constant visitors at
Ballyvodra; but Lord Shandon, when calling to
inquire for Kathleen, had expressed such a strong
desire to become acquainted with young Desmond,
that Mr. O’Brien on the spur of the moment had
invited him and Lady Shandon to join the party.
An occasion so unusual and important created a
stir in the Ballyvodra household. Mrs. Irwin was
on her metal to produce a dinner that should do
credit to the family. Carmody arranged the old
silver on the sideboard and polished the dining-room
table with a proud heart. Miss Bridget and Miss
Honora had anxious consultations about their toilet.
Lady Shandon and Mrs. Boyle would be sure to
wear ‘low necks,’ and they themselves had evening
dresses with square openings which they had bought
and worn when away on their last holiday, but had
not ventured to appear in before their brother. They
protested the suitability of these to each other, but,
even while doing so, saw their brother’s eye upon
them and decided to introduce a grille of lace over
the questionable squares. To Kathleen it was a
momentous occasion. She had quite recovered from
her shaking, and was to be allowed the privilege of
nr AT BALLYVODRA 41

coming in to dinner as one of the party, while Jack
was not to be admitted until dessert. She was long-
ing to see her friend Connor, but it was the prospect
of meeting Michael, who had saved her life, that excited
her. She had always admired him, but now he was
a hero—her hero, one who by the service he had
done her had given her the privilege of admiration
denied to others.

About half an hour before the time when the
guests were expected she entered the drawing-room
in a new white frock, and took a critical glance
round. She was the only person in the house with a
sense of order, and, young as she was, she had
already begun to exercise some influence on the
household arrangements. She compelled her younger
brothers to obey her when they took no notice of
higher authority, and her father would listen to her
on such matters as the glazing of a broken window
or the occasional weeding of the flower garden when
his sisters’ entreaties were disregarded. She saw now
that the room was at all events not untidy. It was
large and had a sort of faded beauty, the furniture
being of good design, and the carpet and curtains
almost colourless with age. Kathleen was con-
templating a large hole in the carpet when Jack
strolled in.

‘Hullo!’ said he, ‘how grand we are with our
fine blue sashes! ’

‘Just pull that rug over that hole, Jack, like a
good boy,’ she said, disregarding his personalities.

‘Sure, ‘tis over one already,’ said Jack, ‘and
there’s a rat-hole there.’

“Well, we must just draw the end of the sota
over it,’ said she. <‘That’s better. Now put another
log on the fire. I don’t want to dirty my hands.’
42 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Jack threw a log rather carelessly on the fire with
disastrous results. The fireplace was as rickety as
everything else in the house, and the weight of the
log brought the front bars and the whole fire with it
on to the hearth.

Kathleen gave a cry of despair, and Jack con-
templated the wreckage with a whimsical air.

“We're destroyed!’ he exclaimed. ‘They'll be
here in a minute. The honour of the family’s
destroyed in the county!’

Kathleen flew to the kitchen for assistance, and
when Miss Bridget and Miss Honora arrived on the
scene a few minutes later, ready to receive their
guests, they found a room full of smoke, Carmody
without his coat and half the servants of the establish-
ment apparently fighting with each other on the
hearth. Miss Bridget said afterwards that but for
an effort of will and her feelings of duty she would
have fainted on the spot, but she was thankful, more
than thankful, that they managed to get things
patched up before their guests arrived, and even
before the master came down. How it was done no
one knew, but the grate was fairly presentable and
the room somewhat cleared of smoke by the opening
of windows before the first carriage drove up to the
house.

Carmody announced Captain and Mrs. Boyle, and
a middle-aged, rather stout, military-looking man
wearing an eyeglass entered the room accompanied
by a lady of amiable countenance with a humorous
twinkle in her eyes. Captain Boyle had not married
a lady of his own class; his wife, daughter of an
apothecary in Clonmel, had won his affection when
he had been quartered in that town asa subaltern ;
but though, as his bride, she had received a qualified
111 AT BALLYVODRA 43

welcome in the county, her amiability and powers of
amusing had gradually made her popular. Now,
while her husband, who spoke in loud hearty tones,
was making his greetings in all directions, she had
a half-whispered communication for each of the party
which made them all laugh in turn.

‘And now,’ she said, speaking to Kathleen and
turning to her. host, ‘doesn’t papa look young in
evening dress?’

Mr. O’Brien’s acknowledgment of the compliment
was interrupted by the arrival of Michael Desmond ;
and Connor, who in his passage across the hall had
been subjected to a sharp fusilade of pea-shooters from
behind the stairs, followed him into the room rather
shyly. Mr. O’Brien met Michael at the door and
welcomed him warmly.

‘I won’t speak of gratitude,’ he said, ‘ until I have
the chance of seeing you alone. Let me introduce
you to my sisters.’

Connor and Kathleen shook hands with unnatural
formality, and while Michael was still engaged in
the exchange of courtesies Carmody again appeared,
and in a portentous voice announced, ‘ His Lordship
and her honour’s Ladyship.” A rather homely and
very happy-looking couple entered, and Lady
Shandon almost immediately took possession of
Kathleen, leaving Connor to his own reflections.
Unlike his little friend, whose eyes were bright and
who seemed in high spirits, he felt rather uncomfort-
able among these grown-up people, and was meditating
on his folly in coming when he was presented to
Miss Green, with permission to take her in to dinner.
Mr. O’Brien led the way with Lady Shandon, and
was followed by Mr. O’Toole with Mrs. Spencer
Boyle. ‘To celebrate the event which had originated
44 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ss cuar.

the party, Kathleen, to her great delight, was
entrusted to Michael Desmond, Captain Boyle and
Lord Shandon bringing up the rear with the ladies of
the house.

Michael’s manner was so full of comradeship
that any little shyness Kathleen had felt at first
disappeared directly he had spoken to her.

‘I got your letter all right,’ he said, ‘but wasn’t
it rather stiff ?’

‘Oh,’ she hastened to explain, ‘it wasn’t a
bit the sort of letter I wanted to write. Miss
Green told me what to put, and Aunt Honora
altered it, and papa had to see it. It didn’t really
thank you properly at all. I wanted to send you
my love, but Miss Green said it would not be
becoming.’

‘Oh, did she?’ laughed Michael. ‘ Well, per-
haps it would not have been quite proper for
Miss Green to send her love to me, but I think
it would have been very nice for you to do it.
And you’re none the worse for your shaking ?’

‘Not a bit, but I’m afraid papa won't let me
go out hunting again this winter; besides, I’ve
lost my poor pony. Do look,’ she added, as
they were crossing the hall, ‘at Jack hiding there
on the stairs. I’m glad he can see us, as he
prophesied that I'd have to go in with Mr.
O'Toole.’

‘I think it is quite right for us to go in
together,’ said Michael, as they took their seats.
‘If it had not been for you and me there would
have been no party.’

‘And if it hadn’t been for you there would
have been no me,’ she replied. ‘Do look at poor
Connor’s face.’
ur AT BALLYVODRA 45

Indeed it was a harassed countenance that she
called attention to, for Miss Green had just opened
a conversation with Connor by asking him if he
did not consider Shelley’s ‘Hymn to Intellectual
Beauty’ a star in English literature. Meanwhile
Mr. O’Brien, who had said grace with a pre-
occupied air, was busy ladling out giblet soup from
a large tureen in front of him, while Miss Bridget
kept an anxious eye on the rather unsteady-handed
maid who was assisting Carmody to take round
the plates.

At the door a youth wearing a tail-coat of the
butler’s, which was too large for him, stood in
nervous readiness to give the signal to another
servant stationed at the end of the hall and assist
in the transfer of viands from the base to the
front ; and, hidden at various points of vantage
on the line of communication with the kitchen,
the boys watched the proceedings with deep
interest.

The table, lighted with candles, was a centre
of brightness in the dark room. It had no decora-
tion beyond the silver candlesticks, for at Ballyvodra
the carving was done in the old-fashioned style
on the board, and all the space was needed for
the dishes. Even the wine-glasses were an unusual
addition to the familiar punch tumblers, but to-night
some bottles of a claret, long undisturbed in the
cellar and forgotten by its master, had been brought
up by Carmody. As the table began to fill up with
dishes Mrs. Boyle, always unreserved in comment,
congratulated Mr O’Brien on his retention of the
old customs.

‘Spincer likes it @ Ja Russe,’ she said, ‘but
indeed that’s just because "twas the custom in his
46 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

regiment. I tell him the dinner-table was made
‘for the dinner. Now, don’t y’ agree with me,
Lady Shandon ?’

‘But so few men can carve now,’ said Lady
Shandon.

‘They can do nothing as well as they could
when I was a girl,’ said Mrs. Boyle. ‘Look at
the slow, lazy way the young men dance. Ah,
Mr. O’Brien, d’ye remember the fun we used to
have at the old hunt balls, and I wouldn’t ask
for a better partner than yourself. You're not
doing your duty at all in shutting yourself up
at home. You ought to be taking the girls out and
giving them a chance of getting husbands.’

Mr. O’Brien exchanged smiles with Mrs. Boyle
at her matrimonial allusion to his sisters, who were
still known as ‘the girls’ among old friends.

‘But indeed, Mrs. Boyle,’ he replied, ‘you
must not forget, because you keep so young your-
self, that some of us are getting old.’

‘Well, in a year or two Kathleen will be
coming out,’ said Lady Shandon, ‘and then we
shall expect to see more of you.’

‘Coming out!” he repeated. ‘Why, she’s a
child. I hope it will be many a year before she
begins to think of gadding about the country
and keeping her poor aunts out of their beds at
night. There’s school before her first. I’m going
to send her to England in the spring.’

‘To England! I’m so glad to hear that. It
will be an excellent thing for her,’ said Lady
Shandon.

‘ And she'll come back with a beautiful Englified
accent,’ exclaimed Mrs. Boyle. ‘Living all the
time in Ireland one can’t escape a little touch of
nI AT BALLYVODRA 47

the brogue, I suppose. Now, have I any of the
brogue, Mr. O'Brien ?’

‘Not a bit in the world,’ replied Mr. O’Brien,
his natural gallantry overcoming his truthfulness.

‘You're quite right, Mr. O’Brien, ’tis Man-
chester,’ she assented complacently. ‘My father
had some relations there, and I used to stay with
them there when I was a child.’

‘But why,’ asked Desmond, joining in the
conversation, ‘should we want to copy the English
accent? It seems to me a thing to avoid. It’s
either slipshod or affected. And in a good many
other things, too, we might spend our time better
than in trying to imitate them.’

‘You must remember,’ said Mr. O’Toole sen-
tentiously, ‘that we are speaking the English
language, and that the brogue, which is our contri-
bution to it, can hardly be an expression of our
patriotism. From your point of view we ought
to speak Irish.’

‘Indeed, that same brogue, sir, is the only
national trait I can find in a good many of
my countrymen these times,’ replied Desmond,
avoiding the question in a retort ; but the conversa-
tion had spread down the table, and Lord Shandon
was glad to turn from the exchange of local gossip
with Miss Bridget and Captain Boyle to a subject
that interested him. :

‘I don’t agree with Mr. O’Toole,’ said he,
‘that, as Irishmen, Irish is our national tongue.
You might as well say that Anglo-Saxon was the
national tongue of England. English, which 1s
the fusion of a dozen languages, has spread west-
ward to Ireland, and farther west to America ;
but it has taken national root. At the same
48 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

time, though we do not speak the old Irish
language, it is our duty to preserve it.’

‘I'll bet there’s not a person in this room
knows a dozen words of Irish,’ said Captain
Boyle. ‘I know one sentence —‘‘Thrum pogue
colleen ogue.”? I used to find it rather useful.’

‘Spincer !’ said his wife reprovingly.

‘Oh, what does it mean, Captain Boyle?’ asked
Miss Green.

‘I don’t think you ought to know, Miss
Green.’

‘Mr. O'Toole, please tell me.’

‘Ask him when you are alone together,’ said
Kathleen wickedly; and Miss Green, being the
only person in the room except Lady Shandon
who was unable to translate the sentence, could
neither understand why every one laughed nor why
Mr. O'Toole looked so confused.

‘But you'll lose your bet, Captain Boyle,’
said Kathleen. ‘Connor knows heaps of Irish.
He can write it.’

‘Oh, can he?’ said Lord Shandon, looking at
Connor, who was thus brought into sudden notice
out of the obscurity in which he had been dining.
‘That’s capital. I’m going through a course of
lessons myself. Where did you get yours, my boy?’

‘I did some grammar with Father Barry, sir,’
replied Connor, ‘but I picked up most of it from
Tom Begley.’

‘The blind fiddler! I’ve heard of him. An Irish
scholar, eh? I must make his acquaintance.’

‘You must know the fellow,’ said Mr. O’Brien.
‘Why, there’s not a fair in the county without him,
and whenever you see a crowd of idlers in the

} Tabhair dom pég=give me a kiss.
r AT BALLYVODRA 49

village street he’s the centre of them; and if he
starts his fiddling in the yard the work stops, and
men and girls and gossoons are all round him in
a minute.”

‘A local Arion,’ remarked his Lordship.

‘Now, Shandon, don’t be puzzling us,’ said
Captain Boyle. ‘I'll bet no one in the room knows
who that chap was.’

‘It sounds like a star,’ Miss Honora ventured.

‘That is Orion, I think,’ said Miss Green, who
had a certificate in astronomy.

‘Yes, yes, O’Ryan,’ observed Mrs. Boyle, reflect-
ing. ‘The family came originally from the county
Clare. Now, Kathleen, what’s that you’re laughing
at again? I never saw such a girl. Keep her in
order, Mr. Desmond.’

‘Now’s your chance of showing your classical
knowledge, Connor,’ said Kathleen mischievously.
But though Connor remembered his Ovid he held
his tongue and pointedly ignored her invitation.

At the same time Miss Green gave Mr. O’Toole
a glance which he understood to express her con-
fidence in his knowledge of Lord Shandon’s allusion
and her expectation that he would explain it. He
therefore speedily turned the subject back to Tom
Begley, who, he said, was not the sort of man to
encourage.

‘Tom Begley is a poet of considerable powers
as well as a good fiddler,’ said Michael. ‘Give
him a subject and in five minutes he’ll have it
in verse for you. Now, I think that a man
who does so much to add to the gaiety of the
people whose lives are not over happy is worth
encouraging. And he finds it hard enough to earn
a living, and, like other artists, he complains of the

E
50 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

scanty rewards of the Muses. How was it he
put it?

The noblest po-uts of the world were poor,
Like Homer and meself and Thomas Moore ;
Euripides, that grand Athaynian bard,

Lived upon dilisk when the times was hard ;
And Socrates, while tyrants walked in silk,
Ate his pitaties without buttermilk.’

‘That’s very good,’ said Mrs, Boyle, ‘and I
never knew they had dilisk in those days.’

‘They hadn’t,’ Mr. O’Toole assured her. ‘Begley
is of course an uneducated man.”

‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Shandon, ‘he wished to
indicate some vegetable like pickled cabbage. The
mother of Euripides was, I believe, a greengrocer.’

‘Oh, Tom’s a wag,’ said Michael, ‘but he’s by
no means uneducated. He knows more than any
of us about some things. His memory is stored
with the beautiful old songs and legends which,
like so many of our other national inheritances, we
are allowing to perish.’

‘Real good yarns, eh?’ said Captain Boyle, who
resented any serious note in conversation.

‘The very best,’ said Michael complacently, ‘as
different from the second-class English novels we read
instead of them as this claret is from raspberry vinegar.’

‘There is no doubt,’ said Lord Shandon, ‘that
there is a treasury of beauty in our old literature, and
I agree with you that we don’t study it as much as
we ought.’

‘And it’s the same in other things,’ Michael
continued. ‘We forget our old music, but we know
the vulgar airs out of the English comic operas.
Instead of using our national inheritance we try to
imitate our neighbours,’
I AT BALLYVODRA sl

He said we with the suggestion that he meant
you, and his tone escaped neither Lord Shandon nor
Captain Boyle. To the former the self-confidence
of the young man caused no annoyance. His
favourite duty was the exercise of his influence in
the endeavour to reconcile differences in Ireland, and
he was interested in Desmond as a young politician
of promise. Captain Boyle, however, chafed at his
air of superiority, and contemplated taking him
down a peg.

‘Imitation, is it!’ said he. ‘ Perhaps you'll tell us
some of the things we imitate.’

‘Well,’ said Michael, ‘we begin with a poor
imitation of royalty at Dublin Castle, and end with

 

‘Ah, now, don’t be saying anything against the
Castle, Mr. Desmond,’ broke in Miss Honora.
‘Some of our pleasantest recollections are of the
balls there before we became such stay-at-homes.’

It was rather a daring speech for her in her
brother’s presence, and if they had been alone he
would probably have lectured her on the vanity of
worldly pleasures, but he merely smiled. He was
in a genial mood, the unfamiliar glow of good wine
was in his veins and stirred memories in his mind
of pleasant festival occasions long ago.

‘Desmond,’ he said, ‘a glass of wine with you!
We must not forget that this happy gathering is
really of your making.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Michael, raising his glass.
‘No man could have a greater reward for a very
simple service.’

Others followed Mr. O’Brien’s example. Lord
Shandon drank to Kathleen, and expressed his con-
gratulations on her escape in a few complimentary
§2 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

words, and Captain Boyle pledged his hostesses in
turn. The talk became very genial, the little cloud
of political controversy, which had threatened the
harmony for a few moments, disappeared, and every
one, except perhaps Connor, was happy. He was
discontented without quite knowing why, and gladly
took the opportunity of withdrawing from the table
with the ladies. He felt a little out of place among
the grown people, and resented Kathleen’s ease and
the obvious pleasure which she took in her sur-
roundings. It seemed to him that though he was
her friend she looked over his head and put on
airs ; and, being in love, he took offence easily. Of
Michael, of course, he could not feel jealous, but it
was clear to him that she looked up to her preserver
with intense admiration, and that by his brother’s
side he himself was a very unimportant person.

After the departure of the ladies hot water and
lemons were brought in, and, before long, steaming
tumblers stood in front of Mr. O’Brien, Captain
Boyle, and Desmond. Lord Shandon, an appreciator
of good vintages, asked his host’s permission to
retain his wine-glass, and Mr. O’Toole diluted a
little of the ’74 La Rose with cold water.

The bouquet of a fine claret is for the drinker
only ; the aroma of whisky punch is wafted gener-
ously abroad, and enfolds the table in an atmosphere
of conviviality. So also with the recipients. The
wits of the claret-drinker warm with a gentle self-
contained glow, while those of his neighbour of the
punch-bowl seek outlets of expression and ask for
comradeship.

Lord Shandon’s mood was reflective. He began
a serious conversation with Desmond, and escaped
interruption for a few minutes while Captain
HI AT BALLYVODRA 53

Boyle was occupied in telling an anecdote to the
others.

‘We both of us have the future of our country
very much at heart,’ he said, paying the young man
the compliment of discussing on equal terms a
subject he had spent years in studying. <I read
your speeches at the University election with great
interest, and, though we apparently belong to different
parties, we have a common object. You are begin-
ning your career. I am—well, not yet finishing
mine, I hope—but after a good many years’ study
I am still perplexed. Now, are we not all on the
wrong tack? Ought we not to be pulling together ?
Cannot we find common interests that are stronger
than our differences? In a word, is there a chance
of forming an Irish party independent of class or
religion—a party whose sole object is the prosperity
of Ireland ?’

To Desmond the questions suggested nothing
but ineffectual optimism. He had the instinct of
leadership, which recognises great natural forces, and
looks impatiently at compromise.

‘I believe, sir,’ he replied, ‘that there is not the
slightest hope of it.’

‘But why?’

‘Well, sir, who wants it? One perhaps in a
thousand, like yourself. But in Ireland the classes
are on one side and the people on the other. The
interest of the landlord is not that of the tenant,
and the master’s faith is not that of his servant.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Lord Shandon ; ‘that
makes the problem difficult, but it ought to be over-
come. There must be mutual concession.’

‘Concession can never inspire a great cause,’ said
Desmond, warming. ‘If your class is to lead the
54 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

people it must not be by concessions to them, but
by fighting for them. You cannot do it; you
would be fighting against yourselves. In Ireland
the people must find leaders from their own ranks,
unless a man of position and influence such as yours
sacrifices his own interests and espouses their cause.
To begin with, he would have to adopt Home
Rule!’

Captain Boyle had finished his anecdote and
turned to listen to the conversation. ,

‘But is it not begging the question to assume
that Home Rule would be to the interest of Ireland
and the people?’ Lord Shandon remarked, without
any irritation, though he was not accustomed to have
his favourite views tossed aside with so little cere-
mony. ‘Would Home Rule help to make the
people more prosperous? If I could see that it
would I should not hesitate to adopt it.’

‘The people believe in it, sir, and any man who
wishes to lead them must believe in it too,’ replied
Desmond.

‘Hark!’ interjected Captain Boyle derisively.
‘Hark at this Mr. Desmond advising Shandon to
become a Home Ruler.’

‘We're a rebel nation, sir, a nation of rebels,’
said Mr. O’Brien, starting off suddenly on one of
his tirades. ‘If I were a young man I’d be away
out of the place to New Zealand to-morrow. And
"tis our own fault, half of it. We're full of dirty
pride. We must be fine gentlemen, and we cut
down our trees and raise money on mortgage to
hunt three days a week and send our sons into the
army. Believe you me, there’s a judgment on us,

and the doom that was spoken of by the prophet
Kilmallock has fallen.’
nt AT BALLYVODRA 55

‘Isn’t it the prophet Malachi you refer to?’ said
Mr. O’Toole.

‘Or Habakkuk, perhaps,’ suggested Lord Shandon,
smiling.

‘Twas one of the two,’ continued Mr. O’Brien.
‘« Your fathers have turned away from the Lord,
and your children shall be a gazing stock.” That’s
what Ireland is now, sir, a gazing stock.’

‘Now, look here, Desmond,’ said Captain Boyle
aggressively. ‘This Home Rule business is all
damned nonsense, isn’t it? You know it as well
as any of us.’

‘No,’ replied Desmond, ‘I don’t, but I should be
interested to hear your reasons for thinking so, if
you have any reasons.’ His tone suggested the
indulgent reception of the ideas of an intelligent
junior rather than a desire for information, and he
succeeded beyond his expectations in exasperating
his challenger.

‘Reasons, begad!” he exclaimed. ‘ Must we give
reasons for being loyal subjects? Look here, young
man, I read some of the things you said in those
precious speeches of yours up at Dublin, and, begad,
I’m ashamed of meself to find meself sitting here
with me legs under the same table with you!’

‘If you stay much longer you'll be under the
table altogether, I expect,’ said Desmond. <Evi-
dently you find claret and punch a bad mixture.’

‘ D’ye hear ’m, O’Brien,’ cried the furious Captain,
springing to his feet. ‘Am I to be insulted at your
table by this fellow ?’

‘Come, gentlemen!’ said Lord Shandon. ‘ This
is hardly a fair return for hospitality.’

‘Sit down, Boyle!’ Mr. O’Brien entreated.
‘Don’t be spoiling a pleasant evening. It’s a
56 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

happy occasion. Desmond saved my daughter's
life, and I’d be sorry, Boyle, to see you quarrel with
him at my table to-night.’ .

‘But he insulted me, O’Brien,’ cried the Captain.
‘Didn’t you hear him say me head couldn’t stand the
drop of punch I had.’

Desmond saw his host’s distress, and came to his
assistance without hesitation. ‘I apologise for the
suggestion, Captain Boyle,’ he said with marked
courtesy.

‘And I accept your apology with great satis-
faction, sir,’ replied the Captain, extending his hand.
‘I admit I hadn’t a fair grip on me own tongue
either.’

Lord Shandon gave Desmond a look of approval,
and Mr. O’Brien was evidently much relieved.
‘What do you say to joining the ladies?’ he said,
‘unless——- Shandon, you don’t smoke. What
do you say, Boyle?’

‘Give me the ladies’ society,’ said the Captain,
rising. ‘’Tis just what I need to smooth me ruffled
plumage. Desmond,’ he said, on their way to the
door, ‘could ye come over and dine with us on

Tuesday ?’

‘Well, Connor, how did you enjoy your evening?’
asked Michael an hour later, as they were walking
home.

‘Oh, all right,’ replied Connor.

‘I think your friend Kathleen is a dear.’

‘She’s not too bad,’ Connor answered, with assumed
indifference, his feelings at the time being equally
perturbed by her charms and her airs.

‘I like them all, and I’m sorry for them,’ said
Michael. ‘They’re doomed as a class. In another
un AT BALLYVODRA 57

thirty years these incompetent landlords will have
ceased to exist. They put their faith in England,
and England will desert them. If we win, and we’re
going to win, ’tis on these people the blow will fall
first, and I wish to God it could be on the English
money-changers who make our laws for us instead.’

‘So do I,’ said Connor, growing interested.

‘Connor, the hope of throwing off this English
yoke that burdens the country is worth living for,’
he continued ardently. ‘It is something for you
and me to look forward to, and we must always
make it our first aim.’

A boy’s love is a sentiment of little depth ; his
hero-worship is his great passion. Connor was
stirred by his brother’s enthusiasm, and felt the
magic influence of his leader. In the glorious
prospect of standing by his hero’s side in his fight
against the enemies of his country the image of
Kathleen O’Brien grew dimmer, and disturbing
thoughts of her provoking charms troubled him no
longer.
CHAPTER IV

CONNOR DESMOND AND KATHLEEN O'BRIEN

ParrioTisM, once accounted the chief of national
virtues, has been described in our own times as but
an expression of collective selfishness. And certainly
the forms which it assumes in the nations of the
modern world, whose ideal is comfort, and whose
fighting power is a matter not of valour but of
money—whether it take the name of Imperialism or
Socialism, whether it show itself in British acquisi-
tiveness, or French hysteria, or Transatlantic vain-
glory—the patriotism of to-day is very different
from that of Rome or Elizabeth’s England.

Prosperity is the arch-enemy of virtue, and it is
easier for a rich man toenter the kingdom of Heaven
than for a rich nation to be a nation of patriots.
With prosperity comes the lowered ideal, the luke-
warm faith; and in lands where once the national
honour was an inspiration the Bellygod has been set
up for worship.

In Ireland, where national greatness has never
been achieved—where, whether we seek the cause in
our own faults of character or in the wrongs we have
suffered from English oppression, failure and discord
and discontent have marked every period of our
history —in Ireland the national sentiment, the

58
cxap.1v CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 59

ardent love of country, the belief in a noble ideal,
have survived all discomfiture and outlived every
humiliation. It is confined to no party or class; it
is as much an instinct with the landlords, who have
distrusted the people and lost their opportunity of
leading them, as with the peasants who remember old
wrongs and look for the captain who will fight their
battles. But something more than national senti-
ment, something more than love of country, is
needed to make the leader. He must believe in the
enemies of his country ; the fires of hostility must
burn in his veins. He must have a goal clearly in
view, and strike towards it without fear or scruple.
Such a man was Michael Desmond. Love of Ireland,
hatred of England, the traditions of his family, his
mother’s influence, his own personal ambitions, were
combined forces that made him a fighter ; and his
ability, his persuasive eloquence, and a quality of
personal magnetism, which was felt by all those with
whom he came into contact, gave him a power which
marked him while still a young man as the future
leader of his party.

His brother Connor was of different stuff. His
love of Ireland was as true as Michael’s, but no
cherished memory of old wrongs, no hatred of
present conditions, stirred him to action. His poli-
tical ardour was tempered by his philosophical outlook
on life, a scrupulous sense of justice; and, while
Michael condemned the landlords as a class because
they supported the English alliance, Connor per-
ceived their difficulties and recognised the claims
of the greater number of them to be considered
patriotic Irishmen. His brother was his hero, and he
followed him politically, but with a certain reserve.
At Trinity he was known as a staunch Nationalist,
60 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

but this did not interfere much with his popularity,
for he had also shown himself to be a keen sportsman
and a good comrade, and many of his special friends,
Horace Croker, Lord Shandon’s eldest son among
them, belonged to the class against which his party
had declared war. Without overworking himself he
took a good degree, and without any special inclina-
tion for the law he fell in with his brother’s wishes in
choosing the bar as a profession. It was life itself,
not the law nor any other department of the world’s
housework, that attracted him ; and if he looked for-
ward to the career he had acquiesced in without
enthusiasm, it was from no lack of vital energy, but
because to young men of high spirit the beaten path
is always dull. Indeed, in choosing a profession he
is much in the same position as a girl called upon to
take a husband when she is not in love. Both have
dreams: he of the adventure, she of the gallant
knight ; and they generally know they are dreams,
and afterwards fulfil their parts as good citizen or
honest wife without difficulty.

On the evening of Connor’s return to Duhallow
after the completion of his University course a letter
to his mother from his uncle, Mr. Barrington, was
given to him. His mother studied his face with
interest as he was reading, and his father awaited his
comments with a look of keen amusement in his
eyes.

‘Dear SIsTER,’ he read—I have just arrived in London,
and shall be returning to Australia in a few weeks. We
have seen very little of each other since our childhood, and
when we did meet we generally quarrelled, but perhaps time
may have improved my temper and taken the edge off your
tongue, and we may both have enough affection for each
other at the bottom of our hearts to make us forget old
Iv CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 61

hostilities. It was a real pleasure to me to have been of
some assistance to you in the education of your boys, and why
you should have ignored my proposal to take Connor into
my business I cannot understand, unless you were offended
at my saying that this might save him from the fate of
becoming a rebel like his brother. I was about his age
when I left our old home and determined not to add another
to the list of idle young men who remain as encumbrances
on impoverished estates. I know that when my father gave
me the hundred pounds I asked for to take me to Australia
he thought I should spend it and be back for the hunting
season. When I did come the hundred was ten thousand.

You see that, like all selfmade men, I enjoy such reminis-

cences. At the time I could have wished a warmer welcome

from you for my shy little colonial bride, and you must have

found it hard to forget my opposition to your marriage to

the man you loved. Let all this be forgiven. Your com-

rade is with you still, and I am glad of it, and mine is gone.

Perhaps the pleasantest remembrance of that visit when I

brought my wife over to Duhallow is of Connor. He was

the only person at home when we arrived, and he took upon

himself the duties of host, taking us round the place, telling

us the legends of the Castle, and doing everything in his

power to entertain us. He could not have been more than

ten years old. My wife took a particular fancy to him, and

I have always since thought of him with interest. I am

now a very rich man, and having neither wife nor children

to regulate my life or benefit by the result of my labours,
my thoughts have perhaps naturally turned to my only near
relations. I propose, therefore, to give myself the pleasure
of paying you a short visit, and unless I hear from you
to the contrary, I shall leave London next Wednesday and
be with you the following evening. Please give my
best regards to Desmond, and believe me, your affectionate
brother, Daw BarRINGTON.’

‘And he came ?’ asked Connor with interest as he
laid down the letter.
‘Indeed he did,’ replied Mr. Desmond. ‘He
62 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

spent the day driving round the country looking up
old places he remembered when he was a boy, and all
the evening he was fighting with your mother, and I
can tell you he found his match.’

‘’Twas about you, Connor,’ said Mrs. Desmond.
“Your uncle is prepared to adopt you and make a
rich man of you if you will adopt his views about
the Union.’

‘«] made my money under the British flag,”
says he, “and I’m not going to leave it to any one
who wishes to haul it down in Ireland,” says he.’
Mr. Desmond quoted his brother-in-law.

‘He proposes to see you himself about it,’ Mrs.
Desmond went on. ‘He said all he asks is that you
should support the Union.’

‘And change his name and take his own,’ added
her husband.

‘And I told him he might save himself the
trouble.’

‘Oh, you did,’ said Mr. Desmond, revelling in
the remembrance of the scene. ‘Faith, your mother
had him answered. ‘“Barrington’s no bad name,”
says she, “but when I changed it for Desmond I
found a better, and I’m thinking his father’s son and
Michael’s brother won’t want to change it back,” says
she. “I can not only help him, I can give him a
position and prospects better than all the young
fellows in the place. I can help him to regain the
position in the county which his family once had,”
says he. Michael is doing that for us,” says your
mother. ‘Connor has himself to consider,” says
your uncle; “I can put him in a position to buy
back the old family property, the Court property
that ought never to have gone into other hands, and
he can do good work in the country without tinker-
7 CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 63

ing with politics.’ And what’s this your mother
replied ? “Don’t be angry, Dan,” says she, “if
I say you remind me of a cleverer tempter than
yourself—all these things will I give unto thee.’
Mr. Desmond had a hearty laugh as he recalled the
duel.

‘’Tis very kind of him to take an interest in me,’
said Connor; ‘but what’s this he asks me to do?
Change my principles? Oppose Michael?’ He
treated the proposition as a joke. ‘His money would
be very acceptable,’ he added. <‘Couldn’t we induce
him to adopt our views, perhaps ?’

«Oh, he’s as tough as a gad,’ Mr. Desmond assured
him. ‘He’d no more give way than your mother
herself.’

‘He intends to see you, Connor,’ said Mrs.
Desmond, ‘but I told him he need not waste his
eloquence.’

‘No. There was a traitor in the family once; I
don’t think there will be a second,’ Connor answered.
‘But ’tis a pity all the same. I shall not give up the
hope of converting him.’

Nothing further was said on the subject. That
his uncle’s proposal could become any temptation to
Connor never occurred to his mother, and the almost
comical light in which it appeared to him as well as
to his parents indicated the strength of National
feeling which inspired the whole family.

Kathleen and Connor had not met for three years.
She had been a good deal in England latterly on
visits to friends, and his times at home had not
coincided with hers. He had outgrown his boyish
devotion, and she had been more interested in what she
had heard of the hero of her childhood, Michael, who
was rapidly becoming the hero of his countrymen
64 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

also, than of her old friend Connor. Nevertheless
she was looking forward with considerable pleasure to
meeting him again; and he, full of happy recollec-
tions of their old alliance, was curious to see how the
years which lead from childhood to womanhood had
dealt with his old playfellow.

When a young man who is going to pay a visit to
a lady proceeds in a leisurely fashion it is obvious
that he is not in love. Connor, on his way to Bally-
vodra the following afternoon, lingered to inspect
some young horses in a field; he looked in at the
forge at the cross-roads for a chat with the smith,
and he stopped for a word or two with every one he
met. They were all his friends from childhood, and
the pleasant greetings he received, the words that
have the sound of flattery in English ears, were
genuine expressions of affection. It was ‘Glory be
to God, Masther Connor, ’tis yourself. You're
welcome kindly,’ or ‘ What a fine sphlendid gintle-
man your honour’s grown, to be sure!’ ‘’Tis well
and sthrong you're looking, sir, in sphite of the hard
work at the college.’ ‘ Wasn’t it Miss Kathleen said
you were an illigant scholar and they couldn’t taych
you anny more at Dublin ?’

As he entered the gates of Ballyvodra he noticed
that the place wore marks of neglect even more pro-
nounced than when he had been there last. The
gates were unhinged, the lodge almost in ruins.
‘That’s a great job you’ve made of the roof, Bat !’
said he to the old lodge-keeper as he passed in, and
observed that a tarpaulin rick-cover had been drawn
over an immemorial hole ; and as he went up the
avenue similar evidences of disorder—thistles in the
grass, broken palings, horses on the lawn—met his
eye. Close to the house he encountered Dan, the
Iv CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 65

youngest boy, who was practising with an air-gun at
a target nailed to a tree, and after refusing an
irivitation to join in this sport he asked if Kathleen
were at home.

‘She’s above in the kitchen-garden,’ Dan replied
with a mischievous grin. ‘Is it courting you're
going?’ a piece of impertinence which he saw might
entail an attack on his person, and immediately
supplemented by flight.

The shrubbery through which Connor passed was
a tangle of vegetation with marks of old adornment.
Rockeries, overgrown bushes of fuchsia, and roses
run wild, were half hidden in the long grass. A
path, green with moss, led to the walled garden,
where the gaps with fallen trees in them which he
remembered on his first visit were still unfilled. But
within the walled garden, enshrined in a wilderness
of degenerate fertility, was a flower border as
beautiful as care could make it. It was screened by
a lavender hedge, at one end of which a cherry-tree
overhung a garden seat. Close by, under the
crumbling wall, a row of bee-hives stood behind a
little plantation of hollyhocks. This was the one
spot which Kathleen had been able to save from the
general ruin, and on its embellishment she spent
many hours of her leisure and as much of her scanty
pocket-money as she could spare.

She herself, in a household where appearances had
ceased to be considered, was like her dainty garden
in its uncared-for surroundings. A man might not
have been able to tell what it was in addition to her
charm of face and figure that made her whole
appearance so satisfactory ; but a woman could have
seen in little details of her dress or the ordering of

her hair that thoughtful attention which is the
F
66 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

decoration of simplicity. For most men,—indeed,
for most women,—she would at all times have won
commendation as a charming presentment of fresh
healthy young womanhood, with at least something
more than the average endowment of good looks.
And one might have noticed the mischief in her eyes,
another the resolution of her mouth, without being
able to decide where lay the chief attraction of a face
which could not be called beautiful. But to Connor
Desmond, as she came to meet him down the garden
path, she looked so fair that he could conceive no
alteration in her that would not have marred the
picture. She, in turn, regarded him with critically
observant eyes to see what change the three years had
made in him. The boy whom she remembered had
dark hair and eyes, and a rather grave face, quickly
lighted up by laughter or enthusiasm. He was not
greatly changed: taller and more robust than he had
promised to be, and smarter generally in appearance
than her picture of him, but still very much the boy
she remembered him.

‘Connor, my dear old fellow,’ she said with
frank comradeship, ‘I’m perfectly delighted to see
you, and you're hardly changed at all. Tell me,
am 1?’

‘Indeed you are,’ said he; ‘I remember a little
girl with short frocks and hair tumbling over her
shoulders, rather cheeky, and a bit of a tom-boy, and
now !

‘A grown up young lady worried with household
cares.’

‘I don’t see much sign of the worry.’

‘But indeed ’tis a fact. I can do nothing but
think of the tenants who won’t pay, and the bills
that won't be paid, and the education of the boys, and

 
v CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 67

the poor old place going to rack and ruin. Connor,
we're awfully poor.’

‘We all are,’ said he, ‘I can sympathise.’

‘And that’s the one happy side of poverty,’ she
admitted; ‘there’s a freemasonry between us.
We're not a bit ashamed of it, and we understand
each other’s difficulties. We can laugh about the
things we can’t afford to do. Millionaires have no
chance of that. You haven’t admired my garden.’

‘Indeed ’twas yourself I was looking at,—but
tis almost worthy of the gardener.’

‘Oh!’ she laughed, ‘wouldn’t you keep those
little compliments you have learned to make in Dublin
for my aunts? They love them.’

‘Well,’ said Connor stolidly, ‘if you really want
my opinion, I think it’s a jolly good garden.’

‘Yes,’ she laughed again, ‘I see ’tis completely
thrown away on you. A garden is just a garden to
you,—you don’t see it in detail. Tell me, do you
know any one who wants a perfect lady’s hunter?
I’m selling my chestnut mare.’

‘And why so ?’ he asked.

‘Why? Because I want the money, of course.
There’ll be no hunting for me next season. Come
round to the stables and have a look at her. Be
careful how you shut that door. Connor, my heart
is broken with trying to keep the pigs out of the
garden.’

They passed through the barrier which served as
a gate into the courtyard, where everything was the
same, only a little more ruinous than when Connor had
first seen it in his boyhood. The sight of the white-
washed outbuildings, the grass-grown cobblestones
of the yard, and the water-butt standing in its
accustomed place, brought back a pleasant memory
68 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

of his old adventure into the forbidden territory. It
was the same place, but it had lost its mystery ; he had
the same guide, but in the old times he had crossed
the boundary fence against orders and won a sweet~-
heart ; now, though Kathleen and he were good
comrades, he felt that another barrier had grown up
between them,—the world’s artificial walls, the
severing division of creed and party and money.

After the inspection of the mare they walked on
through the haggard and across the fields. Kathleen
seemed glad to talk confidentially of her troubles to
her old friend.

‘Things are getting worse and worse, Connor,’
she said. ‘I know it, because I am looking after
everything for papa now. ‘I am steward and land-
agent as well as gardener. The rents were never in
such arrears, and we have no capital to work the land
with properly. Then there are the boys to be
thought of.. Jack is seventeen and will be leaving
school after this term. What am I to make of
them? Can you advise me as to the best way
of giving them a start in life without a penny to
help them?’

‘I suppose my case is much the same, Kathleen.
I had a fancy that old Dan Barrington, my mother’s
brother, was going to adopt me, but that’s off.
Now if you could get adopted by some rich old
man

‘Indeed,’ she laughed, ‘they prefer marrying
girls to adopting them ; and really this may be my
fate. I shall certainly marry for money if I am
lucky enough; but rich men don’t come for wives
to this part of the world, and I may still be
looking out for a husband when I am fifty, like
my aunts.’

 
IV CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 69

‘You don’t really mean that you would marry
for money ?’

‘Indeed Ido. I regard it as a duty.’

‘Now suppose I were rich, very rich, would I
have a chance?’

‘How can I tell? You see you are not rich.’

‘But if I were rich ?

‘No, I don’t think so. Iam thinking of a rich
elderly man, not of a young man.’

‘But what difference does that make?’

‘I should marry him for duty. He wouldn’t
expect me to be in love with him ; and, of course, I
could mever be in love with you.’

‘ And please, why not?’ he asked.

‘Oh, one can always tell,—and you’re my friend.
But seriously, Connor, when your uncle comes down
again I wish you would bring him over and introduce
him to me. I cannot afford to lose such a chance,
and he might take a fancy to me.’

‘You're a desperately easy girl to fall in love
with,. Kathleen.’

‘And then I should be your aunt,’ she laughed,
and noticing a shade of vexation in his face which
she could not understand, she changed the con-
versation by calling his attention to a spot in the
corner of the haggard where he had once assisted
her and her brothers to bury a friendly-hearted
dog.

g You saw Michael in the spring,’ Connor remarked
as they went on.

‘Yes, I saw a good deal of him. Do you follow
him in his political views ?’

‘Of course I do!’ he answered.

‘Of course, because he is your brother,—not
because you think he is right.’
70 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Oh, but he is right : the people and their hopes
and their wrongs are behind us.’

‘What wrongs?’ she exclaimed with warmth.
‘They are poor and so are we. The country’s poor.
You won’t make it richer by ruining the landlords.’

‘Who wants to ruin them?’ said Connor, sticking
to his guns in spite of a desire to let her know that
he would rather be fighting on her side than against
her. ‘It is their own fault. They’ve missed their
opportunity. They’ve lost their chance of running
the country, and the people have determined to run
it for themselves.’

‘How can you and I be friends, Connor,’ she
said, ‘if you really mean that you are going to join
in this attack upon us.’

‘Then why are you friends with Michael?’ he
asked.

She hesitated a moment. ‘I suppose it is because
he saved my life,’ she answered.

Their path had skirted the firwoods behind Bally-
vodra and brought them to a little slope of rock
and furze, beyond which the country lay open far
down into the west. Green pastures met dark wood-
lands, and in the farthest distance the sun was setting
behind the mountains of Kerry. It was the end of
summer, the time of hay harvest in that country, and
the cool evening air was full of the smell of mown
grass.

Nothing more was said of the civil strife that
divided his people from hers. They reverted to old
times and the adventures of their childhood, and she
led him to talk of their life in Dublin, and his
prospects in the profession he had chosen. The sun
had set, and it was beginning to grow dark. Distant
sounds that would have been unheard by day—the
IV CONNOR AND KATHLEEN 71

rumble cf cart-wheels on some upland road, the note
of a corncrake in an uncut meadow, the murmur of
water in the river shallows—grew distinct in the
twilight calm. Near them in the fir-trees the south-
west wind whispered of the sea.

The world became a different place for Connor
during that walk. He had fallen in love again
very quickly—and what wonder? for he was at the
age when this is easy for any young man with any
pleasant girl, and she was so sweet and attractive-
looking and merry-hearted that there would have
been no excuse for him if he had not done so.
Nevertheless it was clear that he had hardly yet
become conscious of his condition, or he would not
have imperilled his chance as a lover by presuming
on the privilege of the old friend as he did when
they were parting.

‘Three years ago, when I left home and said
good-bye to you, Kathleen, I had a kiss,’ he said.
‘Will I get one now?’

‘Indeed you will not,’ she replied with spirit, but
without any offence in her tone, giving him at the
same time a smile which showed beyond doubt
that for him her heart held no other feeling than
friendship.
CHAPTER V
SIR HENRY DESMOND AND MISS TEMPLE-CLOUD

Tue years which have brought prosperity to England
have given to Ireland few rewards ; but while they
have darkened the skies, scarred the hill-sides, and
polluted the rivers of the land they endowed with
wealth, they have left to the land they could not
enrich its old heritage of beauty.

In Ireland there has been no progress, and over
the green country are set no marks of age. In
England there has been no pause, no turning back-
ward, but, with her increase, the old woodland
charm has passed from her shores. In many parts
of the land, indeed, no country remains, and even
away from the great manufacturing centres you feel
that the village hidden among orchards, the little oases
of moorland, the riverside meadows belong, not to
the country, but to the nearest town, which is seldom
far away. And more surely than the country itself
has disappeared the country life of England. There
are still regions on which seems to fall the very
sunshine of Arcady, and yet they keep no hiding-
place for Pan. The spirit of the country has
forgotten them. In the old houses the new owners
are no longer squires ; in the cottages the labourers
are no longer peasants. These pastures have become

72
CHAP. V CORINNA q 3

playgrounds for those whom the town has enriched,
or breathing-places for those whom it has enfeebled ;
but the self-contained simplicity of the old country
wellbeing is found in them no more.

Photographs of the village of Wyck St. Mary
might be seen in the panels of first-class carriages
on the South-Western Railway, from which it might
be inferred that its picturesqueness was sufficiently
established to have a commercial value. They
showed a pretty church spire surrounded by gabled
cottages placed on a hill slope, with a stretch of the
weald country for background. The place had all the
outward appearance of pastoral seclusion, but though
it was twenty-five miles from London, it was in
reality little more than an outlying suburb. There
were old and beautiful houses in the sheltered valley,
and modern comfortable residences, generally con-
spicuous by the redness of their tiles and the extent
of their glass adjuncts, on the wooded slopes of the
ridge above the village; nearly all of them were
occupied by well-to-do business men, some of whom
journeyed daily, others with less exacting duties only
occasionally, to the city. These residents grew their
own vegetables at considerable expense, and in many
cases indulged in a little amateur farming, such as
keeping cows and even pigs in model outbuildings.
They constantly had little house parties, and would
sing the delights of the country life to their town
friends, bidding them breathe deeply of the air, or
showing the friendliness of rural manners by stopping
to greet one of the few rustic survivals of an older
generation in the village with a familiar, ‘ Well, John,
and how is the rheumatism ?’ or such like mark of
sympathy which links the cottage and the castle.

The chief landowner and most important person
74 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

in the neighbourhood was Sir Henry Desmond, the
direct descendant of that Henry Desmond who in
the reign of good Queen Anne had disinherited his
elder brother by becoming a Protestant. There was
little Irish blood in his veins, as for several generations
his ancestors had made English marriages, and the
interest he took in his Irish property had been so
small that he had hardly troubled to visit it. His
attention had, however, been recently directed to it
for two reasons. He was a politician with ambition
and a growing reputation, at a time when Ireland
was becoming the battlefield of English parties ; and
Michael Desmond, who had leapt to the front as the
leader of the Irish people, was his relative. He was
considering how his connection with Ireland might
be turned to good account and improve his chances
for the appointment of Chief Secretary if his party
were successful at the next general election. For his
age of forty he was a man of large experience. At
Oxford he had won approval, not only on the river
but at the Union, and took a good degree without
allowing his studies to interfere with his amusements.
He had travelled round the world, and had produced
a popular book on the British Empire. He had
sown his wild oats judiciously without losing either
his respect for himself or his chivalry for women ;
and he was still at times in his relations with the fair
the subject of gossip, never of scandal. He had
begun his Parliamentary career with victory at the
polls in a borough previously hostile to his party,
and had continued it with an energy and tact which
had brought him to the very threshold of the Cabinet.
He stood before the country as a good specimen of
that old-established class from which its leaders are
drawn—a man of position and property, a good sports-
; CORINNA m5

man and comrade, a practical man with a head for
figures and statistics ; a good all-round Englishman.

Though for generations there had been no com-
munication between the two branches of the Desmond
family, the unexpiated wrong which divided them
was still a vital force silently working to the fulfil-
ment of destiny. The character of Michael Desmond
was shaped by the inherited hatred of the dis-
possessed ; that of Sir Henry by the inherited sapience
of the supplanter. Their paths were rapidly con-
verging at the time when the representative of the
younger branch claims our attention.

Wyck House was to the inhabitants of the neigh-
bourhood as a temple set in sacred groves. To
attend a garden-party there was a privilege ; to dance
there a distinction ; but to be asked to dine marked
the guest as one who was different from his neighbours.
There was a little feeling of self-consciousness on
this point among the residents of Wyck St. Mary, and
the knowledge that they were perhaps over-gratified
by such attentions led them to an assumption of in-
difference when speaking of the great family to each
other. In one house the cards of Sir Henry and
Miss Desmond were not allowed to lie uppermost in
the card-basket in the hall, lest to the glance of a
caller they should seem to have been left there de-
signedly, while in another the invitation to dinner was
not to be seen with the records of similar engagements
on the library mantel-piece. English men and women
venerate the class above them, but fear their own.

Miss Desmond, the hostess at Wyck House, was
alone in the drawing-room expecting her guests. It
was broad daylight, the windows were open, and a
garden fragrance of wallflower and lilac was in the
warm air. She caught a glimpse of her own picture
76 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

in a mirror as she crossed the room, and turned away
impatiently, for she was at that age when an unmarried
woman is critical of her own charms, and examines
them in the same spirit as a man who has suffered
pecuniary loss may scrutinise his balance at the bank.

Presently her brother entered, looking the embodi-
ment of health and wellbeing and, at a first glance,
hardly the elder of the two. For the brother there
had been no quarrel with time : his whole appearance
spoke of the repose of energies exercised and desires
fulfilled. For the sister there had been the old un-
kind conflict with the years, and in her face was
written that unrest which the passing seasons bring
to her whose womanhood remains unexpressed in love.

‘How do we go in to dinner?” he asked as he walked
to the open window by which she was standing.

‘We must distribute our party among the local
people,’ she replied. ‘You had better take Lady
Thomas.’

‘H’m,’ he murmured. ‘ Well, he’s a useful man,
—a Liberal and a brewer, an unusual combination.’

His sister laughed. ‘ This is one of your parties,’
she reminded him.

‘And who else is there ?’

‘The Coxes and the Samuelses. I propose to
give Mrs. Samuels to Mr. Severn.’

‘I don’t clearly remember her,’ said her brother.

‘Don’t you? She’s always at church. She’s a
very imposing lady, and socially ambitious, I think.’

‘So is every one, Lucia. I suppose we should not
object to a peerage in the family. Who else?’

‘Mr. and Mrs. Loftie. She’s a pretty child, and
rather a favourite of mine.’

‘I remember. He is the. good young man who
runs the club and reads the lessons through his nose.’
CORINNA 77

‘I shall give her to M. de Lautreppe in the hope
of making her husband jealous. Then there are the
Babbages. Be careful to pronounce the name properly.
It does not rhyme with cabbage. Since the son
went into the army they have discovered that they
are of French extraction, and you must say Babage
as if it were a French word. And, oh! of course,
the Temple-Clouds. We might entrust your friend
Miss Temple-Cloud to the Admiral.’

‘Why my friend specially?’ he asked.

‘I wonder why her father was obliged to leave
the army,’ said Miss Desmond, ignoring his question,
‘and why they should come and live in a cottage
down here. Mrs. Temple-Cloud is a cousin or a
niece to the Prime Minister, I think you said.’

_ ‘Something of the sort. I met Miss Temple-
Cloud there.’

‘Of course she’s beautiful, and a man’s woman.’

‘You are a good sister,’ he laughed, in a tone she
did not like, for she understood him to refer to her
vigilance in keeping the door of his house closed against
young ladies who might aspire to succeed herself as its
mistress. ‘Put her at my end of the table,’ he added.

Mr. Severn, a young barrister, who had become
Sir Henry’s private secretary, entered the room and
was followed almost immediately by Admiral Sir
John Blakeney and Lord Culbone’s daughters, Mrs.
Clan-Owen and Miss Knee. A few minutes later
the first of the local guests were announced, and at
the hour named for dinner the only people who had
not arrived were the Temple-Clouds. Some intro-
ductions were made and little groups formed about
the room and round the open windows. The word
‘charming’ became a recurrent sound, The praise
of something obvious which had been previously un-
78 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

noticed,—the view, the evening, the flowers, or what
not,—was onevery lipand made little openings for con-
versation. The flowers led one couple to the London
flower shops, another to the Primrose League. The
sunset suggested in one part of the room the Royal
Academy, in another the difficulty of obtaining good
cooks in the country. Mrs. Babbage and Mrs.
Samuels seemed hardly gratified at meeting each other
on this their first occasion of dining at Wyck House,
but their husbands shook hands cordially with a feel-
ing of alliance and mutual support. Young Mr.
Babbage having lived a year in military circles was
almost too obviously at ease, and it was with a mix~
ture of pride and apprehension that his mother heard
him ask Mrs. Northover, the Archdeacon’s wife, if
she were not beginning to feel ‘ peckish.” Mr. Loftie
had heard a gentleman introduced to his wife as M.
Vicomte de Lautreppe, and had given her a smile of
encouragement as though to assure her that there was
nothing to be alarmed at. He was astonished and
felt a sense of injury a few minutes later when he
noticed that she was laughing gaily ; it was not that
she should enjoy herself, it was rather that she should
see how frivolous were such gatherings, how superior
the pleasures of the quiet evenings at home, that he
had consented to her acceptance of the invitation.
Miss Desmond had already glanced more than
once at the clock when her late guests were announced.
Mrs. Temple-Cloud apologised for the absence of
her husband,—an attack of gout sufficed for a reason,
and her daughter, after exchanging greetings with
her host and hostess, regarded with an air of calm
enjoyment the bright gathering around her. She was
herself incomparably the most attractive-lookin
woman in the room. Those who looked at her—
v CORINNA 79

and none did so without approval—saw a girl, the
beauty of whose figure seemed to have found its
perfect expression. Her hair and eyes were very dark,
and her face pale. She was dressed in black, with
softening touches of white lace, and in her toilet she
showed a certain individuality in defiance of current
models,—in the arrangement of her hair, for instance,
—which indicated that she knew and preferred the
style which suited her to that which was fashionable at
the moment. Such courage may be expected to win the
approbation of men, but to please women also it must
be most cunningly exhibited, and there was a dainti-
ness of finish in the details of Miss Temple-Cloud’s
attire which left no suspicion that she was without
the services of a maid or the advantages of money.

After exchanging a few words with Mrs. Temple-
Cloud, Sir Henry Desmond crossed the room to Sir
John Blakeney and indicated his companion to him.

‘Oh, the bride! Delighted,’ he nodded. ‘Which
of them is her fortunate husband? What, not
married? But she has all the look of it.’

His introduction completed the preliminaries for
the procession to the dining-room. The Admiral
had arrived at the age when it is possible to appre-
ciate the attractions of a fair comrade without
neglecting those of a good dinner,—indeed he found
them mutually stimulating. He and Miss Temple-
Cloud were at once on good terms, and were talking
to each other like old friends while other couples
were still approaching one another with the little
interrogations which usually supply the place of con-
versation between the newly acquainted.

Mrs. Samuels, a fair and handsome lady, whose
noble bosom was to her bodice as a brimming river to
half-inundated banks, began by asking Mr. Severn
80 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

if he recommended Eton as the best of public schools,
a choice having to be made for their eldest boy.
His reply that he was not able to judge, having-
been educated himself at a Grammar School, took her
aback ; and feeling that the subject might be painful
to him she changed it by inquiring if he were going
to Scotland in August for the grouse shooting. His
answer that he contemplated spending his holiday at
Blackpool made her wonder how he came to be a
guest at Wyck House, and she was listening rather
pityingly to his praise of the rival attractions of
Douglas in the Isle of Man when her ear caught the
familiar sound of her husband’s honest voice address-
ing Lord Culbone as ‘My Lord.’ She tried to meet
his eye and deliver herself of a frown, but the good
man remained unconscious of her anxiety or of his
own indiscretion. To add to her discomfort she
detected a smile on the face of Lieutenant Babbage,
and was so annoyed that she barely heard the remarks
of her companion, who continued to give glowing, if
imaginary, descriptions of the amusements at popular
watering-places.

Mr. Loftie made even less progress to intimacy
in his conversation with Mrs. Clan-Owen. He was
a young man to whom consciousness of moral recti-
tude had given considerable self-respect, and developed
a certain superiority of tone which perhaps a young
woman of the world like Mrs. Clan-Owen could not
appreciate. At first he thought she must be shy or
stupid, and made allowances for, throwing a tone of
encouragement into his words ; but gradually a little
misgiving assailed him, and it was witha feeling that
there were very few subjects in life available for con-
versation that he drew her attention to the still
uncurtained window.
v CORINNA 81

‘The prospect from the window at this end of the
room is very fine, is it not?” he remarked.

‘Oh yes,’ she answered with a glance at the window.

‘The view from the window at the other end is
very good also,’ he continued less confidently after a
moment’s pause.

‘Oh yes, very,’ she replied, without looking either
at him or the window. He turned from one window
to the other: the pause oppressed him. With the
whole world, with human life and all its interests to
choose from, only one could he think of.

‘You may often see a fine prospect from one
window, but it is a great advantage to have a good
one from two windows in the same room,’ he said.

‘Oh yes, charming,’ she replied, turning to the
Archdeacon and leaving her companion to observe
how excellently his wife and M. de Lautreppe were
entertaining each other. Indeed, the gallant French-
man had led that young lady, who had been at school
in Normandy, to talk to him in his own language,
with a result which they both found extremely amus-
ing. Mr. Loftie was filled with resentment. He
was accustomed to feel that his wife leant on him,
that she could take real pleasure in nothing which he
did not share, and now he saw her in a quite un-
wonted mood of high spirits. He was sorry that he
had come and he resolved that there should be no
more such evenings.

The presence of the Temple-Clouds at Wyck
House so soon after their arrival in the locality com-
mended them socially to those of their neighbours
who were present, and gave probability to the rumour
that Mrs. Temple-Cloud was a relation of the Prime
Minister. Mrs. Babbage, who was sitting opposite
to her, expressed a regret that a pressure of engage-

G
82 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

ments had hitherto prevented her from calling, but
said she hoped to have the pleasure almost immedi-
ately. Lady Thomas, who had called, but influenced
perhaps by the length of time it took to answer the
bell and by the shabbiness of the furniture, had on
the occasion been a little condescending, now revised
her judgment, and determined to show the new
family some graceful attention at the first oppor-
tunity. They were evidently very nice people,
though perhaps not well off, and there was probably
no truth in the report that the Major had been seen
in a state of intoxication. If it were true, it was not
for them to allow this to influence their feelings for
the wife and daughter. They understood the mean-
ing of the word ‘Charity,’—so, the good ladies.
And the good gentlemen had no need of making
demands on this Christian virtue. As far, at least, as
the daughter was concerned they were prepared to
accept her cordially, and felt some envy of the men
at her end of the table. Mr. Babbage, junior, who
thought himself rather wasted on Mrs. Cox, a golfing
lady of weather-beaten countenance, took a good
many glances in Miss Temple-Cloud’s direction ; and
Mr. Severn, who was nearer, noticed, with some.
amusement, the interest with which his host regarded
her, and how often he seemed to be listening to her
conversation with the Admiral when he was appar-
ently attending to the remarks of Lady Thomas.
When a young man is attracted by a young lady,
and most desires to shine, he is least likely to do so;
but with the elderly man of the world it is different:
it is when he is attracted that he does himself most
justice. So it was now with Sir John. He was at
this time one of the most popular men in England,
a sailor politician of bluff speech, liked by men, even
. CORINNA 83

by those who thought with Severn that he would
have been better employed in following his profession
at sea than in talking about it in Parliament, and
with ladies of all ages he was universally a favourite.
He had the art of skipping the tedious preliminaries
to intimacy and at once establishing an alliance with
a fair acquaintance.

‘Capital idea this of Desmond’s, bringing his
friends and country neighbours together. Their
habits are so different and it’s good for them both,’
he said to Miss Temple-Cloud confidentially, and in
a tone that suggested to her acute perception that he
made some social distinction between the two groups.

‘I feel it is doing me immense good,’ she replied ;
and added laughing, ‘ mightn’t it turn out afterwards
like the experiment Bulwer Lytton made at Kneb-
worth? Do you remember ?’

‘No. Probably I never heard.’

‘He thought his literary London friends and his
country neighbours would benefit mutually by meet-
ing, and he got them together at Knebworth. The
literary men had long hair and curious manners, and
didn’t dress properly. They’re nearly as bad to-day,

. don’t you think ?’

‘Don’t know any,’ said the Admiral.

‘And they were quite ignorant about sport, and
the young squires were ignorant of everything else.
He thought they’d improve each other.’

‘And did they ?’

‘ They were very civil to each other, but afterwards
one of the young squires said to another: ‘* Who
were those people we met at dinner?” <‘* Oh,” said
the other, “I think it’s the Foresters.” ’

‘Capital!’ the Admiral laughed. ‘Foresters! But
which is the Forester party here? Am I one of them ?’
84. HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘ After all, I suppose there’s hardly any distinction
now,’ she answered, ‘except the rich and the poor.
I’m one of the poor.’

He shook his head, failing to find words to express
delicately his recognition of the wealth which she
possessed in her personal endowments.

‘And,’ she continued, ‘have to accept it. That
is the worst of being a woman. Women have no
chance of making a career for themselves, except
perhaps a few gifted actresses and singers.’

‘What about marriage ?’

‘Oh,’ she replied in a tone of contempt, ‘ put it
to yourself! You are a sailor who has won dis-
tinction at sea and on shore. You know what it
means to work and have a career. Picture the
difference if you had been obliged to sit still and
wait, with a possibility of stepping into the rewards
without doing the service.’

The Admiral gave her a keen look of attention
before he replied, and she laughed to cover the
warmth of her protest.

‘You're a rebel!’ said he.

‘Oh no! Rebellion is ridiculous. We must
play our proper parts. But what a difference in the
parts! A man makes a career by serving his country;
a woman by making herself pleasing to a man.’

‘Or to many men.’

‘And then she’s in danger.’

‘No, not if she’s clever, She may use her power
wisely.’

‘Then it must be all humbly devoted to one
man. If she exercises it on more than one man she
becomes disloyal. Unless,’ she added laughing, ‘she
happensfto be a queen. That seems to me the one
career in which a woman can exercise all her best
v CORINNA 85

faculties and make full use of her attractions. You
see I think we are only fit for the smallest parts or
the greatest,—to be queens or housewives,—and as
there are only about a dozen queens in this world—
no, not so many:

‘You don’t count kings’ wives, then,’ said Sir
Henry, taking an opportunity he had been waiting
for to join in the conversation.

‘Oh no!’ she smiled back at him ; ‘ they are not
really queens. They must obey.’

‘And should your real queen have a husband ?’

‘It would be better not, but I expect she would
want one.’

‘It must be a difficult position to be the husband
of a queen,’ said he. ‘But, speaking seriously, Miss
Temple-Cloud, don’t you think that women are
beginning to show themselves very formidable com-
petitors of men in all sorts of ways?’

‘No,’ she replied.

‘ There are some professions

‘Only their drudgery. There are nurses and
typewriters, not doctors and lawyers.’

‘And art and literature ?’

‘They only copy. It may amuse them, but they
ought not to compete.’

‘No!’ said the Admiral. ‘They are the prizes.’

‘That’s very nicely expressed, Sir John,’ said
Mrs. Northover.

‘Well, if that is so,’ observed Mr. Severn re-
flectively, ‘it seems to me there are more prizes than
competitors.’

‘I must say I think it is rather humiliating to
women to speak of them as prizes,’ said Mrs. Cox.

‘I thought it was rather complimentary,’ said
Severn. ‘I wish I were a prize.’

 

 
86 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘We must put him up in a consolation race,’ said
the Admiral. ‘And what do you consider makes a
man a prize?’ he asked, turning to Miss Temple-
Cloud.

“Of course he must have achieved something.
He must have made himself felt.’

The Admiral and his host smiled, both feeling that
they might claim this distinction ; though the satis~
faction of the former was somewhat clouded by the
reflection that, as a prize, he had already been secured.

Severn remarked that it was not so much the man
who had made a name as the man who was making
one who interested his fellow-creatures, especially the
fair sex.

‘Why ?’ asked his host. ‘ Because he is generally
younger ?’

‘Partly ; but chiefly because he has not played
his hand, and there may be anything in it. You
can count the other fellow’s tricks.’

‘I don’t think we necessarily admire success,’
said Miss Temple-Cloud, looking across at Mrs.
Northover.

‘No,’ she assented. ‘We admire goodness and
unselfishness.’

‘And heroism, only we seldom see any.’

The conversation had gradually extended down
the table, and Mr. Loftie felt it his duty to challenge
the last remark. ‘I cannot agree to that,’ he said in
his deep manful tones. ‘Heroism may be seen
amongst us daily. The truest heroism is shown less
in big things than in the duties of daily life.’

‘That’s right,’ said Severn, addressing Miss
Temple-Cloud. ‘This very neighbourhood, I am
convinced, is a perfect nest of heroes.’

‘I only count the fighting sort,’ she answered.
‘ CORINNA 87

‘It need not be in war, but there must be a fight.
Now in politics, whether you agree with him or not,
who can help admiring Mr. Desmond, the leader of
the Irish party.’

‘What!’ exclaimed her host.

‘Michael Desmond, that rebel!’ cried the Admiral.

His name was pitched up and down and across
the table in terms of strong disapproval.

“You cannot admire a man without principles,’
said Sir Henry.

‘Oh, but he has principles, though they may not
be the same as ours,’ Miss Temple-Cloud contended.

‘A programme, if you like, but not principles,’ he
corrected her.

‘Not much difference, is there, between principles
and a consistent programme?’ Severn interposed.

‘Nonsense!’ cried the Admiral. ‘The whole
programme may be unprincipled. Desmond's is.’

‘I was not thinking of his principles,’ said Miss
Temple-Cloud. ‘But he’s a great man and a leader
of men,—the leader of a nation. The whole of his
country looks up to him and follows him.’

‘You're not a Home Ruler, are you?’ asked Sir
Henry, speaking to the girl as seriously as though
she were a brother politician.

‘I know nothing about politics,’ she laughed ;
‘but I am sure I should have been a Home Ruler if
I had been Irish.’

‘ Well, he’s a remarkable fellow,’ said Sir Henry,—
‘a man to be reckoned with. Perhaps I ought to be
rather proud of that, as he is a distant cousin of
mine, though I don’t know him personally. He
may be a better companion outside the House than
he 1s inside it. He has an unpleasant way of keeping
us up all night and interfering with our dinner-hour.’
88 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘And so you are really going to Ireland this
summer instead of Scotland, Sir Henry,’ said Mrs.
Northover. ‘I think it is very brave of you, for, of
course, though you may be one of their best friends
they will regard you as a political enemy, and they
are so violent and so ungrateful for all that England
has done for them. My husband says they are
always making unreasonable demands and always
asking at the wrong time.’

‘Like the widow in the parable who asked the
man for bread when he was in bed with his children,’
said Miss Temple-Cloud.

‘Really!’ protested Mrs. Northover. ‘Now
really!’

-, ‘But he had to get up, madam,’ the Admiral
laughed. ‘He had to get up. The old lady knew
what she was about. And Ireland’s playing the
same game, and there isn’t a party in England
strong enough to put a stop to it.’

Miss Temple-Cloud’s allusion to Michael Desmond
had furnished a subject for conversation, and Ireland
had become the general topic. Lady Thomasattributed
her misfortunes to the laziness of the peasantry : Mr.
Loftie, apparently forgetting that M. de Lautreppe
was sitting near, attributed it to the influence of the
priests. Mrs. Babbage had seen, however, that the
remark had not escaped M. de Lautreppe, and
thought it would be kind to reassure him. ‘Not
that there’s any disgrace in being a Roman Catholic,’
she said, and received in acknowledgment a smile
and a bow such as might have been made in return
for a compliment.

Hardly any one present had more knowledge of
Ireland than had been learned from English news-
paper articles or a visit to Killarney ; and the tone
¥ CORINNA 89

in speaking of the country was that of England
generally towards the outside world—the tone of a
superior not unprepared to make allowances for the
faults and even to see the good qualities in an
inferior. Miss Temple-Cloud was the only person
present who took exception to this tone, and she
was not herself specially interested in Ireland. Her
opposition was probably stirred by her perception of
something analogous in the relations between Ireland
and England to those between men and women.
She admitted, saw as inevitable, but resented, the
man’s dominance, the woman’s dependence. She
saw that woman conquers him, not by her own
strength, but by taking advantage of his weaknesses ;
and while perhaps ready to adopt such a course her-
self she despised the necessity. So at least her
remarks to the Admiral at the close of the conversa-
tion indicated, when some one asked who it was had
said that England’s difficulty was Ireland’s opportunity.

‘O’Connell said it first, I fancy,’ Sir Henry replied.
‘A good many people have repeated it.’

‘It is the remark of an inferior,’ said Severn.

‘Of the weaker,’ Miss Temple-Cloud corrected.

‘Yes,’ said the Admiral. ‘If we’d been united in
England we could have governed Ireland with a
strong hand and kept her in her proper place ; but
one party in England always opposes what the other
party does, and Ireland takes advantage of it.’

‘That’s just the chance of the weak against the
strong,’ said Miss Temple-Cloud. ‘That has been
the way with man and woman. Yes, I’m sure that
what emancipation we have has been won in the same
way as Ireland’s, and we're neither of us satisfied.
If men had not been divided into two camps they
would still have been polygamists.’
go HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘What a notion!’ exclaimed Mrs. Northover,
rising with the other ladies.

“And I believe they would have preferred it,’
said Miss Temple-Cloud, firing a parting shot at the
Admiral.

It has been suggested as a proof that men of our
days are more appreciative than our forefathers of
ladies’ society that they make the interval of separa-
tion after dinner shorter than formerly. The infer-
ence may be correct, though perhaps we may too
exclusively claim as the index of our gallantry a
custom which is partly due to our humbler attitude of
head and stomach in the presence of Port, and partly
to the modern craving for tobacco. The interval
to-night was even shorter than usual—too short for
Lord Culbone and Admiral Blakeney — but their
host’s suggestion of cigarettes on the terrace was
generally acceptable. The daylight lingered, the
drawing-room windows were open, and some of the
ladies were walking on the terrace when the men
joined them. Some one was playing the piano, and
though no one listened the effect was soothing.
Groups formed, couples separated ; therewas altogether
a pleasant informality about the reunion.

There is indeed no time in the day when social
intercourse is so pleasant as the hour following dinner
—certainly no other time when a man approaches a
woman with so much assurance. He is never so
ready as then to be attracted, and his consciousness
of physical wellbeing gives him a confidence, an easy
familiarity which is seldom ill received.

Sir Henry Desmond, who had secured Miss
Temple-Cloud, and was leading her down one of the
dusky garden paths, found no difficulty in striking
the personal note.
v CORINNA 91

‘This helps to make up for not having you next
me at dinner,’ he said. ‘The worst of being a host
is that he has always to give his most charming
guest to some one else.’

‘ Whatever Irish blood you still have left must be
your excuse for that compliment,’ she answered.

“No, I am speaking as an Englishman, as one who
balances profit and loss. Ever since that evening at
the Prime Minister’s I have been looking forward to
renewing our conversation.’

‘I am afraid I have forgotten what it was about.’

‘As to whether friendship was really possible
between a man and a woman.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I remember. You said it
was only possible when the woman was without
personal attractions.’

‘And you said it was only possible when each of
them was in love with some one else. Perhaps we
were both right.’

‘Or both wrong.’

‘I wish we could test it,’ said he. ‘Certainly you
don’t fulfil the first condition, nor | the second. But
mightn’t we try the experiment?’

‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘how shall we begin? I
suppose it should be by mutual confidences. You
see we hardly know each other.’

‘And why should we wait to hear about each
other from third persons?’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘If you like we'll exchange
biographies. Shall we? No, perhaps after all we
had better not. The only interesting things about
people are those things they do not care to tell.
That’s why a novel is more interesting than a
biography. The biographer doesn’t know, or won’t
tell, the secrets.’
92 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

He noticed with admiration as they walked on
how graceful was her bearing, and how beautifully
her head was set on her shoulders.

‘But you have no secrets,’ he said.

‘Of course I have, and so have you,’ she said,
looking at him with a very engaging smile.

They passed a little summer-house overlooking
a sheet of water. ‘Shall we sit down here?’ he
suggested. ‘It would be a good place for telling
secrets.’

She consented without hesitation, and as he sat
down beside her the possibility of adventure made
his pulses beat a little faster than usual. He had
never been more inclined than now to trespass across
the line where flirtation ends and privilege begins,
but though a skilful reader of the signals of that
borderland he was by no means certain of his
reception. She seemed to invite his advances, to
beckon him on, without showing the weak spot in
her defences ; leaving him the chance of getting a
rebuff by going forward, or of earning the reproach
of the laggard, on whom opportunity is wasted, by
hesitating.

‘I am afraid you are not a very good host,’ she
said, ‘to desert your guests in this way.’

‘They are quite contented,’ he replied; ‘my
sister will look after them. She likes it. But I—
one of my guests claims all my attention.’

‘It may lose you several votes.’

‘I have only one constituent to-night.’

‘Your friendship develops amazingly quickly,’
- said ; but her smile was encouraging and misled

im.

‘How could it be otherwise?’ he said ardently.

‘You create it. Most girls chill friendship,—pre-
v CORINNA 93

vent at the outset a possibility of romance in the
relationship of man and woman by regarding every
man as a possible suitor. They are dealers with
charms to sell, favours to negotiate, not to give.
One woman in a thousand is different. She meets
the man she likes on equal terms. She is rich enough
to confer without loss to herself.’

She was silent for a few moments while she
considered the full import of his words.

‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘between a man and a
woman friendship is never the exact word. I could
never be merely your friend.’ ,

‘Why ?’ she asked simply.

«I should fall in love with you.’

‘That might be amusing,’ she laughed. ‘A man
is always amusing when he is in love.’

He understood that she tripped lightly with
intention over dangerous ground.

‘There is nothing,’ said he, ‘that a man dislikes
so much as to be amusing to the lady he adores.
And yet I can even risk that.’

He took her hand and she placidly allowed him
to retain it. She was curious to see how he would
proceed.

‘We were going to exchange confidences,’ he said,
‘to tell each other one of our secrets.’

‘Well,’ she replied, ‘ you begin.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better,’ he whispered, ‘ if instead
of telling old ones we had a new one between us.’

In the dusk he could not see the flash of scorn in
her eyes. He drew her hand towards him and leaned
closer to her. In another moment he would have
kissed her if she had not risen.

‘Some men,’ she said, speaking almost uncon-
cernedly, ‘are said to have an instinct as to how far
94 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

they may venture in the way of familiarity with a
girl. Somehow I thought you were one of them.’

He saw that he had hopelessly blundered.

‘She who possesses not only the charm which
compels us to be rash but the generosity which for-
gives the indiscretion, is a queen among women,’ he
said, trying to extricate himself.

‘I must take you back to your guests, Sir Henry,’
she said, passing out of the summer-house before him.

He perceived himself a contemptible and perhaps
a ridiculous figure in her eyes, and craved for re-
instatement. He had offered himself as a lover, not
as a suitor, but the latter part was still possible. He
saw that by essaying it he might redeem his position ;
but indeed it was a force far stronger than any desire
to avoid her condemnation that impelled him to
choose it. He was attracted as he had never been
before. ‘Love’ it might not be called; but a
passion to possess what had seemed so near and had
suddenly become so distant filled him, and showed
him his only hope in the path which leads to the
altar.

Admiral Blakeney, smoking a cigar, strolled to-
wards them down the garden path, and as soon as
he was distinguishable Miss Temple-Cloud ran to
meet him.

‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘you’re so welcome. Sir Henry
has been trying to demonstrate to me the inferiority
of our sex, and I want a champion.’

‘My dear young lady,’ said the Admiral, laughing,
‘I am always at your service, but I believe you can
hold your own. Isn’t that true, Desmond ?’

A week later, newspapers supplying fashionable
intelligence announced the engagement of Sir Henry
: CORINNA 95

Desmond, Bart., M.P., of Wyck House, Surrey, and
Duhallow Court, Co. Cork, to Corinna, only daughter
of Major and Mrs. Temple-Cloud, and grand-niece
of the Prime Minister.

It was an event of interest to numerous friends of
the politician and to many ladies of his acquaintance
who had daughters. His sister concealed her dis-
approbation with the best grace she could assume.
At Wyck St. Mary the good ladies who had already
called upon Mrs. Temple-Cloud congratulated them-
selves on their promptness, while those who had not
done so decided to wait a little longer, lest this neigh-
bourly civility might be misconstrued as a snobbish
desire to show attention to the future mistress of
Wyck House.

Miss Temple-Cloud herself was well pleased.
To make what the world calls a good match was an
essential part of her plan of life, and Sir Henry
Desmond was able to give her the position she
sought to fill. She was satisfied: she could not
have asked for a more attentive or respectful lover ;
but in meditating on their relationship she did not
forget the steps by which he had first approached her.
CHAPTER VI
THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT

Love, without which there is no romance, is the
most prosaic of taskmasters, and sets men to the
performance of the dullest duties and the least
romantic labours. It is the smile in a girl’s eyes
that makes the young adventurer give up the voyage
to Eldorado for a safe seat on an office stool; a
whisper of love that compels the aspiring poet to
forsake the path to Parnassus for the tram-line to
his father’s factory. Love made Connor Desmond,
who had vague dreams of serving his country and
definite tastes for out-of-door pursuits, a serious,
hard-working student of the law; and in the hope
of winning a position which might justify him in
asking Kathleen O’Brien to be his wife, he toiled
in his musty chambers in Dublin with a zeal
which promised him the reward of success in his
profession.

Each time he had seen Kathleen on his occasional
visits to Duhallow he had fallen more deeply in love
with her, but he had made her no direct proposal of
marriage. Her frank comradeship had seemed to
arm her against any nearer approach, and he had
feared to risk the probability of a refusal at a time
when his own fortunes gave him no right to expect

96
cuar.vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 97

anything else. ‘I can only marry a rich man,’ she
had said at one of their meetings, ‘and I wish he
would not be so long in appearing, for things are
getting desperate. If we go on much longer the old
place will have to be sold.” The thought of his
uncle’s offer to him came temptingly at this time.
To have been able to come forward as the lover who
might claim the right of freeing her from her diffi-
culties, whether she rewarded him or not by her
hand, was a magnificent dream, but it was a dream
only. Mr. Barrington had renewed his proposals,
he had seen Connor himself, and had urged him
to accept them, but he had been firm about his
conditions. He had insisted on a repudiation of
Michael’s policy, which was becoming more and
more opposed to the principles he held himself ; and,
though disappointed, he had gone away feeling a
respect for the young man who could sacrifice a
fortune rather than be disloyal to his brother and his
family traditions.

Year by year Michael Desmond’s power in the
country and influence with his colleagues grew ;
and he was still, for a politician, a young man
when he was chosen as leader of the Irish Parlia-
mentary Party. It was a troubled time in Ireland.
Agricultural depression and a general discontent,
fanned by political organisations, had led to an out-
break of agrarian crime. Desmond was in no way
responsible for it, but undoubtedly it helped his
political ends—and he did not use his influence to
check it. He threw the entire blame on the system
of government, which he maintained produced a state
of things which made popular passion unrestrainable.
Measures of coercion were adopted by the Govern-
ment, and were answered by violent speeches from

H
98 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

the representatives of the people. Of these, one
from Desmond was made the occasion of his im-
prisonment on the charge of seditious conspiracy—a
mistaken move on the part of the Government, for a
surer way to increase his popularity and extend his
influence could hardly have been found.

His release at the end of a few months was made
the occasion of a great public welcome. In recent
times Dublin had not seen so marked a demonstra-
tion. Since the death of O’Connell no leader had
arisen who appealed to the popular imagination like
Desmond: he had given Irish sentiment, Irish
aspirations, a new meaning, and had translated it to
England in terms which could not be misunderstood
or ignored. He had shown the gift which others
lacked of uniting and organising the national party
until it had become a power to be feared and
reckoned with in English politics. The more hate-
ful his name became in the country of the ruler the
more highly was it honoured in his own. His im-
prisonment had been regarded as a national affront
—his liberation as a national victory.

Immediately after his release Desmond made his
last appearance at the Bar as counsel for the defence
in a murder case of unusual interest. The atten-
tion of the whole country had been drawn to
it, and in the neighbourhood of Duhallow, where
the tragedy had taken place, the excitement was
intense.

A man named Costello, a tenant of Sir Henry
Desmond, had been evicted from his holding, and
another local man, one Rahilly, in spite of the
warnings of both friends and enemies, had taken the
vacant farm. Rahilly was shot in his house, and the
- suspicion fell on Costello, who bore a bad reputation
vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 99

and had been heard to vow vengeance on the new
tenant—the only direct evidence against him, how-
ever, being that of Rahilly’s wife, who stated that as
she was approaching the house in the dusk of the
evening of the murder she had heard a shot fired,
and a minute afterwards had seen Costello rush past
her in the lane. Popular sympathy was divided:
the man who took up a holding from which another
had been evicted was regarded as a traitor to his
class, the man who killed him as hardly a murderer.
On the other hand, the people were shocked by the
horror of the crime and filled with pity for the wife
of the dead man, a woman whom every one respected.
The case gained an additional interest from the fact
that Michael Desmond had undertaken the defence
of Costello. He had at this time almost given up
his practice at the Bar, but influenced by strong
political motives, and bent on throwing the burden
of the crime on the Government which upheld the
existing land system, he made an exception of this
instance.

One day in August it spread through the country-
side that Desmond would arrive at Duhallow that
evening, and that the news of the verdict would
come with or before him.

Duhallow, with its special claim to honour the
national hero and its special interest in the murder,
had good reason to feel justified in making holiday
on this afternoon. The village had been thronged
with people throughout the afternoon, and towards
evening the old courtyard of the Castle was occupied
by a large crowd. It consisted of followers of the
Desmonds, tenants from the mountains, farm-labourers,
idlers from the village, and families of itinerant
beggars who were preparing to spend the night in the
100 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

outhouses : some standing in groups, some sitting on
the ground or perched on the stack of turf which
stood in the middle of the yard, while others were
gathered round the kitchen door, where they were
receiving refreshments in the shape of potatoes and
buttermilk. You would have thought from the
good spirits of the crowd that it was met to celebrate
a wedding or some cheerful festival, whereas the
occasion was really a solemn one, and the deepest
anxiety prevailed.

In England they say, ‘Two’s company, three’s
none.’ In Ireland the proverb should run, ‘ Two’s
company, three’s better’ ; for it is just the presence
of the third, the welcome audience, that stimulates
wit, encourages personalities, promotes quarrels, and
effects reconciliations. Where three people meet fun
begins, and as you multiply the numbers you increase
the entertainment. And soit was now, that though
the hearts of these people were full of trouble they
were spending the hours of suspense in the merriest
holiday fashion.

The arrival of Tom Begley, the blind poet and
fiddler of local celebrity, was hailed with great satisfac-
tion, for his presence always added to the fun and
promised a dance. After being entertained in the
kitchen and paying Mrs. Singleton, the cook, a
compliment in rhyme, he emerged ready to display
his twofold gifts. By going round the country in
this way he managed to get a living—not a luxurious
one ; but, as he said himself in a poem on the subject,

O’Rippides, that grand Athaynian bard,
Lived upon dilisk when the times was hard,

and why therefore should he complain?
‘Just give usa line or two of the pothry you’ve
vI THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT IOl

been repating to Mrs. Singleton, Tom,’ he was asked
as he emerged from the kitchen.

‘Indeed I will not, Paddy Roche,’ he replied
with dignity ; ‘’twas intinded for the lady’s own ear.’

‘’T was, to be sure,’ added another. ‘ Where’s
your manners, Paddy ?’

‘Oh, but ’tis a great thing to bea po-ut,’ remarked
a third admiringly. ‘How do you be making it all
up, Tom ?’

“I couldn’t tell you meself,’ Tom answered; ‘’tis
what’s called the insphiration.’

‘’Tis that and nothin’ else. And thim rhymes,
Tom, how do you be bringing thim together so
nately now?’

‘ Phaix,’ he replied with a grin, ‘ they just come to
me in twins, like Mary Mahony’s babies.” An
answer which raised a hearty laugh against Pat
Mahony, the father of the babies, who was one of
the group.

‘Well,’ said one, ‘pothry’s fine for making ye
remember things, good and bad, but music’s fine for
making ye forget, and ’tis a chune we want now
while there’s throuble all around us. Come along,
boys, and have a step or two while we have a shance.’

Tom Begley was led across the grass-grown
courtyard and seated on the stack of turf, in front of
which an old coach-house door was laid on the stones
for the dancers. He was a man of striking appear-
ance : his face massive, weather-stained, wrinkled like
a pool of peat water in a gust of wind, sightless, but
lightened or shadowed by quickly changing ex-
pressions of emotion ; and his garb, unlike that of
those around him, retaining the knee-breeches and
other characteristics of an older generation. Throned
on his turf stack, fiddle to chin, above the expectant
102 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

crowd, he was a proud man, for he knew his power
over the people, and how easy it would be for him in
their present excited state to promote their laughter
or change it to tears.

‘What chune will it be?’ he asked, drawing the
bow across the strings. “Paddy O’Rafferty”?
“ Kitty lie over”? Ican’t plaze ye all, so we'll biggin
wid “Paddy Carey.” Start away, boys! Andy
Burke and Danny Callaghan, sure enough. You
have your father’s own step, Andy. God rest his
sowl!’ And thus fiddling, listening to the dancing,
and interjecting remarks, he continued till the first
couple was tired.

‘Well, we'll have “ Kitty lie over,” now,’ he went
on, as another couple stood up. ‘Well stepped, Dan.
Honor, your feet are like wather ripplin’ wid the
breeze of the music. Oh, ’tis a great chune and fine
words,’ and he sung as he played :

‘Oh, what’d I do if I married a soldier ?
Kitty lie over close to the wall.
Shure he’d lave me behind and go away rover,
Kitty lie over close to the wall.

Fine classhical wards,’ he grinned. ‘ Faith they are,
and right well danced. "Tis a trate to play to a
couple the likes o’ ye.’

Dance followed dance ; and meanwhile no present
care, no thought for the morrow, assailed a heart in
that burdened and poverty-stricken crowd. The
blind fiddler alone among them had the inward
vision of the dark background to the bright scene.

He himself struck the first note of change in the
feelings of his audience by his criticism of the dancing
of one of the couples. They were women in this
case: the elder, ugly and ungainly, the younger, the
vI THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 103)

prettiest and most graceful in the village ; but Tom
was a connoisseur of dancing in spite of his blindness,
and his accustomed ear detected, as a musician follow-
ing the score of an instrument, the accomplished
performer in the elder woman, the crude beginner in
the younger. ‘’T'was well enough,’ said he, resenting
the misplaced applause, ‘and you'll be a great dancer
yet, Lizzie Linnahan, if you'll not be above taking a
few lessons from Mrs. Grady.’

‘Faith, ‘tis thrue, Mrs. Grady have all the steps,’
said one of those who had been loudest in praise of
Lizzie Linnahan.

‘Oh then, indeed,’ croaked an old beggar-woman,
squatting on the ground, ‘ would anny o’ the boys be
wantin’ to look at an ould woman’s feet when there
was a pretty colleen’s eyes smilin’ at him ?’

‘ Phaix, then, justice is blind they do be saying,
and that’s well proved by Tom Begley this minyet,’
said an old labourer.

‘Begorra! ’tis blind and deaf too in Ireland, I’m
thinking,’ said Tom, in a changed tone.

‘Whishper, Tom! will they hang James Costello?’
asked an old cottier, and the crowd gathered closer
round the fiddler, the dancing forgotten.

'» Tis a bad case, and there’s no dacenter ’ooman
in the parish of Duhalla than Mary Rahilly,’ he
answered evasively.

‘’Twas a blow sthruck for Ireland,’ said a half-
clothed tramp, a stranger in the place.

*?Tis the will o’ God,’ said another.

‘’Tis a bad day for Ireland when we’re driven to
shed our own blood to help the cause,’ said Tom
sorrowfully.

‘God help us! ’tis terrible,’ said another ; ‘ but
there’s a judgment on thraitors.’
104 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘And there’s a judgment,’ said Tom, raising his
voice, ‘on them that ruined the land and robbed us
of our own, and made men mad till the rayson’s
gone and the blow’s sthruck. Oh, if there’s hanging
to be done ’tis for them the most rope’s wanted—
but they’re safe over in England.’

‘I believe in the dinnamite,’ whispered the
tramp.

‘We're better widout it,’ said Tom sternly.
‘Wid the help o’ God we’ll have our own yet, and
if anny one can see justice done for Ireland ’twill be
Michael Desmond. Look what he’ve done already.
All Ireland behind him, all our mimbers like one
man at his call, Parlamint and all England afraid of
him. Home Rule for Ireland is nearer than ye
think, and ’tis his honour Mr. Desmond of Duhalla
and no other will do it.’

‘Who else indeed! where’s the like of him?
God give him health and strength,’ and ‘Shouldn’t
we be proud of the ould stock!’ cried several in
chorus.

‘The ould stock! Yes, indeed!’ cried Tom
Begley, grown eloquent. ‘And haven’t he been
chayted out of his own too, like the best of Irish
blood? Who owns the Coort estate which should
be Masther Michael’s? who but the dirty lavings of
the mimber of the family that turned Prothestant
and thraitor, and robbed his brother. A fellow that
lives over in England and never comes near us in
his life, and spinds the rint he col-lects through an
agint, in cards and whorin’, and plush to make calves
for his rampikes of coachmen. Begobs! ’tis well for
him he don’t show his yallow face over here.’

Tom’s picture of the absentee landlord raised a
laugh in spite of the gravity of the subject.
vI THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 105

‘He’s here already,’ said Hickey the blacksmith,
who had just joined the group, ‘above at Lard
Shandon’s. I heard tell * twas displased he is at the
time ’tis takin’ repairin’ the Coort.’

‘Phaix, he’s spendin’ a mint of money there,’
said Paddy Roche, ‘plastherin’ and paperin’ and
diggin’ up the dhrains.’

‘Oh, well, ’tis good for thrade,’ said Hickey.

“’Tis then, for the Cork men that have the
conthract, but much good ’twill be for anny one in
Duhallow,’ grumbled Tom.

‘There’s Duhallow men working for the con-
thractor,’ said Hickey; ‘but they know their
duty, anid, begorra! ’tis damn bad work they’re
doin’.’

This piece of news was greeted with general
approval and seemed to wake Tom Begley’s
muse.

‘The inshpiration’s on me, boys!” he said, ‘and
tis just wantin’ a little coaxin’. ’Tis me solemn
belief that there’s a bottle of whisky under Steven
Hickey’s coat tails.’

‘Arrah! what nonsense are you talking, man?’
exclaimed Hickey indignantly.

‘Thry his pockets,’ said the fiddler.

‘May the divil come for your sowl in three
sthandin’ leps, Tom Begley!’ yelled Hickey, as he
was being seized and searched by the men around
him; but Tom’s knowledge of the character and
habits of his acquaintance was seldom at fault, and
amidst great laughter the bottle was produced from
the blacksmith’s pocket.

‘Now,’ said Tom, after refreshing himself, ‘’tis
comin’’; and standing up on the turf stack and
extending one arm towards his audience, he began :
106 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHaP.

‘The thraitor’s house is finely planned,
You’d think till judgment day ’twould stand,
But when you take a nearer view—

Ob wirra sthrue! Oh wirra sthrue !

How well the slater laid the roof!

How illigant and waterproof !

But every night the rain comes through,
Oh wirra sthrue! Oh wirra sthrue !

And thin the painting,—Och, ’tis grand !
The finest paint in all the land ;

Four coats itself! But was there two?
Oh wirra sthrue! Oh wirra sthrue!

And Heaven reward the plumber’s skill——’

He hesitated and came to a standstill amid the cheers
and exhortations of his audience. ‘’Tis goin’ from
me,’ he said. ‘Just give me another sup 0’ whisky
while I col-lect me powers. Blood alive! but there’s
a janius in that bottle. I have it agin, sure enough.

And Heaven reward the plumber’s skill,
He laid the dhrain pipes up a hill,

“For there,” says he, “’s the finest view,”
Oh wirra sthrue! Oh wirra sthrue !’

The last verse he delivered very solemnly :

‘The thraitor’s house is built, they say,
To stand until the judgment day ;
But, phaix, that judgment day is due.
Oh wirra sthrue! Oh wirra sthrue !

There !’ said he, sitting down amidst loud applause.
‘ That’s pothry and prophecy for you in one.

Preparations were being made for a renewal of
the dancing when a sudden silence fell upon the
crowd, and Tom Begley perceiving it inquired what
was happening.
vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 107

‘’Tis Father Barry coming over to us—he have
the news, sure enough,’ was the answer.

‘Well,’ said the priest, ‘ what holiday’s this you’re
keeping to-day ?’

‘Tis just waitin’ to hear the verdict we are, your
riverence,’ one of them replied.

‘Any excuse is good enough for leaving your
work, I’m thinking,’ said Father Barry. ‘What
business have you here, Hickey, with my horse
waiting down at the forge:to be shod? Tis the last
Tl send you if the work’s not done this evening.
And I’m surprised at you, Tom Begley, to be
encouraging the people to waste their time like this.
Is it ballet-girls we want in the country or good
milk-maids? Faith, I don’t wonder we're a poor
country, and others going ahead of us, if we go to
afternoon parties when we ought to be at work.’

‘Wisha! Don’t be too hard on us, your riverence,’
said Tom Begley.

‘’Tis bad news he have about the thrial, and it’s
upset his temper,’ whispered another.

‘Mr. Desmond will be late to-night if he comes,’
said Father Barry, ‘and ’tis no use waiting to see
him, but I have the news of the verdict from him.’
He paused a moment, and every eye in the crowd
was instantly fixed on him. ‘It is ‘ Not guilty.””’

Perhaps he expected that the announcement would
be hailed by an outburst of applause, and he seemed
moved by the absolute silence in which the news was
received. The people seemed to wait for some
comment or explanation from him, but he gave
none.

‘’Tis home you'd better be going now. We
must get about our work again and forget this
trouble,’ was all he said.
108 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

He turned to go, but was arrested by the voice of
the fiddler.

‘One word, your riverence, before you lave us,’
he said. ‘“ Not guilty,” isit? Will that mane that
Costello didn’t murther Rahilly, or that he did
murther him and there was no guilt in doin’ it ?’

Father Barry hesitated. ‘The law considers him
innocent of the murder,’ he answered. :

‘Will he come back among us? Will we spake
to him as if he had no hand in it ?’ another asked.

‘It might be better for him to leave the place,’
the priest answered evasively.

‘Indeed, then, *twas Michael Desmond got him
off and nothing else,’ cried Hickey ; ‘and ’tis a great
victory, glory be to God !’

*« Not guilty” !’ muttered Tom Begley, ‘Jem
Costello an innocent man! Begorra! Masther
Michael’s the man for Ireland.’

‘He is,’ said Father Barry, ‘and we must all
stand by him and help him in the good cause; but
whoever was guilty of Rahilly’s death was a poor
friend to the old country, and ’tis best to forget it
as soon as we can. Away home with you now,
boys.’

They obeyed him without further question,
though it was not homeward but to the village
street and the public-house, where the great news
could be fully discussed, that they went.

The old priest stood for a moment watching the
departing throng. Something in the scene saddened
him. By their silence he saw that they had in-
stinctively condemned the verdict in their hearts,
and yet by the stress of political circumstances, the
outcome of past wrongs, they were bound to hail
it as a victory. To him it was no victory, and the
vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 109

prospects of the cause he had as much at heart
as the keenest politician had seldom looked less
bright to him than as he retraced his steps to the
house.

Later in the evening Michael Desmond arrived
at Mallow station, where his carriage had been sent
to meet him. There had been a crowd on the look-
out for him by an earlier train, but it had dispersed,
and, much to his satisfaction, for he was in no mood
for demonstrations, he managed to pass through the
town and out into the quiet country unrecognised.

It was a night full of sweet odours and murmurs
of the south-west wind, and across wide spaces of
darkness the outlines of the distant mountains stood
clear against the starlight. The scene brought re-
freshment to the spirit of the hard-worked politician,
though it no longer stimulated his imagination or
uplifted his heart as in the years before he had entered
the fray. The old mystery of life, the magic of
the unknown path, had passed from his footsteps,
and his mind was engaged with the definite and
the known—with that world which he had made for
himself, that purpose in life which he was striving
continually to achieve.

During the journey homeward he had hardly
spoken, and his man, Thade Dorgan, who by his
extreme reticence had won the approval of his master
and a reputation in the neighbourhood for a knowledge
of political secrets, knew Desmond too well, and re-
spected himself too much, to speak of the verdict.
At the Ballyvodra cross-roads he was recognised
by some men, who, not noticing in the dusk that
Desmond was the other occupant of the car, called
on him to pull up, and began questioning him
for the last news of the trial. The moment they
110 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

discovered their mistake they fell back in silence,
and Dorgan drove on, well pleased at their discom-
fiture. A simple ‘Good night!’ was all the speech
they had from Desmond, nor did they expect more :
the most popular man in Ireland was also the least
familiar in his intercourse with the people.

Though the evening was late, a considerable crowd
still lingered in Duhallow, and Desmond, wishing
to avoid any popular demonstration, dismov.ated
from the car outside the village and took a footpath
to the Castle. He passed through the empty court-
yard, and round under the shadow of the old tower,
to the front entrance. The darkness of one end
of the building and the lights in the other marked
the disused and the tenanted parts of the house ;
but a gleam of firelight on one of the windows of
the tower showed that Desmond’s room had been
prepared for him. For a man of iron nerves and
will he was curiously superstitious, and at times
moved by unaccountable impulses. Now, as he
was about to enter the house, one of those strange
whispers of the imagination, or perhaps the intuitive
consciousness of another presence, held him back.
Turning, he saw, a few yards off, the figure of a
woman with a shawl on her head, and in a moment
recognised her as Mary Rahilly, the wife of the man
who had been murdered. There was perhaps no
one in the world whom he needed so much courage
to meet. Years ago, when he was a reckless young
man and she a comely girl, he had been her lover.
Their secret had been unknown to the world, perhaps,
he could not say, to her husband. He had been glad
to hear of her marriage, and sent her a wedding pre-
sent of money, which she had returned to him, and
since then he had hardly seen or spoken to her. Few
vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT III

things could have shown more strongly his determina-
tion not to be turned aside by any personal con-
siderations in carrying out his political schemes than
his resolve to undertake the defence of the man whom
he was convinced had murdered her husband. It
was necessary to his plan of action to do this, and
when making his decision he counted on the possi-
bility of her resentment. He had proposed to do
something for her, to assist her to join some relations
in America, or help her in some other way, and had
dismissed a disquieting memory from his mind ; but
he had not expected that she would come to him
herself, and now that she stood before him in the
shadow of the tower he needed all his self-possession.
She was the first to speak.

‘It’s yourself, Michael Desmond,’ she said, in a
low voice.

‘I’m sorry for you, Mary, in your trouble,’ he
replied.

‘Sorry!’ she echoed, in a tone of scorn. ‘I
wouldn’t doubt it.’

A window near them was opened and a sound
of voices reached their ears.

‘Come to my room, Mary,’ said Desmond.
‘We shall not be disturbed there, and I must talk
to you.’

He opened the door, and, after a moment’s
hesitation, she followed him into the empty vaulted
chamber and up the stone staircase of the tower.
The gleam of the log fire in the grim old room
gave them light enough to see each other’s faces
clearly. They were both pale, but Desmond was
self-possessed and the woman trembling with emotion.
He was a man in whose whole appearance, in his
commanding figure and handsome, resolute features,
112 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

power was written; but he and the simple peasant
woman met now on equal terms. They looked each
other in the face; there was no faltering on either
side.

‘Will you sit down, Mary?” he said, moving a
chair towards her.

‘I will not, thank you kindly, sir,’ she replied,
with native courtesy, while her eyes looked defiance.
‘T have little to say and I can say it standing.’

‘It is altogether a sad business,’ said he. ‘1
am sincerely sorry for you and I will help you if
you will allow me. My part in it had to be
gone through. I am not my own master in some
things.’

‘Michael Desmond,’ she said, ‘ you defended the
man that murthered my husband, and you forgot
the ger’ll that was kind to you.’

It was the only allusion she made to their past
relationship. He was apparently unmoved, but her
words touched his heart.

‘I’m afther coming here to-night,’ she continued,
‘to ask you a question, and ‘tis the truth I expect
and know I’ll get from you.’

‘You'll get the truth from me, Mary,’ he replied.

“Was Costello innocent,’ she asked, ‘or did he
murther my man? Did you believe yourself that
he was innocent ?’

She was deadly pale while she waited for his
answer. Desmond hesitated a moment. The ex-
pedient reply, the lie to suit the circumstances,
flashed to his mind, but he was compelled to tell
the truth.

‘I believe your husband died by Costello’s hand,’
he said ; ‘but a jury of his countrymen did not call
it murder. Remember he was turned out of his
vt THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 113

home, and when Rahilly took it he knew his danger.
Poor fellow! he made a mistake ; I would not blame
him ; but he put himself on the side of the enemies
of his country.’

It was enough; she had had his answer. If
Desmond could have said that he defended the
murderer believing him innocent, she would have
pardoned him; as it was, she was filled with pas-
sionate resentment.

‘May God remimber it agin you, Michael
Desmond !’ she said, in a low tone.

He made an attempt to soothe her. ‘ Forgive
me, Mary!’ he said. ‘I had to forget my own
feelings and think of the cause of our country.’

‘And may God Almighty forget the cause of the
country that needs the help of murtherers!’ she went
on, with growing passion. ‘May sorrow come to
your family, and may the people mock at your name !
May the curse of God be on you, and may the curse
o’ the widow woman follow you to your grave!’

He was deeply affected. The deliberate curse
is in Ireland a solemn thing, and the superstitious
element in Desmond’s nature made it of greater
import. Coming, too, from the woman he had
injured, it had a special significance, and for a
moment he shrunk before her words; but his
habitual self-command did not desert him.

‘T asked you to forgive me,’ he said. ‘You have
cursed me. I did you a wrong, and once more
before we part I ask you to forgive it.’

‘My curse is laid upon you,’ she said, ‘and may
it follow you to the grave !’

Never on the most critical occasions of his
political contests had his desire for victory been so
keen as the anxiety he now felt to overcome the

I
114 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHar.

enmity of this peasant woman. The fight with her
seemed hopeless, but he did not abandon it. He
exerted all his powers to influence her feelings.

‘In cursing me you are cursing Ireland,’ he said,
in a sterner tone than he had used before.

‘I am,’ she replied. ‘I have no country and
no home.’

‘I am accustomed to the hatred of the English.
They would be glad to see all the misfortunes of
your curse fall upon me. What do I care for their
hatred or their curses? but from an Irish woman,
and from you ! for you to join them!’

She was silent.

‘Ireland has done you a wrong, but you would
not turn against Ireland. It was a madman who
held the weapon that struck your poor husband :
it was England that put it in his hand. Forgive
me for defending him! By doing so you can show
your love for Ireland as no other woman can.’

‘T’m after hearing what I came to hear and
spaking what I came to spake,’ she replied.

‘Weare told to forgive as we hope to be forgiven.
If Costello had been hanged it would not have helped
you.

She raised her eyes and looked him in the face.

‘You stood by the man that murthered my
husband, Michael Desmond,’ she said. ‘ You turned
agin the man that gave me a dacent name, and what
was my name worth before ?’

‘I thought you had forgiven the wrong I did you
long ago, Mary.’

‘You know ’twas forgiven,’ she said, with flashing
eyes. ‘The sin of it is on me soul, and God forgive
me if I was proud of it when I should be ashamed ;
but ’tis ashamed I am now, now that I know well
vi THE INCREDIBLE VERDICT 115

that you have no more thought for me than if I was
the manest woman in the streets.’

‘May I deserve your curse if ever I could think
disrespectfully of you, Mary,’ he said, ‘or if ever I
forget the girl who trusted me too well.’

She was unmoved by his pleading. All his powers
of persuasion, his personal magnetism, which could
sway thousands, were as weakness beside the elemental
passion in a peasant woman’s heart, born of the
wrong which had shown her a world without justice
or mercy.

‘My curse is upon you, Michael Desmond,’ she
repeated. ‘The curse of the murthered man’s wife
shall fall on the defender of murther, and the curse
of the girl that loved you shall come between you
and your love.’

She turned and went towards the door. Desmond
remained motionless for a moment, and then followed
her bearing a lamp, and stood watching her in silence
as she went down the dark staircase and out into

the night.
CHAPTER VII

LADY SHANDON’S BALL

Hatr the county was dancing at Shandon House,
and the amazing thing about it was that Desmond
appeared among the guests. The suggestion that
he should be invited was first made by Miss Temple-
Cloud ; and Lord Shandon, after ascertaining that
Sir Henry Desmond had no objection to meeting his
relative, gladly assented to a proposal which accorded
with his own aims as a promoter of political recon-
ciliations. On further reflection, Sir Henry decided
that a friendly meeting with Michael Desmond was
to be desired. It was at the time when Irish questions
were dominating English politics, and both the great
English parties were considering the possibility of
coming to some understanding with the Irish leader.
The Prime Minister, indeed, was said to be in favour
of some scheme of Home Rule, and it was known to
a few that he was prepared to meet Desmond
privately and discuss the whole situation with him.
Sir Henry Desmond saw that it might be possible
for him, perhaps helped by the relationship of his
fiancée to the Prime Minister, to bring this meeting
about, and he hinted to Corinna the wisdom of a
friendly attitude—an unnecessary suggestion, as she
was already sufficiently interested in his personality
and attracted by his career to make her desire to
116
cuar vir LADY SHANDON’S BALL 117

interest him in herself. The invitation to him had
been her proposal, and she also furnished the ex-
planation of his acceptance. The morning after he
received it he had met her in the village. As they
passed she looked at him and, to his surprise, bowed.
He took off his hat and went on, almost startled by
her beauty, and puzzled by her action. It was either
a mistake—the involuntary movement which comes
of suddenly seeing a face with which one is familiar ;
or else—it would be the subtlest of flattery—her
acknowledgment, as one of the public, of his position.
Whatever the explanation, he was sufficiently attracted
by her to take the opportunity offered of making her
acquaintance.

For other reasons the thought of being present at
Shandon House piqued his interest : it was in the
nature of an adventure, an expedition into the
enemy’s country. Accustomed to the plaudits of
the people and the deference of his associates, he
looked forward to appearing among the hostile—
among those people of the county, too, who during
the recent generations of the fallen fortunes of his
family had hardly treated the Desmonds as their
social equals.

His mother expressed no surprise at his decision ;
his father seemed troubled as to how he would meet
Sir Henry Desmond. ‘If the descendant of the
rascal who~disinherited us offers you his hand,’ said
he, as Michael was leaving the house, ‘I wouldn’t
doubt a son of mine to know how to treat him.’ He
stood beside his wife, huge and slovenly, his great
grizzled beard covering his chest, a remarkable
contrast to the graceful and beautiful lady; and
having delivered himself of the only bit of counsel
he had offered to Michael for many years, went back
118 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

to his arm-chair and his punch. He had some
difficulty in following his son’s career: he knew
that he had become great, and was intensely proud
of his achievement, without knowing or greatly
caring how the result had been attained; but the
occasion of his being brought face to face with the
representative of the execrated branch of the family
roused his interest and awoke in his indolent soul
some sleepy memories of hereditary hatred.

Desmond’s presence at the ball surprised every
one. By some it was resented, old Major Grove of
Liscarrol carrying his protest against remaining as
the fellow-guest of ‘the leader of rebels and the
defender of murderers,’ as he expressed it, to the
length of ordering his carriage, in spite of the
protests of his three daughters. The general
feeling, however, was of interest and curiosity, for
during the last ten years Michael had been seen but
little in his own county, and was personally a
stranger to most of the people present.

A ball at Shandon House was worth going to.
Good music, a good floor, and the best of suppers
could be relied upon, and there were other attractions
which no mother with daughters could afford to
miss. The young men of the county who were
worth attention and could afford to marry were few
in number and were well known ; but at Shandon
House men were to be met who did not belong to
the neighbourhood, guests from England or other
parts of the country, in addition to the inevitable
contingent of officers from the barracks at Buttevant,
and perhaps a draft from Fermoy. They were all
here to-night, a merry company, ready to get all the
fun that was going during the next few hours in
dancing and love-making, or supping and gossip,
vit LADY SHANDON’S BALL 11g

according to their time of life—all united by the
freemasonry of their class, a confraternity of good
fellowship, outside which appeared one man, distinct,
apart, and unsympathetic.

Desmond came late, and when he arrived his
hostess had left her place in the hall and had joined
the dancers. A waltz was just over, there was a
murmur of voices, a rustle of dresses, and couples in
search of quiet corners were leaving the ball-room as
he appeared. As he passed along, looking at no
one while every one looked at him, he was recognised
immediately, and furnished a subject of conversation
between all those who were not specially interested
in each other. ‘What on earth is he doing here?’
“What a fine-looking man!’ ‘How well he looks
in evening dress!’ ‘Fancy Shandon asking him!’
“Fancy his accepting!’ ‘ Will you dance with him
if he asks you?’ were some of the comments. Mrs.
Spencer Boyle, seated on a sofa in the corridor
leading to the drawing-room, was the first to claim
acquaintance.

‘Ah, Mr. Desmond,’ said she, ‘is this the way
you’re passing your old friends ? and I’ve not seen
you since we met at Ballyvodra after you saving
Kitty O’Brien’s life, though I hear enough about
you—not that I believe the half of what they put
on the papers. And to think of meetin’ you here
after all.’

‘And am I too late to ask for a dance?’ he
inquired.

‘Oh, indeed you are then, ten or twenty years
too late, my dear man!’ replied Mrs. Boyle. ‘I’m
just here to-night looking after a wild niece of
Spincer’s, and rememberin’ the good old days when
I wanted lookin’ after meself.’
120 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘ Always the way,’ said Desmond gallantly ; ‘ the
more charming they are the more looking after they
want.”

He left her highly pleased at his remark, chuckling
over memories of bygone naughtinesses. On his way
to the drawing-room he passed the Miss O’Briens,
who were seated on either side of the new Protestant
curate, and the next moment he met Kathleen, on
the arm of one of Lord Shandon’s English guests.
It was a vexation to her that her colour defied
control, but no prettier welcome could a man ask
than the sudden blush which outleapt her words ;
and this she now gave Desmond. ‘They had oppor-
tunity for no more than a word of greeting, but as
they passed she turned back and held up her card
with inquiring eyebrows, by which he understood
that she had kept a dance for him. He signalled
his acknowledgment with the smile of an old comrade,
and was conscious of a feeling of genuine pleasure in
meeting her, and of certainty in having at least one
ally among the ranks of the enemy. And it pleased
him to be here: he had never been so conscious of
the strength of his position as now, when he was
surrounded by the men who had striven in vain to
assail it.

Lady Shandon was in the drawing-room, the
centre of a little group which disintegrated as
Desmond approached to make his greetings. ‘ Quite
an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Desmond,’ she said,
rather frigidly ; but her husband joining them at the
moment was very cordial.

‘Very glad to see you, Desmond,’ said he.
‘And you'll find the poor landlords trying to enjoy
themselves in spite of you. We may be all pulling
together yet.’
vi LADY SHANDON’S BALL 121

. ‘You seem to forget that I’m one of them,’
Desmond remarked. ‘I look upon all Irish questions
from the landlord’s point of view.’

‘The landlord’s point of view? You!’

‘From the dispossessed landlord’s point of view,’
he said, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘ But to-night,’
he added, ‘ we are all one party.’

‘Yes, of course, and like every good Irishman,
with a houseful of girls and the fiddles going, you're
dying to be dancing. As to partners? Oh, you
know where to look? Well, when you're dis-
engaged I want to introduce you to your English
relatives, whom I suppose you know we have staying
here. You have no objection to meet Sir Henry?’
he asked, in an undertone.

‘I am your guest, Lord Shandon,’ replied
Desmond, ‘and shall be happy to meet any of
your friends.’

He had made up his mind before he came that
he could not refuse to meet Sir Henry, and, indeed,
he was glad the occasion had arisen. It fell in
with a definite object he had in view to be brought
face to face, even behind the mask of conventional
courtesies, with the man he meant to treat as an
enemy.

He was in no hurry to find partners, and stood
for a while at one of the doors of the ball-room
watching the dancers, and wondering when Miss
Temple-Cloud would appear among them.

‘Not on circuit to-night, Mr. Desmond ?’ said
the facetious Mr. Callaghan, Q.C., as he paused
beside him for a minute’s rest in his waltz.

‘The juniors get the pick of the briefs at these
assizes, he replied. ‘You don’t admit it?’ as the
other shook his head. ‘ Well, ’tis odd to find our-
122 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHap.

selves dancing with the daughters of the girls we
used to dance with.’

It was long since he had looked on a similar scene.
Its brightness, the rhythm of the music, the hum of
voices and the ripple of laughter, the colour, the
animation of the girls’ faces, touched him with genial
influences, and again he was glad he was there.

At last Miss Temple-Cloud came into the room
on the arm of the Colonel of the regiment stationed
at Buttevant, and Desmond’s attitude of pleased
acquiescence in the scene changed to active attention.

She was attired, with her usual perception of the
demands of her own beauty, in a dress of pale gold,
which made the dark loveliness of her hair and eyes
the more manifest ; and to Desmond she seemed to
bring a radiance as of moonlight with her, and to
throw a splendour on her surroundings, to confer the
grace of her own movements on those near her. The
Princess of the fairy tale had come and the whole
scene was changed, needing only one improvement—
that the part of the Prince had been his own instead
of having fallen to his hereditary enemy. He
remained where he was, watching her while the dance
lasted, and as she passed him on leaving the room,
he was honoured by a glance, instead of a bow this
time, but, nevertheless, something like a recognition.
He grew impatient for his introduction, and was
engaged in some curious reflections when the voice
of his host aroused him :

‘Allow me, Mr. Desmond, to have the pleasure
of making you acquainted with a member of your
own family,’ said Lord Shandon. ‘Sir Henry
Desmond.’

The Englishman nodded and smiled pleasantly.
Michael bowed with marked formality. Neither of
vit LADY SHANDON’S BALL 123

them proffered his hand, nor made any allusion to
that previous acquaintance with each other which the
Speaker of the House of Commons had enabled them
to acquire.

‘« Nous revenons 4 nos moutons,” you see,’ said
Sir Henry.

‘Yes,’ Desmond replied, ‘but not always to find
them. Sometimes the wolf has been before us.’

‘I admit, Mr. Desmond, that I am an absentee
without excuse ; but here I am at last.’

‘And a very welcome prodigal,’ said Lord
Shandon, offering a genial remark to temper the
coldness of Desmond’s tone.

‘The prodigal—of course he was a younger son,’
said Desmond ; ‘or am I thinking of Jacob? I am
afraid, Sir Henry, that we may have failed to do our
part as to the fatted calf, but we are very poor over
here.’

Sir Henry laughed: he did not perceive the
sarcasm of Michael’s reference to the relationship of
the two branches of the family—indeed, the story of
the wrong done in the past, which still lived in the
hearts of those who had suffered by it, had been
forgotten by those whom it had benefited. In
Desmond’s attitude there was no lack of external
courtesy, and when they parted after a few conven-
tional remarks, Sir Henry had no impression of
having been met in a hostile spirit by the man he
had reasons for wishing to meet on friendly terms.

The fiddles again called attention to the business
of the moment. Michael was led through a quadrille
by Miss Bridget O’Brien, and danced the waltz
which followed with Major Boyle’s wild niece. He
had just relinquished that young lady to her next
partner when he met Kathleen.
124 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Hullo! Kitty, my dear,’ said he. ‘Here’s a
chance at last.’

‘Oh,’ said Kathleen, ‘and do you expect me to
have a dance left for you at this time of night.’

‘Indeed I do,’ said he, ‘and mean to have one,
even if I have to fight a duel in consequence.’

‘I was quite jealous of Aunt Bridget to be asked
before me. ‘Well, here’s my programme.’

‘En’thing left ?’ asked a languid-looking young
gentleman from the barracks, addressing Kathleen
in complete disregard of the fact that she was
engaged in conversation. ‘What! full up, eh!
Sorry,’ he said, as she shook her head and he
sauntered on.

She noticed Desmond’s look of amused contempt,
and laughed gaily.

‘It was unkind to refuse him,’ he said. ‘Remem-
ber he is accustomed to be petted. These are your
defenders. They are sent over from England to
protect you against your own countrymen.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ said Kathleen. ‘If you want
to dance, come along.’

Desmond grew merry in her company. If Miss
Temple-Cloud’s beauty suggested the summer night,
Kathleen’s charm was like that of a spring morning ;
and though they were of the same age, in the one
the attraction of womanhood seemed to have found
its complete expression, while in the other girlhood
still lingered.

Kathleen was thoroughly enjoying the evening.
She left her home cares behind her and was happy in
the gaiety of her surroundings. She forgot the
dulness of those partners who were good dancers
like Mr. Castle, tor instance, of the R.I.C., who
hardly opened his lips, but steered her with consum-
vil LADY SHANDON’S BALL 125

mate skill through a rather crowded ball-room, and
forgave the clumsiness of those who were pleasant
companions. With Michael she found both the
qualifications that she and all other girls liked—the
good dancer and the pleasant comrade ; and if he had
been neither the one nor the other, she would have
been just as happy in his company, for he was her
hero.

‘This is the first time I have seen you since the
great meeting in Dublin,’ she said.

‘And I did not know you were there until after-
wards. I was very proud when I heard of it.’

‘Oh, Connor arranged it,’ she said. ‘It was
very exciting. I begin to understand the fascination
of political life.’

‘The fighting ?’

"Yes,

‘Not the cause?’

‘No, you forget that. I was almost on your side
against my convictions at the meeting.’

‘We must believe in our cause,’ he said, ‘if we
are to make a real fight of it. I wish you were
altogether on my side.’

He was perhaps something more than a hero to
her, otherwise how would this thought have entered
her head: ‘If,’ the question came, ‘he asked it of
you, could you desert the cause of your own people
for his sake?’ She found, too, that he was looking
at her rather critically ; and, conscious of one of her
obtrusive blushes, she said the first thing that came
into her head.

‘Fancy talking politics here, and fancy your being
here at all! Every one has been making remarks
about it and wondering what it means. Some of
the ladies have been forbidden to dance with you.’
126 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

‘Tell me one of them,’ he laughed, ‘and I'll get
Lord Shandon to give me an introduction.’

‘Mrs. Major Freeman. Miss Ruberry, the
Bishop’s daughter,’ she whispered.

‘What do you bet against my chances, Kitty?’
he said, ‘and how you'll laugh at me if I’m defeated.
Well, I mean to try ; and if I win :

Old Dr. Riordan, the plain-spoken friend of
every one in the district, interrupted. ‘Did ye ever
hear tell of the Lancers, my dear ?” he said.

‘Oh, Dr. Riordan!’ she exclaimed, glancing at
her programme, ‘do they come now? I’ve been
looking forward to our dance.’

‘I wouldn’t doubt it,’ he grinned, ‘with all these
young fellows to pick from. Upon my soul,
Desmond, it reminds me of the Millennium to see
you here.’

‘Isn’t that the time when the British lion will be
found playing on an Irish harp?’ Desmond asked.

‘Twas the captivity of a very troublesome member
of society I was thinking of, sir.’

‘Indeed, doctor,’ laughed Desmond, ‘I’m glad
tis the Millennium you're thinking of for a change
and not the Dance of Death, and that it’s only in
quadrilles you’re looking for your victims.’

‘And this,’ cried the doctor, enjoying the en-
counter, ‘ from the fellow I pulled through the measles
when he was a boy! You're on my conscience,
Desmond ; for many’s the time I thought what a
grand thing it would have been for the country if
I'd let you die. Come along with me, Kitty, away
from the ungrateful villain.’

Desmond’s appearance at the ball produced, as we
have seen, a genuine resentment on the part of some
of Lord Shandon’s guests, and provided conversation

 
Vit LADY SHANDON’S BALL 127

for others. His presence gave the occasion a
peculiar interest: he was under constant notice ;
people who were bitterly hostile to him were never-
theless glad of the opportunity of observing him ;
others, merely curious, who were studious when near
him to appear occupied with their own companions,
quietly marked his movements. Never since he
became a celebrity had his neighbours met him at a
social function ; never were they likely to do so
again. It was strange that he should be there,
especially at a time when Sir Henry Desmond, a
supposed opponent of his policy, was Lord Shandon’s
guest ; but the most surprising thing of all was the
obvious cordiality, the friendly alliance between him
and the lady who might have been expected to look
coldly on him—the beautiful Miss ‘Temple-Cloud.
She also had been under close scrutiny. Her beauty
not only won admiration but seemed to claim homage,
and there was something of stateliness in her air
which made one or two honest young fellows
privileged to be her partners, whose subjects of con-
versation were chiefly equine, wonder what the devil
they were going to talk to her about. They were at
no loss when the time came, for she had the woman
of the world’s art of interesting her companions in
themselves ; and all who made her acquaintance at
the ball were agreed about her charm of manner.
There was a difference, however, in her demeanour
when she met Desmond: a new animation lighted
her face and the conventional passed from her tone.
The change in both was like that in people who
from having been spectators become performers ; as
when the musician takes up his instrument, or the
fencer faces his opponent. In thrust and parry, in
feint and counter of glance and speech, they engaged
128 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuaP.

at the outset, avoiding the lagging steps towards
comradeship, and while aiming at ascendency, estab-
lishing a mutual understanding of equality.

‘Tf,’ she said, ‘Ireland would but accept England
as a woman accepts her partner in a dance. I don’t
lose my independence because I make you my pilot.’

‘But what if your partner were a stout elderly
gentleman who was thinking of his supper and not of
his companion ?’”

‘And what if he were a lover who had offended
her and asked for forgiveness ?’

‘Or one who had been unfaithful in the past and
will be so again in the future ?’

‘But isn’t Ireland always unreasonable?’ she
asked. ‘If she got a separation to-day, wouldn’t
she be asking to-morrow for a restitution of conjugal
rights ?’

Desmond laughed. ‘Conjugal rights when there
is no love ?’ he questioned.

‘Really, I am not unsympathetic,’ she said. ‘I
too have seen Ireland as a woman striving to be
free.’

‘And what d’ye think they were talking about
within two minutes of being introduced ?’ said Dr.
Riordan afterwards, in the smoking-room, to old
Billy Wrixon of Castle Wrixon.

‘Maybe ’twould be the Horse Show,’ suggested
Billy.

‘The Horse Show, indeed!’ exclaimed the
doctor. ‘No, sir, but love—love and conjugal
rights; and to see them dancing together and
looking at each other you’d think ’twas in training
they were for the parts.’

Later in the evening Desmond had the privilege
vil LADY SHANDON’S BALL 129

of taking Miss Temple-Cloud in to supper with the
prospect of another dance to follow. Lord Shandon
marked the good fellowship with satisfaction, Sir
Henry with amusement. During the three months
of their engagement he had discerned that Corinna
was a very clever young lady and likely to be of
great use to him in his political career: it looked
now as though she: were preparing the way for the
negotiations he had in view.

An admirable supper crowned a successful ball.

‘I look upon it as the hall-mark of hospitality to
give good wine at a dance. At dinner, of course,
you expect it,’ Desmond observed to Corinna.

He found her the exception among women in her
artistic appreciation of good wine.

‘ But, after all,’ she said, in excuse for the hosts
on such occasions, ‘a man owes a duty to his
cellar.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘ladies seldom know the
difference, and half these youngsters, even the soldier
boys with the 4/azé countenance, have hardly out-
grown their taste for ginger-beer.’

‘I suppose it is the same with everything in life,’
she said. ‘When you are young all the wine is
pleasant, all the'dreams are true, all the girls are
charming. As we get older we learn what to avoid,
I suppose; but it leaves us very little. If, for
instance, a man’s knowledge of women goes on
increasing like his knowledge of vintages, he must
find it a very difficult thing to choose a wife when he
is forty.’

‘And perhaps equally difficult to win her,’ said
Desmond. ‘Do you know the lines—

We spend our lives in learning pilotage,
And grow good steersmen when the vessel’s crank ?’

K
130 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cur.

‘Pour moi,’ she said, ‘I think there should never
be less than ten—and even twenty years does not
matter—between a man and his wife.’

Desmond recollected that this was about the
difference between her age and Sir Henry’s, and
assumed that this was in her thoughts. The interval
between her and himself was little less, and the
remark was not unwelcome.

At another part of the table Horace Croker was
attending to the wants of Mrs. Major Boyle and
listening rather abstractedly to her conversation.
His eyes went constantly in the direction of Kathleen
O’Brien, who was apparently on the best of terms
with her companion, Mr. Stoney Atkins of Mount
Atkins, a merry fellow without a penny.

‘And [ll bet you the pick of my horses to a
bunch of forget-me-nots out of your garden that
you're married before me,’ said he, in a voice loud
enough to be heard half down the table. ‘And,
what’s more, Miss Kathleen, if you’re not married
before you're thirty I'll marry you myself.’ Kathleen
laughed with Mr. Atkins, but she was not merry.
She was even quicker than other observers to notice
the interest which Michael Desmond and Miss
Temple-Cloud took in one another. She could
hardly help envying the assured ease and confidence
of the young woman of the world, and felt that she
herself must appear provincial in comparison. She
had been looking forward eagerly to her next dance
with Michael; now she almost feared it, lest he
should find her dull after his brilliant companion.

When a man and woman are mutually attracted,
the speed by which intimacy advances is generally
decided by the woman ; and now, between Desmond
and Miss Temple-Cloud, it was she who made the
vil LADY SHANDON’S BALL 131

signal. They approached each other deliberately :
she intent on exercising the power of her sex on
a man notably intractable; he stimulated by the
possibility of establishing an understanding with the
beautiful woman who belonged to the camp of the
enemy. She exerted herself to attract; he, like
one sure of his seamanship who spreads the sail of his
boat to the full force of the wind, welcomed the
encounter.

They were to dance again after supper, but as
they left the table she offered a pleasant alternative.

‘Yd much rather go on with our conversation,’
she said. ‘ And let me take you into my confidence :
I want a cigarette. Couldn’t you make it possible ?’

They found the library empty but open to
intrusion, and Desmond boldly suggested the moonlit
terrace on which the windows opened—a proposal
which he promptly followed up by appropriating a
cloak from the hall and placing it over her shoulders.
The cigarette was forgotten by both of them.

The step across the threshold from the gaiety of
thronged and lighted rooms into the serious splendour
of the silent night marked a change in the relation-
ship of Desmond and Corinna. The scene and their
consciousness of being alone together touched their
imaginations similarly: to both of them the many
steps between first acquaintance and intimacy seemed
already taken. The full moon was in the south, and
all the sky was glorious with slowly-moving clouds ;
the south-west wind that bore them aloft, and
whispered below among the woods, breathed through
the upland fields the softness of far-distant seas. To
the west of the house the terrace ran for some
distance above a little gorge, through which the
Alloa flowed almost hidden in trees, and ended
132 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

in a parapet built on a projecting rock, from which
the house was hidden and a reach of the river came
into sight. This now shone bright in the moonlight
between its dark wooded banks, and after breaking
into silver rapids farther down disappeared, a
wandering music, in the glen.

‘To-night I could almost believe with your
peasantry in the fairies,’ said Corinna. ‘I wish I
could. All the mystery of the world is going.’

‘Or only changing,’ he suggested. ‘We evict
the wonder from one dwelling, but it always finds
another.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘What have we
in place of the fairies, for instance? ’

‘ People,’ he replied.

‘People? Why, they get more conventional
every day.’

‘Only superficially. I believe cultivation is
making human nature always more complex and
interesting. We are like unexplored countries to
each other. If, for instance, I had the old faiths
and could believe in fairies you would probably
be nothing more to me than a very charming
young lady. Now, if I may say it without indis-
cretion, you are yourself the wonderland, full of
unknown paths.’

‘But how often do people approach each other in
this spirit?’ she laughed, thinking of one or two
other partners she had danced with that evening.
‘ And, after all, does not this mystery which may seem
to surround another person’s life come of our want
of knowledge? The moonlight makes everything
look mysterious ; the sunlight will take it all away.
You were very complimentary about my unknown
world, but that was simply because you don’t know
vu LADY SHANDON’S BALL 133

me. In the half light we picture all sorts of things
which have no existence.’

‘And in some cases,’ said Desmond, ‘might not
the daylight reveal an even more beautiful scene than
the moonlight suggests ?’

‘Oh, it might,’ she answered. ‘The dull man
who does not make pictures for himself might find
more than he expected, but not often the man with
imagination. But really I think women are more
apt to deceive themselves about men than men are
about us. Have you ever by chance read a girl’s
letter to a friend after she has become engaged to be
married ?’

‘No,’ he laughed, amused at her cynicism, ‘ but I
have met boys who were in love.’

‘Boys do not get married nowadays, Mr.
Desmond. It is the men with experience who marry
the girls who have none.’

She spread her cloak on the low parapet of the
terrace and sat down, ridiculing Desmond’s fear that
she might find the night air cold. With the moonlight
shining on the pale gold of her dress and the white-
ness of her bare neck, she looked to him more than
ever like the princess of a fairy story. He told
her so.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘ we still go on adorning ourselves,
though men have given up taking thought of such
things. It is to attract men we do it. It is a
humiliating admission, but our physical attractions,
our sex, remain after all our only real strength.
We have to make the most of them.’

‘But why should it be humiliating?’

‘Because we are not thinking of what is best in
ourselves, but what is weakest in men. They don’t
want goodness—they want comeliness, and we know
134 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

it is more important to be well dressed than well
read. Men may follow their highest aspirations.
You may devote yourselves to the service of art or
science or your country and win our admiration at
the same time, but without giving a thought about
making yourselves attractive to us.’

‘But suppose a woman’s personal charm is her
greatest strength,’ he replied, ‘why should she think
it humiliating to make the most of it ?’

‘Oh,’ she said impatiently, ‘I hoped you might
have understood me. Imagine, for instance, that a
man had habitually to exhibit his abilities before
women, to parade his courage or his scholarship to
attract them.’

‘I am afraid he often does so.’

“No, not the best of you; you keep these things
in the background. We are educated to exhibit that
side of ourselves which experience has taught us men
most care for, and it is not our best.’

‘But is it not the best?’ he asked. ‘ What is
there better? In a sordid, commonplace world what
is so priceless as that beauty which. women keep
always fresh in our midst? And think of the
influence it gives her.’

‘ Now, forgiveme for being personal, Mr. Desmond,
but has her influence ever affected your views or
your work in the slightest degree?’

‘Well,’ he said simply, ‘I fancy that anything I
have achieved is due chiefly to the influence of my
mother.’

‘Influence,’ she repeated meditatively ; ‘yes, I
suppose we must be content with that. But how I
should like to meet your mother! Of course I shall,
though. We shall be neighbours.’

‘I hope it may be possible,’ said Desmond, ‘ but
igi LADY SHANDON’S BALL 135

she has never visited any of her neighbours. She
holds very strong political views.’

‘And would regard me as one of the enemy?
Well, I have a confidence to make to you: I am on
your side. I ama Home Ruler.’

‘A Home Ruler!” he exclaimed. ‘And you
will be the wife of Sir Henry Desmond.’

“Yes. You see I do not carry out my theory of
a woman’s dependence. I demand my freedom of
thought. But it is not a study of politics, it is
thinking about the position of woman that brought
me to my conclusions. You will see that this is a
question which J am interested in.’

‘I share your interest, Miss Temple-Cloud.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘we are your Irish question.
We stand in the same relationship to men as Ireland
does to England. You have taken advantage of our
weakness in the past as England has done with
Ireland. You have overcome but never conquered
us. You have alternately wooed and _ill-treated.
You have made penal laws for us which do not
apply to men. Indeed they are in force still.
Morally, woman is condemned for conduct that is
condoned in a man. I am on your side, Mr.
Desmond, when you are striving for the freedom of
your country. Are you on my side when I claim
the same liberty for women ?’

‘1 wish I could say “‘ Yes,”’’ he answered ; ‘it sounds
so fair a bargain; but I am afraid I cannot. There
must be different moral standards for men and
women—though for the exceptional women, those
who can think for themselves, the case may be
different. But how few there are.’

‘That is as though I should say that Home Rule

‘would be quite safe and satisfactory if all the people
136 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

of Ireland had the views of the educated minority,
and that at present it must be opposed.’

‘We shall not get Home Rule unless we are strong
enough to insist on it,’ he answered, interested at
finding her so skilful an opponent in argument.
‘And women? Are they strong enough to insist ?’

‘And if you are not strong enough to get Home
Rule what happens?’ she persisted. ‘ Discontent,
smothered rebellion, a hundred mean acts. It is the
same with women. When they cannot rebel openly
at injustice they find secret ways of revenge. You of
all men, Mr. Desmond, you who have done more than
any man for the freedom of your country, ought to
be on our side.’

‘ At least you have shown me a new point of view,’
he answered. ‘Though I am not a young man, it
seems I may still have a good deal to learn about
women.

‘ Perhaps true knowledge may come with marriage,’
she suggested. ‘We may obtain it by marrying,
just as a nation learns geography by going to war.’

He laughed appreciatively. Her cynicism, real
or assumed, puzzled and amused him. ‘What a
critic,’ he thought, ‘for a man to have of his daily
conduct, and yet what an ally if her sympathies were
with him.’

‘I don’t know how many dances we have missed
or what our partners will think, Mr. Desmond,’
said Corinna, ‘but delightful as it is out here we
must go back. Really I never saw such a lovely
night.’

She rose and Desmond placed the cloak round
her shoulders, feeling as he did so, though the touch
was almost imperceptible, a thrill of pleasure in her
nearness, *
vil LADY SHANDON’S BALL 137

‘] have enjoyed our conversation,’ she said, as they
walked back to the house, ‘and shall look forward
to another. You see you have found an unexpected
political ally. I hope you are pleased.’

‘Pleased! I am very proud of it,’ said he, ‘and
yet I am filled with discontent.’

‘And why?’ she asked.

‘That you nevertheless belong to the other
side,’ he answered. ‘If we had not your sympathy
I should not be thinking of how much more we
might have had.’

There was a sound of wheels on the drive.
Guests were already leaving. As Desmond and
Corinna entered the house Horace Croker was escort-
ing the Miss O’Briens and Kathleen to their carriage.
Kathleen had eagerly looked forward to the dance
which Michael had asked for, and as he did not
appear to claim it, had managed to keep herself
disengaged during another in the hope of his
coming. She caught a glimpse of him now as he
passed with Miss Temple-Cloud, and was so silent
during the drive home that her aunts, who were
in high spirits and full of reminiscences of the ball
and the conversation of their partners, found her
quite a dull companion.
CHAPTER VIII

SOME PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE

Tuoucu Parliament was not sitting and it was the
time when politicians were resting after their labours,
Michael Desmond was more than usually active.
To encourage the discontent throughout the country
and then to organise that discontent was his aim.
The defence of Costello and the acquittal of the
murderer was followed by agrarian crimes in other
districts, and these he made the text for further
denunciations of the Government in a series of
speeches which he delivered during the month of
August. The Irish newspapers applauded, the
English condemned him more vehemently than
ever. It was said that the Chief Secretary had
counselled his re-imprisonment and had threatened
to resign if his recommendation were not accepted ;
it was also rumoured that the Government were
alarmed at the dimensions which the disaffection
had assumed, and were prepared to enter into
negotiations with the Irish leader. This surmise
was correct, though at the time even members of
the Cabinet did not know that a conference had
been arranged between Desmond and the Prime
Minister. :

It was a meeting which perhaps only a woman,

138
cu. vit PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE 139

only one woman in ten thousand, could have
brought about, and when Corinna Temple-Cloud,
acting in the double capacity of niece and impromptu
hostess in Sir Henry Desmond’s house in Ennismore
Gardens, retired from the drawing-room leaving the
two statesmen together, she had good reason to feel
satisfied with the part she had played. It had been
necessary for her to practise those feminine arts
which she had considered humiliating to her sex,
and they had succeeded.

The venerable Prime Minister was the one man
in the House of Commons for whom Desmond had
shown personal respect, and this even in the heat
of debate. He was the one man who was a match
for him in parliamentary tactics, the only one under
whose burning words of denunciation he had found
it difficult to sit with his wonted indifference.
The Prime Minister in turn had watched with
peculiar interest the career of the intrepid young
Irish leader who had drilled his subordinates to a
perfection of discipline unseen before in _ party
history, and who never wavered in pursuit of the
object he had in view. ‘The meeting was conducted
with dignity on both sides and was not uncordial.
It was simpler for Desmond than for his opponent :
he knew what he wanted, he had an undivided
national party behind him, whereas the other had
the doubtful public opinion of England to reckon
with. When the result of the negotiations which
followed the meeting became known, it was said by
his political opponents that the great statesman had
sold himself to the Irish leader for eighty or ninety
votes—enough to maintain his party in power ; but
those who knew him best, members of his own
following, some of these not too friendly to an Irish
140 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

alliance, were satisfied that he approached the
question of Irish self-government with strong
personal sympathy, and that Desmond had converted
this into conviction. However that may have been
the result was the same, and in due course the
preliminary outlines of a Home Rule Bill were
drafted.

Corinna had done her part and had won an
immediate reward for her service. Her illustrious
relative took a personal interest in her coming
marriage, and listened with amusement to her
pathetically humorous description of an imaginary
wedding breakfast to be given to Sir Henry’s
fashionable friends at her mother’s little house at
Wyck St. Mary. Of course it had been settled
that the wedding should be almost private; but
her hint succeeded, and the Prime Minister’s pro-
posal that she should be married from his own
house in Kent was exactly what she had aimed at.
A date in October, about two months distant, was
fixed for the wedding, and she promised herself a
pleasant interval in shopping at her future husband’s
expense. ‘You know how poor we are,’ she said
to him, ‘and of course you will have to pay all my
bills’; and not only did he welcome the privilege,
but showed himself a very generous lover in his
gifts of jewellery and the making of liberal marriage
settlements. On the latter subject he even took her
into his confidence and gave her an opportunity of
expressing a somewhat singular wish. She mentioned
the fancy she had taken to Ireland, the pleasure it
would give her to find that she had a personal
interest in the Duhallow Court property, with the
result that the suggestion found practical embodi-
ment in a legal document.
vii PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE 141

Sir Henry was indeed ready to accede to any
reasonable request from his fiancée. Every day she
attracted him more. He was in love with her after
the manner of men of the world whose affections are
reached through their senses. He was a connoisseur
of women as he was of wine and many of the good
things which colour the lives of the English gentle-
man of position. The sound critical judgment in
all matters of taste comes only of experience. The
mere vinousness of the wine, the mere sex of the
girl, may be fascination enough for the young man ;
but the middle-aged asks the subtler charm, and
this Sir Henry had found unmistakably in Corinna.
He looked forward with complete satisfaction to the
new life he was about to enter on, and back with
complacency on the life he had left behind. He
had had his adventures, his experiences, his liberties
as a bachelor ; and now with all this to the good he
started the new life of the serener pleasures, the
virtuous domestic life, with which so many men have
to be content for their whole experience of love.
And with what a mate too! She would have been
captivating enough to induce a man to give up the
other solaces, even if these had not begun to be
less attractive than formerly. Where, however, as
with Sir Henry Desmond, reformation needed no
exercise of moral effort, it often demands an exercise
of practical business qualities. There are dissolu-
tions of partnership involving financial arrangements
which accompany domestic as well as commercial
relationships, and such a liquidation was now
necessary in the case of an establishment presided
over by a lady—an establishment in which Sir
Henry was, if not the sole proprietor as he
imagined, at least the principal shareholder. He
142 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

did not wish to begin his new life with any fetters
of the past about him, and he set himself to the
duty of coming to a final understanding and making
a complete break with the lady in question. The
establishment had at this time been removed to
Paris, and thither he proposed to go directly Corinna
left London after the completion of her shopping
and the purchase of furniture for Duhallow Court.

Gentlemen of mature experience about to marry
young ladies may be in the habit of wondering
whether their brides have any suspicion that there
may have been episodes in their lives which it were
better not to inquire about, or whether the dear
innocents regard them as lovers shy or over-critical,
who have hitherto failed to find the woman who
could win their devotion. It is the latter part they
play as a rule, but Sir Henry Desmond read Corinna
too well to imagine that she deceived herself on the
subject. He assumed that she took it for granted
that there were indiscretions which a man must
forget and a reasonable woman ignore, and he was
therefore somewhat disconcerted when he found
himself frankly interrogated.

The information which led her to approach such
a delicate matter came to her from an unexpected
quarter. Major Temple-Cloud could hardly have
expected his daughter to ask his consent before
accepting an offer of marriage. His reputation, it
has been mentioned, was a bad one; his modes of
life did little credit to his family ; and never since
her childhood had he attempted to control or advise
his daughter, whom he secretly feared. Perhaps it
was mortification at finding himself entirely ignored
in the matter of her marriage, perhaps morbid exercise
of a disused conscience that suddenly set him think-
vir PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE 143

ing of his paternal obligations. He adopted a lofty
tone, and told Corinna that he felt it his sacred duty
to let her know the reputation which Sir Henry
Desmond bore.

‘The usual story of youthful wildness, I suppose ?’
she said, with an apparent indifference which exasper-
ated him.

‘Exactly,’ said he sarcastically. ‘In the eyes of
the world and sensible young women these things are
winked at. You are your own mistress. As to
youthful wildness—well, it is a good long time since
he was a young man, but his association with Miss
Bell, the actress; a pretty enough woman but a
damn bad actress, by the way, is not very ancient
history. You need not let it disturb you, but, as
your father, I felt it my duty to give you the
information.’

Corinna was more disturbed than she had allowed
her father to see, but she was not a girl to brood
sentimentally or tolerate a relationship in which there
could not be a bond of confidence and frank comrade-
ship. She speedily gave Sir Henry an opportunity of
trusting to her generosity. They were back at Wyck
St. Mary, and he was walking home with her to her
father’s cottage after service on Sunday morning
ee she approached the subject forbidden to young

adies.

‘I think, Henry,’ she said, coming straight to the
point, ‘that we ought to make up our minds to trust
each other thoroughly, and have no secrets from
each other.’

‘My dear Corinna!’ he replied, in an alarmed
tone. ‘Of course, why should you suggest such a
thing ?’

‘I never quite understand why a man should be
144 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

allowed to keep his secrets and a woman should be
supposed to have none,’ she said; ‘but that seems
to be the accepted position, What I mean is, that
wouldn’t it be better for a man to take a girl he is
going to marry into his confidence. It would prevent
misunderstanding if she heard things she did not like
afterwards, and unless she was a foolish creature he
would not have anything to fear from his trust in
her.’

‘I am afraid some one has been annoying you with
idle gossip,’ he said, in a tone of marked vexation.

‘Then may I take it that there is nothing I should
ever be likely to hear which I would rather hear from
yourself? I know that girls are supposed to know
nothing at all about such things, but indeed, Henry,
my only object is the wish to be your best friend.’

‘My dear girl,’ said Sir Henry, ‘there is nothing
that should bother you for an instant, and there is
nothing really that I could tell you. I never supposed
you were a girl who imagined that men were all saints ;
and in my case, as in most others, I suppose, I must
confess that I have sown some wild oats. Young
men, you know, have temptations.’

‘Ah yes! long ago.’

‘Yes, long ago. Thoughtless escapades, not much
regretted at the time, and perhaps not likely to have
been regretted at all if I had not known you. To
have known you then would have made them
impossible.’

She was not entirely satisfied, but she felt it would
be an impertinence to question him further. She had
had to make an effort to approach the subject at all,
she had given him a great opportunity of taking her
thoroughly into his confidence if he had anything to
disclose, and she felt bound to accept his answer.
vit. PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE 145

Though anxious that the bond between them should
be as true a one as they could make it, she was not
in love with him, and this perhaps made her readier
to accept his generalities than she might have been
otherwise.

‘All right,’ she said, turning to him with a very
charming smile, ‘then we need never speak about it
again.” She changed the subject and spoke of the
date of their marriage and the selection of brides-
maids which had just been made, and before they
parted she mentioned a plan she had in view of going
over to Ireland with her mother for a week or two
to superintend personally the disposal of the furniture
and other little details in connection with the prepara-
tion of Duhallow Court.

The proposal was a particularly welcome one to
Sir Henry, who was anxious to get his visit to Paris
over, and was glad that Corinna should be out of the
way of putting questions or feeling surprise at the
reason of his going. His present interview had
made him feel the desirability of losing no time in
freeing himself finally from the bonds of the past ;
and not only did he recognise the expediency of
doing this, but the sight of the proud and beautiful
girl made him conscious of a virtuous desire to
appear at her side at the altar as became a Christian
gentleman.
CHAPTER IX
A COUNCIL OF WAR

Some English readers may not be aware that a
tenant’s application to the Irish Land Court for a
reduction of rent cannot be heard until his arrears
are paid. Mr. O’Brien’s tenants preferred the evil
of submitting to what they considered exorbitant
rents and not paying them, to the alternative of pay-
ing what was due and appealing for fairer terms.
Some of them were years behind; and the only
measure which it was possible for the landlord to
take against them, eviction, meant vacant farms—
for the holdings of the dispossessed were forbidden
fruit—and no rent at all. That part of Mr. O’Brien’s
property which remained in his own occupation was
badly farmed, chiefly from lack of capital, and the
whole estate was heavily mortgaged. This was the
position of affairs which Kathleen had faced and
set herself to remedy. It was mainly due to her
personal efforts that the arrears of rent were not
Saree When her father and a land-agent had

iled, she had gone round herself to the tenants,
some of them remote on the mountain slopes, and
had returned with something at least to the good.
She received a royal welcome on these circuits, and
her popularity was not diminished by her plain

146
CHAP. IX A COUNCIL OF WAR 147

speaking, for she was very candid in expressing
her opinion of the conduct of any man whom she
believed to be able to pay more than he offered.
Such rents, however, were a precarious asset, and
the time came when they were insufficient, with the
profit of the home-farm lands added, to pay the
interest on the mortgages, not to speak of such
minor obligations as an overdraft at the bank, the
jointures due to the Miss O’Briens, and the expenses
of education.

Mr. O’Brien tried to shut his eyes to the impend-
ing catastrophe. While prophesying more vehemently
than ever the ruin of the landlords and of the whole
country, he seemed to cherish a hope that somehow
his own affairs would come right, and no doubt his
religious faith helped to cheer him. Finally, Kathleen
had to fight against his hopefulness, which seemed
likely to last until he was actually turned out of his
house, and when the time came for her to bring for-
ward the plan which she had conceived for post-
poning or averting the family ruin she foresaw
opposition.

About this scheme, and the means of getting
possession of a sum of {£2500 which had been left
to her by her grandmother, she had gone to Dublin
to see her legal adviser, and though her plans in-
volved the possible loss of her little fortune, she had
succeeded in winning the lawyer to her views. There
was a risk, but what was the alternative? Nothing
short of complete ruin and the break-up of the old
home. The task of submitting to her father and
brothers certain proposals which involved a humilia-
tion of the family pride was not a pleasant one: the
realisation of what they involved had already cost her
own pride more than any one was likely to know ;
148 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

but having once made up her mind, and seen her
object clearly, she set cheerfully, if with some feigned
light-heartedness, about her work.

She chose the evening of a day when her father
had received notice of impending legal action on the
part of one of the mortgagees for the disclosure of
her plans to the family. In the afternoon she had
had a preliminary talk with her brother Jack, and
had left him gloomy, startled, and undecided. He
was now about twenty-two, a tall, fine-looking lad,
blue-eyed and fresh-coloured like his father. As the
eldest son and ostensible heir to the property he had
remained at home and had taken some share in the
desultory farming operations at Ballyvodra, an occu-
pation which allowed him ample time to hunt a
couple of days a week in the season and play a good
deal of cricket in the summer. Jem, the second boy,
was, to his great disgust, by his sister’s machinations,
placed in a bank at Mallow, and Dan was still at
school. Mr. O’Toole and Miss Green, who had
formerly superintended the education of the family,
were married and kept a kindergarten at Passage.

The efforts of Kathleen to keep up appearances at
Ballyvodra had at last ended in failure. She and her
aunts still dressed for dinner, but she had abandoned
the attempt to make her brothers do so, and as often
as not they appeared for the evening in their attire
of the day. Carmody, the butler, still wore an old
swallow-tailed coat; and after dinner when the
ladies rose the men did so also, and one of the boys,
perhaps wearing riding-breeches and carpet slippers,
would open the door. But in spite of her degenerate
surroundings Kathleen never grew casual, never failed
to come before her family as thoughtful of her attire
as if she were in the presence of strangers. They
Ix A COUNCIL OF WAR 149

chaffed her, they called her ‘my lady Doo-Daw,’
after a mythological enchantress of local fame, but
she nevertheless compelled from them an admiration
which helped to make her influence with them
secure.

Dinner was over, and Miss Bridget was about to
leave the table when Kathleen gave her a signal to
remain.

‘I think we ought to hold a council of war to-
night,’ she said. ‘We have bad news. We must
make up our minds what we are going to do. Don’t
you think so, father ?’

‘What's the good of talking ?’ said the old man
impatiently. ‘All the talk in the world won’t make
things any better, and ’tis the workhouse we have
before us.’

‘ William !’ exclaimed Miss Bridget.

‘Don’t you think Dan might leave the room ?’
said Miss Honora.

‘Will I go, sir?’ asked Dan.

‘Sure, we might want his advice,’ said Jem sarcas-
tically.

‘In the first place,’ said Kathleen, ‘I have a bit of
good news. Connor Desmond has written to say he
has a friend with a large ranche in Canada who is
staying with him, and he can get him to take one of
you back with him. It is a splendid opening.’

They all began talking at once, the younger boys
becoming rival claimants : Dan pointing out that Jem
was already on the road to success as a banker, and
Jem bidding him be silent and remember his youth
and the fact that his education was incomplete.

‘I think,’ said Kathleen, ‘that Jem should have
first claim, but we must leave it to Connor to
say.’
150 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ss cuar.

‘ Indeed, then,’ said Dan, disgusted at her support
of Jem, ‘I know which of us Connor ’d take if he had
to choose.’

‘Which?’ asked Miss Honora.

‘Kitty herself,’ replied Dan. ‘ Wasn’t he always
round the place when he thought she :

‘Out of the room with you, sir!’ shouted Mr.
O’Brien. ‘There’s no worse manners than buffoon-
ing with a lady’s name even if she has the misfortune
tobe your sister. Off yougo! And wait, sir! Just
run over and tell Robert Owen that a butcher’s
coming from Cork in the morning to look at the
bullocks we didn’t sell at Cahirmee. I don’t like it,
Kathleen,’ he continued, when Dan had retired. ‘I
don’t like favours from that quarter. I don’t forget
my debt to Michael Desmond in saving your life, but
I don’t want to add to it. Hasn’t he done more
than any one in the world to ruin us? Haven’t the
tenants his orders? They’d pay if they were let
alone. ’Tis not to that family we should go for
favours, poor though we are.’

She could not but sympathise with her father’s
feelings, and she was glad to remember that no
report of her presence at the meeting in Dublin had
come to his ears,

‘Connor takes no part in politics,’ she remarked.

‘ They’re all tarred with the same brush. ’Tis in
their blood. They’re rebels and papists. The
gospel of robbery is what they’re preaching to the
people. Priests and agitators, they’re hand and
glove to turn us out of the country. They'd set up
the Inquisition if they could. Their hearts are as
black ‘

«« Judge not, that ye be not judged,” ’ interrupted
Miss Bridget, who on certain occasions when her

 

 
ix A COUNCIL OF WAR 1si

brother seemed untrue to his Christian principles
ventured with success on reproof which she would
not have dared to administer at other times. To-
night, however, Mr. O’Brien was not disposed to
self-examination, and she failed to achieve her
momentary triumph.

‘* Judge righteous judgment,”’ he thundered.
‘We're not told to tolerate the works of the devil,
or hold out the hand of brotherhood to meet a
cloven hoof. A cloven hoof, I say—and that’s what
England has been doing until they did not like the
feel of it, and then they shut Desmond up in prison,
and then they got frightened, and out comes my
gentleman again, and all the blackguards of men and.
fools of women in Ireland gathered at Dublin to
make a hero of him; and the tenants reading it on
the papers and laughing with their rents in their
pockets, and the owners of those rents and the loyal
subjects of the Queen on the way to the workhouse.
Smile away, my ladies, if you think ’tis a good joke,
but ye’ll find ’tis a poor one before long. The
time’s come for the O’Briens to say good-bye to
Ballyvodra.’ The old man broke down at the end of
this tirade. ‘Ask Kathleen if you doubt it,’ he
added hopelessly.

Carmody brought lamps into the room and closed
the shutters. He noted the unusual occurrence of
the family sitting in conclave after dinner, and
reported it to Mrs. Irwin.

‘She’s a great schamer,’ he said, referring to Kath-
leen. ‘ There’s new throuble, ’tis in their faces; but
with the help o’ God she’ll be a match for it.’

She found it a little difficult to begin. ‘I saw Mr.
Boyd in Dublin,’ she said. ‘It is quite clear we can’t
go on much longer as we are—next March at the
152 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS Say

latest — unless we carry out a plan I have. It is
not :

‘No, nor till March,’ interrupted her father.
‘Where’s the September interest to come from, and
what did these lawyers say in the letter I have this
morning? And the bank p

‘We can manage that,’ she replied. ‘I can pay
the September interest out of my own money.’

‘Is it the bit your grandmother left you?’
exclaimed Mr. O’Brien. ‘Not a penny of it will I
have touched. You'll be wanting it soon enough, my
poor girl.’

‘No, I’m damned if we'll agree to that,’ cried
Jack ; and his father appeared not to have heard the
unmannerly language, and his aunts for once forbore
to look shocked.

‘Well, wait till I’ve told you my plan,’ said Kath-
leen. ‘It is not a pleasant one, but it’s better than
being turned out.’

‘Faith, I don’t know that it is,’ said Jack.

‘My dear, you are very mysterious,’ said Miss
Bridget.

‘Oh,’ Kathleen flung out desperately, ‘twill
make you laugh, and others may laugh at us, but
that’s better than being pitied. I want to turn the
place into a hotel.’ She saw blank and amazed faces,
but hurried on without waiting for comment.
‘Others have done it, people placed like ourselves.
In Scotland I heard of a case where they were almost
broken, and now they’re saving, actually saving,
money. That was a golf hotel, but we have fishing _
and rough shooting and the best hunting in the south
of Ireland.’

‘Arrah! what nonsense are you talking, girl?’
said Mr. O’Brien.

 

 
1X A COUNCIL OF WAR 153

‘Is the idea,’ asked Jack, ‘to let the place to a
hotel company?’

‘No,’ replied Kathleen, ‘we should run it our-
selves.’

The Miss O’Briens exchanged glances of conster-
nation.

‘I’ve worked it all out, father,’ she continued, as
she saw opposition. ‘I am certain I can make it
succeed. All through the winter for Englishmen
and others who want to hunt with the Duhallows
there could not be a better centre, and in the summer
we shall get fishermen and tourists. I can show you
that with any luck at all we shall make enough to pay
the interest and keep our home.’

“A home, is it?’ said Jack sarcastically.

‘A hotel!’ cried the old man. ‘ What’s this
I’m hearing from a daughter of mine? O’Brien of
Ballyvodra turned hotel-keeper !’

‘Kathleen, do you know what you’re proposing ?
Have you no proper pride?” exclaimed Miss Bridget.

‘No feelings for your family?’ echoed Miss
Honora.

‘With a sign up over the hall door, I suppose,’
cried Jem. ‘‘ W. O’Brien, licensed to sell spirits
and tobacco, with Beaumish and Crawford’s porter.” ’

‘Is this your pretty scheme, then?’ asked Mr.
O’Brien. ‘To disgrace us in the county?’

‘It is,’ replied Kathleen with some warmth, ‘ and
I mean to carry it through, too. I don’t like it any
better than the rest of you, but I like it better than
ruin. Afraid of being laughed at, are we? Are we
going to say good-bye to the place for ever, and
have our home broken up while there’s a chance to
keep it, for fear we’d be laughed at by people who
are nothing to us? If it is our pride you're thinking
154 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ite,

of, Aunt Bridget, I wouldn’t give much for that
when we’re living in lodgings in Cork or England,
and not a penny to pay your jointures with, and the
life of a governess for me. If we want to disgrace
the family we'll do it by giving up the place without
a fight. I expected help from you, Jack, not sneers.
And it means more to you than to any of us. Isn't
it worth your while to put your false pride in your
pocket. for a time with the chance of some day own-
ing the place that belonged to your ancestors ; or is
it a horse-coper or cattle-dealer you’d turn—lI don’t
know what else you could do—for the honour of the
family? And as for you,’ she said, turning to Jem,
‘I suppose you’re thinking of the opinion of those
fine young gentlemen in the bank. Indeed you’re a
great help to me!’

She held the reins always in the household, and
the guidance of her hand was accepted as a rule;
but now, to her brothers at least, her words fell
with something of the touch of a whip. Some
revelation of their own incapacity to help and a
recognition of the fight she was making for them
was the result.

‘Papa,’ she added, ‘ please let me explain to you
what I want you to let me do.’

‘’T will break my heart,’ said the old man
miserably.

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘’ITwould break your
heart to see Aunt Bridget and Aunt Honora in
poverty, and me slaving as a governess, We must
all stand together and face our difficulties, and my
plan is the only one. Now listen to me. In the
first place I’ve arranged with the lawyer to get my
money.’

‘Ah, we won’t touch it, girl,’ interrupted Mr.
1x A COUNCIL OF WAR 15s

O’Brien ; and the others joined him in a chorus of
protest.

‘’Tis arranged,’ she continued. ‘I’m the hotel
company and I’m putting my money into a good
investment. The first thing 1s to do up the house.
The man that went over it with me last week wasn’t
a butcher at all but an architect ; and he’s given me
his word that five hundred pounds will cover all the
painting and glazing and patching, and another five
hundred pounds will cover the furniture we'll want
in the bedrooms, and the china and glass and other
things. There are fourteen rooms besides those
we'll want for ourselves, and if it pays we can build
on a tin wing next year. That’s only a thousand,
and leaves more than enough for all other expenses.
The garden must be put in order, and we'll want
three men at work in it to grow all our own
vegetables ; and we'll want an omnibus to go to the
station and a couple more carriages, for there’s a lot
to be made by the posting; and with two or three
more horses and those we have there’ll be enough
for the ordinary work, and we must have a good
hunter or two to let out. Jack can see to the whole
of that department. And then there’s the fishing,’
she continued, noticing a look of growing interest
on the faces of her audience; ‘a mile of our own
trout stream, and I'll answer for it Lord Shandon
will give me a couple of salmon rods in the Black-
water.’

‘Will there be boating on the pond?’ asked
Jem, whose sense of the ridiculous survived his
recent castigation.

‘ And places of interest—places of historic interest
in the neighbourhood,’ Kathleen went on, ignoring
the interruption. ‘Americans love ruins.’
I 56 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Faith, they won’t have to go outside the gates to
see them,’ said Jack.

‘I tell you the first thing we shall do will be
the repairs, sir,’ she said. ‘J am showing you the
attractions of the place. Of course we shall put an
advertisement in the Fie/d and other papers. You
see, papa, you would not be bothered about the
hotel at all. You'd still have the property to manage,
and you'd supply me with all the meat and butter
and eggs we wanted. That would be a further
ia You needn’t even see the people unless you
ike.’

‘Oh !” said the old man, laughing unexpectedly,
‘1 thought you were going to put me in a glass office
in the hall. But how did you think of it all? Indeed
you have a great head.’

She rejoiced at this indication of improved spirits
in her father, and felt that she was making good
progress. ‘We can all help,’ she continued, ‘in
different ways ; but of course, Aunt Bridget, if you
and Aunt Honora feel too proud to be mixed up
with it, you can take rooms in Mallow or go abroad ;
but I think you might find it amusing to stay and
help.’

Aes Mr. O’Brien was overcome with laughter.
‘You've forgotten the bar, Kitty,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t
your aunts look fine there with the young men pay-
ing them compliments through a little window ?’

‘This is cruel, William,’ moaned Miss Bridget.

Miss Honora emphasised the word ‘ unbrotherly!’
with tears.

‘Ah, what nonsense, girls!’ said Mr. O’Brien.
“At your age you ought to be able to take a joke.
If we’re driven to thinking about i it at all, tis well to
make the best joke we can of it.’
1x A COUNCIL OF WAR Ley

‘Indeed, Aunt Bridget,’ said Kathleen, ‘I didn’t
mean to be unkind. If we carry out the plan, and
you care to stay, of course you would be invaluable.
The accounts will have to be kept, and if we can do
that ourselves without paying a book-keeper it will
be a great saving. Well, now, I’ve told you my plan
roughly, and if any one can suggest a better I'll vote
for it. But don’t forget what we have to face if we
do nothing. You all know it too well.’

No suggestion was put forward, and after a brief
silence she concluded: ‘It may only be for a few
years ; the hotel may pay well enough to help us
over the bad times and give us something to put
away towards paying off the charges. Oh, my dears,’
she cried, ‘think of the day when we'll be able to
shut up the hotel and send the last guest off about
his business, and have the old place in our hands free
again !’

‘Good luck to that day,’ said Jem, ‘but ’tis easy
to be thinking about it. When did you propose to
open your hotel, Kitty ?’

‘Perhaps by the beginning of the hunting season,’
she replied, more to the inquiry in her father’s eyes
than to her brother’s question; ‘but we must talk
over all the details together, papa. You are not
against me?’

‘Against you, my dear?’ he said affectionately ;
‘and you trying to save us? But my mind is
muddled with it all, and I'll talk to you again about
it in the morning. It may be God’s will that we
shall be turned out of the old place for our sins and
the sins of our fathers, while the English Govern-
ment, a pack of Mountain Pharisees, desert us and
throw us to the Land League blackguards like a bone
to a dog; or indeed it may be His will to turn me
15 8 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP. 1X

into a hotel-keeper. *Tisn’t for me to say. We
must pray for guidance. Keep that before you, like
good children, and when I kneel down to-night
promise me that I won’t be alone.’

Tears were in the old man’s eyes, and at a sign
from Kathleen the others rose and left the table.
Presently she returned herself and found him still
sitting at the table with his head buried in his hands.
His trouble touched her heart, and tears filled her
eyes also as she bent over and laid her head against his.
CHAPTER X
THE ENEMY’S CAMP

‘We are your Irish question,” Miss Temple-Cloud
had said of her sex to Michael Desmond ; and she,
at least, offered to him some of the perplexities which
our national demeanour presents to the English mind.
He was ready to admit that there was some truth in
her comparison of the attitude of man to woman
with that of England to Ireland. In either case the
stronger had asserted itself, and the weaker had either
been taught the lesson of inferiority by force, or
made the recipient of rival attentions at such times
as the dominant forces were divided. Admitting
this, Desmond was brought to see that his own
attitude towards women had been inconsistent with
his political creed. The independence which in Miss
Temple-Cloud’s view must be achieved by her sex
before man could hope to find her loyal in comrade-
ship and love was itself akin to that for which his
country was striving and he himself labouring with
passionate devotion. But did she express the feminine
mind, or might not her rebellious principles be taken
as those of the exceptional and quite unrepresentative
woman? He took the latter view. In discussing
the perennially interesting relationship with Connor
he found an opponent to his opinions. Perhaps on

159
160 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

no other subject is common experience of so little
value, and what Michael called in his brother ‘the
chivalry of ignorance’ may have been at least as near
to a right conception as the tolerant cynicism which
coloured his own theories.

The brothers were sitting together in the old
room in the tower one evening, each with a disturb-
ing lady in his thoughts, when the disputable subject
was mentioned.

‘It is better for a woman not to be clever,’
said Michael; ‘especially if she is good-looking.
I don’t think you can trust a beautiful woman with
brains.’

He was thinking of Corinna, and was rather
airing a doubt than expressing a conviction.
Connor, mindful of Kathleen O’Brien, whom he
believed to be both beautiful and clever, protested
at once.

‘Brains are her safeguard,’ he replied; ‘they
preserve her from vanity.’

‘They make her understand the value of her
beauty too well,’ said Michael.

‘And suppose she does understand it?’

‘She plots with it; she becomes discontented
with a woman’s proper part of dependence; her
head shows her that she can turn her attractions
to account, and get power by her influence over
men; and her heart suffers.’

‘Oh, but is her part dependence ?’ Connor dis-
puted. ‘I should say it was comradeship. And the
sounder her head is the truer her heart will be.’

‘That’s a purely modern view,’ said Michael.
‘I once inclined to it, but experience has convinced
me that a woman’s heart is her best guide, and
those of ’em with brains are dangerous. They’re
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 161

like greyhounds : the too intelligent “run cunning”
and defeat the purpose they were intended for.’

Connor laughed at the illustration.

‘Besides,’ continued Michael, ‘a woman whose
head rather than her heart guides her begins to ask
why she should be subjected to moral restrictions
which are not enforced on man.’

‘And I expect she’s right,’ said Connor.

‘No, you don’t. You know that the history of
the race has shown that it is impossible to impose
on man the standard of virtue necessary for women,
or to allow them the latitude we take.’

‘Oh, I know,’ said Connor impatiently ; ‘and
I never see a good girl but I feel ashamed of that
theory.’

‘I think you must be in love, old fellow,’
Michael laughed, and returned to his book, leaving
Connor to his reflections and the amusement of
fitting the joints of an old fishing-rod which he
had not used since his boyhood.

There was no doubt about Connor’s condition :
Michael’s case was a less common one. There was
nothing akin to Connor’s chivalrous devotion to
Kathleen O’Brien in his own absorbing interest in
Corinna. Her charm for him had no help from
the glamour which hides the blemishes from the
lover’s eyes. He studied her critically, and the
more adversely he read certain traits in her
character the more he felt the enchantment of her
personality. Reflecting on the rapid growth of their
intimacy he saw that it was she who had made this
possible; and he was left in doubt as to whether
she had been influenced by her ambition to play a
part in politics, or had been drawn towards him
personally somewhat as he had been drawn to

M
162 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

her. The contemplation of the latter supposition
encouraged daring fancies. The circumstances in
which he found her as the betrothed of his hereditary
foe gave such fancies an extraordinary fascination.
To enter the hostile camp, to snatch her from the
very arms of the enemy, would be an exploit fit to
crown all his other triumphs. He did not deceive
himself as to the chances of success in so wild an
enterprise : she was within a couple of months of
her marriage and was apparently well pleased with
the prospect ; and yet there was something in her
character, something in her manner towards himself,
which encouraged him to the adventure.
Circumstances, or perhaps Corinna’s deliberate
cultivation of events, were in his favour. She was
within reach, and the camp unguarded. Her pro-
position of spending a few weeks before her
marriage at Duhallow Court and superintending its
furnishing had been acceptable to Sir Henry for
reasons of his own, though he had pretended to
ridicule it. He had sent servants in advance to
make arrangements for her comfort, entrusted her
to the care and companionship of his sister, and,
after seeing them off, made his own preparations for
visiting Paris and completing the business transaction
which was to free him of moral encumbrances.
How far the delicacy of the situation might make
valedictory demands on his gallantry as well as a
call upon his purse he hardly knew; but at all
events they would be final ones, and with the
memory of Corinna’s captivating beauty in his
thoughts, the contemplation of such a possibility had
little attraction. He had had some indication of her
independence, her pride of womanhood, her con-
tempt for the moral code which men had made for
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 163

themselves ; and, while he hailed these qualities in
the lady who was to be his wife with satisfaction, he
had been somewhat uncomfortable since his engage-
ment in the knowledge of his own nonconformity
to her standard. Asa man of the world he felt no
regrets on account of past experiences, but as a lover
he was anxious to obliterate all records of these.
They were perhaps a possession, an asset, when
viewed solely from his own point of view, but from
that of the forthcoming partnership they became a
bad debt to be written off. Thus in his conception
was a man educated to be a good husband ; for since
at one time or another of his life he must seek
experiences, how much better that they should be
done with before his marriage. He therefore said
good-bye to Corinna, feeling that when they next
met it would be on equal terms—he with the
inevitable tribute which Nature imposes on her
strong sons fairly paid, and she, as Nature aims to
have it in her chosen daughters, without debt to
cancel. It was a point of view readily acceptable
among men, and expressed in terms of the sowing of
‘wild oats” not seldom concurred in by charitable
ladies ; but it was of all others the conclusion which
aroused antagonism in the spirit of the girl he was
going to marry. She did not know that he held it ;
she had taken his word in denial of the scandal
which her father had brought to her; but a truer
knowledge of her character would have taught him
that he would have done better, if he wished to win
her love, to abandon the theory and confess the
trespass, than to cherish the one and conceal the
other. He was satisfied that he was acting now
with discretion, and a glance backward assured him
that his life had been laid out to advantage, a glance
164 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

forward that he was making an admirable provision
for the future. In addition to her personal attrac-
tions Corinna had all the qualities which a man in his
position could ask for in a wife. Already she had
helped him; it was due to her influence that the
Prime Minister and Desmond had met, with results
which promised well for his ambition. He had
come into contact with Desmond but little, and on
the few occasions when they met he had accepted his
frigid demeanour towards himself without offence,
knowing that the good work was proceeding, and
that he stood as its promoter in the eyes of his party.
There was now little doubt that the Chief Secretary-
ship of Ireland would be offered to him if the
present Government were re-elected; and he not
only recognised how much he was indebted to his
clever fiancée for the establishment of his claims, but
saw how eminently fitted she was to fulfil the part
of wife to so exalted a personage. As to the
intimacy which had grown between Corinna and
Michael Desmond during the negotiations, and the
marked contrast of his manner to her and to himself,
he had little concern. She was playing his game for
him, and he had equal confidence in her skill and her
discretion. A word from his sister, always watchful
and suspicious, as to the propriety of the growing
comradeship was met with ridicule ; though perhaps
if he had known that there was a probability of its
continuance during her visit to Ireland, and this with
fore-knowledge on both sides, he might have treated
the matter less airily.

As it fell out Desmond was the companion of
the ladies during part of their journey. Travelling
by Milford and Cork, after spending a couple of
nights on the way with friends in Clifton, they
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 165

encountered him in the lamplight of the docks as
they were going on board the steamer. There,
from the deference he commanded, he might have
already been in Ireland, and Miss Desmond, though
hardly pleased at the meeting, recognised its
advantage in the instant attention they received in
priority to the clamorous crowd of earlier arrivals.
She was glad to go to her cabin while they were
still in the smooth water of the Sound, and was too
much occupied with the problem of avoiding sea-
sickness to trouble much about the danger of the
intimacy which was being advanced on deck in the
starlight.

It wasin these hours that the idea of daring to
become his kinsman’s rival had first taken hold of
Michael Desmond ; it was then Corinna had made
him feel the full charm of her womanhood, and
without a word of definite encouragement seemed
to have invited him to try his chances. Before
long all the passengers had gone below and these
two had the ship almost to themselves, Corinna’s
preference of the deck to the cabin being rewarded
by restful waters. There was no approach to love-
making on his part, no coquetting on hers; but
in all their talk there was a recognition of mutual
interest, a feeling that there already existed an
understanding between them which might not always
remain unexpressed. Contrary to his habit he was
unreserved in speaking of himself, his aims, and
his love of his country. She had already assured
him of some sympathy with his cause, and he aimed
at winning her altogether to his views, appealing more
to her head than to her sentiments, and growing
eloquent about statistics and economic details on
which ladies are neither expected to feel interest
166 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

nor have opinions ; and in thus placing her intel-
lectually on his own level he had unconsciously
chosen the one form of flattery she was ready to
accept. He pleaded for her sympathy with Ireland
as ardently as a lover might have pleaded for her
hand; and in winning it there was a feeling of
triumph on his part, on hers of willing surrender,
remotely akin to the lover’s relationship. To him,
indeed, the cause of his country had never looked
so beautiful as when he was uplifting it before the
eyes of this daughter of the enemy ; and, to her,
something of his enthusiasm was imparted, though
it was the man not the principles that fired her
imagination. And through their talk the muffled
rhythm of the engines and the gentle ripple of the
water against the ship’s sides made a pleasant under-
tone, and the mystery of the starlight above the
summer sea threw a glamour on their pathway.
England was far away, the first lights of the Irish
coast low on the western horizon, before Corinna
went to her cabin, leaving Desmond to walk the
deck alone and dream of strange possibilities until
the sun rose and the green shores of the harbour
and the white walls of Queenstown shone over the
water in a golden mist.

For a few days after their return they did not
meet. Miss Desmond resigned herself to the
prospect of some dull weeks, for the Shandons were
not at home, and she had no interest in making new
acquaintances in the county; but she felt she was
performing a duty in keeping a sisterly eye on
Corinna. She admired her; but more than ever
since they had become intimate did she question the
wisdom of her brother’s choice. Corinna’s views
about men seemed a sort of blasphemy to her. She
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 167

herself was ready to accept man, as he was indicated
for her in her prayer-book, with the ready loyalty
which a good citizen gives to a king whose private
conduct (and look at his temptations !) may not be
quite all that might be wished.

Corinna was really less interested in the arrange-
ment of the house and the planning of new gardens
than she appeared to be. Her mind was constantly
occupied with the thought of her coming marriage,
more as it might have been if she were deliberating
whether or not to accept a proposal than as one con~
templating a thing settled. Her state of mind was
peculiar, for she could find no definite reason for her
restlessness. Sir Henry Desmond had not won
her heart, but she recognised the improbability of
any one winning it. She liked him, she admired
Michael Desmond, she was in love with neither.
Socially the match she was making was a brilliant
one. She would be a great lady ; she would find the
opportunities she desired of making her influence felt
among the leaders of men. And_her husband! his past
had no doubt been much the same as that of other men
of the world, and henceforth he would be loyal to her.
Why, therefore, should she vex herself about those
episodes in his life which her father had referred to?
She thought of Michael Desmond with a conviction
that his views as to the relationship of the sexes were
not unlike Sir Henry’s and those of most men of
the world. Where was the really chivalrous gentle-
men who held her views?—who could approach a
girl he expected to be spotless without the ghosts
of old secrets turning uneasily in their graves?
She laughed, picturing him in the guise of the
mild curate or the respectable burgess, and rejected
him in favour of the pleasanter type of man
168 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

whom she had met in the world and knew to be
companionable.

She nevertheless remained discontented with
her prospect, fretted with the feeling that she
was compromising her principles. ‘If only,’ she
thought, ‘I had something to confess or to con-
ceal myself it would put us on equal terms.’
To drop to a man’s standard since he could not be
uplifted to hers was not an ennobling fancy, but
in playing with it it seemed to imply to her less
a sacrifice of feminine honour than one made in its
vindication.

It was understood in the neighbourhood that the
ladies at Duhallow Court were not expecting to
receive calls. The rector’s wife went to see them,
and was asked to report them as in a state of picnic
among furniture vans, and Kathleen O’Brien, who in
response to a special invitation from Corinna, whom
she met at the rectory, walked over one morning to
inspect progress and give her advice as a gardener, was
the only other visitor. She was a little in awe and yet
curious to see more of this beautiful young English
woman who, though no older than herself, had the
manner and bearing which spoke of experience of
that great world which lay beyond her own horizon.
At the ball she had watched her with almost resent-
ful admiration, imagining her as proud and reserved
except perhaps to the chosen few. She was surprised
when they met again to find her something more
than merely friendly,—anxious, it seemed, to establish
comradeship from the outset, and much more
inclined to talk of the county, the people, and the
things on which Kathleen had the knowledge than
of her own world.

‘And you’re not engaged ?’ Corinna said to her
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 169

as they came down to the river side after finishing
their inspection of the gardens.

‘Indeed I’m not,’ Kathleen answered. ‘I’ve no
time to think of such things with a family already to
look after. We’re all too poor here to get married,
and we know it; so we just flirt with each other
knowing it means nothing, like people who play
reckless cards when there’s no money on the game.
Indeed, I’m in no hurry.’

Problems as to the relationship of the sexes had
never troubled her fresh and healthy mind. She
knew what it was to face definite tangible troubles,
not subjective perplexities ; and when the thought of
love came, as it must come at times to the least
sentimental of girls, it suggested to her not questions,
but an answer to questions—not problems, but a
solution of things in life that had seemed difficult.
She liked men as comrades, and could give them
her friendship, which was in itself a safeguard against
intrusion, as the open gate may be a better security
against trespassers than a warning notice. The one
man who had touched her imagination was Michael
Desmond, the hero of her childhood—her hero still
in spite of the worst that could be said of him ; but
though she did not closely examine her feelings for
him, she never pictured him as a lover. Indeed, men
as admirers occupied her attention far less than might
have been expected of a young lady who possessed in
so considerable a degree the quality of attraction.

Before she left, Miss Temple-Cloud mentioned
Desmond’s name.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied, in answer to her question,
‘I have known him since I was a child. He saved
my life then.’

She was pressed for details of the incident.
170 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS —cuar.

‘ He is exactly the sort of man I can picture doing
such a thing,’ Corinna said when she had heard the
story. ‘You might find a hundred men brave enough
for it for one who would do it. They would not have
seen what to do, or would not have been prompt
enough. It’s the way in his public career—he acts
while his opponents are considering. But politics
don’t interest you.’

‘Only as far as they affect our rents,’ Kathleen
replied.

‘Ah yes, you have an interest in the stakes.
Mine is merely in the game itself and the players.
Have you seen anything of Mr. Desmond lately ?’

‘Not since he returned,’ Kathleen answered.

‘Nor I,’ said Corinna. ‘We travelled over part
of the way together, and received more than our
share of attention in consequence, and some of the
discomforts of a royal progress, for at Cork station
we could hardly get across the platform to a carriage.
I have been expecting him to call.’

‘Oh, I don’t think he will call here,’ said Kathleen.
‘I mean,’ she added in some confusion, ‘ there is a
family tradition about it.’

‘Do tell me what you mean,’ Corinna asked with
great interest.

‘Have you heard nothing about the old feud
between his branch of the family and yours—Sir
Henry’s?’ Kathleen asked, a little anxious as to
whether she had been indiscreet in her allusion.

‘Something that took place generations ago, but
I have no idea what it was about and thought it was
forgotten. But the tradition? Please tell me what
it is. You see I am to be one of the family and it
interests me.’

‘I believe the quarrel was about the property,’
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 171

Kathleen replied, ‘and that ever since it took place
none of the Desmonds of Duhallow have ever been
to the Court. I think they made a sort of vow never
to cross the threshold till the place belonged to them
again.’

‘And you don’t think he will come to see me,
then ?’ Corinna asked, with an amused look.

‘I hardly know. You may be able to break the
tradition, but the Desmonds are not easy to influence.’

‘ Well, we shall see,’ said Corinna. ‘ Now tell me
what day I may come and see your garden.’

‘To-morrow, any day, Miss Temple-Cloud ; but
tis only weeds and ruins we have to show you. And
to think what it might be! When you see it you
will be able to guess what it feels like to be poor.’

‘I have always been poor too. Perhaps if you
marry a rich man and have as many gardens as you
like, you may not care more for the garden. You
can now feel that your flowers are your own.’

‘Indeed, I don’t know,’ Kathleen laughed. ‘I
suppose there’s a mortgage on them.’

‘What can a woman call her own?’ said Corinna,
with an unreserve that surprised Kathleen. ‘ What
can she call her own except her maidenhood? And
if she keeps that too long it loses all its value.
Perhaps it’s because I’m going to be married so soon
that I’m in love with my freedom, and almost envy
you for not being engaged.’

Kathleen’s only comment was a smile. ‘I'll ex-
pect you on Friday afternoon,’ she said as they parted,
‘and I hope Miss Desmond will come too.’

As she walked home her thoughts were a good
deal occupied with her new acquaintance. There was
something in her beauty which disturbed her, like
those passages of music which trouble the heart while
172 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

they satisfy the ear. And in much that she had said
she felt there was a meaning to which she had not
the key. The sight, however, of a mason at work
on the piers of the front gates put Miss Temple-
Cloud and her perplexing remarks in the background,
and she returned to the consideration of the progress
of her hotel scheme.

Immediately after her departure Corinna went to
her room and wrote a note to Desmond to say that
they were beginning to conquer their confusion, and
that she would be disengaged next morning if he
could find time to call.

He came, but did not cross the threshold, nor was
he on this occasion invited to do so. It was the first
of many meetings. An hour with Corinna in the
garden, a ride with her before breakfast on a dewy
September morning, and an evening walk through
the fields by the river, following each other at short
intervals, changed him from a calculating to a
passionate lover. And if there were any chance of
success for him it was helped by the change. De-
liberation and caution may be the fitter tactics for a
long campaign, but when the time is short and the
position desperate, the fortress, if it be won at all,
must be taken by storm. It was as the betrothed of
his enemy she had at first seemed to him so alluring
a prize: now the attraction was wholly her own.
She had won him and he knew it, which meant that he
knew that there was no possibility of his turning back
in his attempt to win her. Heart and head were
quickened, and, as the fires grew, the will rose to keep
them under control, even as it had been in his political
career, when the stronger the popular emotion which
had carried him along the surer had grown his self-
command. As to asking himself whether it was
x THE ENEMY’S CAMP 173

honourable to attempt to win a lady who had pro-
mised her hand to another, he would have been as
likely to question his right of endeavouring to win a
political vote pledged elsewhere. In war, scruples are
the first sacrifices; and though the war had not
actually been declared, though no definite word had
been spoken which revealed him as his kinsman’s
rival, it was only the word that was wanting : it was
imminent. The time for his great venture was at
hand, and his heart was a boy’s at the prospect.
CHAPTER XI
DESMOND AND CORINNA

THE meetings of Desmond and Miss Temple-Cloud
attracted attention and invited comment in many
places. Mrs. Desmond observed and was thought-
ful, but said nothing. Connor made a jesting
allusion to the sudden friendship in a conversation
with Kathleen O’Brien, to find her apparently with-
out any interest in the subject. Miss Desmond was
growing anxious. She had placed herself on sentry
duty, and felt called upon to challenge the intrusive
presence in the camp. She began with a somewhat
timid protest. Her ‘Don’t you think, Corinna,
that Mr. Desmond’s visits are rather frequent, and
it might be as well to discourage them?” was met
with a laughing rejoinder, ‘I would not discourage
him for the world: he is one of the few men I have
met in my life who are worth knowing’; but she
reopened the subject one afternoon a day or two
later when Corinna had just come in from a ride
with Desmond, and this time she spoke plainly.
‘You must forgive me for saying that I don’t
think you are acting discreetly, dear,’ she said, with
a look which emphasised the words. ‘Of course,
1 do not suggest for a moment that your friendship
with Mr. Desmond is undesirable, but there might
174
cuar. xx DESMOND AND CORINNA 175

be misinterpretations. People are so ready to gossip,
and if any foolish talk came to Henry’s ears .

‘Did he suggest that you should keep an eye
on me?’ Corinna asked.

‘I am his sister, Corinna.’ Miss Desmond
preserved her dignity.

‘Have you written to express your fears to
Henry?’

‘No; but it might be my duty todo so. Iam
older than you, Corinna, and you must not be angry
with me for speaking plainly. It is not fair to
Henry in his absence that you should be so con-
stantly in the society of a man who is no friend
of his. I am sure, when you think it over, you
will see that I am right.’

‘But supposing that I should not be able to see
it from your point of view?’

‘I should not consent to remain here any longer,
and you could not remain alone. But I am sure
you will be sensible. You must know that it is
painful to me to criticise your conduct.’

‘I have heard that the severest critics are
disappointed authors,’ said Corinna, leaving Miss
Desmond to puzzle at the meaning of a reply which
she suspected to be sarcastic.

The effect of the warning was exactly the reverse
of its intention. Corinna despatched a note to her
forbidden friend suggesting the following day for
a walk they had projected to Kilcolman Castle, and
when the time came she set out on the expedition
exhilarated by the reflection that she was still her
own mistress.

She felt it necessary to make some excuse to
Desmond for having sent for him. ‘My time is
shorter than I had expected,’ she told him. ‘ Miss

 
176 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS —cuar.

Desmond is talking about returning; she finds it
dull here.’

‘And do you not ?” said he.

‘I delight in it. I am surprised to find myself
so contented in this out-of-the-world place. I have
a feeling of freedom here. I can understand your
love of Ireland. You have made me share it.’

‘I am very proud of that,’ he said.

‘I wish I could do as much with you for England.’

‘England !’ he replied. ‘No! and do you care?
It is your sex, not your country, inspires you. If
I am a rebel, so are you. If I am for Ireland, you
are for women. If you are on my side, I am on
yours. We have made each other understand.’

She felt a glow of pleasure and pride at his
admission, and she gave him a look full of gratitude.

‘We need champions,’ she said. ‘The world
is against us—nearly every man, and indeed many
women. We are guarded. Is that not enough to
make us ready to elude our guards? Miss Desmond
has protested against my meeting you.’

He heard it with satisfaction, recognising that
the confession established an understanding between
them.

‘On Sir Henry’s account ?’ he ventured.

‘Possibly! She is a good sister.’

‘ Perhaps it was on mine.’

‘Why yours?’ she asked.

“Well, sometimes it is the men who want pro-
tection. A man may be in danger of growing too
deeply interested where the most he can hope for
is friendship.’

He spoke these words with the tone of one
discussing generalities, and without looking at her ;
but the meaning was too significant to escape notice.
e DESMOND AND CORINNA 177

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘it is almost impossible for
a man to care for a woman disinterestedly.’

‘Quite impossible,’ he answered. ‘The more
he cares, the greater sacrifices he would make for
her, the more he wants to possess her—or at least
her love.’

‘You make a distinction between possessing her
and her love.’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and yet either would be poverty
without the other.’

‘Mr. Desmond, I am interested. ‘Tell me which
poverty would you choose? I mean, if you were
in love, would you, if you had the chance, marry the
girl knowing she could not love you, or see her
married to another and know that her heart was
yours?’

‘Her body without her soul, or her soul without
her body ?’ he put the question.

‘Yes, it would be that.’

‘I am afraid it would be the ignoble choice. I
could not bear to see her married to another.’

‘I expected it,’ she said. ‘There is the difference
between a man and a woman. I would make the
other choice.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘That is the de-
cision of Love untouched by Passion. Men cannot
separate these. Some women may, but you—are
you of these ?’

‘Perhaps we do not know ourselves until we are
tested,’ she answered with a slight flush.

Such conversations as these brought them to a
closer intimacy each time they met. Nevertheless
it is a difficult step from discussion to confession
when the subject is love. Desmond had come near
to taking it, and perhaps Corinna perceived this,

N
178 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

for she suddenly changed the topic and called his
attention to the beauty of the pathway.

‘This is really the sweetest little stream in the
world,’ she said. ‘It is a mountain stream that has
lost its way in the meadows. I love the rocky bed
and the little rapids and clear pools between grassy
lowland banks. I know it below the surface too.
I have had a dip nearly every morning in the pool
above the garden.’

The open-air life had brought a new colour to her
face, and had given the pale beauty which had sug-
gested the moonlight to Desmond a warmer glow.
If not more lovely now than on that night at Shandon
House when she had first fascinated him, she was
more winsome; her beauty, if less striking, was
more satisfying,—brought nearer to the heart, it
seemed, by the loving touch of nature.

He looked at her with an admiration which it
was difficult not to express, and turned away to
avoid her questioning eyes.

‘So you are going to be married,’ he said, with
apparent irrelevance,

‘If you please, sir,’ she replied with a bow.

‘Where have you learnt so much about men and
women? You are very young although you are
so wise.’

‘You are very fatherly although you are a
bachelor. And why? I really think a man ought
not to be allowed to marry if he waits too long.
You know, in the English’ public schools, if a boy
doesn’t earn his promotion he has to leave.’

Desmond laughed. ‘Unless he is extra good
at games. But your illustration will not work out.
Some of us—I am one of them—have had more
important duties. I suppose I have been waiting,
x1 DESMOND AND CORINNA 179

expecting to fall in love. It is bad, perhaps, to
wait too long; but it is better than deciding too
soon.”

‘For a man, perhaps,’ she said, as though on her
defence ; ‘ but women must decide when their oppor-
tunity comes. Marriage is our career. Men may
marry whom they like and where they love, no
matter how humbly they choose, and make their
careers independently. We have no such choice.’

‘I believe a woman’s career is to marry the man
she loves best, whatever the consequences may be.’

‘ And suppose no one has won her love, must she
remain unmarried ?’

‘It depends on the woman. Some of them grow
fond of their husbands. Some fall in love when it
is too late. But, believe me, there is no prison on
earth so dark as that which some women—those who
could realise their freedom in love—make for them-
selves in a loveless marriage. And turn to the other
picture, where in choosing love she finds her career,
where her husband’s ambition is hers, and his best
achievements are inspired by her. In giving her
love she finds it written in all he does, whether
it be in his service of her, or his fellow-creatures,
or his country.’

He spoke with unusual warmth of feeling, in
contrast to his usual self-contained manner, and the
purport of his words so nearly applied to ‘her that
it seemed as though he had read her heart, and
exposed the very doubts which she endeavoured to
conceal from herself. She faced him boldly.

‘You speak very pointedly,’ she said. ‘I hope
you are not making me your text.’

‘You are not like other girls,’ he replied. ‘I
confess I was thinking of possibilities.’
180 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Are you not extraordinarily presumptuous ? ’

‘I am extraordinarily interested.’

She failed to find the words she wanted to express
reproof coupled with condonation, and remained
silent, thus allowing him a new foothold of intimacy ;
but before he had time to follow up his advantage
she checked him. ‘Mr. Desmond,’ she said, ‘I
don’t think I will go on to the Castle this morning.
I begin to fear Mrs. Desmond might not care for
my visit. Of course I understand her not calling on
me, as I know she goes nowhere ; but from what I
have heard of your family tradition the future wife
of Sir Henry Desmond could hardly be welcome.’

‘For your own sake, and as my friend, you would
be welcome. My mother would be honoured by
your visit,’ he said.

‘But these are not my credentials. Shall we go
back ?’ she objected, turning as she spoke. ‘ What
is the old feud between the branches of your family ?
Henry does not even seem to know of it, but I gather
from something Miss O’Brien said that your people
still feel strongly about it.’

‘I suppose those who are injured have longer
memories than those who inflict the wrong,’ said
Desmond.

‘But tell me what it is. I might become the
peacemaker.’

He was reluctant to tell the story which awakened
his bitterest feelings, and could not be related with-
out showing her that his contempt extended to the
present representative of the unforgiven traitor. He
resented, too, the diversion in their talk from the
intimate themes which had been leading in the
direction he desired.

‘We were disinherited,’ he said, ‘ by the action of
xI DESMOND AND CORINNA 181

Sir Henry’s ancestor. The lands he holds were ours.
It is not a pleasant story.’

She laughed. ‘ Henry had strong ancestors, then.
I shall think the more highly of him; I believe in
ancestry. Of course long ago it was the strong who
disinherited the weak.’

She could hardly have said anything so potent to
arouse his anger as in this suggestion of Sir Henry’s
descent from a strong and masterful branch of the
family which had shown its right of might over his,
the weaker, line.

‘It was the strength that Jacob showed in sup-
planting Esau,’ he said. ‘I cannot suppose you
admire that. He was the younger brother, and he
took advantage of a scandalous law which enabled
him to disinherit the elder by forswearing his faith
and becoming a Protestant. He was a traitor to his
country, his faith, and his family ; and the bitterest
thing in the whole world to me is the thought that
you are going to marry his descendant.’

‘Oh, Mr. Desmond,’ she cried, ‘ how is it possible
for you and me to be friends ?’

The outburst of hereditary hatred had carried
with it a disclosure of his love not in the manner
he had intended. He made no attempt at evasion.
‘No,’ he said, ‘if you marry Sir Henry Desmond
we cannot be friends—not because I should hate
him, but because I love you.” He spoke calmly, with
nothing of the lover’s fervour, and the look he gave
her as he spoke had more of command than entreaty.

She was surprised, and for a moment remained
silent. Then she turned to Desmond with a laugh
that was not quite natural. ‘Oh, my friend, are
you amusing yourself? Are you playing with me?
‘You do not wish me to take you seriously?’
182 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Yes,’ he replied, looking at her steadily. <I
love you, and you know I am serious.’

‘Love!’ she echoed. ‘Yes, I have heard that
wicked word from many men, but I did not expect it
from you. I have heard it from young men who
wanted to marry me, and from old men I have made
fools of ; and I have heard it from men married to
good women, who dishonoured the word in speaking
it. There may be love in the world, but I have not
found it. In years of service, in self-sacrifice, love
may prove itself ; but this desire which a man feels
for a woman who has personal attractions is not love.
You do not know me. How can you love me?’

‘I know you as no other man has known you or
will know you,’ he replied, controlling himself to
speak calmly. ‘It is because I know you that I love
you. I have read your heart and I have found my
comrade, and if your beauty has won my admiration
does that make my love less true? Because I cannot
look at you without delight, is my spirit blind? It
has seen its mate, and henceforth it is wedded or
widowed.’

Though he spoke with outward composure there
was an intense fervour in his words. She found it
dificult to reply. Conflicting emotions of triumph
and regret possessed her. She could not think
clearly. She hardly knew the nature of her feelings
towards him. Without being in love with him she
felt the magnetism of his influence. She could not
disguise it from herself that she had paved the way
for him to his declaration, and knowing the hypocrisy
of her subterfuge she sought refuge behind conven-
tional safeguards.

‘I ought not to have made this possible,’ she
said. ‘You forget that I have promised my love to
XI DESMOND AND CORINNA 183

another, It is dishonourable for you to speak these
things and for me to listen.’

‘Don’t mock me,’ he cried, ‘with a word.
Honour! You have both the heart and the brains
to know what that means. If you were a wife whose
husband loved her, a mother with children—even a
girl for whom the man she had promised to love had
proved his devotion—there might be some virtue in
the word. But what is he? :

He had a momentary impulse to speak of Sir
Henry as he knew of him in his past relations with
women, but he checked himself. As a gentleman
the point of honour forbade him to repeat scandal
about his rival. A great deal may be fair in love
and war, and Desmond had few scruples, but here
was a limit.

‘Is a man,’ he continued, ‘to be denied his chance
of winning a woman because he comes late in the
field? His chances are lessened, but should he be
forbidden the right to fight for her? If the man
who is first is not strong enough to hold her against
all comers, does he deserve her? My God, if I had
been first there would have been no rival!’

The passionate conviction of his words threw a
spell over her, but she felt bound to make a protest
against his assumption.

‘I have told you I do not love you,’ she said.

‘Dear girl,’ he said, ‘are you sure of it?’

‘Mr. Desmond, you must leave me. I cannot
listen to any more. If it is possible I still would
keep your friendship.’

‘May I see you again?’

She kept her eyes on the ground as she replied.
‘If you can be my friend. But please leave me now.’

‘I will try to do everything you ask of me,’ he

 
184 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

said ; ‘but promise me not to leave Ireland without
seeing me once more.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I will promise that.’

She had dismissed him, but the look he gave her
as they parted was not that of a man who has been
rejected.

Corinna when alone tried, with an excited imagina-
tion, to face calmly the position in which she
found herself. She did not love the man she was
going to marry, neither did she love Desmond : she
merely preferred him. If she had loved him she
would have asked no other excuse for accepting his
love in spite of her plighted troth. She knew that
she would have done it, even now at the eleventh
hour, with all her wedding arrangements made, and
in face of the world’s criticism. Love would have
exonerated her, but not preference. Apart from
honourable considerations, too, as a young woman of
the world who balanced advantages, this preference
was not sufficient, it seemed to her, to compensate for
the sacrifices. Her alliance with Sir Henry Desmond
assured her position in society; it had the approval
of the Prime Minister ; it gave her wealth as well as
influence. Desmond was a poor man comparatively ;
he was a Roman Catholic; and though he had made
a name in the world and was worshipped in his
country, as his wife she would be removed from
those circles of society which she aspired to lead.
She made the most of these practical considerations
to fortify herself against an inclination to remember
Desmond’s confession with pleasure. His bold plead-
ing in the teeth of exceptional difficulties appealed to
her. It was a wooing such as she had dreamt of,
and yet she was not won. She admired and yet
resented his masterfulness. He had asserted his
x! DESMOND AND CORINNA 185

strength as a man in the attack, and she had hardly
maintained her defences as a woman in meeting it.
She had promised to see him again, and would then
assert her freedom from his influence. And he loved
her, it seemed! ‘And there is no reward a girl can
give a man,’ she thought ; ‘there is nothing between
marriage and rejection.” Her mind was a whirl of
new emotions as she walked homeward.

The duel between Miss Desmond and Corinna
was renewed at lunch-time. The elderly lady was
seriously concerned on her brother’s account, but
she made no further direct remonstrance with the
wilful girl. She was determined to act decisively.

‘I have made all arrangements to leave for
England to-morrow by the middle day train to
Dublin,’ she told her. ‘I mentioned that we should
be going to your maid, so that she might get on
with your packing.’

‘So she told me,’ said Corinna. ‘She waited to
get my instructions, but I suppose she as well as Sir
Henry’s other servants are at present under your
orders. I have no intention of leaving to-morrow.’

‘My dear Corinna, you cannot possibly remain
alone !’

‘Of course, if you think so, you can stay.’

‘I have given you my reasons once,’ said Miss
Desmond. ‘I have spoken to you asa sister, with
your own welfare as much as my brother’s at heart.
You have continued to act in a way which I cannot
possibly countenance. If I have spoken my mind
too severely, forgive me, but I entreat you to be
reasonable. If it will hurry you to get ready by
to-morrow I will make it the day after.’

‘We had arranged to stay for another fortnight,
I think,’ said Corinna.
186 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHar.

“Yes, if special circumstances had not arisen to
make a change of plans necessary.’

“I cannot admit any necessity.’

‘You have only to tell me that you will dis-
continue your interviews with this Mr. Desmond
and I will gladly remain.’

*Oh,’ cried Corinna, ‘am I a school-girl, or a
slave being safeguarded for a harem? I do not
wish to speak rudely, but I am indifferent whether
you go or stay. I shall choose my own time.’

Her outburst of anger almost frightened Miss
Desmond, but it did nothing to shake her determina-
tion. She rose and left the room with a pale face,
knowing that she had done her duty, and wishing that
it might have been possible for her brother to have
witnessed the scene. She believed he was about to
marry a girl he did not know, and that trouble was
in store for him.

An afternoon’s meditation had a sobering effect
on Corinna. Since Michael Desmond had declared
his love for her, and as she had no intention of
accepting it, she saw that it would be unwise on all
accounts, and unfair to him, if she allowed the inter-
views to continue. She had promised to see him
again before she left Ireland, but it was best that the
interview should be a short one and quickly over.
Not knowing the cause which had influenced her,
Miss Desmond was somewhat taken by surprise when
Corinna abruptly reopened the subject after dinner
that evening.

«I think I will come with you to-morrow,’ she said.

‘Forgive me, Corinna, if I seemed to distrust

ou,’ Miss Desmond murmured.

‘J shall leave you to explain our reasons for

anticipating our time or departure.’
XI DESMOND AND CORINNA 187
Miss Desmond looked disturbed.

‘I have no objection to your giving your real
reason,’ Corinna added. ‘No, really, I don’t want to
perplex you. You can say I could not bear to be
parted from Henry any longer, and I dragged you
back against your will, if you like.’

‘Perhaps to-morrow may be hurrying you a little,
dear,’ said Miss Desmond. ‘Shall we say the day
after, or even Friday?’

‘Oh no,’ Corinna answered. ‘Iam sure you are
not enjoying yourself, so let it be to-morrow.’

For answer Miss Desmond kissed her cheek, not
without an effort.

The morrow, however, brought letters which
again altered Corinna’s decision, and were, indeed,
destined to have a remarkable effect on her sub-
sequent conduct. The first was from Sir Henry
Desmond, and was dated two days previously from
his club in London.

My pearest Corrnna—I have heard you ridicule the
daily letters of lovers, and I remember the epistle you
invented in which the absent gentleman described the
purchase of a piece of household furniture in the language
of passion. But what must you think of five whole days
without a line from me? I could hardly have believed it
possible myself, and the only excuse I am going to make is
that I cannot even allow myself to think of my darling
when my mind is occupied with business details and small
worries. Now my uncongenial duties are nearly over, and
by the time we meet I hope to have all my arrears of work
completed, and nothing to prevent me from devoting my
whole time to the study of the one theme which has become
to me worth attention, and which I am more than ever
thankful I have neglected hitherto.

Corinna involuntarily shrugged her shoulders and
continued to read :
188 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Your last dear letter gave me a delightful account of your
picnic life at Duhallow, and the picture I have of your
coming in hungry for breakfast after your dip in the river
—lI had no idea swimming was one of your accomplish-
ments—and looking as fresh and beautiful as the morning
itself, almost impels me to take the next train and come over
to Ireland. Every day seems wasted now that 1 am parted
from you. Lucia wrote also, but less enthusiastically, about
the place. She has become rather a creature of habits, and
cannot, like you, enter into the unusual and wild life of the
country, and the service at the church does not seem to
suit her. I am really glad she has had the opportunity of
getting to know you well. Like all good sisters, she has
always thought there was no girl good enough to marry her
brother, but I am convinced by now that she has come to
the conclusion that even I, the wonderful brother, am
unworthy of you.

Corinna smiled and continued :

So you have seen something of Michael Desmond.
Fenton tells me that the Prime Minister is more than satis-
fied with the result of the negotiations, and is confident the
English people will accept the solution of the Irish question
which the Bill provides. He always believes the people will
see sooner or later as he sees, and in this case I believe he is
right. No one knows better than he how much we owe to
you, and the more I think of the way in which you managed
our irreconcilable Irish leader the prouder I feel of you. If
the Bill goes through, as I believe it will, we shall have
little more of the Irish question and less of Michael
Desmond. In Ireland it is the agitator, not the statesman,
who is popular, and in an Irish Parliament he will cease to
be a power. He is a disturbing, not a governing genius.
But this is not our affair. The good of England, indeed
of Ireland, concerns us, not his career. If we get in, there is
no doubt I am to have the Chief Secretaryship and—you have
made me ambitious—later on who knows what? London
is empty, the club is deserted, and nothing but business has
kept me here. The Careys have asked me for Sunday to
Taplow, and I may go. ‘Ten days or a fortnight at latest I
xt DESMOND AND CORINNA 189

suppose will bring you back to me, or shall I come over for
you? I am growing impatient. The Prime Minister is
taking immense interest in the wedding. Some of the most
interesting people in the country I hear have invitations to
stay at Wilton Towers for the occasion, and it promises to be
very brilliant. Iam glad Lady Violet is going to be a brides-
maid ; that completes the number, I think. I am waiting
for your return to choose their presents. I expect you will
find the month you have allowed yourself for final prepara-
tions almost too short—for me it is far too long. Good-
bye, dearest girl ; I know that you do not like the look of
the language of love on paper, so I must repress myself and
keep the best things I have to say until we meet.—Ever
your devoted Henry Desmonp.

She spent some thoughtful moments before taking
up her other letter, and, after opening it, she read to
the second sheet before it aroused her interest. It
came from her friend Valerie Pernet, now Comtesse
de Prayon, whom she had known first at school and
afterwards as a companion in a long European tour.
This had been before her friend’s marriage, and at a
time when Corinna had been glad of the opportunity
of seeing something of the life of foreign capitals in
the society of a family of position, without expense
to herself and in exchange for the lightest and
pleasantest of duties.

The letter, which was dated from Paris, began by
an expression of sorrow from her friend that she
could not come to England for Corinna’s wedding
on account of numerous engagements, and went on
to relate her recent gaieties and occupations.

*It is as a married woman,” she said, ‘that one embraces
the pleasures of life: not that your husband furnishes these
for you, but he is your conductor towards them. Ah, you
will understand: just as your mountain guide is necessary
until you have reached the summit and look out on the
190 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cur.

prospect. Corinna, my beloved, you were always to me as
the elder, and gave me many lectures on the conduct of
girls towards men. Now I have pleasure in finding myself
the adviser. To men you would give no greater freedom than
to girls ; you would make no allowance for their indiscretions
before marriage. ‘That is your English view, and it makes
of men impostors—they pretend to be what you would have
them—and they deceive you. In France we do not ask the
impossible, and the men we have not compelled to lie to us
before marriage are truer to us afterwards. I hear you cry
out with indignant protest, but you will see I am right.
May you be very happy in your marriage. By the way—
but is this a secret, perhaps, which I should not disclose >—
I have seen Sir Henry Desmond. But you will know he
has been here since five days. If not, dear friend, who have
so often given me good advice, it is good that you should
know. You see that I cannot help showing that I enjoy
finding myself in the position of mentor to you, and I speak,
not to take a little revenge on you for some things you said
of my Count before our marriage, but because I really
would give my friend useful counsel. If Sir Henry has
posed for you in the attitude the English lady asks and
would have you think him, like that dear King Arthur of
Caer poet Tennyson whom we read so often at Miss

arley’s, then I say it is good you should know that he is
like all the others. You know it. You use your knowledge
discreetly and it will serve you well. He knows you have
both eyes to see and charity to overlook, and he is your
friend, and your freedom is secure. Men have this freedom
before marriage, we may take ours afterwards. But in truth
Sir Henry is capering—but that word is too undignified—
very near to the altar, and, knowing my friend’s views, I
confess I was angry to see him occupied in another direction
within a month of claiming her. No doubt it is an old
attachment, and Miss Bell has some charms for men,
though she is but a poor actress in French eyes. Twice I
have myself seen them driving together, and my husband
says he is the guest of Mademoiselle. Well, there is my
story. Have I been unkind to tell it? I think not. Nor
would I have it that you should think with less kindness of
XI DESMOND AND CORINNA 191

your fiancé, as you would have had me regard the poor
Count, but make wise use of your knowledge and :

Corinna read no more. She crushed the letter in
her hand and flung it on the floor, and presently
began pacing up and down her room with a pale face
and firmly set lips. After a while she picked up the
crumpled ball of paper from the floor and compared
the date of the two letters. The time given for
Sir Henry’s visit to Paris corresponded with that
during which he had not written. Corinna knew
her friend’s character, and believed that she had
taken a malicious pleasure in what she had written,
but she did not doubt its truth. The mention of
the name of Miss Bell, too, confirmed the story
which her father had told her. A line or two in Sir
Henry’s letter caught her eye: ‘and by the time we
meet I hope to have all my arrears of work com-
pleted, and nothing to prevent me from devoting
my whole time to the study of the one theme which
has become for me worth attention, and which I am
more than ever thankful I have hitherto neglected.’
She mentally italicised the last sentence in her
contemptuous anger.

She was deeply moved, but was sufficiently in
command of her emotions to know that she could not
then see her position clearly or decide on her course
of action. It was one of those critical times when
action is the parent, not the child, of vision. The
course of her conduct was decided by instinct ; mists
surrounded her ; and it was not until she had taken
unretraceable steps that she saw on what path she
had been treading.

All arrangements had been made for their de-
parture for England that afternoon. Without giving
any explanation Corinna informed Miss Desmond

 
192 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP, XI

that she had decided not to accompany her. The
bewildered lady essayed to influence her, first by
show of firmness, then by reasonable persuasion. She
went one step farther ; she postponed her departure
until the following day, hoping that by then Corinna
would have come to her senses. She was still
unmovable, and a scene followed in which Miss
Desmond showed unexpected warmth and Corinna
provoking indifference. There is no doubt the good
sister had done her duty and had been sorely tried.
Her most fervent hope—she hardly dared to make
it a prayer—as she drove away alone from Duhallow
was that Corinna might pursue her rebellious conduct
to a point where she would reveal herself in her true
colours to Sir Henry and save him from the un-
happiness of a miserable marriage.
CHAPTER XII

DESMOND AND CORINNA—THE AFTERNOON

On the day after his last interview with Corinna,
Desmond was due at Galway to speak in support of
the candidature of a friend at a bye-election which
was attracting more than usual public attention. In
his own interest as well as that of his ally it was
desirable that he should be present. Rumours of
his recent negotiations with the Government were
abroad, and a section of his party, the extremists who
drew their inspiration from America, had shown
signs of discontent. Their leader, Mr. Keefe, the
only man who had made any attempt to question
Desmond’s supremacy, was expected at the meeting,
and might turn his chief’s absence to his own
advantage. A telegram of reminder reached Michael
in the evening, an urgent letter from a colleague
the following morning ; and the fact that to these
he returned a bald message merely regretting his
inability to be present, and then dismissed from his
mind a matter which at any other time would have
been to him of supreme importance, may be taken
as an indication of the completeness of his absorption
in his desperate attempt to win Corinna.

Later in the morning news came to Desmond
that the Duhallow Court carriage, preceded by a

193 oO
194 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

cart with luggage, had passed on the way to the
railway station. He hardly thought it possible that
Corinna could have broken her promise and left
without seeing him, but he was not confident of her,
and to end his suspense rode down to the village
and made inquiries at the Court lodge. The news
that Miss Desmond had gone, alone, quickened his
pulses and gave him much to think about on his
way home. The mere fact that she was alone fired
his imagination, and it was with difficulty that he
checked an impulse to seek an interview immediately,
instead of waiting to receive a communication from
her. He was rewarded for his patience by finding
a note from her on his return, telling him that Miss
Desmond had left rather suddenly, and that she was
probably going the next day herself. ‘As I promised
to say good-bye,’ she said, ‘come round and have
tea with me this afternoon, if you have nothing
better to do.’

The lover’s heart in him leapt. He put the
letter to his lips like a boy, and yet the critical eye
of the man of the world was not blind. He smiled
as he read the words, ‘if you have nothing better to
do,’ and did not fail to commend their artfulness.

A ship escaping from an enemy, running under
full canvas before strong winds without chart or
compass towards unknown seas, might give some
illustration of Corinna’s present condition. She
made no attempt to shape her course and allowed
circumstances to be her guide. If she had loved Sir
Henry Desmond her way might have been clear.
She might have gone to him and asked an ex-
planation, either to forgive him or break off her
engagement. As it was, she had no jealousy. Self-
love, not love, was wounded. She felt that she had
x1 DESMOND AND CORINNA 195

received in person the full force of the affront which
the world permits man to place on woman. The
strongest feeling she was definitely conscious of was
a desire to avenge the insult, and the mere refusal
to marry the offender seemed to her a colourless and
inadequate way of doing this. Her course would
have been clear, too, if she had loved Michael
Desmond. Then she could have married him and
passed by the false lover with contempt. But no
man had yet won her heart. At a crisis in her life
when love would have been her safeguard, she was
left at the mercy of passions uninspired by love.
And so, not yet decided that she would refuse
to marry Sir Henry, yet feeling herself free from
any obligation to him; unable to return Michael
Desmond’s love, yet willing to listen to it; with a
secret feeling of satisfaction that her relationship with
the one man might justify the jealousy of the other ;
gay and defiant and wilfully thoughtless, she went
out to discover her fate.

It was one of those summer days when the south-
west wind deepens the blue of our island skies. The
sweep of shadows across the country told of the
movement of white clouds which seemed almost at
rest ; and the wind came and went like the sunshine
—now setting the tree-tops swaying and all the
leaves rustling, and now dying away in a whisper.
The wide Duhallow uplands, within their ring of
distant mountains, were flooded with light and.
colour. The field of oats ran in golden waves
before the wind; the shadows on the mountain
slopes took the purple of the iris ; and, below the
white cottages of the village, a reach of the river
ruffled by the wind shone steel-blue in the sunshine.

Hurrying along the river path in the afternoon
196 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

on his way to the Court, Desmond saw Corinna
coming towards him. She was dressed to meet the
sunshine ; and the merry wind that sought playmates
in all things that came in its path to-day made her
bend her head as she faced it to keep her hat in place,
and fluttered the skirts of her dress about her feet.
As they drew near she gave Desmond a smile which
would have gladdened the heart of a happy lover,
and was too gay to encourage one whose eyes
sought hope in the loved one’s discontent.

‘Are you not surprised to find me here still ?’
she asked.

‘No,’ he replied, ‘ you promised.’

“You know Miss Desmond has gone, but you
must not think I remained to keep my promise. I
am afraid I should have broken it if I had not
other reasons for staying, or perhaps hardly reasons.
Really, it was just wilfulness. I suppose I shall go
to-morrow.’

‘To-morrow! I will not think of to-morrow,’ he
said. ‘To-day is mine.’

‘No, it is your country’s. You ought to be at
Galway. Perhaps we neither of us ought to be
here. But here we are! And was there ever a
more beautiful afternoon? I am hardly content to
walk, I want to run.’

‘We'll have a race,’ he laughed.

‘What a spectacle for your colleagues if they
could see it! Well, let us have a good long walk as
it is to be our last ; and remember, I have forgotten
all you said the last time we met.’

She led the way over a wooden bridge that
crossed the river, and pointed to a ruined tower in the
distance beyond green slopes broken by furze patches
and outcropping limestone boulders.
‘at DESMOND AND CORINNA 197

‘This way,’ she called. ‘Any way to-day would
do. Everything is right.’

‘This,’ said Desmond, coming to her side, ‘is
exactly the sort of day I would choose for a walk
with the only possible comrade, if I were in love.’

‘But you are in love,’ she laughed. ‘At least
you told me so.’

‘Oh, but you have forgotten all I told you last
time we met. Well, I take you into my confidence
and admit that I am in love, and that there are
difficulties, barriers between me and the only possible
lady, and I would choose a day like this, when every-
thing round us seems to be rejoicing in its freedom,
to hear that she loved me, and that there was no
longer any barrier between us. Oh, I can picture
her at my side, happy and free, freed by her own
courage—a girl whose love would make a man’s
heart beat quicker and his spirit grow stronger every
time he remembered it.’

‘What a pretty picture, Mr. Desmond,’ she said,
‘but how amateurish. I see your couple too. She
is the young man’s ideal maiden—no faults, except
those perhaps committed for his sake: a few broken
promises, for instance. And he is in love with her
face or her figure; or her little feminine tricks have
got hold of him, for I am sure he does not know her.
And she does not love him, though perhaps she
likes his admiration, and it pleases her to exercise the
little temporary power which women have at such
times over men. No, if she encourages him to think
that she loves him she is a coquette, playing with
him, making some use of him for her own schemes.
Now, have I not shown you what an unsatisfactory
couple you picture? How much pleasanter the
relationship of mere friendship like yours and mine.’
198 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

She turned to him as she was saying the last
words and gave him a look under her lashes which
almost repealed their meaning.

‘I wish to God it were three hundred years ago!’
he said. ‘I should not be talking to you about
friendship ; I should carry you off.’

“What !’ she laughed. ‘Against my will?’

‘No, you would be glad to come; I could then
take the burden of freeing you on myself.’

‘Forgive me for laughing,’ she said, ‘but it is so
amusing to hear you, the serious statesman, the
eminent leader of his country, talking like a boy. I
really believe you would have tried to carry me off,
and that I would have gone with you. But how
different it all is now.’

‘Why so different ?’

‘Then you would have fought for me and taken
me. Now you do nothing: you merely ask me to
break a promise.’

,‘ 1 am not speaking idly,’ he replied, ‘when I say
that I would sacrifice my life or my whole career to
win your love.’

‘Ah, Mr. Desmond, you think so now, but are
you not deceiving yourself? Your life is more
precious to you than any girl’s love, your career is
more to you than I could ever become. If I said to
you, “I will break my pledge to another and marry
you if you will abandon the service of your country
and serve mine,” would you do it ?’

‘No!’ he replied.

‘Then you love your country better than you
love me.’

‘Yes, if you ask me to be untrue to it. No, if you
help me to serve it. Oh yes, I should love you even
better than my country if you joined me in loving it.’
XI DESMOND AND CORINNA 199

It was well spoken, and his words seemed to
touch her.

‘I know you could not be untrue to your
country,’ she replied; ‘but might I not answer
like you—might I not say when you ask me to
be disloyal, “‘I love my honour better than I love
you, but if you helped me to be true I might
love you almost better than my honour”? ’

‘It is beyond my strength,’.he pleaded. ‘I
might do it if I felt that it was for your happi-
ness,—if you loved the man you have promised
to marry as I love my country, if he had claims
on you such as Ireland has on me. But this is
not so.’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘this is not so. And perhaps
I should not be saying all this about my promise
if I really wanted to break it. I believe I could
do it without reproaching myself very much. If
I loved you I would break it.” She gave him a
most engaging smile as she spoke, and added, ‘ You
see how heartless I am that I can talk so uncon-
cernedly to you on a subject that I know you
feel deeply about.’

‘I know you are not unkind,’ he said.

‘I shall show it by commanding you to talk about
something else.’

‘I can think of nothing else.’

‘But I have told you I do not love you. I almost
wish I did, but as it can’t be

‘Oh, but it might be,’ he cried. ‘ Cannot I make
you love me?’

‘Well, try,’ she answered, with provoking levity.
‘I give you leave.’

Tt was more difficult to make headway against
this sort of defence than to meet direct opposition.

 
200 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHAP.

He was obliged to laugh at the ridiculous part she
proposed for him.

‘ Like the poet, you feel the weight of too much
liberty,’ she suggested.

‘No,’ he replied, ‘too little time. With more
time I might do it.’

‘You have the whole day.’

‘And it might need my whole life. But I must
make the best of my chances. I am thankful even
for one day—and mind it must be a long day. I
shall prolong it to the last minute.’

‘And to-morrow when I have gone you will be
sorry you asked for it, and you will be the angrier
with me—perhaps I shall lose your friendship, even.
I ought not to be with you now.’

‘On my account, or because it would not meet
with the approval of your friends?’

‘I am thinking of you only,’ she replied. ‘I
recognise no obligation. I claim my freedom still
and I like exercising it. Am I not disgracefully
frank when I tell you that it pleases me to let you
make love to me, and that I like the sense of liberty
it gives me. To you it may be reality ; to me it is
only play. Only play,’ she repeated, as he was
silent ; ‘and, dear friend, is it not therefore better
that we should have no more of it?’

“You said you almost wished you loved me,’ was
his comment on her words.

‘Did I say so? Perhaps I do wish it, but I have
told you it is not possible.’

©You do wish it.’

‘Does not the sceptic sometimes express in the
same way a wish that he was a believer?’

‘And it amuses you to.play the part. But you
do not wish to pain me,’ he said in a changed tone,
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 201

‘and you wish I were less serious about it. Well,
let me have something to remember. Treat me as
your lover to-day, and I forgive you if to-morrow
you go through it with another.’

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘could that give you any
satisfaction ?’

‘If I had you in my arms for a moment,’ he said
passionately, ‘I could forget. I could forget that
you did not love me.’

She was startled by his words, but did not rebuke
him for them.

‘Do not ask me to repay true love with its
counterfeit,’ she said, speaking for the first time
with emotion. ‘I hate the part. I hate the un-
reality. I am tired of the pretence of love. If I
loved you I should not hesitate. I should be afraid
of nothing, I would give everything. Can you wish
for loveless expressions of love ?’

‘How can I look at you and think of anything
else in the world but you ?’

‘Oh,’ she cried, with a heightened colour, ‘ what
worthless thing do you ask for? I might give you
real friendship, not without love, and it is nothing to
you. It is not a woman’s love but her personal
attractions that men desire. They have the same
eye for the bride they lead to the altar as they had
for the poor outcast girl who took their money.
Oh, I have seen it. I have been made to feel it.
When I was little more than a child the man who
was married to my friend, to a girl who loved him
with all her soul, made pretence of loving me. It is
not love but the mockery of it that I see everywhere.
And you, you whom I respect more than other men !
You! but how can I reproach you!’

Her outburst of feeling gave him a gleam of
202 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

hope. Anything was better than her calm and
amused acquiescence in his love-making.

‘You told me I might try and make you love
me,’ he said earnestly. ‘I want your help. If
there is any hope, however little, tell me the way.’

‘By not trying,’ she answered. ‘Leave all that
you would say unsaid.’

‘And then there might be a hope ?’

‘I cannot tell.’

‘But to-morrow you are going.’

‘I am misleading you. I do not know what I
am saying.’ Her tone showed real distress. ‘I
cannot give you any hope, and yet I do not know
what to-morrow may bring with it. And to-morrow
I shall not forget it if you obey my wish and say no
more, no more to-day, of your love for me.’

‘I obey,’ he cried. ‘ Your lover is banished, and
will not return until he is called. Your friend
is here.’

If man conquers nature by obeying her it may
at times be true that he conquers woman in the same
way, and Desmond perceived that if there were a
key to Corinna’s heart it would have to be given to
him by herself. He saw that her mind was in a
ferment and that she was led into inconsistencies of
thought and speech, now declaring that she was free
and under no obligation, and a moment afterwards
reproaching him for asking her to be untrue to her
promise ; now bidding him make love to her and say-
ing that it pleased her that he should do so, and
then declaring that the make-belief of love without
the reality was hateful to her. At last she was
moved, though he could not guess wherefore,
and in her perturbation of spirit he found some
comfort.
XI DESMOND AND CORINNA 203

To turn from passionate speech to friendly con-
versation is not a light task ; but Desmond did his
part creditably, and Corinna soon fell back into
her manner of easy intimacy. The walk was some-
what curtailed ; they were on their homeward way
before anything occurred to call their attention to
the new understanding that had been established
between them, and then it was but a momentary
reminder.

Their path leapt a little brook over stepping-
stones, and when they had reached the farther bank
Desmond retained the hand he had taken to steady
her in crossing. For a few seconds they walked
thus, linked like happy lovers, and then instinctively
turned to each other and laughed as at the detection
of a forbidden thing. They separated at once, but
for some time afterwards, when their talk was running
easily on undisturbing topics, he felt the thrill of her
touch, and she had not forgotten the clasp of his
strong hand. Every time he looked at her he was
tempted to speak the glowing words which her beauty
and his love of her prompted, and the glances she
gave him were not those to make his task of silence
easier. He was helped in it, however, by a curious
encounter which made an unwelcome diversion on
their journey. From the shadow of some rocks,
on a slope beside their path, a woman wrapped in
a heavy hooded mantle suddenly appeared and
addressed Desmond.

‘’Tis time I had another word with you, Michael
Desmond,’ she said ; and, turning to Corinna, added
in a different tone, as though apologising for the
intrusion, ‘I beg her ladyship’s pardon.’

Corinna looked at her curiously, and there was a
moment’s silence before Desmond spoke.
204 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Will you walk on?’ he said to Corinna. ‘I will
join you in a minute or two.’

Coming to the country just at the time of
Desmond’s defence of Costello she had taken some
interest in the case, but she did not know that this
was the wife of the murdered man. As she walked
on, however, she heard the name of Costello and
guessed that the woman was Mary Rahilly. She
neither looked back nor attempted to ne but she
heard enough to arouse her interest.

‘My curse is on you and on your fae, Michael
Desmond!’ were strange words to come from a
peasant woman, and there was something uncanny
in the whole scene which gave her a feeling of
discomfort. When Desmond rejoined her she ques-
tioned him with serious eyes and noticed his face
was pale.

‘It is the wife of the man who was murdered, is it
not ?’ she asked.

“Yes, poor woman. I fear her mind has become
deranged by her trouble,’ he answered. ‘It is a very
sad case.’

‘ They never discovered the murderer ?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he hesitated in replying.

‘I suppose there is no doubt that Costello is
innocent ?’”

‘The jury heard the evidence and thought not.’

‘ And of course you had no doubt, as you defended
him. What did the poor creature want with you?
I heard her reproaching you.’

‘She believes Costello to be guilty, and can’t
forgive me for defending him. The trouble has
affected her mind.’ /

‘And was he guilty? You may trust me,’ she
said.
xm DESMOND AND CORINNA 205

‘IT will, he said. ‘I do not think he was innocent.’

‘Oh, I can sympathise with her!’ exclaimed
Corinna.

‘And I trust you also to understand how, be-
lieving this, I defended him. If he is guilty, the
framers and supporters of the shameful laws which
have produced the present condition of things are
doubly guilty. He was a pawn I played for against
the Government. Do I not trust you, even to risk
your condemnation? To no one else in the world
would I have spoken in this way.’

She rewarded him with a look which showed him
he had done well in giving her his confidence.

‘No,’ she said, ‘it is beyond me to understand
the circumstances of the case, or to judge whether
you were right or wrong in defending him, but I am
glad you have trusted me. It shows me, at least,
that you consider me worthy to be your friend, and
I am proud of that. Poor soul! it has made her hate
you, | suppose. It isa great responsibility to be in
a position like yours. Well, now, let us forget the
interruption and go on with our conversation. What
were we talking of ?’

‘Talking of ? Ido not remember,’ he answered.
‘I know what I was thinking of. When the friend
one can trust with every secret, and the girl one can
love more than life itself is near, what other thought
is possible ?’

‘Remember our compact,’ she smiled. ‘ Here we
are almost at home, and I reward you for good
behaviour by inviting you to come and have tea
with me.’

With the approach of evening a change had
come over the scene. The wind had dropped ; the
clouds were massed in larger groups ; their whiteness
206 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP, XII

had taken a touch of colour from the western light,
and the shadows which had raced across the country
now hardly moved. The steel-blue reaches of the
river had become flashes of gold, and where there had
been an azure haze on the mountains, the broken
slopes had grown defined in sunlit crags and purple
clefts. Corinna had no longer to battle with
the wind. In exchange for its hunting call across
the country it had left a whispered song in the
woods, and where it had met her as a rough play-
fellow it wooed her with gentle touches, and hardly
stirred the tresses it had loosened in its sport.
CHAPTER XIil

DESMOND AND CORINNA—~THE EVENING AND
THE NIGHT

Desmonp had never looked at Duhallow Court
without remembering the wrong which had been
done to his family and his dream of regaining
possession of the old property. Now, as he
approached it with Corinna, his feelings were com-
plicated by the reflection that its destined mistress
was beside him, and for the moment the passion of
his new and absorbing love became mingled with that
of his traditional hatred. To prevent her becoming
its mistress would be revenge incomparably sweeter
than becoming its master himself. The winning of
her love might even disarm hatred.

To save the half-mile walk to the wooden bridge
a punt had been provided for crossing the river.
Desmond untied it from its moorings, where Corinna
had left it when she came to meet him earlier in
the afternoon, and pushed her over. He noticed
books lying on the cushions, and she explained
that the punt had become her favourite reading
place. ‘And on a hot night,’ she added, ‘I should
be tempted to exchange my room for it. Fancy
the delight of falling asleep to the sound of those
ripples !’

207
208 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHaP.

‘Which is your room ?’ he asked, with a lover’s
interest, as they walked towards the house.

She showed him its casement windows opening on
the lawn. ‘The upstairs rooms are not quite ready,’
she told him, ‘and really I prefer this to any of
them. You must come in and see the house.’

He shook his head.

‘Miss O’Brien told me you would not cross the
threshold. Is that true? Will you not if I invite
you ?’

‘It is not your house,’ he said.

‘It will be mine after my marriage.’

His face hardened. ‘No,’ he answered ; ‘I am
sorry I cannot come in.’

‘Well, well! I must humour you, I suppose,’
said she, ‘and have tea sent out here. I will be back
in a few minutes’ ; and turning her head as she went
she added with a laugh, ‘I have no patience with
superstitious traditions. I should like to make you
come in.

In her absence he had some minutes of perplexed
reflection, and was unable to decide whether he was
making progress with Corinna or not. He found it
impossible to take the initiative: everything now
depended on her. Her heart was like a fortress
within which there were internal dissensions, but
where the garrison might be united by an assault.
In her request for a truce there was a gleam of hope,
and discretion counselled him to obey her, while his
love had grown toa compelling force whose expression
could hardly be restrained. The great crisis in his
fortunes had arrived : his whole public career seemed
as nothing compared with issues now being decided.

Tea was brought out to the lawn, and Corinna,
performing the duties of hostess, seemed to Desmond
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 209

to recede from the point of intimacy which she had
touched with him during their walk. He sat on the
ground bareheaded and said little while she chatted
easily on trivial things in the manner of ladies who
are at home in society. She was, nevertheless, keenly
observant of him, and never had he pleased her more.
His handsome resolute face had never looked so
attractive to her. Intellect, nobility and courage,
dear to her, were written on it. ‘ Why do I not love
him?’ she asked herself. ‘Do I love him?’ the
question followed.

An English man-servant, one of the highly
specialised species in which the maximum of deferen-
tial servility is combined with the minimum of loyalty
and real respect, removed the tea-things, and after-
wards remarked to his fellow-servants that ‘there
was a little game on.’ _ Some similar reflections seem
to have come to Andy Cronin, the gardener, who,
commenting on Desmond’s presence to his junior,
summed up his views in the verse of a song :—

‘Once I coorted an English lady,
She loved mate and I loved drink.

“Shqueeze me, Julia!” “Ah now, Thady!”
Lhonomon daoil,: sir, what do you think ?’

‘ Wisha then,’ he added, ‘good luck to him anny
way, whativer divil’s mischief he’s afther.’

Corinna, indeed, could not be unaware that her con-
duct in remaining alone at Duhallow and allowing the
presence of Desmond was the subject of remark among
the servants ; and though she was quite indifferent to
this, she was ready to resent its indication, as when she
fancied she detected a significance in the man’s tone
when he appeared again to ask at what time she would
dine and whether there would be company at dinner.

1 Anam an diabhal=your soul to the devil.
P
210 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

“And now, Mr. Desmond,’ she said, when the
servant was gone, ‘I think I must send you away.
I have to see my maid about my packing, and other
arrangements to make about our going to-morrow.
I will walk with you to the end of the garden. I am
really sorry to say good-bye.’

He seemed disturbed and doubtful what to say.
‘You are really going to-morrow?’ he asked.

‘Yes, that is quite settled.’

‘Let me come back this evening and say good-
bye ; we cannot part like this.’

The look he gave her was more that of a man
who claims a lover’s right than of one who pleads
for a boon. She was driven to defence.

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, with real emotion, ‘have I
not spoken plainly enough? Will you not under-
stand? It is not that I am thinking of my promise
to marry Sir Henry Desmond. If I loved you I
could forget that, and once or twice I have thought
that you might make me forget it; but when
you make love to me | remember it. I would have
been glad if you could have won my love, and I
told you that if there were any hope of this it would
be by being my friend now and not my lover. You
see I am reckless, and hardly know what I feel or
what I wish, but I care at least enough for you to
tell you the truth.’

Desmond saw that she was at last deeply moved.
‘Ah, if you were not going to-morrow !’ he said,
looking at her as she stood with downcast eyes ;
‘but can we part now?’

He feared that if she went—if she were once
removed from his presence and restored to her
surroundings in England—his last chance would be
gone. He could not trust that spectral hope she
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 211

gave him. Now that her heart was touched, his
own counselled him to make the utmost of his present
opportunity. He preferred to risk the hope she had
offered him rather than lose the chance of one more
meeting.

‘Let me come back?’ che said in a low tone.
‘Give me this one evening.’

She looked up with a laugh and spoke again in her
usual manner. ‘You prefer love-making to love,
like other men,’ she said, with a little shrug of Her
shoulders. ‘You would like me to playa part. I
will, if you like. I give you your choice. You will
find me here by-and-by if you come, but I have
warned you. To-day is always short, to-morrow
may be very long. I hope you will not come.’

They were at the gate leading from the garden to
the river path, and she gave him her hand.

‘Good-bye,’ she said. ‘Remember what I have
said. Remember what I said about to-morrow, and
do not come.’

But though her words were firm, the look she
gave him as he turned to go contradicted them. It
was almost an invitation.

Corinna’s thoughts were in the state of perturba-
tion when reflection as to the position in which she
found herself was impossible. She did not know
what she wanted, there was no room for the exercise
of her will, and she left her fortunes to the guidance
of circumstances. Her fancies leapt to extremes.
Now it seemed to her an absurdity to think of
breaking off her engagement, when all arrangements
for her marriage were made, on account of reports
about Sir Henry which might not be true—and,
even if true, showed him hardly worse than the
majority of men, perhaps no worse than Michael
212 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Desmond, whose absolute disregard of her honour-
able promise to another man itself condemned him ;
then she re-read the letters she had received from
Sir Henry and from her friend in Paris, and all her
shame and anger were again aroused.

‘Ah,’ she thought, ‘if only I could love or were
truly loved.’ Michael Desmond, she believed, had
been attracted, like others before him, by her
personal charms ; he had given no proof of a deeper
love, and yet he was different from the others. He
might yet prove his devotion: he might remember
what she had said and not return that evening.
Would he come? She hardly doubted it. What if
he stayed away? His faith in her would disarm her
against him—arm her against Sir Henry. And what
if he came ? She would allow him to make love to
her and feel that he had forfeited any claim to her
love. The thought of it was disturbing, and yet it
seemed to reassert the claims of the man she had
promised to marry. If she were disloyal to him she
would be the readier to forgive. ‘Oh,’ she cried in
her heart, ‘I hope he will not come!’ and yet the
more she thought of it the less she desired him to
remain away.

After giving final instructions about their de-
parture in the morning, Corinna went to her room to
dress for dinner. She was glad to have her thoughts
diverted for awhile, and listened patiently to her
maid’s gossip, her comments on the Irish people, and
her joyful anticipation of returning to a civilised
world. Considering that she was to dine and
perhaps spend the evening alone, Corinna was very
thoughtful about her toilet, and though the dress she
chose was a simple one, she knew the whole effect
justified the admiration of her beauty which on special
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 213

occasions her maid was permitted to express. If she
had aimed at kindling the fires of a cold heart rather
than sobering the passion of a warm one, she could
not have made a fitter preparation.

If when at a later hour she went out to meet her
lover the night concealed the secrets of her care, it
could not rob her of their charm: the beauty of
the garden is still eloquent to one who knows the
darkened pathways in which he walks, though its
loveliness may be only revealed to him by a white
blossom or a dewy fragrance.

The crescent moon was in the west, and a flash
of its silver on rippled waters between dark trees
attracted Corinna to the river-bank. Here she had
expected to see Desmond, and though she had begged
him not to come she would have been disappointed
not to have found him awaiting her. Directly they
met she became conscious that the relationship
between them had undergone a change. In the
isolation and mystery of the night the presence of
the man who loved her and her permission of his
presence had anew significance. Elemental emotions
were stirred in her heart. For the first time she felt
the dominating influence of a man; and, while her
spirit rebelled, the new sensation gave her a thrill of
pleasure. She knew full well the power which her
charm as a woman had given her over men ; she had
read their weakness: now it was sweet to her to
feel her own weakness. Neither of them had for-
gotten the last words which had passed between them
in the afternoon, but they hardly alluded to them.

‘You forgive me for coming?’ was all he said ;
and her answer, ‘I asked you not to come,’ had no
tone of reproach.

They were at the water’s edge, and the punt lying
214 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

moored at their feet invited them to enter. Pre-
sently they were out on the stream drifting without
guiding hand on the gentle current. The light of
the stars and of the young moon seemed to be held
in the shining river. Around it all the country
lay dark. The wind had fallen, but now and then a
whisper from the south-west stirred the overhanging
alders or rustled among the sedges in the stream.
The night was wooing Corinna. Desmond remained
silent at her side, while she sat with her head turned
from him watching the reflection of the stars in the
water. Deep shadows enfolded the space of mirrored
sky over which they floated, and below them the
dark edge of the pool was a broken rim of silver
light where the current found the shallows. The
boat drifted among the sedges and was at rest ; little
ripples lapped idly against its sides ; a tremor in the
reeds answered a wandering breath of wind, so gentle
that its presence was elsewhere unfelt. Desmond
whispered Corinna’s name, and the song of the stream
was lovelier in her ears; he took her hand, and the
night seemed to tell her the secret of its beauty.
She was no longer playing a part. When at last he
drew her to him she had no wish to be released : the
kiss in which his passion found expression won all
the sweetness of her womanhood from answering
lips.

No triumph Desmond had ever achieved uplifted
his heart like that of the moments in which his love
seemed victorious—no joy he had ever imagined
compared with it. And she who had gloried in her
independence found in surrender the freedom of spirit
she had dreamed of.

The moon was low in the west ; its light no longer
silvered the broken water of the shallows ; the stream
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 215

sang on its way unheeded. The lovers had no eyes
for the light of heaven, nor ears for the music of
earth. The mystery of life itself thrilled them in a
touch. Words which had no power before he kissed
her—dear names of love, sweet whispers that asked
no reply, became eloquent now. He claimed her,
claimed the right to serve and guard her, and in
her silence he read her answer. His arm was beneath
her, her head was on his shoulder ; she rested like a
child in his embrace, and for long no thought of the
passing time or care for the morrow disturbed their
dream. At last she seemed to grow conscious of her
. surroundings and gently disengaged herself.

‘Oh!’ she said, ‘we have been dreaming. To-
morrow it will all seem different.’

‘No,’ he answered her happily. ‘Reality is
better than any dream.’

‘To-morrow it will be gone.’

‘ To-morrow is ours too, and all the future.’

‘To-morrow !’ she repeated. ‘I cannot think of
to-morrow.’

‘ Dearest, you love me,’ he said.

‘I love you to-night,’ she said. ‘I am afraid to
look forward.’

He drew her towards him again, but she did not
respond.

‘It has grown dark,’ she said. ‘It must be late.
We must go. Please row back, now, at once—I
really mean it.’

He took an oar and pushed the boat out from the
sedges.

The stars shone brighter than before on the
darkened water, and now that the moonlight was
gone the song of the stream seemed to have taken a
deeper tone. A few strokes of the oars brought
216 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

them back to the garden landing-place. Desmond
took Corinna’s hand as she was getting out of the
boat, and still kept it after they had landed.

‘ Well,’ Corinna said, with an attempt to speak in
her usual tone, ‘I have given you the evening you
asked for, but we must both try and forget it.’

“You love me,’ he said firmly.

‘I love you to-night.’

‘You will love me always. Dearest, let me hear
you say it. I know you are mine, but let me hear
the words. Tell me that you will be my wife.’

‘I cannot promise,’ she replied. ‘It is a dream.
To-morrow it will all seem different.’

‘T have no fear of to-morrow,’ he said fervently.
‘I stand at your side to help you. Are you thinking
of difficulties in your way, of your engagement, of
the man you do not love? It is my right now to
protect you. Trust to me, darling, to safeguard you
in every step you take. To-morrow and all the
future are ours.’

‘I cannot think to-night,’ she replied, * and I want
you to leave me now.’

‘T will come to you in the morning. Everything
will be clear then. There are no difficulties left now
you love me.’

They walked in silence, her hand still in his, along
the dark shrubbery walks. One or two lights showed
in the upper windows, but the rest of the house was
dark.

‘You must not come any farther,’ she whispered,
as they reached the edge of the lawn on to which her
room opened. ‘ Good-night.’

He took her in his arms and held her close to
him. He kissed her again, and the touch of her
lips told him that his love was warmly returned ; and
XII DESMOND AND CORINNA 217

he had a still sweeter assurance of it when, after she
had left him and was about to enter her room, she ran
back to him and hid herself a moment longer in his
embrace. But when he was alone his feeling of love
and triumph was troubled by a shade of misgiving,
which grew darker the more he dwelt on the glow-
ing memory of the past hour. ‘ To-morrow!’ she
had kept repeating the word with apprehension.
‘I love you to-night,’ she had told him twice, as
though in doubt whether her heart was really his.
‘ Oh,’ he thought, ‘ that I might have made the doubt
impossible, that I might have carried her away with me
to-night and made her my wife before there was time
for her to hesitate.’ A picture of old-world romantic
elopements, the carriage waiting, the night journey,
the solution of all difficulties by taking irretraceable
steps, came to him ; and he chafed to think of the
possibility of meeting her in the morning in a changed
mood and not wholly won.

He could not leave the place. In the darkness of
the garden paths he walked to and fro watching the
light in her window. Half an hour passed, and it
still burned ; all the rest of the house was dark. He
drew nearer, irresistibly attracted. As long as her
light remained he could not go. ‘I love you to-
night.” Her words haunted him ominously: the
memory of her last kiss drove away his fears. At
last the light vanished, and the whole house was dark
and silent in the starlight. He remained for a
minute longer, dreaming of her beauty hidden from
him, and yet so near. The window opened, and
Corinna stood, a dim white figure, on the threshold
of the casement. The soft night air stirred in the
trees, and through the silence the distant song of the
stream came clear and sweet. Desmond’s heart beat
218 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cuap. xin

violently. He breathed the beloved name, and
Corinna gave a little start, but made no other move-
ment. He came towards her and she did not stir.

‘Why are you here?’ Her words came almost
inarticulately on a sudden check of her breath.

‘I could not leave you,’ he answered.

He drew closer, ‘ How can I leave you?’ but she
did not answer. ‘I cannot leave you,’ he whispered.

‘ And I cannot send you away,’ she said.

She took a step back into her room and he was
beside her. The threshold of the house he had sworn
never to enter till it was his own was crossed, and
the casement closed behind him. And still outside
all was the same as it had been ; the peacefulness of
the starry night enfolded the dark country, and the
little stream bore the music of its mountain song
through hidden woodland ways.
CHAPTER XIV
DESMOND AND CORINNA—THE MORROW

NeExT morning, with plans matured in almost every
detail for taking Corinna to Dublin and marrying her
on the following day by special licence, Desmond
rode over to Duhallow Court to see his bride and
make final arrangements. He had to consult her
wishes as to whether his mother should be taken into
the secret and asked to accompany them ; and he also
wished to obtain her consent to the performance of
the ceremony with the rites of the Catholic Church.
On neither point, however, was he greatly concerned.
She was won: nothing could separate them. After
the strain and suspense of the last week, his
triumph gave him the spirits of a boy. He rode
to the Court across country instead of by the road,
taking every fence that came in his way out of sheer
light-heartedness.

At the Court he was informed that Miss Temple-
Cloud had not yet left her room. He requested
that she might be informed that he had called,
and received an answer that she would be happy to
see him at twelve o’clock. The interval was longer
than he liked on a day calling for prompt action,
but he was glad to think she was resting, and he had
business enough to occupy the intervening hours.

219
220 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Rest was the last word that could apply to
Corinna’s condition. Though she remained in her
room, she had risen some time before Desmond
called. She had not slept. ‘What have I done?
Where is my freedom?’ her troubled thought
shaped itself in words at last. Love could have
answered her gently ; Love could have flushed her
cheek with the whisper that her freedom was in the
keeping of another ; but in her heart Love had no
resting-place. She was full of shame and humiliation.
She despised herself, not in deference to any moral
standard, but because of her weakness ; because she
had sacrificed her freedom, placed herself inextricably
in the power of a man. She knew that Desmond
desired nothing more ardently than to marry her,
but the thought that she was now compelled to marry
him gave her the feelings of a chained captive. She
could only blame herself ; but she rebelled against
him. The man who had pressed his advantage
to the uttermost limit was no longer for her
the gallant gentleman who had wooed her under
difficulties.

Her contempt was for herself rather than for
him, but he had sunk in her eyes to that common
level of his sex which had aroused her scorn ; and
now in her fall from her own high estimate she
saw herself also on the despised level—nay, below
it. The man remained free, but in allowing her-
self to be carried away by the passion of an hour
she had lost her liberty. Love pleaded in vain.
Once or twice a memory of the moonlit river and
her lover as he had seemed to her when she was still
free gave her thoughts a sudden gentleness ; once or
twice the memory of his passionate love and her
surrender made her cheek paler; but the same
XIV DESMOND AND CORINNA 227

moan of despair, ‘I have lost freedom, I have not
found love,’ persistently returned.

She dreaded her meeting with Desmond, and was
incapable of foreseeing how she would act when the
time came, but she braced herself for an interview
in which her part would not be that of a woman
whose will is no longer her own. She rang for
her maid and completed her toilet with no less care
than usual. She made a pretence of breakfasting,
and opened and read her letters. One of these
was from Sir Henry Desmond, composed in his
customary vein of deferential gallantry ; another
from the Prime Minister in appreciative reply to
a letter she had written to him describing her
Irish surroundings. The latter closed with a hint
of exalted future position, in a remark that her
knowledge of the country might before long be of
use to her if political events ran as he anticipated.
A telegram from Sir Henry was brought to her
while she was reading her letters. ‘When may I
expect you back? Shall I come for you?’ was the
message. She read the telegram, as she had read the
letters, with indifference. The difficulties they would
have presented to her yesterday were at least removed.
There was no longer any occasion to balance advan-
tages, or resent the unfaithfulness of the man she
had promised to marry. She had freed herself from
bonds which had become irksome, but she had done
so by the sacrifice of liberty itself. Pride and shame
strove within her; as the time for Desmond’s
arrival drew near, the only strength she felt came
of the consciousness of a certain hardness of heart.

Though Michael Desmond felt the flush of victory
and was uplifted with the joy of love, he was not
wholly free from anxiety on Corinna’s account. He
222 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

knew her to be brave of heart ; but he remembered
that she was being tested severely, that the occasion
was one to put a violent strain on a woman’s
strength. As he neared the house on his return
he quickened his pace, longing to be with her
and give her the comfort, if she needed it, of his
presence—the strength of his strength. He doubted
not that if she had suffered the pangs of self-
reproach while alone, his love and the prospect of
prompt action which lay before them would speedily
restore her. He thanked Heaven he had won a
bride whose head he could trust.

A moment’s embarrassment, perhaps on his own
part as well as on hers, to be instantly forgotten in
each other’s arms, was the picture Desmond saw of
their meeting. When he first entered the room she
was very pale and stood with downcast eyes, but as
he hastened to her side, the look she lifted to him
was so different from his expectation that he stopped
almost abruptly.

‘My darling,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are not
well!”

Her look told him that she was suffering, and he
was filled with tender compassion.

‘My dear brave girl,’ he said, ‘I know what is
troubling you.” He took her in his arms and she
made neither response nor resistance.

For a moment the essential woman in Corinna
was in willing captivity to the man to whom she had
given herself, and it seemed an end of all difficulties
to remain as a child in his safe keeping. It needed
but the bond of true love between them to have
allowed this solution, and to have brought comfort to
her in a flow of tears. But love was not in her
heart ; and while her weakness accepted the consola-
XIV DESMOND AND CORINNA 2123

tion of his protecting arms, her spirit rebelled against
his assumption of the right to protect her.

‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘it is unbearable!’

He entirely misread the cause of her emotion,
attributing it to the pain of her wounded sense of
delicacy; and, again filled with compassionate
love for her, he uttered words of endearment and
reassurance.

‘My wife,’ he whispered, and the words stung her
like a whip.

‘Am I so abject,’ she exclaimed with flashing
eyes, ‘am I so robbed of my freedom, that you treat
me like this? Why do you assume that I am won,
or that I need your protection?’

The brute fact that held the answer loomed
before him incommunicably. She startled him by
her manner and distressed him by her words, but
he attributed both to the overwrought state of her
nerves,

‘Let us sit down and talk over our plans,’ he said,
drawing a chair towards her. ‘All the path ahead
of usis clear. I have everything arranged. Corinna,
sweetheart, come! let me talk to you?’

She took no notice, but began pacing up and down
the room. A flush had come to her cheeks; she
held her head proudly ; her eyes had a fire in them
he had not seen before. Her beauty fascinated him.
She seemed to have formed a resolution. She
stopped after a few turns and spoke almost in her
usual tone.

‘ After all,’ she said, ‘I am still free.’

‘My darling, you are free as the mountain air,’
he replied ; ‘and if I have not won your whole
heart as your lover, I shall do so as your husband.’

She turned away impatiently. ‘You persist in
224 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

taking it for granted that I am bound to marry
you!

Every moment he was becoming more bewildered,
more troubled by her strange attitude, but he still
attributed it to her mental distress.

‘You love me,’ he said simply.

‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘I should have loved you, but
you have killed my love. Why did you come back
yesterday evening when I begged you not to? If
you had not come I should have loved you to-day.
How can I love you when you have made me
despise myself?’

For the first time he saw that he had to face a
really serious situation. ‘Despise me, if you must,’
he said, ‘ but not yourself. You have trusted me as
only a great-hearted woman could, and I am prouder
of that trust than of anything in life.’

Her eyes softened. Tears were not far off.
‘Leave me,” she said, ‘it is better for me to be alone.
I cannot talk of it any more.’

‘ All right,’ he answered cheerfully ; ‘ perhaps it is
better. Believe me, dearest, 1 can understand you.
I must forget some things you said that seemed
unkind. You will forget them yourself. Promise
me to rest, and do not ask me to leave you for long.
Your trouble is mine, but it would be joy if you
would let me bear it for you.’ She was silent,
and he continued, ‘You have not slept. Promise
me to rest until I return. Let me think and act
for you. I will show you a path clear of difficulties.
There is nothing like prompt action. Could you,’
he added with a little laugh—‘do you think you
could get ready to go to Dublin this evening ?’

‘You mean, to marry you?’ she said.

‘Yes, the sooner the better To delay would be
XIV DESMOND AND CORINNA B25

to create difficulties—to make it necessary for you
to end that engagement, to meet your own people,
to invite comment. If we are married the whole
thing is simple. I have run away with you and
you with me,’ he laughed, challenging her serious
eyes. ‘©The world is amazed, our enemies are
compelled to accept the situation, our friends are on
our side, and we are free.’

It was, of course, the obvious step, and the step he
had never doubted she could hesitate a moment about
taking, and the amazing thing was that he should
have to plead for its advantages with her.

‘Corinna, for God’s sake don’t torture me!” he
cried passionately. ‘ You do love me.’

She sank into a chair exhausted and covered her
face with her hands. ‘Leave me. Leave me now,’
she cried.

He again reproached himself for not making
sufficient allowance for her overwrought condition.

‘Yes, dear, I will go,’ he said. ‘I will come
back in the afternoon. I shall be miserable until I
have seen you again.’

‘No,’ she begged, ‘do not come this afternoon.
Let me rest.’

He obeyed her reluctantly. ‘To-morrow, then,’
he said, ‘to-morrow, early. To-morrow will make
everything look different.’

They were almost the same words that she had
said to him on the previous evening, but he did not
notice it. His heart yearned to express its love. To
have felt her arms about his neck, her tears on his
cheek, would have sent him from her happy; but
she made no movement, and he asked her for nothing
more. He bent over and kissed her forehead, and
left her without any word of farewell.

Q
226 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Corinna went to her room and slept for a few
hours. When she awoke there was no longer any
trace of excitement about her. She had the deter-
mined look of one who saw difficulties before her,
and was not dismayed by them. Her departure
for England had previously been arranged for that
day. She now gave instructions that everything
was to be ready for the following morning, and
after leaving orders that she would be at home to
no one, she went out and walked along the garden-
path by the river. She strove to think herself free.
She determined that she would be free, that her
liberty of action should be as unfettered as it had
been twenty-four hours before. If she married
Desmond it should not be until he had won her;
and she was not won. She felt towards him as
she imagined Ireland felt towards England. In the
midst of her reflections she was surprised by the
presence of a woman who seemed to have been
waiting for her. She recognised Mary Rahilly.

‘J want a word with you, me lady,’ said she.

‘Very well,’ said Corinna, rather impatiently, but
unable to escape her. ‘ What can I do for you?’

‘The man that brought trouble on one woman
will bring trouble on another. The man that forgot
the love of one woman will forget the love of another,’
she said ominously.

Corinna understood that the murder of her
husband had affected her reason, and let her go
on.

‘I’m sorry to be here, Miss !’

Corinna looked at her with pitying interest. She
was struck by the refinement of her voice and
features. A suffering woman always appealed to
her.
XIV DESMOND AND CORINNA 227

‘I should like to help you if you are in trouble,’
she said.

‘May God reward your goodness,’ replied the
woman ; ‘but ’tisn’t to ask your help I’m here,
but to warrn you of danger.’

Corinna noticed that there was no sign of excite-
ment or madness about her. She spoke as from deep
conviction.

‘You know that ’tis Michael Desmond I’m
spakin’ of,’ she continued ; ‘and I’m here to warrn
you that my curse is on him and on his love.’

‘That is nothing to me,’ said Corinna with an
involuntary shiver.

‘He’s coortin’ you, they do be sayin’, and you’ve
listened to his coortship.’

Corinna stepped past her. ‘Will you be good
enough to leave me ?’ she said.

‘T'll lave you when I’ve said what I came hither
to say,’ said the woman, following her, ‘and ’twill
not take long.’ She stood in the path in front of
Corinna. ‘My curse is upon him,’ she repeated
solemnly, ‘and ’tis right you should know it before
it falls on yourself. “Tis not for the wrong he did
meself. He did me that wrong when I was a girrl
no older than you are, and he called it love, and, God
forgive me, I was proud of it.’ Corinna could not
choose but listen. ‘And a good man married me
and gave me an honest name, and was murthered
in cold blood. And Michael Desmond defended
the man that murthered him.’ She spoke in low,
even tones full of intense feeling. ‘I laid me curse
on him for that.’

Corinna struggled against a fascination of horror
which the woman’s words and manner threw about
her. ‘If you are speaking the truth—if this is the
228 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHap.

way you seek revenge,’ she began—‘no, you are
not speaking the truth.’

‘I have no more to say, Miss ; I came hither to
warrn you. When Michael Desmond was a young
man with a claner soul than he has now, I held him
in my arms as maybe you think to hold him, and he
spoke words to me that maybe he’ll spake to you ;
but the man that forgets one woman will forget
another, and the curse that I laid on him and his
love will stay with him.’

She turned as she finished speaking and walked
slowly away. A fit of trembling came over Corinna
as she went back to the house, The interview com-
pleted her sense of humiliation. She felt herself
on the level of the woman who could also speak
of Desmond as a lover. Her intuitive resentment
of the relationship existing between man and woman
was aroused to active rebellion ; and, to her, Desmond
stood for his sex. She knew that in the eyes of the
world—if the world could have seen—she had placed
herself in his power; and this fact intensified her
passion to be free, determined her to assert her
freedom in defiance of what had happened. In the
eyes of the world she had yesterday been under an
obligation to marry Sir Henry Desmond: to-day
she was forbidden to marry him and compelled to
marry Michael Desmond. She repudiated both
judgments. To marry Sir Henry now might be
abhorrent to herself, but she strove to think that
she was in no way debarred from doing so. He
had been disloyal to her, she to him. She could
now meet him on equal terms: she claimed that
woman should be judged by the same moral
standard as man. But if, in the progress of time,
this common standard should peradventure be
xav DESMOND AND CORINNA 229

established, it will assuredly be arrived at by the
winning of man to a higher ideal, not by the per-
mission to woman of a lower. In her desperate
revolt Corinna was fighting, not against the world,
but against nature, against all that was best in her
own heart.

In her present state of emotional ferment her
rebellion against the man in whose power she had
placed herself was the one impelling force. She
decided on immediate action, and made instant pre-
paration for her departure to England by the mail
train to Dublin that evening. Before leaving she
wrote a line to Desmond, which she afterwards
placed in the post herself. A longer letter which she
had first written displeased her and was destroyed.
What she wrote was merely this :—

It is better for us not to meet. I am leaving to-night
for England on my way to friends in France. Do not
follow me.—C. T.-C.

The same train by which Desmond had counted
on taking his bride to Dublin bore her away from
him.

He received Corinna’s communication next morn-
ing, and after his first feelings of amazement and
mortification had come and gone, he was less dis-
turbed by her action than might have been expected.
It was clear to him that she had undergone a severe
emotional strain which had upset her habitual cool-
headed judgment, and he even admitted that it might
be a good thing that she should have time to recover
before she came to him as his wife. A week's
absence and reflection would make her feel how
entirely she must rely on him, and he was so
thoroughly in love with her that he was prepared
230 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

to submit to the disappointment of a short postpone-
ment for the recompense of reunion with a happy
bride.

He decided to obey her wish and neither follow
nor attempt to communicate with her until she wrote
to him. He understood her well enough to know
that she had rejoiced in her freedom, and perhaps
resented the compulsion under which she was placed
to marry him. It was for him, as far as might be
possible, to make her forget the compulsion, and to
treat her lightest wish as a command.

For the first few days after she left his task of
patient waiting was not difficult. He plunged into
work, devoting himself to arrears of correspondence
and details of political organisation. Once or twice
he was on the point of telling his mother of his
engagement to Miss Temple-Cloud, but he did not
do so. As the days passed without bringing him a
letter, he became restless. Political work called him
to Dublin, but he was afraid to leave home lest a
message from Corinna should come for him in his
absence. He invited two of his colleagues to
Duhallow, and tried to concentrate his thoughts on
business while he listened for the knock at the door
which might announce a letter or a telegram.

At the end of the week the necessity for action of
some sort became imperative. If he had known
where Corinna was, he would have gone to her in
spite of her injunction. The only person he could
think of as likely to give him her address was the
Prime Minister. He wrote and received no direct
answer, but, after three days’ further waiting, he read
a startling paragraph in the Irish Times which ex-
plained the Prime Minister’s silence, and contained a
statement which, though incredible, compelled his
XIV DESMOND AND CORINNA 291

alarm. Under the heading of ‘Indisposition of the
Prime Minister’ it stated that he had been ordered
to rest before the autumn session, and that Lord
Champfleur had placed his steam yacht, Panthea, at
his service. After mentioning some of the engage-
ments which would now have to be cancelled, the

paragraph concluded :—

Much disappointment is felt in society circles at the
necessity for abandoning the brilliant gathering which
had been arranged to take place at Wilton Towers on the
occasion of the marriage of Sir Henry Desmond with the
niece of the Prime Minister. We understand that the
marriage will now take place immediately, and that the
ceremony will be private. Sir Henry Desmond and his
bride are expected to join the Prime Minister on the
Panthea during their honeymoon.

This was matter about which, whether it were
true or false, thought was impossible: action was
imperative. Desmond left home at once, and arrived
in England next morning.

Again it was the newspaper that chronicled his
fortune. On the front page of the Times his own
name caught his eye, and he read this :—

On the 12th instant, at the parish church of Wyck
St. Mary, by the Rev. Cecil Down Ampney, rector, Sir
Henry Desmond, Bart., M.P., of Wyck House, Surrey, and
Duhallow Court, Co. Cork, to Corinna, only daughter of
Colonel and Mrs. Temple-Cloud.
CHAPTER XV
THE OPENING OF THE BALLYVODRA HOTEL

Ir was not till the early summer of the following
year that Kathleen O’Brien was able to complete the
arrangements for opening her hotel. On first hearing
of the scheme the neighbourhood had been incredu-
lous, and having had its laugh it took a genuine
interest, and commended the pluck of the venture.
But no goodwill of friends or neighbours could heal
the wound which had been dealt to the family pride.
Every member of the household, even Kathleen, in
spite of her assumed indifference to appearances, felt
it, and Mr. O’Brien more than any of them. Against
pride he had been preaching and warning his family
for years, without knowing how much of it there was
in his own heart. Now, the picture of himself, the
head of his branch of the family, the descendant of
princes of the land, as an innkeeper was bitter to
contemplate.

Jack, after having the situation made very clear
to him, came loyally to his sister’s aid, but he felt the
humiliation keenly, and avoided his old associates,
especially the young English officers at the neighbour-
ing barracks. Miss Bridget and Miss Honora spent
more time than formerly in the privacy of their own
rooms, and refused the invitations they continued to

232
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 233

receive to parties in the neighbourhood. They pro-
fessed themselves ready to help, and showed signs of
excitement as the time for the opening of the hotel
drew near. Jem, the second boy, had gone out to
Connor Desmond’s friend in Canada, and Dan, who
went daily to a school in Mallow, was too young to
be considered ; but Kathleen had a task in managing
the other members of her family, and keeping up
their spirits, which, added to her labours in carrying
through her scheme, called for all her tact and
strength.

It would have taken a far larger sum than
Kathleen had at her disposal to repair the neglect of
years in the old place, and also provide for the neces-
sary alterations to the house for the reception of
guests ; but there were many signs of improvement.
The rusty entrance gates had received a coat of paint,
and on the roof of the lodge slates covered the holes
which had been protected by a canvas rick cover.
Weeds and moss had been removed from the avenue,
and a wire fence had been erected to keep the cattle
from the shrubberies surrounding the house. In the
kitchen garden, a winter’s work had been devoted to
the reclamation of the jungle into which it had
degenerated ; the stables and outbuildings had been
patched up, and the big doors between the courtyard
and the farmyard were locked to prevent the invasion
of the precincts of the house by pigs and poultry.
Externally there was not much change in the house
itself, other. than the glazing of windows, the paint-
ing of woodwork, and the introduction of a lamp
above the hall door on which appeared the words,
‘The Ballyvodra Hotel.’ Miss Honora had sug-
gested ‘The Hotel Ballyvodra’ as being more
fashionable, but had received no support. The
234 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cnap.

entrance was further embellished by the smart
appearance of the two old naval guns which stood
on either side of the door. The rust had been
removed, and Sisk, the painter, had illuminated them
with all the colours he possessed. Within, the
change was considerable. Partitioned from the hall
was a glass structure with a window labelled Office
in red letters, and a little counter in front of it. The
dining-room had been enlarged by making an open-
ing into a disused room beyond it, and, in addition to
the old table which stood in its accustomed place, a
number of smaller ones had been placed round the
walls. The holes in the drawing-room floor had
been mended, and a new carpet and some new chairs
purchased. The old school-room was fitted up as a
smoking-room, and the fragrant chamber adjoining,
half still-room, half store-room, became the bar. The
disused bedrooms were furnished, rather barely, and
they were all numbered. Everything was ready for
the reception of at least twenty guests to begin with,
and a plan devised for increasing the accommodation
if success should require it. A wing of the house
which contained rooms for lumber, stored apples,
wool, old harness, and other accumulation was
cleaned, plainly furnished, and shut off from the
rest of the building for the use of the family, with a
private entrance into the walled garden. The altera-
tions had been carried out with economy, and
Kathleen’s architect had proved his devotion to his
client by keeping the cost under the estimate.

As to the staff, the old servants were retained.
Carmody became head waiter, with Con Callaghan,
the gardener’s son, usually called Coneen Cal to dis-
tinguish him from his parent, and two maids as his
assistants. Carmody had a new suit of clothes, and
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 235

contemplated with well-feigned admiration the figure
of his junior in his own discarded coat, the tails of
which came near to touching the ground in its new
position. But the most striking thing in the way of
apparel was one of Mr. O’Brien’s old hunting-coats,
slightly altered for the wear of Matthew Corbett, the
boots. Kathleen was a little doubtful as to his
capacity for the post, but at one time of his life he
had been an officer’s servant and she hoped for the
best. She had determined to rely on her own
people as much as possible, and the only stranger
in the establishment was Miss Copley, the book-
keeper, who was English, and had already had some
hotel experience. An omnibus was the chief addition
to the outdoor equipment. It was an expensive
item, but as the station was four miles away it
was a necessity. Of horses there were already
enough on the. place for any ordinary work that
might be expected, and no one in the country knew
better than Jack O’Brien where to find others when
they were wanted.

On the morning of the opening of the hotel
Kathleen received a letter saying that a party of six
people going to Killarney desired accommodation at
the Ballyvodra Hotel, and would arrive at Mallow
from Dublin in the evening at five o'clock. She
had hardly ventured to hope for guests on the first
day, and was much elated. As it was possible
there might also be chance comers who had not
written, preparations were made and dinner ordered
for ten. As the time drew near for the departure
of the omnibus to meet the train, Kathleen made
a final inspection of the arrangements like a general
surveying the disposition of his troops before an
engagement. Mrs. Irwin, the cook, was anxious
236 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

to make a good first impression, and the dinner in
preparation perhaps erred on the side of profusion.
She was somewhat alarmed at her mistress’s warn-
ing as to the possible protraction of the meal.

‘You see, Mrs. Irwin,’ she said, ‘in a hotel
people are not always punctual, and unless you are
very careful, things might be spoilt by being kept
waiting.’

‘Oh thin, indeed, I’d taych them manners, Miss,
at the bignin’, and lave them that’s late take their
shance,’ said Mrs. Irwin.

‘But the train might be late. Besides, we have
to get a good name for making them comfortable.
I have a notice up saying, ‘Dinner, seven-thirty,
punctually,” and I hope they'll take notice of it.’

The dining-room looked bright with its tables
covered with snow-white linen, and decorated with
bunches of fragrant spring flowers. The depart-
ment of floral decoration had been given to Miss
Bridget—Miss Honora, being the stronger, having
embraced the more laborious duty of taking charge
of and issuing stores. In spite of the injury which
their feelings had sustained, they derived some secret
happiness from the share ney were taking in assist-
ing the scheme.

The whole establishment turned out to see the
omnibus start for the station. It was drawn by a
pair of very smart grey horses, and David Condon,
the coachman, was a proud man as he drove through
the great arch of the courtyard, and heard the
wheels crunch the newly laid gravel of the drive
in front of the hall door. Corbett, the boots, in
his pink hunting-coat, was beside him on the box
and shared his glory. Kathleen, standing on the
doorstep, gave her final instructions to Corbett.
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 237

‘Be on the platform when the train comes in,’ she
said, ‘and ask every one who gets out if it’s for the
Ballyvodra Hotel they are.’

‘And if there’s too much luggage for you,’ said
Jack to the coachman, ‘put the heavy things on the
ass-cart. Quinlan will be there with it in front of
you.’

A cheer from a group of labourers and servants
collected under the archway signalised the departure,
which was watched furtively but not without interest
by Mr. O’Brien from the shubbery.

As he had plenty of time, David Condon could
not resist the temptation of going a little out of his
way and driving through the village of Duhallow.
Here the omnibus attracted all the attention he had
anticipated. Lord Shandon himself had nothing so
imposing, and David had to receive a running fire
of interrogation and chaff. At Riordan’s public-
house, where he stopped to have a glass of porter
in honour of the occasion, a small crowd collected.

‘’Tis a grand turn-out, David,’ said one. <All
ye want now is poshtillions.’

‘Indeed and maybe before long we'll have thim
too, with the help o’ God,’ said Corbett.

‘And there’s company comin’ to ye already, and
tis only to-day the hot-tel’s open?’

‘ Phaix,’ replied David, ‘there’s no knowin’ how
we'll dale wid them all. They’re just tumbling over
aich other. We have two ass-carts sint on in front
to bring the heavy luggage.’

‘ Wisha then, that’s good news! ’T will be bring-
ing thrade into the counthry.’

‘Will they be wantin’ a valley at the hotel ?’
asked Pat Considine, a ragged individual who was
accompanied by his wife, who carried a baby on her
238 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

back, and several children ; ‘ because I’ve a thrifle of
leisure just now.’

At this period of the year, before the potatoes in
his little patch of garden were ready for digging, he
made professional rounds as a candidate for alms
through the county.

‘For shame, Pat Considine,’ cried one of the
group. ‘Where’s your pride, man, to be thinkin’
of enlisting for a servant? What’d your family
think of you ?’

‘What time ll ye be back from Mallow station
wid the company?’ asked another.

‘’T will be about half-past six or from that to
siven,’ replied David.

‘Some of us ’ll be round to welcome ye,’ said
the speaker.

‘ And indeed we will,’ added several others.

“Tis a great day!’ and ‘ Did I iver think I'd
live to see an O’Brien of Ballyvodra come to this?’
‘They say ’tis Miss Kathleen’s doin’, God bless her,’
and ‘Good luck to thim anny way, for they niver
turned the poor man away from their door,’ and
‘Look out on the platform for me aunt, Mrs.
Baymish of Tralee, she have a shweet of rooms
taken,’ were some of the comments, interspersed
with cheers, as David picked up his reins and drove
off.

The omnibus was late on its return, and it was
dark before the long-expected sound of wheels was
heard in the avenue. Lights shone in all the windows
of the house, and at the open door Kathleen awaited
her guests. A considerable crowd, composed partly
of farm-labourers and others engaged at Ballyvodra,
and partly of sympathetic visitors from the neighbour-
hood, had gathered in front of the house. A little
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 239

group surrounded one of the guns which had been
removed a short way from the house, and Dan, who
had caught the spirit of the occasion, and appeared
to be acting as battery commander, was superintend-
ing the priming of the touch-hole. The omnibus
was driven up the avenue at a gallop; and as it
pulled up at the door, the loud report of the cannon,
the firing of which was happily unattended with
injury to any one, and a burst of cheering, signalised
-the fact that the hotel was open and the first guests
had arrived.

But where were the guests who, according to
Condon, were tumbling over each other to get
admission? Where was the party Kathleen was
expecting from Dublin? Corbett, not entirely
sober, dropped from the box and threw open the
omnibus door. One old gentleman was the only
occupant. As he alighted a great cheer greeted
him, and he stood on the steps contemplating the
strange scene with a look of amusement.

‘Gentlemen!’ he said, addressing the shadowy
crowd, ‘gentlemen, and perhaps I may add, ladies!
I am much obliged to you for your welcome,
though I am afraid it is due to some mistake. If,
as I am afraid, you mistake me for one of your
legislators, thank God you are wrong. I appreciate
your kindness ; but if you have done me the honour
because I am the first guest to arrive, I shall be glad
to celebrate the occasion by sending you a barrel of
porter into the yard.’

He turned round amidst renewed cheers, and was
greeted by his hostess.

‘What? Mr. Barrington!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes, my dear young lady, and very proud of the
fact that I’m your first guest.’
240 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Indeed, you’re a welcome one.’

‘And a very hungry one.’

‘Oh,’ she laughed, ‘we can relieve that. We
have dinner prepared for ten, and you’re alone. But
this luggage must belong to the party I expected,’
she added, as trunk after trunk was brought into the
hall.

‘It’s all mine,’ he replied. ‘You see, I’m come
prepared to make a good long stay. That is my
intention. I am tired of wandering.’

Kathleen was quick to perceive the advantage of
having a good permanent guest, and her disappoint-
ment at the non-arrival of her party entirely
vanished,

‘Any room will do for me to-night,’ said Mr.
Barrington ; ‘but as | am hoping to make my home
here for the present I will ask you to let me look round
to-morrow and choose my rooms. I shall want a

rivate sitting-room, if I can have one, as well as a
a And if you haven’t one ready,’ he added,
noticing a look of perplexity on Kathleen’s face, ‘1
daresay we can fix up one of the bedrooms. I have
some odds and ends of cabinets and bookcases and
things that would furnish it. Well, we'll leave all
that till to-morrow.’

Kathleen rang the bell for the chambermaid, and
assumed a business-like air. ‘Take this gentleman
to number three, Mary,’ she said; and turning to
Corbett, ‘Mr. Barrington will show you the things
he will require in his room ; the rest can stay in the
hall till to-morrow.’

The old man looked at her with quiet amusement.
‘I expect you would like me to register my name,’
he said, noticing the new visitor’s book which lay on
the office counter. ‘I'll do it by-and-by, but I
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 241

can’t promise you any poetry. Yes, it all looks very
homely and pleasant. I’m glad I came.’

After waiting until her guest was comfortably
occupied with his dinner, attended by Carmody and
Coneen Cal, Kathleen joined her family in their
private room. The usual babel of voices met her
ear: all were talking, none were listening.

‘What’s this they’re telling me,’ cried Mr.
O’Brien, ‘that ‘tis ae ones Mrs. Desmond’s
brother, you have here? A neighbour! He's
welcome as a friend and a guest, but how can we
take his money? Not a penny of it will I have.
With strangers ’tis different, but I can’t do it with
friends. I'll go tell him myself.’

‘Indeed, father,’ said Kathleen, ‘ you’ll do no such
thing. He’s just the sort of guest we want, and he’s
come to stay. Youdon’t mind selling your sheep to
a neighbour,’ she laughed, ‘so you must not object
to my selling my mutton after it’s cooked.’

‘There ’ll be plenty for him,’ said Jack. ‘They
have the best part of a sheep cooked for this party
that didn’t come.’

‘Couldn’t we have the law of them,’ suggested
Dan.

‘ Listen to that for noise,’ exclaimed Mr. O’Brien,
who was in an excited mood. ‘There’s half the
parish collected outside in the yard.’

‘And the barn cleared for dancing,’ said Dan.

‘ All the idle rascals in the village are over to see
what we’re doing, and eat and drink at my expense.
By the powers,’ he said, rising, ‘I’ll have every mother’s
son of them out of the place in two minutes !’

‘You must let them alone to-night, father,’ said
Kathleen. ‘It’s kindness brought them over, and
‘twould be unlucky to turn them away on our first

R
242 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

night. And ’tisn’t our porter they’re drinking. Mr.
Barrington ordered it for them, and ’tis good for
business.’

Miss Bridget and Miss Honora exchanged glances
of horror at Kathleen’s degeneracy.

Coneen Cal knocked at the door and thrust in
his head. ‘A bottle of number three and a bottle of
number tin, Miss,’ he said. ‘He’s atin’ very hearty,’
he added in a congratulatory tone.

The boys received this information with a shout
of laughter, and Kathleen went to the store-room
where she kept the supply of wine she had laid in.
She had obtained it from a wine-merchant in Cork
without the advice of a male friend, and was a little
anxious how it would turn out ; but Connor Desmond
had assured her that her guests would not pay for
expensive wine, and that ninety-nine out of every
hundred would not know it if it were given to them.
What little remained in Mr. O’Brien’s cellar had not
been put on the list.

She returned to find her family in a heated dis-
cussion as to whether Mr. Barrington ought to be
treated as a stranger and left alone, or if it would be
right to show him some personal attention—perhaps
ask him to join the family party after dinner.

‘I don’t know where I am,’ said Mr. O’Brien.
‘I don’t like to be leaving him alone there by himself
with no one to speak to and entertain him. And
how can I show hospitality to a man who is paying
for his own bed and board.’

‘Indeed, he will probably be feeling lonesome,’
said Miss Bridget.

‘Let him alone,’ said Jack; ‘he'll go to sleep after
dinner.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Kathleen slyly, ‘Aunt Bridget
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 243

might go and sit with him in the drawing-room for
a while.’

‘My dear!” exclaimed Miss Bridget ; ‘it would
be most improper.’

Coneen Cal knocked again, and showed an anxious
face.

‘A bottle of twelve and a bottle of twenty-two,
Miss.’

‘ Begad, he’s not doing badly,’ Jack laughed as
Kathleen went out. ‘ We shall have to carry him to
bed if this goes on ; but I suppose it’s all good for
business, as Kathleen says. Now, how much a bottle
do you net on that stuff?’ he asked her as she came
back.

‘Really, Jack, you put things very—well, not
very delicately,’ said Miss Honora. ‘I hope there’s
nothing the matter, Kathleen,’ she added, noticing a
look of distress on her niece’s face.

‘I’m afraid Mr. Barrington is very particular about
his wine,’ she answered. ‘Of course hotel wines are
not for connoisseurs.’

Her suspicion was confirmed a few minutes later
by Carmody himself, who appeared at the door with
an angry countenance.

‘Me heart is broke with him, Miss,’ he cried.
‘« Number three! What’s that you call it,” says he,
“St. Julien? Red ink,” says he. ‘ Number tin!
Chateau Lafitte? Chateau Baymish,” says he.
“ Number twelve! Bone, is it ?” says he, “or syrup
of cough-drops? I'll try once more,” says he, ‘‘ and
lave you choose it yourself.” What ll we give him,
Miss ?’

‘Upon my word, I like his damn cheek,’ said Jack.

‘Sure he’s paying for it,’ said Dan.

Mr. O’Brien, with a memory of the days when his
244 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

cellar and his father’s before him had had an honour-
able name, winced. He showed no sign of offence
at Mr. Barrington’s criticism, but gave an order
without consulting Kathleen.

‘Go into the cellar and get up one of the bottles
of port, Carmody,’ he said, ‘and take it to Mr.
Barrington with my compliments.’

‘ That won't pay, sir,’ said Dan cheekily as Carmody
left the room.

‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ cried his father. ‘ Will
I sit down and see a neighbour poisoned in me own
house. Be off now and get your lessons prepared.’

Dan departed, not to prepare lessons, but to join
the revellers in the barn, and Jack went to smoke and
read the Cork Constitution in the room he had fitted
up for himself above the coach-house.

Meanwhile Mr. Barrington, in spite of his failure
to find a wine he could drink, was feeling very com-
fortable and pleased with his new surroundings. The
dinner had been excellent ; it would be little hard-
ship to drink whisky for a night or two, and it would
be easy to get in some wine for himself. He did not
expect much from Carmody’s new adventure to the
cellar, and he did not notice the look of pride and
dignity on the old butler’s face as he returned with
the bottle of port which he had carefully decanted.
Mr. Barrington poured out a glass and sipped it
rather casually ; he repeated the operation critically ;
he then held up the glass to the light, and put it to
his lips almost apologetically.

‘Waiter,’ said he. ‘See, what’s your name? I
like to call a man by his name.’

‘ Carmody, sir.’

Mr. Barrington poured out another glass of port,
and, after receiving its confirmatory evidence of an
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 245

opinion he almost feared might have been too hasty,
he said, ‘ Carmody, have you much of that stuff?’

‘Enough to float a ship,’ replied Carmody, multi-
plying in his mind’s eye the few dozens that remained,
for the honour of his master’s cellar.

‘ How long have you had it here?’

‘Indeed, then, twas there before I can remember
it.’

‘It’s ’forty-seven.’

‘Indeed, ’tis all that then, thank God.’

‘I don’t see it in the list,’ he said, turning over
the leaves.

‘Oh sure, it isn’t there at all, sir, ‘tis our private
drinkin’. And the masther tould me to bring it
with his compliments.’

Mr. Barrington gave a sigh of disappointment.
He had seen a vista before him of evenings coloured
by that wine.

‘Please convey my best thanks to Mr. O’Brien,’
he said, and after a moment’s reflection added, ‘ Tell
him he would add to my gratitude if he would join
me in drinking it.’

To receive an invitation under his own roof was
a curious experience to Mr. O’Brien. His pride
made it difficult for him to accept it; his feeling of
hospitality compelled him to consider his guest.
Kathleen saw his discomfort, and suggested that
Mr. Barrington should be asked to join their party.
Carmody was despatched with the message, and
returned accompanied by Mr. Barrington.

Mr. O’Brien and he had not met before, and
Kathleen introduced them.

‘You would need, sir, to be in my unhappy
position—childless and homeless—to understand how
much I appreciate your kindness and your welcome.’
246 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Mr. Barrington shook hands with his host warmly,
his face shining with geniality and well-being.

‘My sisters,’ said Mr. O’Brien; and the ladies
half rose and bowed with a mixture of coyness and
dignity. Mr. Barrington settled himself in an arm-
chair which was indicated to him, and noticed with
satisfaction that Carmody had brought in the
decanter of port. He was so entirely at his ease
that he relieved the others from any sense of
constraint.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘after spending the best years of
one’s life in money-getting, after knocking about the
world as I have done, one feels the want of a home.
I'd give all I possess to sit at my own hearth, and
see the faces of my children round me.’

Miss Bridget and Miss Honora gave approving
murmurs to this sentiment. Poor motherly souls!
they, too, often had visions of hearth and children of
their own, sweeter than any picture of wealth or
exalted position.

‘I’m sixty,’ continued Mr. Barrington. ‘It’s
forty years since my poor father—do you remember
him, Mr. O’Brien ?’

“Indeed I do. Many a time when I was a lad I
saw him in the hunting field.’

‘He gave me a hundred pounds to fight the world
with. Well, I fought the world in quite a friendly
way—no bad feeling on either side—and came out of
it all right.’

‘You did the right thing, sir, not a doubt of it.’

‘And here I am in Ireland again, and glad to be
back too. No other country seems like home.’

‘Home!’ echoed Mr. O’Brien. ‘’Tis hard work
for some of us to keep our home here now.’

Miss Bridget exchanged glances with her sister as
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 247

though to say, ‘Now William is off on one of his
tirades.’

‘’Tis a country, sit, in which there’s no justice left.
Look at me own case and the case of half the other
landlords in Ireland, robbed of our rents and abused
by the robbers. . “Down with landlordism,” says
any jackass of a fellow on a platform, and every lazy
ruffian in the crowd shouts and thinks himself a
patriot. And English politicians call these howlings
“the bitter cry of an oppressed people,” to suit their
own purposes. Believe you me, sir, a judgment will
fall on the country, and on the man that made
Jeroboam to sin.

‘Israel!’ Miss Honora gently corrected her
brother.

‘And if you want the man’s name,’ said Mr.
O’Brien, ‘’tis Michael Desmond.’

‘My nephew,’ Mr. Barrington smiled.

‘ Your nephew ! I forgot it. I owe you an
apology, though ’tis truth I speak,’ Mr. O’Brien said
in some confusion.

“And I heartily agree with you, sir. No one can
detest my nephew’s views more thoroughly than I
do.’ Mr. Barrington filled his glass, and insisted on
his host joining him in finishing the bottle.

‘T’ve made my money and prospered under the
British flag, and I mean to support it,’ he said.
‘What’s this Home Rule but a step towards separa-
tion? Read their speeches, read Michael Desmond’s
speeches in America. But he’s wise enough to know
that physical force would be madness, and he’s
holding the Clan-na-Gael in check, and making
use of them all the while. He could put a stop
to agrarian crime too, but it suits his purpose to let
it continue.’
248 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘You have it,’ cried Mr. O’Brien, * you have it
toa T.’

There was a look of hostility in Kathleen’s eyes,
and she seemed about to speak.

‘T can’t help admiring the fellow too,’ Mr. Barring-
ton continued. ‘ He’s turned the Irish parliamentary
rabble into a compact force, he’s played the two
great English parties off against one another, he’s
either frightened or converted their most influential
statesmen, and finally he gets his views adopted as
part of the Liberal programme. What did England
care for Home Rule five years ago? But there’s no
knowing what infernal folly an English mob’s capable
of when it ceases to be purely selfish. They’ll weep
about Bulgarian atrocities when they ought to be
rebuilding their fleet, and they'll yell for the rights
of Irishmen and be disloyal when they ought to be
federating their Empire.’

‘Now you have it,’ said Mr. O’Brien, who, how-
ever, was not entirely clear as to Mr. Barrington’s
meaning. ‘You have it toa T, sir.’

‘Well, they’ve lost one general election on Home
Rule, but they’re getting stronger every day. If
Michael can hold his band of rascals together solid,
I believe he'll have his way. He’s an extra-
ordinary fellow. By the way, d’ye know my
nephew Connor?’

‘Oh yes, very well,’ all answered except Kathleen.
‘From his boyhood.’

‘What an awful noise they’re making outside,’
said Miss Bridget. ‘Ought it not to be stopped,
William ??”

‘°’Tis our friend’s barrel.of porter,’ he replied.
‘Let ’em alone.’

‘Connor’s the fellow I like,’ Mr. Barrington went
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 249

on, growing more confidential under the influence of
the port. ‘He has as good a head as Michael, and
a damn—excuse me, ladies, that’s a word I learnt in
the colonies—and a much better heart ; but, like the:
rest of them, he has fallen under the spell of Michael’s
influence. If he’d give me a chance I'd make him
my heir, but no money of mine is going to rebels.
My sister has a good deal to answer for. I’m sorry
about Connor. With my money he could go a long
way, and he’s a fine lad and as straight as a gun
barrel. But Michael! he’s got no conscience. He’s
utterly unscrupulous. He sees his object, and goes
for it without consideration for friend or enemy. To
gain his ends there’s no cruel or mean thing he
wouldn’t do.’

‘ That’s not true,’ Kathleen said with flushed cheeks,
‘and it’s not fair.’ She rose and left the room.

‘What have I done now?’ said Mr. Barrington
in consternation. ‘I wouldn’t offend that young
lady for anything.’

‘Oh, tis nothing, ‘tis nothing,’ Mr. O’Brien
reassured him. ‘I agree with everything you said,
but my daughter’s a little touchy on the subject.
Desmond saved her life when she was a child, and
she has never forgotten it. They have remained
friends. I don’t forget it either,’ he added.

At this moment Miss Copley, the English lady
Kathleen had engaged as book-keeper, burst into the
room with a white and terror-struck face.

‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘come and stop them, they’re
murdering each other. There’s blood flowing. Quick,
it’s a terrible scene.’

The opened door let in the sounds of conflict—
shouts, groans, cheers, mingled with the wail of

bagpipes.
250 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cua.

‘Oh, they’re only amusing themselves,’ said Mr.
O’Brien, rising leisurely.

‘ They’re killing each other,’ the young lady cried
excitedly, ‘and Master Dan’s loading the cannon.
I saw him ramming it. For heaven’s sake, Mr.
O’Brien, come and stop it.’

‘See what your barrel of porter has to answer for,’
laughed Mr. O’Brien, as he went out followed by
his guest.

In the dim light of stable lanterns and the embers
of a dying bonfire, a dark mass of men armed with
sticks surged and struggled. There seemed to be
no method in the fighting, every man laying about
him with his stick, now aiming ‘into the brown,’
now picking out a particular head which offered a
fair target. The noise made by the combatants, and
the cheers of those who were not engaged in the
‘fight, completely drowned Mr. O’Brien’s voice as he
called on them to desist and threatened them with
all the penalties he could think of. But a minute
later the desired object was obtained in an unex-
pected way. Dan, assisted by two of the stable lads,
had brought up his gun to the very edge of the
crowd, and fired his blank charge with a huge report
into the midst of the combatants. There were
shrieks that could not have been rivalled on a
battle-field, then silence, and the whole crowd was
piled on the ground in all the contortions of a death
struggle. It was clear that many of them believed
that they were dying or dismembered, but as soon as
it was discovered that they had received no injury
from the cannonade, the victims rose and even joined
in the laughter of the onlookers, while the pipers
who had been engaged for the dancing broke out
with a long windy blast of martial music.
xv OPENING OF BALLYVODRA HOTEL 251

‘Away home with you now, boys,’ said Mr.
O’Brien. ‘You carried your fun a bit too far, but
there’s no harm done. Go straight home and no
more fighting.’

‘We will, then, thank your honour.’ ‘ And
sure twas a grand evening we had.’ ‘And there’ll
be nothing but good luck to the hotel afther, making
so good a start,’ cried one after another.

‘And as for the fightin’,’ said Hickey, the black-
smith, ‘ there’d have been no hand raised if "twasn’t
for that thief o’ the world, John Doolan, spakin’
agin’ the hotel.’

‘ That’s a lie for you,’ replied John Doolan. ‘I
didn’t spake a word agin’ it.’

‘Don’t listen to him, your honour! Michael
Condon said there was no finer hotel annywhere
than the Ballyvodra Hotel, says he, and Doolan,
wid the consait of a schoolmasther, he says there’s a
finer hotel in New York, says he. Say that agin,
says Thade Dorgan, and I'll taych you manners,
you wandhering Jew, says he, and Doolan repated
his story, and wid that Thade hits him a puck, and
thin back he got it, and before we knew what’d
happened we were all in it, and ’twas a grand fight
for the honour of the hotel, and ’tis the begnin’
of good thrade and happy days, plaze God.’

‘’Twasn’t annything I said agin’ the hotel,
Misther O’Brien,’ Doolan began to explain, but was
interrupted by other voices.

‘Sure ’tis settled,’ said one, and ‘ We knew ’twas
in a wake moment he said it, but afterwards he
fought just as hard as the rest for the honour of
your honour’s hotel,’ explained another ; and then
some one proposed three cheers for Mr. O’Brien,
and these were followed by three for Miss Kathleen,
252 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP. XV

and three more for Mr. Barrington, after which the
company departed in high spirits and complete
concord.

Half an hour later the solitary guest of the Bally-
vodra Hotel retired to his room, the lights began to
disappear from the windows, and the night reigned
with its usual silence over the old place.
CHAPTER XVI
A PENDING ELECTION

THE amazing and humiliating termination of
Michael Desmond’s relationship with Corinna
Temple-Cloud embittered his feeling for a time
and lent a new zest to his political animosities, but
his personal emotions did not prevent his pursuing
with a cool head the large purpose of his life. His
winning of the Prime Minister to the cause of Home
Rule was perhaps his greatest political triumph.
The Bill was introduced, and the Liberal party
divided by it. It was rejected in the House of
Lords, and at the general election which followed
the Tories were returned to office, but by a majority
which barely exceeded the combined votes of the
Liberals and the Nationalists. Home Rule was
postponed but was not dead ; henceforth it was an
integral part of the Liberal programme ; and, as
there was abundant reason to hope that at the next
election the country would reverse its decision,
Desmond and his party had good cause to be
satisfied. Meanwhile he worked harder than ever.
On English as well as Irish platforms his voice was
heard. He visited America. At home, wherever
the enemy was most formidable, wherever there
was a hint of insubordination or question of his

253
254 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

authority, he appeared in person, and by his in-
fluence and prestige accomplished his purpose.

It was not until the end of the summer, some
time after Parliament had risen, that he found an
opportunity of escaping from his duties and paying
a long-expected visit to Duhallow; and even then
he could not anticipate complete rest, for, in addition
to his heavy correspondence, a bye-election was
pending in the Duhallow division of the county,
where his nominee, Mr. Regan, was opposed by
Lord Shandon’s son, Horace Croker. Fighting,
however, had become almost recreation to him, and
he looked forward with pleasure to the prospect of
defeating the most influential opponent the Govern-
ment could have brought against him in his own
part of the county.

The saying that a good hater is a good lover may
be true, or it may be as untrue as most of the other
generalisations about human nature. Desmond, for
example, was as incapable of his brother’s constant
and unselfish devotion in love as was Connor of
Michael’s power of persistent hatred. His heart
had known the stress of passion ; he had had more
than one love-affair; but these had been mere
episodes in his life, while his faculty of hatred,
whether for institutions or individuals, remained a
constant motive power. Now, those forces of
inherited antagonism, which the unforgotten traitor
of the family had first brought into being, were
directed against that traitor’s descendant—the man
whose bride he had won and lost.

He had no love for Corinna, but he could not
dismiss her from his thoughts. The extraordinary
nature of their relationship and her incomprehensible
marriage were constantly in his mind. At first, in
- A PENDING ELECTION 255

recalling her, he had labelled her with a shameful
name, but he had afterwards felt that it was un-
fitting. He despised her, but she interested him as
much as ever. He had heard much of her, and on
two occasions since her marriage he had seen her.
She had become prominent in society. She had
established in her London house something as nearly
resembling a sa/on as English manners allow. The
gatherings of notable people under her roof, her own
beauty and wit and charm as a hostess, were much
talked of ; and she was said to be the one woman
with whom her uncle, the late Prime Minister, dis-
cussed politics. It appeared that she spoke without
hesitation of Desmond, for it was conveyed to him
that she was a staunch supporter of his cause, and a
firm believer in his power of making it triumph.

On the first of the two occasions when he had seen
her she had been on her way to the ladies’ gallery of
the House of Commons. He was obliged almost
immediately afterwards to address the House himself,
and it bore witness to his power of self-control that,
though aware of her presence, it in no way dis-
concerted him, and he delivered a speech which, for
logical clearness and telling sarcasm, was ranked
among his best efforts. On the second occasion he
was walking along Whitehall and she driving in the
opposite direction. Their eyes met; she bowed,
and he returned her bow—all in a moment, and
before he had time to consider whether or not he
should pass her without notice. She was lookin
exceedingly well, brilliantly beautiful, and the
momentary vision brought back disturbing memories
of her fascination.

He had not been home since the time he had
parted with her before her marriage, and on his
256 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

return the surroundings presented her with new
vividness to his mind. He was angry that a woman
he despised, one who had deepened his distrust of her
whole sex, should occupy his thoughts so much ; and
it was strange that he should have felt such violent
resentment against the man she had married. She
had been untrue to him: how much more untrue to
Sir Henry Desmond? In his apparent success his
rival was really the victim. What greater punish-
ment could he have desired for him? And yet it
was a revenge which gave him little satisfaction.
He heard with grim emotion that Sir Henry and
Lady Desmond were expected at Duhallow Court
for a month that autumn.

At this time he began to see a good deal of
Kathleen O’Brien. A few days after he returned he
walked over to Ballyvodra to call upon her, and, not
without curiosity, to inspect the hotel. He had
heard from his mother that his uncle had taken up
his abode there, and gathered that on the occasion
when he had come over to the Castle the meeting
had been friendly, though not cordial. Mrs. Desmond
had referred with a mixture of amusement and irrita~
tion to the hotel; with some genuine pity for the
family, and contempt for the English tourists who
formed the majority of the guests. Of Kathleen
and her plucky attempt to save her family from ruin
she spoke with admiration.

There was a marked difference between the
greetings which met Desmond as he passed along the
road, and those which his brother Connor was in
the habit of receiving among his own people. In
Connor’s case respect was mingled with familiarity ;
in Desmond’s the attitude was almost reverential.
Where Connor would have stopped to gossip or
xvi A PENDING ELECTION 257

exchange merry salutations, Michael went by with a
grave recognition ; but a word or a nod from him,
the man who was the national hero, was treasured
as though it had been a royal favour. He was on
foot, and near the Ballyvodra gates was met by
one of the hotel carriages containing a party of
visitors. Condon, the driver, lifted his hat—a
thing he would not have done when sitting behind
his horses, in greeting any one else in the world—
and, after passing, communicated to his company
that it was Mr. Desmond himself. Immediately
all heads were turned to survey the great man’s
back.

‘So this is he that troubleth Israel ! ’

‘Well, we can say we've seen him when we get
home.’

‘Yes, he looks what he is. I shouldn’t like to be
in that man’s power.’

‘Well, Pat’ (to Condon), ‘is he going to get
Home Rule for you? What will you do if you get
it P”

These were some of the remarks which followed ;
and Condon, who resented the question, and dis-
liked being constantly called Pat by English visitors,
when that was not his name, replied rather shortly :

‘Indeed, we’d be doin’ what every one ought
to be doin’, sir,’ said he.

‘And what’s that, Pat?’

‘Faith, if we had Home Rule we’d be minding
our own business,’ he answered.

As Desmond passed through the gates he noticed
that they had been repainted and the words
‘Ballyvodra Hotel’ placed on the piers. He had
never allowed consideration of the hardships to
individuals to influence his political actions; but

s
258 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

he was sorry for the O’Briens, really concerned for
his friend Kathleen, and, remembering his own
part in the movement which had helped to bring
about the present position of the family, almost
surprised that she should continue to treat him as a
friend. Knowing the reason for the general improve-
ment in the appearance of the place, it seemed
to him almost pathetic. The old weed-grown
avenue, the dilapidated house and ruined garden, had
had the dignity of poverty. Now, he saw fresh
paint, windows without cracked panes, and a hundred
other little signs of repair ; but a party of strangers
were having tea on the lawn, a couple of youths
on bicycles rushed past him in the avenue, a
young gentleman smoking a cigarette stood on
the doorstep with an air of proprietorship, and
everything spoke of a house which was no longer a
home.

In the hall he found Kathleen engaged in sorting
letters which had come in by the afternoon mail
and placing them in a shelf of little pigeon-holes
provided for the guests.

‘Well, Kitty,’ he said, in the familiar way he
had spoken to her as a child, ‘are you very busy ?’

She had not noticed his entrance, and started at
the sound of his voice. ‘Oh, is it you ?’ she cried,
springing up to greet him, with a flush of pleasure
and surprise. ‘I heard you were at home.’

He inquired as to her father’s health, but made
no reference to the changed appearance of the place,
—even after they had gone out into the garden and
passed the party taking tea on the lawn.

“Well, and what do you think of all this?’ she
laughed, rather amused at the steady way he ignored
the new surroundings.
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 259

‘Oh, capital!’ he answered. ‘I hope ’tis suc-
ceeding ?’

‘Well, not too badly. At first it seemed hopeless,
but the last month we’ve been quite busy.’

‘What a brave little girl you are.’

‘Couldn’t you send me some guests,’ she sug-
gested. ‘You've only got to give the order and all
the Irish members would be writing for rooms.’

‘You'd need to provide one or two padded rooms,’

_ he replied, with a smile.

‘Is that the way you speak of your own followers? ’
she reproved him.

‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘we have some madmen ;
but, thank God! no fools. Now the English members
are nearly all—well, I won’t say fools,—but very
dull fellows, nearly all rich and respectable. They
go into politics for social and personal reasons, for
the position it gives them, not from any desire to
serve their country.’

‘Oh,’ she said, with spirit, ‘I am sick of politics
and of talk about patriotism. Don’t we love our
country as much as any other class in Ireland? and
you treat us as its enemies. The landlord as well as
the tenant ought to be able to look to you for
justice. You ought to be our leader too; but, as
Connor says, it is civil war.’

He could see the situation from her point of view
clearly enough, and knew it was useless to try to
make her look at it from his, with the hotel staring
them in the face. For once in his life he found
himself justifying his position.

‘I give you my word of honour, Kathleen,’ he
said, ‘that in all I do or have done, I have thought
of Ireland and not of any class; but all reforms
bring hardships, and the innocent have to suffer with
260 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

the guilty. I have sometimes thought it possible
that you might be able to take the broad view:
I mean, that you might almost be able to forget
your own class, your own trials, in thinking of the
good of the whole country and looking forward to
the dawn of a brighter day. It is too much to
expect of most people, perhaps, but somehow I had
thought it possible with you.’

‘No, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can only see my
own side ; I can only think of my own troubles, and,
our changed position, and poor father.’

‘And yet,’ said he, ‘ you have remained my friend
in spite of it all. You cannot think my cause so
unjust or my own motives bad, or you would have
turned away from me.’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘that’s not the reason: it has
nothing to do with it.’ She stopped abruptly.

‘I have tens of thousands of friends, of one sort,
Kitty, but very few like you. I don’t want you
to misjudge me. Whether you can agree with what
I do or not, I want you to know that I am sincere.’
He had never spoken to her like this before. ‘I
want you to believe in me,’ he persisted.

‘Yes, I will. I do,’ she answered.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips,—it
seemed almost unconsciously,—the act expressing more
convincingly than words the gratitude he felt for her
confidence. She belonged to the class he had injured,
to those who regarded everything he did with hatred
and suspicion, and yet she could trust in the sincerity
of his motives. It was worth more to him than the
applause of ten thousand partisans. She, too, was
moved, troubled she hardly knew why, by his unusual
exhibition of feeling. The thought that he held her
friendship so highly, that he cared so much for her
XVI * A PENDING ELECTION 261

opinion, brought a warmer flush to her cheeks. Yet
behind the pleasure that it gave her, there arose an
uneasy feeling that in her admission she had hardly
been true to her own colours.

They were walking through the shrubbery and she
was glad of the diversion in their conversation which
was created by the sight of Mr. Dan Barrington,
who was peacefully sleeping on a garden-seat with
some Australian newspapers at his feet and an empty
tumbler at his side.

‘ There’s your uncle,’ said Kathleen. ‘I think you
said you didn’t know him. Now I can introduce you.’

‘I should much prefer not, if you don’t mind,’
said Desmond, turning. ‘It would be a pity to
disturb him.’

Kathleen laughed. ‘ You don’t know each other.
I’m very fond of him. He’s my most valuable
guest, and he has really been extremely kind and
thoughtful. He has given me more good advice
than anybody else about the management of the
hotel. He takes a real interest in it, and he never
grumbles and finds fault like some of the others.’

‘Well, that’s in his favour,’ said Desmond. ‘I
suppose some of the beggars make themselves a
nuisance.’

‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble I have with
them. Sometimes it’s the damp walls, sometimes the
door-handles coming off. They even seem to think
I am responsible for the rain. There was one English
family that stayed three or four days and said they’d
been deceived. ‘“Ireland’s all humbug,” said the
father. ‘‘Where are the things you advertise?
Emerald Isle, indeed!” says he ; “the grass is just
the same colour it is round Croydon. And where
are your colleens ? the beautiful girls with black hair
262 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuar.

and blue eyes and scarlet hoods, that they show us
in the pictures in the railway stations? They all
wear boots, and half of them picture-hats. Where’s
your old peasant in knee-breeches? where’s the wit
and repartee? and the shillelaghs ? Why, they don’t
even say ‘top of the morning’ or ‘your honour’ !
We're going home.” ’

‘And I expect he wrote a letter to a newspaper
on the present condition of Ireland, when he got
home,’ said Desmond.

‘And there was another,’ she continued, ‘a fussy
old gentleman. I think he was a London alderman.
I was really rather sorry for him. You know some
of our floors are rather old. ‘ You advertise home
comforts, young lady,” he said to me severely.
“ This morning when I woke early, a rat was looking
at me out of a hole in the floor. Is that a home
comfort ?”’ You see what I have to contend with.’

Desmond laughed.

‘ But,’ said Kathleen, ‘ of course some of them are
really nice people and pleased with everything. The
only ones I really object to are those who have heard
of our troubles and attempt to condole with me.
There was a stout lady who nearly had a fall in the
drawing-room in consequence of the leg of her chair
being loose. “Ah,” she said, looking round the
room at the furniture, “like yourselves it has seen
better days.” You see I manage to get some fun
out of it all.’

Desmond thought of her a good deal after they
parted, and could not help contrasting the charm of
her brave and simple nature with the subtle and
complex fascination of Corinna. If Corinna had
lowered his estimate of her sex, Kathleen had done
something to uplift it.
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 263

She, poor girl, had a troubled heart after they
said good-bye, and she began to understand why she
was troubled and how much sadness may lie in the
friendship that hides the love that may not be
expressed.

At this time the appearance on the scene of a
new admirer added to Kathleen’s perplexities. The
number of visits which Horace Croker, the Unionist
candidate for the Duhallow division of the county,
paid to Ballyvodra in the opening days of his
campaign was not to be accounted for by any doubt
as to Mr. O’Brien’s vote, or by the necessity for
frequent political conferences with Mr. Barrington.
That observant gentleman was somewhat flattered at
first by the young man’s assiduity to obtain his
views and advice; but he soon perceived that Mr.
Croker’s attention was not concentrated on his
canvass, and that his visits always terminated in an
interview with Kathleen.

She could hardly misunderstand his intentions.
When admiration is accompanied by self-confi-
dence the maiden may suspect flirtation, but linked
with a measure of timidity it tells her of love. In
Horace Croker’s very marked attention there was a
shyness which was not habitual with him, and he
showed a greater deference to her opinion, even on
political subjects, than he would have paid to those
of a philosopher. Possibly his attitude towards her
may have been influenced by the fallen fortunes of
the family and an instinctive feeling on his part
that the existence of the hotel might make a girl of
her spirit less rather than more ready to accept an
offer of marriage from a man in his position. This
position he did not in the least underestimate. He
knew that, as the future Lord Shandon, most of the
264 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

girls in the county would have desired no better
fortune than that which he proposed for Kathleen
O’Brien ; but there was something in her manner to
him which forbade him to be over-confident, and on
each occasion when he was getting near a confession
she had managed to give the conversation a ridiculous
turn, or to find some excuse for escaping.

His courtship was indeed a far more serious thing
to him than his political campaign. He neither
lacked ability nor ambition, and the prospect of a
fight, though without much chance of success, in
which he would have an opportunity of defending
his class and expressing his patriotism, was attractive
to him. But to a young man in love, the loss of an
election can only seem a trivial thing when compared
with the possibility of losing the maiden of his choice ;
though perhaps in most cases they matter equally
little. There remain at least as many charming
ladies who would be ready to accept the rejected
hand as there would be constituencies ready to
welcome the rejected candidate.

Before making his proposal to Kathleen, Horace
Croker took the correct and old-fashioned step of
speaking to her father. Mr. O’Brien subsequently
had an interview with Kathleen, and communicated
the news to her with great agitation. ‘Though he
was proud of his lineage, he was conscious, in the
time of his misfortunes, of the honour which the
young man’s proposal did to him and his family. It
caused him to realise his position as the proprietor of
the hotel with a new shame, and his pride had made
him unexpectedly reserved and unsympathetic when
Croker had spoken to him. This state of mind
passed away, and left him excited and happy in the
brilliant prospect which had suddenly opened for his
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 265

daughter. The tears were in his eyes as he told her
what had passed, and as it had not occurred to him
that she might refuse the good fortune offered to
her he was surprised by her reception of the great
tidings.

‘Father, you must tell him not to ask me,’ she
said. *It is impossible.’

‘What! my dear

‘I do not love him.’

‘Oh, but you will when you know him better.
He is a particularly nice young fellow.’

‘Yes, I know he is, but

f There i is no one ele you care for, Kathleen, who
wants to marry you ?’

‘No, no, there is no one else.’ She looked so
distressed that he could not help noticing it, and
instead of pressing the subject he kissed her
affectionately.

‘Think it over, my dear,’ he said, as he left her.
‘Take your time. It is a serious thing for a girl.
But Horace. Croker is a good fellow like his father,
and I can see he loves you truly and honourably.’

The evening after Michael Desmond’s visit to
Ballyvodra Connor came home. It was the beginning
of the long vacation, and he was looking forward to
a holiday after a hard spell of work. He was doing
well in his profession, some of the practice which his
brother had relinquished on account of the pressure of
his political engagements had fallen to him, and he
had the reputation of being one of the ablest juniors
on the Munster circuit. ‘Though he had taken no
public part in politics he was known as a staunch
Nationalist, and his brother counted on his entire
sympathy and support. It was therefore with surprise
and grave displeasure that Michael received a letter

 

, he exclaimed. ‘Why?’

 
266 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

from him on the morning before his arrival at
Duhallow, which contained the following paragraph :

In the main I am with you heart and soul, but J consider
this‘ No rent’ agitation not only a mistake but unworthy
of our cause. And I also believe it would be hard to find
a more discreditable fellow than Regan as a candidate. The
thought of alliance with men of his type makes me anxious
for the future. You won’t mind my plain speaking. We
will have it out when I come down to-morrow.

The brothers had no opportunity for discussion
until after dinner on the evening of Connor’s arrival.
In Michael’s manner there was a touch of coldness
when they met, and during the meal no one but old
Mr. Desmond showed much inclination to talk.

The rugged simplicity of the household arrange-
ments at Duhallow Castle had hardly changed since
the days when Michael and Connor were boys and
the need of money had been greater than at the
present time. No touch of modern luxury had been
added to the barely furnished oak-panelled dining-
room, with its deep window recesses and great ceiling
beams, no adornment to the board round which they
assembled for their evening meal. Mrs. Desmond,
still as of old, thoughtful in her attire, and as
picturesque-looking in her age as she had been
lovely in her youth, sat at the head of the table ;
her husband, greyer-headed and more slovenly in
appearance, opposite to her ; her sons on either side.
Thady, the butler, clad in corduroy knee-breeches
and. black tail coat, an old man now, was still in
attendance ; and, as in the days far behind, a couple
of dogs lay on the hearth, and a single lamp glowed
on the table in the deepening twilight.

A want of gaiety in the party seemed to strike
Mr. Desmond. ‘Faith, we’re a merry company,’ he
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 267

exclaimed at last, ‘ but maybe a drop of punch ’ll be
good for us. D’ye hear, Thady, ye blind blackguard !
Be quick and bring the materials. And didn’t ye
hear Dan Barrington had taken up his quarters at
Ballyvodra ?’ he asked Connor.

‘I did not, sir,’ Connor answered.

‘Oh, he’s a great man with ’em. They’re
fattening him up, and they tell me that old Biddy :
O’Brien, or her sister, or the two o’ them, are
making love to him. "Deed Kathleen might do
worse than marry him herself and set up her
family.’

‘ Has he been over here?” Connor asked.

‘He has then—twice I think it was—and I met
him to-day in the village walking with young Croker.
*‘ Don’t think ’tis your vote I’m after, and run away
from me, Mr. Desmond,” says Croker to me. He's
a pleasant young fellow.’

‘I wish he were on our side,’ said Connor. ‘It
would be much pleasanter to vote for him than
against him.’

‘’Tis a wonder he’s putting himself up just to be
knocked down,’ said the old man ; ‘ but we shall see
some fun. Tom Begley made a grand verse of
poetry about him and the election. They all have
it, and Michael’s going to print it and put it up on
the walls. How’s this it goes? ‘* Who skinned the
lonely ballet-dancer ?”” Faith, I can’t remember it.’

Michael laughed and came to his father’s assistance.
‘«* Who stabbed a nation in its vitals,” not the young
lady, sir,’ he corrected.

‘ Who stabbed a nation in its vitals ?
Who sold their faith to purchase titles ?
Who spint the rint on ballet-dancers ?
Sure, Mr. Croker have the answers.
268 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Who stole our lands but ne’er subdued us ?}
Who filled their money-bags like Judas ?
Who skinned us? By the Holy Poker!
Ye’ll hear it all from Mr. Croker !’

‘ That’s first-rate,’ said Connor ; ‘and so deli-
cately put. Tom does not accuse Horace Croker of
these things, but merely refers to him as an authority
on the misdeeds of his party. By the way, Lord
Shandon and our worthy relation, Sir Henry
Desmond, are in opposite camps now. I suppose,
oi a Liberal, we must regard Sir Henry as an
ally.’

A look of displeasure came over Michael’s face,
and Mrs. Desmond turned to him as though curious
to hear his answer.

‘I hope to God we'll have no alliance with a
member of that family!’ said old Mr. Desmond
hotly.

‘You need have no fear of that, sir,’ said
Michael. He shot a look of quick suspicion at his
brother ; but Connor had made the remark quite
innocently, and without any allusion to the former
friendly relation between Michael and the lady who
had become Sir Henry’s wife.

‘We hear the Court is being prepared for a visit
from its owner,’ said Mrs. Desmond.

‘It’s owner, begad!’ exclaimed her husband.
‘There won’t be much luck for ’em under that
roof,’

Mrs. Desmond saw from Michael’s face that for
some reason the subject of conversation was dis~
tasteful to him. She rose from the table a little
sooner than usual to make a diversion, and Michael
was not long in following her. He went direct to
his room in the tower, and, lighting a cigar, drew
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 269

his chair to the fire of turf and logs, which, even in
summer, was welcome on chilly evenings within
those gaunt walls.

Half an hour later when Connor entered, the night
had fallen and the only light in the room came from
the hearth. He filled his pipe and took a chair
opposite to his brother, welcoming the obscurity.
It was less difficult to approach a painful subject in
its shelter than under clear light when face questions
face, and now that he was again in Michael’s presence
he felt the old influence of his personality, and found
it harder than he had anticipated to encounter his
displeasure. He came to his task, however, without
any hesitation.

* You had my letter,’ he said.

‘IT had,’ replied Michael. ‘It needs explanation.’

‘Well, baldly, I cannot follow you in the ‘“‘No
rent” agitation.’

Michael controlled his anger. ‘Our policy has
been carefully thought out,’ he said. ‘We have
good reasons for advising the tenants throughout
the country to withhold their rents at the present
time until we get certain assurances from the Govern-
ment.’

‘Well, that course is contrary to my principles.’

‘There are times when it is more virtuous for a
man to be guided by the conscience of his party than
by his own,’ said Michael, with a touch of sarcasm.
‘It is not for us to take thought about the cruelty of
war: we have to fight our battles, and we must do
so with the best weapons available. I am afraid you
are not made of fighting stuff. You have too many
scruples.’

‘I have scruples which make me object to a policy
which would bring ruin on my friends.’
270 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS Guan

‘What friends? The O’Briens?’ Michael asked
quickly.

‘There are hundreds in their position, but I was
thinking of them,’ said Connor. ‘I hada letter from
Kathleen last week in which she mentioned that they
were getting no rent at all now, and found it pretty
hard work to carry on the hotel.’

Michael rose and prepared to light the lamp.
‘We must think of the good of the country before
the interest of our friends,’ he said casually.

‘ Well, I’m damned if I can,’ said Connor, ‘and
what’s more, I don’t believe such principles are for
the good of the country. They’re not honest.’

‘Connor,’ said Michael sternly, ‘you’re a fool.
You've lost your head, and don’t realise what your
words imply. I can hardly suppose you intend to
make a breach between’us—but, by God ! that’s what
you’re inviting. Don’t say any more about it. Go
out and think it over. Ask yourself whether it is
not your duty to put your private feelings in the
background at such atime as this, and remember
that he who is not for us is against us.’

There was a cold reasonableness, a stern finality
about his words. If there had been added a note of
affection or comradeship, Connor would have found
himself hard pressed to stand his ground; but
Michael, in spite of the coolness of his manner, was
angry. He was not accustomed to allow criticism
of his political views within the party ranks, and
Connor had spoken too plainly. Moreover he re-
sented his brother’s attitude in the affairs of the
O’Briens. He was himself specially interested in
Kathleen—more so of course than Connor was aware
—and he chafed at finding himself in the position
now forced upon him of apparent indifference to her
XVI A PENDING ELECTION 277,

happiness. Therefore the winning word of comrade-
ship and confidence, which he so well knew how to
weave into his ultimata, was not spoken.

‘What’s the use of speaking to me as if I were
a boy?’ Connor replied angrily. ‘No, I’m not
coming back to-morrow to tell you I’m sorry I said
what I meant.’

The lighted lamp shone on the flushed face of the
younger brother, on the stern, unmoved countenance
of the elder. Yet to Michael the possibility of a
breach was almost as painful as to Connor. Suddenly
he changed his tone. ‘I was not thinking of you as
a boy,’ he said, ‘but as the one man whose loyalty
I ought to count on before all others. We'll talk no
more now.

He held out his hand and Connor grasped it
eagerly, but he went out with a troubled heart and a
sense of divided allegiance. If the brother he looked
up to, the man who had awakened the national spirit
and led the national cause, claimed his loyal support,
did not the girl he loved claim it also? Ay, and
whatever were the consequences he determined she
should have it.

Michael left home early next morning for Cork on
political business, and wrote the following day to say
that he was bringing Mr. Regan back with. him as his
guest for the period of his electoral campaign. It
was an unpleasant bit of news to Connor.

‘I cannot meet him,’ he said to his mother. ‘I
detest him and his views. He represents the worst
sort of American democracy, and is as unprincipled as
he is ignorant. I should quarrel with him at once.’

“He’s Michael’s nominee,’ said Mrs. Desmond.
‘I’ve no patience with you, Connor. If you don’t
like Mr. Regan’s principles the best thing you can
272 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP, XVI

do is to go away for a week’s holiday somewhere
while he is with us.’

‘All right,’ replied Connor, ‘Tl clear out at
once.

Old Mr. Desmond looked troubled. ‘ What's
that you’re saying, boy?’ he exclaimed. ‘I'd be
sorry to see you turned out of my house by any one.
Stay where ye are.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Connor; ‘but I think it
may be as well for me to go. I won't be far off.
Pll go across to the hotel for a week, and come back
when your friend’s gone, if I may.’

Mrs. Desmond made no protest and suggested no
alternative ; and Connor, feeling deeply hurt and
angry with the whole world, went to his room and
packed a portmanteau. He sent a note over to
Ballyvodra to say, that as the accommodation at the
Castle was limited, and his room wanted for Mr.
Regan, he would be glad of quarters for a few days ;
and before evening he became one of Kathleen
O’Brien’s guests.
CHAPTER XVII
CONNOR DESMOND’S TEMPTATION

Arter dressing very leisurely for dinner, Mr.
Daniel Barrington was accustomed, in pleasant
weather, to stroll for half an hour on the lawn.
In his quarters at the Ballyvodra Hotel he was
more comfortable and contented than he had ever
been in his life. He had a cheerful private sitting-
room, the food and cooking were excellent, and he
had imported his own wine. He was in the heart of
that part of the country to which he was attached
by early associations, he liked the O’Briens, he
had grown fond of Kathleen, he found in the place
much of the home feeling he had longed for, and
the life and movement of the hotel, the coming and
going of many people, specially interested him. Asa
permanent guest he had acquired a feeling of pro-
prietary interest in the establishment, and it was
obvious to all comers that he was no ordinary visitor.
His place was permanently fixed at the head of the
dinner-table ; Carmody and the other servants were
markedly deferential to him; the guests who had
been privileged to make his acquaintance spoke of
him as an authority on Ireland and Irish politics ;
and he was pointed out to new arrivals as a person
of importance.

273 T
274 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cur.

The position pleased him ; and in those half-
hours before dinner he enjoyed something of the
feeling of a host waiting to receive his guests, with-
out any of the host’s anxiety. He had been careful
to ascertain the name of any new arrivals, and
watched their appearance on the scene with interest ;
he had made a point of examining the menu, and
knew how he and they were to dine; and he had
arranged with Carmody as to the occupation
of the seats next to him at table. He could look
back on a well-spent day—that is to say, he had
taken exercise and had been exceedingly moderate
as to his eating and drinking ; and he could look
forward to the prospect of a well-spent evening—to
wit, one in which he would dine well and drink
generously and enjoy the afterglow, with the pleasant
accompaniment of good tobacco and probably a
rubber of whist.

For three evenings Mr. Barrington’s complacent
meditations before dinner had been diverted from
their usual channel. On the first he had been sur-
prised to see his nephew, Connor, drive up to the
hotel with his portmanteau ; on the second he was
occupied with the result of some observations he had
made during the day of this young man’s demeanour,
especially in his attitude to Kathleen O’Brien ; and
on the third he was preparing to carry out a scheme
which was the outcome of his observations.

On this last occasion he was joined a few moments
before the dinner-bell rang by the chief subject
of his meditations. He hailed his nephew with
evident pleasure, but looked critically at his tweed
suit.

‘Don’t you dress for dinner?’ he asked.

‘Oh, d’you think it necessary ?’ Connor answered.
XVII CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 278

‘“H’m—well, there are ladies, and somehow I
don’t like seeing a man drink port in a Norfolk
jacket. There’s a bottle to-night which ought to be
all right; it has had three months’ rest. My advice
to you is to drink water through dinner, or perhaps
one glass of Manzanilla. It’s the only way to enjoy
good wine afterwards. Upon my honcur, Connor,
I’m damn glad to have you here with me. Blood’s
thicker than water, and when one has as few relations
as I have

‘ Any specimen is welcome,’ laughed Connor.

‘I am reminded,’ said Mr. Barrington, ‘that, in
the capacity of uncle, I have an invitation for you to
this ball at the barracks. I called on them, and a
party of them were over here at lunch to-day, com-
plaining of their sad lot, and wondering how they
can exist till the beginning of the hunting season.
And they’re disgusted because Kathleen O’Brien,
the nicest girl in the neighbourhood, is not going
to the ball.’

‘ And why isn’t she going ?’ asked Connor.

‘Because her father hasn’t called on the regiment,
and won’t. The old girls would give their eye-teeth
—if they have any left—to go; but O’Brien’s too
proud. He considers that now he keeps a hotel it
would be unbecoming to call.’

‘And he’s quite right,’ said Connor ; ‘absolutely
right.’

‘I suppose he is. Do you see that old fellow who
has just come out ?—there, in a white waistcoat, on
the door-step. He arrived to-day with a party, and
he tells me he’s a friend and neighbour of your relative,
Sir Henry Desmond. Babbage, that’s his name.’

Connor gave a supercilious glance in the direction
indicated.

 
276 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘They’re at our end of the table, and there’s a
girl in the party. I hope Carmody’ll see that she’s
next you.’

The dinner-bell rang and Mr. Barrington took
his nephew’s arm.

‘ Remember what I said about the wine,’ he added ;
‘and if you’ve nothing special to do after dinner
come and smoke in my room. There’s a thing or
two I want to talk to you about.’

The guests assembled were about twenty in number,
mostly English and Americans. They brought with
them an aroma of affluence, of comfort, a suggestion
of consols and railway debentures, and houses full of
modern conveniences. ‘There was a noisy party from
Belfast at one end of the table, but the better class
of Irish people was not represented: their money
for holiday-making had been spent a generation
earlier.

Memories of his boyhood, of the old days when
he had dined at Ballyvodra, were in Connor’s mind
as he took his place at the table in the transformed
dining-room. There were lighted lamps on the
tables, but the daylight lingered, and the windows
were still open. Inside the change was complete:
the enlarged chamber full of strangers bore no re-
semblance to that shabby old dining-room Connor
remembered, and the sound of Carmody’s voice came
to him as a curious lingering echo of the past ; but
looking outward through the window opposite to him
the old picture remained. The view across the park
of the boundary fence, the belt of fir trees, the distant
slopes of darkening mountains,—all were the same,
and yet there was a change here too: the charm of
privacy, which gave its own distinction even to the
outlook, was gone.
XVII CONNOR'S TEMPTATION 274

The scene would have amused and interested
Connor if he had had nothing on his mind; but
sitting at that table, feeling something of an outcast
from his own family, and one among strangers in
the house of the girl he had known and loved since
his boyhood, it was not surprising that he was
occupied with his own thoughts and took little part
in the conversation going on round him. Usually
genial with chance acquaintances, that evening he
felt a positive dislike to his fellow-guests, and heard
their comments on the hotel and their remarks on
his country with impatience.

Young Mr. Babbage was entertaining his party
with extracts from the visitor’s book: ‘‘ Mr. and
Mrs. Podmore and maid,” he quoted, ‘‘ The Laurels,
Oldham, England. The scenery beautiful and every
one most civil and obliging.” That’s rather a frequent
entry in visitors’ books. I always study them. They
never Jeave out the maid. Mrs. Podmore wishes us
to know that she is a lady of quality.’

‘He’s at Oxford,’ Mrs. Babbage confided to Mr.
Barrington i ina whisper, as though to account for her
son’s cynicism.

A haughty-looking lady, followed by two ‘ae
less pink-cheeked daughters, swept into the room
and took the seats on Connor’s left. They were
neighbours of the Babbages, and with the Rev. Mr.
Prince, the curate of Wyck St. Mary, completed the
party which had arrived that day.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Todd and Miss Violet Todd,” ’
continued the young man in quotation, ‘ “ enjoyed a
most happy week at the Ballyvodra Hotel, and in
spite of Jupiter Pluvius” (you see Mr. Todd is a
classical scholar) “carry away with them delightful
memories of the Emerald Isle.”’’
278 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHap.

To avoid having to listen further, and partly with
a sense of neighbourly obligation, Connor turned to
the pink-cheeked young lady on his left.

‘ Pleasant evening for a drive,’ he remarked. ‘I
suppose you came over from Mallow?’

‘I beg your pardon,’ she replied, without looking
at him.

‘Quite pleasant,’ replied the mother for her
daughter frigidly. ‘Pass the water, Gladys.’

This proud lady’s father had been a prosperous
pink-cheeked jeweller in the Strand, but she herself
had moved in military and ecclesiastical circles—her
husband had been in the Militia, and she had a brother
who was a minor canon—and she did not approve of
familiarity on the part of chance hotel acquaintances.

~Mr. Babbage junior was continuing his quota-
tions from the visitors’ book. ‘They seem to have
hada variety of guests,’ he said. ‘A photographer
who mentions his terms, the Bishop of Pippirikki—
wherever that is—and this entry struck me: ‘“ Mr.
Parkinson and Miss Newth spent two days at
the Ballyvodra Hotel. They enjoyed their visit
extremely.” Well, all I can say is they had no
business to.’

‘Why shouldn’t they?’ asked his father innocently.

Theyoung man discreetly went on to the next entry.
‘But this really interests me. Three Birmingham
gentlemen write: ‘“‘The dulness of the place was
compensated for by the excellence of the whisky
and the charms of our pretty and entertaining
hostess.” Now what I want to know is, when is she
on view? I might be tempted to write something
myself after seeing her.’

‘Naughty boy!” said his mother reprovingly, and
Connor gave the unmannerly youth a look which
sit CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 279

only the presence of others prevented his converting
into words. He angrily recognised the humiliation
to which his friends were subjected now that the
privacy of their family life was broken through.
Never did the power of money seem so attractive to
him as when he thought of the possibility it might
have given him of freeing Kathleen from her present
surroundings.

At this period of dinner a little interruption took
place which, though it might have seemed quite
natural to Irish people accustomed to the ways of our
country, was a little surprising to the English guests.
Carmody, hard pressed to keep pace with the demands
of the company, was busy drawing corks and running
to and fro with bottles of wine and soda-water ; his
junior, Coneen Cal, was carving ducks at the side-
board; and some maids and a new waiter were
attending to the tables, when a ragged messenger
appeared at the door and announced, ‘A telegram
for Captain Johnson.’

‘Does anny gentleman know where Captain Johnson
is?’ asked Carmody ; and his staff, keenly interested,
suspended all operations of service awaiting the reply.

‘He passed the window a minute ago in a car,’
said Mr. Barrington. ‘He has hardly reached the
lodge.’

‘Sure enough, he’s gone to Mallow to catch
the mail,’ exclaimed Coneen Cal, dropping his
carving-knife and fork. ‘Give me the message,
Mike.’

With amazing promptitude he dashed out of the
room with the telegram, and the next minute shot
past the window on a bicycle, and without his coat, in
pursuit of Captain Johnson ; the ducks, meanwhile,
remaining uncarved, and half the guests with empty
280 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

plates before them. Some of them were amused,
some indignant.

‘How absurdly Irish!” remarked the haughty
lady to her daughter.

‘Here, waiter! waiter! are you going to give us
any dinner? I call it scandalous mismanagement,’
said one hungry-looking old gentleman.

Mr. Barrington laughed heartily, but he was
nevertheless jealous for the good reputation of the
hotel, and was beginning to be annoyed at the general
confusion, when Coneen’s figure on the bicycle again
flashed past the window. ‘The next minute, clothed
in his long-tailed coat, he was back at the sideboard
carving his ducks; and beyond a triumphant aside
to Carmody, intimating the point in the road at
which he had overtaken Captain Johnson, gave no
sign that he was conscious of any interval.

The incident caused a good deal of laughter at
Mr. Barrington’s end of the table ; and Mrs. Babbage
asked if it were true that the whole establishment
were managed by Miss O’Brien, ‘a mere girl,’ she
understood.

‘A mere girl, but one in ten thousand,’ replied
Mr. Barrington ; and Connor again had to bear the
discomfort of hearing the lady, whose name was
sacred to him, discussed publicly.

‘Lady Desmond spoke of her to us when she
heard we were coming here,’ said Mrs. Tuckett, the
haughty lady.

“Yes, she seems to have fallen in love with Ireland,’
said Mrs. Babbage, who seemed anxious to show that
she also was acquainted with Lady Desmond. ‘We
dined with them shortly before we left home. Do
you know them, Mr. Barrington?’

‘No, but I think my nephew does; he’s a
xv CONNOR'S TEMPTATION 281

relative of theirs.’ Mr. Barrington looked towards
Connor.

‘I don’t know Sir Henry. I met Lady Desmond
once before they were married,’ replied Connor.

‘Wonderful woman!’ remarked Mr. Babbage
senior.

‘The best-looking woman in London,’ added
his son.

‘And so clever,’ said Mrs. Tuckett. ‘Even my
brother Edwyn, who is so critical, admits that.’

‘Certainly out of the common,’ observed Mrs.
Babbage. ‘There is nothing conventional about her,
and one hears odd things. Now her marriage. I
am told on the best authority that up to the night
before the wedding she had not positively made up
her mind whether she would marry Sir Henry or
not; and of course, beautiful and clever as she is, it
was a wonderfully good match for her, for her father
is quite a poor man and—well :

‘Oh, she hesitated, did she?’ asked Mr.
Barrington.

‘Yes. Mrs. Down Ampney, that’s our rector’s
wife, told me herself. The very evening before
the wedding she told her mother she had made up
her mind not to marry Sir Henry, and poor Mrs.
Temple-Cloud went over to the rectory in the
greatest distress and begged Mr. Down Ampney to
see her daughter. The rector agreed, but when he
arrived Miss Temple-Cloud refused to see him. Of
course it all came right, and we little thought when
we were at the church next day what had taken
place. The bride was perfectly calm and looked
quite happy ; but Mrs. Down Ampney assures me it
was only at the last moment she made up her mind.’

‘ There's an argument in favour of the celibacy of

 
282 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

the clergy,’ observed Mr. Barrington. ‘ Rectors tell
secrets to their wives, and the wives cannot hold
them.’

‘Oh, I’m sure Mrs. Down Ampney is most dis-
creet,’ said Mrs. Babbage. ‘But really I’m not sure
that I don’t agree with you as to the desirability of
the clergy not marrying.’

The Reverend Mr. Prince and one of the pink-
faced Miss Tucketts exchanged sudden glances, then
looked down. Though marriage is not a sacrament
in his Church, it is a fortieth article, and he felt
bound to speak.

‘I think a clergyman more than any other man
needs the loving sympathy of a woman in his work,’
he said.

‘Good old Prince!’ remarked Mr. Babbage
junior.

‘Will you—can you, be serious, Leslie,’ protested
his mother, in a tone which mingled admiration with
reproof.

‘I understand the Desmonds are expected this
week,’ Mr. Babbage said. ‘How far is it to the
Court? Oh, only a couple of miles. We are
looking forward to seeing them while we are here.
Now he’s a man I consider a typical English gentle-
man—polished, dignified, and reserved. No trace
of his Irish descent left. But England absorbs other
nationalities. Take my own family. We are, as
our name indicates, of French origin, and yet—I
think no one would mistake me for anything but an
Englishman.’

‘Yes, there are Babbages still left in Brittany,’
his wife added, in corroboration.

‘And wherever we find a Babbage, be he never so
humble—we have discovered them amongst the
XVII CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 28 3

peasantry—we do not disclaim relationship,’ he
continued confidingly. ‘We are of the same old
stock.’ Which might have been true of their
attitude to their supposititious French kinsfolk, but
was certainly not so in the case of some authentic
and very British relatives who lived over their own
shops and had not yet learnt that their name did not
rhyme with the word ‘cabbage.’

‘I hope we shall get a peep at Mr. Michael
Desmond while we are so near him,’ said Mrs.
Babbage. ‘One hears so much about him.’

‘How do he and Sir Henry get on?’ asked her
husband. ‘I suppose since this alliance between the
Liberals and the Home Rulers they are pulling
together. I’m a Liberal myself.’

‘Michael Desmond will get all he can out of you,
and it’s my opinion he loves you about as much as
he loves your opponents,’ said Mr. Barrington ; and -
with an after-thought that it was not fair to discuss
Michael before Connor he added, ‘I ought to have
introduced my nephew, Mr. Connor Desmond,
Michael Desmond’s brother.’

‘Ah, glad to meet you, sir,’ said Mr. Babbage.
‘No idea you were here.’

‘How very interesting !’ added his wife, with a
smile and a nod.

Mrs. Tuckett relaxed her attitude of severity
towards Connor, and remarked to him that she was
no politician herself.

‘And that’s really your castle |” said the daughter
sitting next to him—‘that picturesque old place we
can see from the grounds. How I envy you!’

The Reverend Mr. Prince looked anxious. A
vicarage was the most romantic casket in which he
could hope to enshrine a maiden.
284 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS _—cuar.

‘I wonder what it feels like to live in a castle?’
she added.

‘It makes you feel very wicked,’ replied Connor,
forgetting his snub, and always ready to be merry
with a girl. ‘We used to shed blood like anything,
and bear off beautiful damsels belonging to the
enemy. You wouldn’t have been safe so near us a
few centuries ago.’

‘Oh, really!’ exclaimed Miss Tuckett, delighted.
‘You almost frightened me.’

‘We have a dungeon under the tower,’ said
Connor.

‘How thrilling! Fancy, mother, Mr. Desmond
has a dungeon.’

Connor was about to concoct some further non-
sense when he found himself unexpectedly greeted.
A tall, good-looking young man, dressed in riding-
breeches, had entered the room, and after a hasty
survey of the guests came round to him.

‘Hullo, Connor, my boy !” he announced himself.
‘T’ve found you at last. How are you, Mr. Barring-
ton? No room here? [I'll find a place at another
table. I’ve been canvassing, and came in for a bit
of food on my way home. See you afterwards,
Connor.’

‘Croker, the man who is fighting the seat for the
Government,’ Mr. Barrington told Mr. Babbage as
the young man departed.

‘The Hon. Mr. Croker,’ Mrs. Tuckett whispered
to her daughter. ‘Lord Shandon’s son. I do hope
he will succeed.’ She perceived that he was very
intimate with Connor Desmond, and was really
annoyed that she had treated her neighbour at table
so coldly at first.

Connor had not seen Horace Croker since his
XVII CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 28 5

return, and as he had no idea that the object of his
visit to Ballyvodra was anything other than he had
stated, he was as pleased to meet his old friend as
could be expected in his present mood.

In spite of the many interruptions in the con-
tinuity of service, dinner was nearly over when
Croker arrived, and on the departure of the ladies
of the Babbage party he accepted Mr. Barrington’s
invitation to come over to his table; but his meal
was a very hurried one, and both he and Connor
disappointed Mr. Barrington by their disinclination
to sit with him over the wine. Croker was the first
to go, with a murmured excuse of a message from
his father to Mr. O’Brien, and Connor almost
immediately followed, leaving Mr. Babbage and his
uncle to finish the bottle of port together.

The breath of summer was still in the air, and the
lingering twilight called many of the guests out of
doors. Connor, as one of them, felt himself at a.
greater distance from Kathleen than when he had
been at home. He had seen hardly anything of her
since his arrival—half an hour that morning, and ten
minutes the previous evening in the garden: enough
to leave him discontented, to make him aware that
every time he met her the trouble that filled his
heart was greater. Comradeship was so evidently
the part she expected of him; comradeship so in-
creasingly difficult a part for him to act. He was
no laggard'in love; but feeling that his friendship
was all she needed, knowing that as a poor man he
could not help her in her difficulties by asking her to
be his wife, consideration for her and something of
pride had kept him silent. He had endured a good
many years of this relationship, consoled by the
lover’s exaltation in loving—the faith that no other
286 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

could love his lady as he did—and saved from the
compulsion of putting his slender chances of winning
her to the proof by the absence of a rival; but now
he felt that he could walk in the old path no longer,
and that before his present holiday came to an end
he must know his fate definitely.

The spur of jealousy, which was all that had been
needed to make him take the risk of confessing his
love to Kathleen, touched him at last from an un-
expected quarter. On the chance of seeing Kathleen
he had walked through the shrubbery to the garden
which had once been her own—the flower-bordered
path within the broken walls, which still claimed her
love though it was no longer private. Opening the
door he saw her, but she was not alone. Her com-
panion was Horace Croker, and it hardly needed
the quick perception of a lover to recognise in the
earnest tones of his voice, in her silence and bent
head, that no common topic of conversation occupied
them. Connor turned back hastily without being
noticed, but the scene was enough to turn him from
a patient to a reckless lover. Half an hour later
when, according to promise, he went to his uncle’s
private room, he was in a mood which made it
easier for Mr. Barrington to approach him on a
difficult subject than he had expected.

Lighted candles were on the table, but the
windows were still open, and the old gentleman was
seated at one of them smoking a cigar when Connor
entered. It was a cosy room, furnished at his own
expense, and he himself added to its air of comfort.

‘Bring your chair here,’ he said to Connor, ‘and
light your pipe. I know it’s no use to offer you a
cigar. You youngsters don’t know how to live.
You bolted your dinner and refused my port. But
XVII CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 287

it’s only after a long life’s work that I have learnt
how to sit still, so I can’t lecture you. Come, settle
down. You look worried.’

‘Well, I am worried,’ said Connor, subsiding
into an easy-chair and filling his pipe. ‘The hotel
worries me. I knew the place in its old days.’

‘And you don’t like to hear Miss Kathleen
criticised by the guests. You wanted to kick that
young Babbage when he was quoting from the
visitor’s book. The father’s not too bad. | like
these prosperous middle-class Englishmen who have
made their way well enough—but their sons, who
seem half-ashamed of their fathers! it takes some-
thing more than a public school to make gentlemen
of them.’

‘T shall be off in a day or two,’ said Connor.

‘What, back home? I thought Regan was there,
and there was no room in the house for the two of
you. I wish you’d get your pipe properly lighted.
I hate to see a fellow looking uncomfortable.’

Connor laughed and struck another match. ‘No,
I shall not go home while he is there,’ he said.

“You don’t approve of this “No rent” robbery
scheme, I hope.’

‘No,’ replied Connor, ‘of course I don’t.’

‘And though I know you are a staunch Home
Ruler, I daresay you would not be sorry to see
Croker beat him in the election. And how much
more of this sort of thing is going to be included
in the Nationalist programme ? I would almost give
my own support to a patriotic party that aimed at
Irish self-government and could be trusted to do
justice to all classes. But don’t you see that Home
Rule is becoming a purely democratic movement.’
His warmth increased as he went on. ‘Is it patriotism
288 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

or socialism? When your friend Regan calls for
the restoration of the land to its lawful owners, what
the devil does he mean? The O’Briens owned the
soil from time immemorial. Some of their tenants,
the people he wants to restore to it, are descendants
of Cromwell’s soldiers. It is all damned humbug.’

‘If our own class had shown a spark of patriotism,’
said Connor, ‘and had trusted the people instead of
grovelling to England, fellows like Regan would not
have got a hearing.’

“Well, well,’ said Mr. Barrington, ‘I did not ask
you to come in here to hear a lecture on politics. I
know you're a firm believer in Home Rule, and I
don’t expect to make you change your views, but
I’m glad we’re agreed on some points. We'd both
rather see Croker get in for Duhallow than Regan.’

Connor was in no mood to wish for Horace
Croker’s success in anything, but he admitted that he
was a better man than his opponent to represent any
decent community. ‘ He’s engaged in fighting for a
greater prize than the seat in Parliament,’ said Mr.
Barrington, suddenly developing his attack, ‘and that
prize is Kathleen O’Brien. I know that he has
already spoken to her father on the subject. Do you
intend to let him cut you out?’

Connor rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe
at the window. With as much indifference as he
could assume he said, ‘ Why should you suppose this
concerns me ?’

‘Look here, my lad,’ said Mr. Barrington, ‘let’s
be friends. Perhaps my interest in you and in her
has made mea bit more observant than I otherwise
might have been. I know you love her, and there’s
not another girl in the world I should be so pleased
to call my niece. And I don’t believe there’s any one
XVII CONNOR’S TEMPTATION 289

she really cares for so much as yourself; and if you
could do for her what Croker can, if you could save
her family from poverty and shut up the hotel, she
wouldn’t give him a second thought. You'll forgive
me for thrusting myself into your confidence.’

“Yes, sir, but I’d rather not talk about it,’ said
Connor. ‘I can do nothing to help her.’

“You can do everything to help her ; at least, you
and I can together.’

The old man got up and shut the door, which had
been left slightly open, Connor hardly noticing what
he was doing.

“You know,’ he said, as he returned to his seat,
‘that I have often told you it was my wish to make
you my heir. My life is a lonely one, and I have
had no greater hope than that you might be some-
thing of a son tome. When | spoke to you about
it before, I made some conditions which you would
not accept. There are some conditions still, but they
are not the same.’

He paused and looked at the young man’s
troubled face, and seemed doubtful how to proceed.
He had a personal affection for him and a desire to
win his affection, which was even stronger than his
hatred of Michael’s political views, or his longing
to triumph over his sister by inducing Connor to
repudiate them. At the present moment he was
keenly anxious to avoid the appearance of taking
advantage of Connor’s love for Kathleen to press
conditions on him. He was striving to establish an
understanding between them that would remove any
suggestion of a bargain.

‘It’s not that I want a mere heir for my money,
Connor,’ he went on. ‘I'd a hundred times rather
leave it to an institution than to a fellow I did not

uU
290 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS omar.

care for ; but I want one who could show himself so
far a son to me that he could respect my convictions,
and that he would meet me half-way perhaps on
certain points where we differ—even that he would
make some sacrifice. There must be affection, a true
partnership between us, I don’t ask you to be
untrue to your principles. I do ask you to take a
course which may be, which is sure to be, condemned
by your brother.’

‘You know my secret, sir,’ said Connor, ‘and no
one in the world but yourself can help me. Any-
thing I could do honestly .

‘I ask nothing else,’ Mr. Barrington broke in.
‘ Let us put it in as few words as possible. I dislike
the whole Nationalist programme : I am a Unionist ;
and once or twice when I have offered to make you
my heir I have made it a condition that you should
stand with me and support the Union yourself. |
see that’s out of the question. You would be acting
dishonestly to your convictions. Remain a Nationalist
if you must ; but remain as one who will help to save
your party from discredit, to purify it from within, to
purge it of robbers and fenians and convicts,—the
Regans who are now disgracing it. You will not be
going back on your principles: you will be asserting
them, for I know your views. Here, let me put it
baldly ; and for God’s sake, don’t think I’m taking
advantage of your being in a corner to try and get
my own way! Oppose Regan at the election—
openly and without fear of Michael’s resentment.
Go to Croker’s meeting at Mallow next Wednesday
and support him, and give me your promise to dis-
sociate yourself in the future from this ‘no rent’
movement, or any other scheme of spoliation. Do
this for me, and in return I give you the fruits of

 
XVII CONNOR'S TEMPTATION ag!

my life’s work. For me! I said. Do it for your
own credit and for the credit and honour of your
party. Do it for the sweetest girl in Ireland.’

Connor began pacing up and down the room.
Strong emotion made him incapable of clear thought,
unable to make any response.

‘You'll want time to think it over, my lad,’ said
Mr. Barrington, ‘but don’t hesitate, or you may be
too late. I respect you for not asking Kathleen to
marry you. As a poor man you had no right to.
Now you may go to her as a suitor who has the
right. I promise you that if you will do what I have
said, I will put you in a position to pay off all the
mortgages on the property and reinstate the O’Briens
in the old place.’

‘If she doesn’t love me enough to marry me as a
poor man * Connor began.

‘Oh, I know what you mean,’ his uncle interrupted
him. ‘You don’t like the idea of her marrying you
for your money, but that’s not a fair way of putting
it. I believe she loves you well enough to marry you
as a poor man, but she daren’t. She has not allowed
herself to think of you as a husband, and you have
not allowed yourself to make love to her. Croker
wants to marry her, and though he’s the best match
in the county for a girl, she’s hesitating. If she takes
you in preference, it won’t be for your money, but
without it her sense of duty makes it impossible.
Don’t let the other fellow cut you out, Connor. Go
and make love to the girl and win her before it’s
too late.’

There was a knock at the door, and Carmody
entered with a message from Miss Bridget to Mr.
Barrington inviting him to make a fourth in a rubber
of whist. The interruption was not unwelcome,

 
292 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP. XVII

Connor being in a state of mind in which he found
it impossible to give his uncle any reply, and Mr.
Barrington feeling that there was nothing more he
could say with advantage. He sent word to Miss
Bridget that he would come immediately, and, after
Carmody had closed the door, made a little joke of
the occasion.

‘Remember, Connor,’ said he, ‘that I’m still
marriageable, and that Kathleen has two aunts who
are not insensible of my charms. Now don’t you
hesitate about my offer, or perhaps I'll be taking
other steps to provide myself with an heir. Well,
you must go and think it over quietly, and come
back to-morrow and tell me what you have decided.
Oh, laddie! if I were in your place and had the
chance of winning that girl, ’tisn’t long I’d be
making up my mind.’
CHAPTER XVIII
CONNOR DESMOND’S DECISION

Connor Desmonp went to his room and tried to
think out the position in which he found himself ;
but calm reflection was impossible, and before long
his feverish mood drove him out of doors. Forces
beyond the immediate control of his will — the
inherited class instincts of his race, his sense of
honour, pride, jealousy, passionate love—were at war
within him, and the decision of one moment was
swept aside by the impulse of the next. Physical
exercise became a necessity, and, hardly knowing
which direction he was taking, he passed through the
Ballyvodra gates and set off at a rapid pace along the
road. The September night was cool and bright
with stars, and a mist lay over the meadows border-
ing the river. The cottages at the cross-roads were
dark, not a soul was on the roads, and a gleam of
light which came from a window in the old tower of
Duhallow Castle was the only sign of life in the
lonely country. Connor walked on and was glad
when he saw that point of light no longer.

Two pictures tortured his fancy: one of Kathleen
O’Brien as another man’s wife; the other of himself
wooing her in the guise of that younger son of
infamous tradition who had betrayed his brother.

293
294 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

The first was the more insistent, and as the memory
of her sweetness wove itself into the picture, he swore
to allow no scruple to stand in the way of his winning
her. Then, when it seemed his decision had been
made, the battle began again. He saw Kathleen
given to him as the wages of treachery; he heard
himself branded as a traitor by his countrymen, his
name a word of shame in his own house.

And this, and more than this, he could have
suffered for her sake, if he had not stood condemned
before himself ; if he had not felt that by being dis-
honourable for her sake he would be dishonouring her.

An hour’s hard walking worked off some of his
feverishness, and he began to think more deliberately.
The situation presented itself to him thus: he
believed his uncle was right in assuming that, if he
were in Horace Croker’s position to help Kathleen,
she would choose her old comrade before her new
admirer. The chance of being in this position was
his, and what were the conditions? He was asked,
not to repudiate, but to vindicate his principles.
He had already expressed his condemnation of the
‘no rent’ agitation and his disapproval of Regan
to Michael. He was now asked to do so publicly,
though he was still free to support his brother and
his cause. In short, he was given the opportunity
of upholding all that was great in the Nationalist
cause and of pleading for its purgation from all that
would dishonour it. This was perfectly true, and
yet, while he recognised its truth, a feeling of
hypocrisy sickened him. It came of the recollec-
tion that he was to be paid for his protest, of a
recognition that if he were not paid for it he would
not have thought of publicly repudiating a scheme
which was approved by his brother, or of opposing
XVIII CONNOR’S DECISION 295

a candidate he had nominated. Again, the thought
of appearing as the supporter of Horace Croker, his
rival, in order that he might supplant him, was revolt-
ing, and seemed comparable to the betrayal made by
Judas with a kiss. However deliberately he looked
at his position, he could not escape from the two
pictures which had first flashed on his mind.
Honour and Love were opposed; he was too
honest to attempt to confuse the issue, and tempta-
tions to compromise he rejected. One of them—
that he should refuse his uncle’s conditions, but never-
theless endeavour to find favour in his sight with a
view to ultimate benefits, and that he should propose
to Kathleen, telling her that he had expectations in
the future—he dismissed as contemptible. If he
had to choose the dishonourable part, it should be
boldly and openly, and coupled with the punishment
from which there was no escape.

Love is, indeed, a perplexing moralist. Hitherto
Love had called for all the chivalry and loyalty,
all the best and most generous feelings of Connor’s
nature ; now it bid him defy them. And shall it
be said that it was not Love which spoke to him
thus? that True Love would have chosen the sorrow
of losing nobly rather than the shame of winning
ignobly? It is a great ideal; but can he who holds
it maintain it against the appeal of a sweet face or
the eloquence of a touch that thrills him? Love
may lead us to seek the highest; but when we
cannot reach the star to which he points, may he
not sometimes turn back with us in our failure ?

Connor had been away for two hours when he
re-entered the Ballyvodra gates. It was after mid-
night ; and unwilling to disturb the household by
knocking, and careless whether he went to bed or
296 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

walked about all night, he turned aside and took
the path that led round the house through the
shrubberies. Here a light which came from the
private sitting-room used by the O’Briens caught
his eye, and, thinking that probably one of the
boys was sitting up, he crossed the lawn towards
the window. It was open, and the blind only
partly drawn, so that he had a full view of the
interior of the room. In an arm-chair beside a
table, covered with bills and account-books, Kathleen
O’Brien lay asleep. Her head was pillowed on the
curve of her arm which rested on the table, and the
soft light of a shaded lamp fell on her flushed cheek
and beautiful hair.

The chivalrous instincts of a man are touched by
the sight of a girl asleep. For the happy lover the
world has no sweeter sight: he has won the right
of watching over her sleep. For him who has no
such claim the picture may have more of pain than
joy, and very love may bid him turn away lest he
should wrong the maiden by his worship while she is
defenceless from his gaze.

Connor, with a beating heart, hurried on through
the shrubbery paths, haunted by the sweet picture
from which he fled. Imagination led him back to
lay the beloved head against his shoulder, and
jealousy shattered the dream with the presentation
of another in his place. The contest between love
and his sense of honour was over. No plea could
stand against the eloquence of the picture he had
looked upon, and for good or evil he determined to
allow no barrier in the world that he could beat
down to remain between him and his heart’s desire.
And now that his mind was made up, he was
impelled to immediate action. An_ irresistible
XVIII CONNOR’S DECISION 297

attraction led him back to Kathleen. The sound
of his footsteps on the path did not awaken her,
but when he had called her name a second time she
started up with a bewildered look.

‘’Tis Connor,’ he said. ‘I was locked out.’

‘Oh,’ she cried, jumping up, ‘ how you frightened
me! I’ve been asleep. What time is it? You
can come in this way.’ He remained standing at
the window as she continued, ‘I went to sleep over
my work. Our book-keeper had a headache, and
there were lots of accounts to finish.’

‘ Are they finished ?’ Connor asked. ‘Perhaps I
could help you.’

‘Oh yes,’ she answered. ‘I finished before I
went to sleep. When you called me I was just
dreaming that one of our guests, who is going.
to-morrow, refused to pay his bill because, when he
woke in the morning, he found the turkey-cock
standing on his chest. It is true the turkey-cock
was in the house to-day.’

This was not the sort of dream which had been
suggested to Connor by the vision of Kathleen
asleep, but the confession brought no anti-climax
to his picture. The girl just awake from her
sleep, with her hair a little disarranged, her cheeks
flushed, and her eyes full of fun, needed no whisper
of the fancy to complete her charm. The gaiety of
her manner, however, was but an expression of the
habitual bravery of her nature. She had fallen
asleep not only weary but sick at heart. Horace
Croker had that evening proposed to her, and
though she had postponed her answer, she had
come to the conclusion that it was her duty to
accept him. In hey soul also the battle between
love and duty had been fought—if, indeed, that
298 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHap.

devotion of her childhood, that strange hero-worship
which Michael Desmond still called from her, were
love ; and being assured that he did not love her,
she had felt that she did wrong in allowing her
thoughts to dwell on him. For the sake of a
sentiment she could not refuse the chance of serving
her family, of freeing her father from the humilia-
tion which was making his old age unhappy; but
the smooth path which she saw before her looked
harder than the rough one on which she had been
travelling.

Kathleen collected her bills and put them in a
drawer while she was speaking to Connor. She
then came to the window.

‘What sort of a night is it?’ she asked, looking
out. ‘Still summer? How sweet the air is.’

‘Come out,” he said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘So I will,’ she replied; ‘and ’tis so warm I
needn’t get a cloak.’

She stepped out over the low window-sill and
found her hand in his without making any attempt
to withdraw it.

‘An old friend you can always rely on is a great
comfort,’ she said, as a comment, it seemed, on the
familiarity of the situation.

They walked a little way along the dark shrubbery
path before he spoke.

‘I want to ask you if you have promised to marry
Horace Croker ?’ he then said.

She was taken aback by the directness of the
question, but she did not resent it. She felt that
Connor had almost a right to her confidence.

‘I have not promised yet, Connor,’ she replied in
a low voice. ‘1 may have to, I think. I mean I
am going to, but I have not yet done so.’
XVIII CONNOR’S DECISION 299

‘Oh, thank God for that!’ he exclaimed ; and
his hand unconsciously closed on hers with a grip
that almost pained her.

Her secret dread of the loveless marriage was
indicated by the fact that instead of resenting
Connor’s evident disapproval of it, she heard it with
a feeling of relief. She had almost expected him to
join in the counsel of prudence, and even now that
he had spoken so vehemently to the contrary she did
not suspect the reason.

© You don’t love him,’ Connor said.

‘I may not be in love. Girls grow to love their
husbands,’ she answered, with an afterthought that
though she was talking to her old comrade there
was a sort of prospective disloyalty in discussing
her feelings for a man whose wife she might, and
probably would, become.

“Does he enow you don’t love him, Kathleen ?’

‘You must not ask me these questions, Connor,’
she answered.

He still held her hand, and she felt it tremble as
he spoke.

‘If I thought you loved him, Kathleen, I would
not say what I am going to say. If I were the poor
man I was yesterday, unable to help you, I would
not say it. Because I could not help you, and had no
right to ask you to marry a poor man, J have kept
silent. You haven’t even guessed my secret; but
since the days when we were boy and girl together I
have loved you with all my heart, and have known
that I could never love any one else.’

‘Oh, Connor !’ was all she could say.

‘Kathleen, dear, dear Kathleen!’ he went on, ‘I
know how you are placed. I have shared your
troubles and anxieties. I have never had you out of
300 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuar.

my thoughts. I have felt like a chained prisoner
because I could not help you. I understand how it
seems a duty to you to help your family by your
marriage, and if I could not help you now, I wouldn’t
ask you to listen to me, and if I did not think I
could win your love, I wouldn’t say another word.’

‘Connor,’ she said in great distress, ‘I have always
loved you. You know that.’

‘Yes, as a friend. You never thought of me as
a lover, Kathleen ; but if I had been able to marry

_you and help you in your difficulties, it might have
been all different. Wouldn’t it? Tell me that,
Kathleen! You would have taken me then.’

“I don’t know. Oh, I cannot tell,’ she answered.
‘I think I love you so much I should have felt
it wrong to marry you unless I had loved you
more.’

‘You would have thought of me differently, but
you have never let yourself think of me as anything
but a friend, and now it is different. Kathleen, I
can ask you to marry me, not because I have always
loved you better than any one else, but because I can
help you better than any one else.’

She did not understand his meaning, and he found
the task of explanation no easy one. The spirit of
the lover resented the necessity of a bald statement
of credentials.

‘My uncle has promised to make me his heir,’ he
said. ‘He is very rich. He knew I was in love
with you, and he is ready to treat me like a son. If
you give me the right to help you, I can do it. All
the mortgages can be paid off at once, and you can
be free and shut up the hotel, and * he found
it difficult to go on, it sounded so much like a
bargain. ‘I have to tell you this,’ he added, ‘ because

 
XVII CONNOR’S DECISION 301

unless I could show you I was able to help you, I
should have no chance. And oh, my dearest, who
else has a better right?’

He stood facing her in the darkness, holding
both her hands in his, and longing to take her
wholly in his arms, while she remained silent and
confused. From a sheer sense of duty she had
resolved to accept Horace Croker’s proposal. Now
her old friend, a man she was really attached to,
showed himself equally able to help her. Her cheeks
were hot with the consciousness of an emotion which
had never before existed in her relationship with
Connor. He was shown to her no longer as a
friend, who would never be more than a friend, but
as a lover to whom she might possibly give her love.
Her heart leapt with a sudden sense of freedom in
the prospect of release from the marriage she dreaded,
and the next moment she was filled with shame at
the thought of giving elsewhere the hand she had
almost pledged without the justification of love.
And curiously this sense of shame in a marriage of
expediency was infinitely greater when she thought
of it in connection with Connor, her dearest friend,
than when contemplating it with one for whom she
cared but little.

‘Who else can have so good a right to help
you?’ Connor said; but though she made no
answer, and her silence was like a whisper of hope,
he checked the impulse to speak the words of
passionate love that were on his lips. Now, as
always, his first thought was of her, and he realised
the delicacy of her position. ‘I have told you all
I have to tell,’ he said quietly. ‘I can help you:
I mean to help you; it is the greatest joy of my life
to be able to, and for God’s sake don’t think I am
302 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

asking anything in return for it. Of course I can’t
help hoping. I have always hoped since the days
when we were children that you might love me some
day. But, Kathleen, let me do this for you. Let
me help you now as if I were your brother, because
I want you to be free—utterly free—not only from
making a marriage where you have not given your
heart, but free to love. I say it honestly. You are
so dear to me, that if I thought you loved, or could
love, any one better than I could make you love me,
I would ask for no more than you have given me in
the past.’

‘Oh, Connor,’ she cried, ‘how good you are to
me! I don’t know how to answer you. 1 can’t
even think.’

One thing only was clear to her—that it was
now impossible for her to marry Horace Croker.
Connor seemed to have freed her from that necessity ;
but, in the very moment when she realised it, her
spirit wove bonds of her new freedom, and a memory
of Michael Desmond and the love she had not
allowed herself to dream of troubled her heart once
more.

They had turned and were walking back towards
the house.

‘Remember,’ Connor continued, ‘I don’t ask you
for any promise—not even for a hope. I want you
to be free.” He forced himself to put the lover
aside and speak practically. ‘Whatever you think
about it, I have made up my mind. I am going to
take up the mortgages at once. My uncle has
made everything easy. I have this and some other
business, not so pleasant, to get through, and I shall
be going away to-morrow for about a week. We
must meet again just as usual. Why, Kathleen,’ he
XVITI CONNOR’S DECISION 393

added with a laugh, ‘you can arrange now as soon
as you like to shut up this beastly hotel.’

‘Oh, but I don’t know whether I can really let
you do this, Connor,’ she began.

‘You cannot prevent me,’ he interrupted her.
‘ There is nothing more to be said about it.’

They were back at the window, and sufficient
light came from the room to let them see each
other’s faces. She turned from him with a feeling
of shyness, it was so clearly the lover who looked,
though it had been the friend who had spoken.

‘Well, good-night, Kathleen,’ he said, noticing
her embarrassment and compelling himself to repress
the words of love he was burning to express. ‘Do
you know what time it is? You must go straight
off to bed, and I'll put the lights out and shut up
after I have smoked a pipe.’

‘Good-night, dear old fellow,’ she said, trying
hard to hide the tears which had suddenly sprung to
her eyes.

The interview next morning between Connor and
his uncle was a short one, though Mr. Barrington
would willingly have prolonged it and discussed in
detail the plans of their future alliance. Nothing
for years had made him so happy as his nephew’s
decision. He had found a son in his old age, an
heir for his wealth. Life had a fresh interest for
him, and at the same time he felt the exhilaration of
victory : he had at last triumphed over his sister.
He found it difficult to repress his exultation, but he
did so. He saw that Connor had made his decision
after a struggle, and that he was oppressed with the
burden of the consequences of his choice; and he
had the good sense to see that reticence would be
304 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS oe

appreciated. The only reference to the terms of the
agreement came from Connor. He asked for a con-
cession. Throughout a sleepless night the thought
of Kathleen and the hope of winning her had given
him strength to face the full penalty which his
decision had prepared for him, but there was one
condition in the agreement with his uncle which
struck at the very roots of his self-respect. This
was the promise to appear on a public platform in
support of the man whom he was seeking to supplant,
of winning the power to betray him by playing the
part of friend. The anger of his brother, the breach
with his family, the contempt of his party, could
be borne; but his whole nature shrunk from the
treachery of appearing on Croker’s platform.

He asked for a concession which made the ordeal
greater, the dishonour less. It was this—that instead
of appearing at Croker’s meeting in support of his
candidature, instead of expressing his disapproval of
his brother’s present policy on the platform of the
party opposed to him, he should attend the meeting
which had been called by Michael Desmond in
support of Regan and there state his views. ‘They
won’t give youa hearing ; they’ll handle you roughly,’
Mr. Barrington objected. ‘It would be a much
easier business to do it at Croker’s meeting. I really
should not have asked you to face such an ordeal as
you propose.’

He yielded, however, to Connor’s insistent re-
quest ; and in thinking the matter over afterwards,
he formed a tolerably correct conclusion as to his
nephew’s reasons, not without a feeling of pride in the
young man who could thus set himself an infinitely
harder task than had been asked of him, and who
boldly courted the full punishment of his conduct.
XVIII CONNOR’S DECISION 305

Kathleen’s name had not been mentioned, but a
word or two had been said about the Ballyvodra
mortgages, and Mr. Barrington undertook to make
immediate arrangements for acquiring them and
placing them in Connor’s hands. With this object
he set off for Dublin to see his solicitor a few hours
after the interview, and Connor left at the same time
for Queenstown to spend a couple of days with his
old schoolmaster.

The meeting of Regan’s supporters, at which he
had to appear, was fixed for the following Sunday at
Buttevant.
CHAPTER XIX
CONNOR DESMOND’S REWARD

THe meeting of Mr. Regan’s supporters at Buttevant
was one of unusual importance, as it was known that
Michael Desmond was to be present and would make
a definite statement of the policy of his party on the
rent question. In his own neighbourhood he did
not often speak, and the chance of hearing him had
brought the people of the district together in large
numbers. Many enthusiasts had come from places
as far off as Cork and Limerick, and special reporters
had been sent down by the chief newspapers.

It was Sunday afternoon: the people who had
come in for Mass in the morning had not returned
home, and by three o’clock the arrivals from the
surrounding country filled the little town from end
to end. Side-cars, farm-butts, and donkey-carts, all
crowded to overflowing, lined the street on either
side ; bands of young men wearing jerseys of varied
colours, the uniforms of the local hurly clubs, paraded
the narrow passage between the vehicles, ready to
fight but unprovided with an enemy ; and every
public-house was full. Usually the red coats of
soldiers from the barracks were conspicuous in the
street on a Sunday afternoon; to-day they were
entirely absent, and a police sergeant and two or

306
CHAP. XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 307

three of his men, who watched the proceedings with
an assumed air of indifference from the square in
front of the constabulary headquarters, were the only
evidence of authority or oppression. Outside the
largest public-house in the place—Riordan’s Hotel,
as it was called—a platform had been erected, and
decorated with flags and electioneering placards,
among which were the rhymes made by Tom Begley
on Horace Croker. A couple of verses, which ran
as follows, had been added to the original com-
position :—

While Erin struggles to be free,

If you would help her foes to yoke her,
If you would climb the Orange tree,

Ye’ll give your votes to Mr. Croker.

But if you’d baste the Absentee,

And scatther all the priests of Dagon,
You'd betther pay the rint to me,

And give your votes to Mr. Regan.

The poet was there himself with his fiddle, and
was taking advantage of the occasion to collect a
little money on his own account while the people
were waiting for the commencement of the meeting.

In the whole crowd there was perfect unanimity
of feeling, a brotherhood which was in no way
impaired by a combat which had taken place between
two rival hurly clubs and their supporters in the
crowd. In the interval between Mass and the hour
for which the meeting was called much porter and
bad whisky had been drunk, an outlet for fighting
instincts had become a necessity, and as every lad had
a blackthorn in hand, a very pretty fight had ensued.
Up and down the street and among the vehicles the
battle raged, while the non-combatants cheered from
308 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cunt

the carts and attempted to hold their restive horses
and kicking donkeys. But though blood was spilt
it was done kindly, and he who fell was picked up
by him who felled him. The majority of the people
took far less interest in the political question which
they were called together to hear discussed than
might be supposed. They had no personal enmity
to the landlords, no private conviction on the subject
of rent ; but perhaps in no other country in the world
could a crowd have been collected which was so united
by the bond of national sentiment. The political
questions of the hour were unimportant details ;
they were agreed on these because their leaders were
agreed ; but the true bond of their union was the
love of their country—the inborn national spirit
which had been nursed in the memory of old wrongs
and old honour, and had been aroused to new vitality
under the leadership of Michael Desmond. If the
landlords were unpopular it was not ,because they
were unjust in their dealings, but because they stood
aloof and looked coldly on the national aspirations ;
and if the Crown was little loved, it was not because
it represented the oppression of England, but because
it was an absentee power un-identified with the hopes
of Ireland. This is the feeling of the Irish people,
and only in exceptional cases or in times of excite-
ment does it surge into the violence and impatience
of all authority, which in England is regarded as its
normal condition.

Michael Desmond, himself one of the old stock, a
man who bore a name which had been great in the
past, had given the people a new national ideal. He
had won their hearts, and they accepted every detail
of his policy. Men like Horace Croker, to whom
they might have listened with respect, had come
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 309

forward too late, too half-heartedly ; men like Mr.
Regan, democrats of American moulding, made no
permanent appeal to their imagination. But Regan
had Desmond’s support ; he was fighting the battle
under Desmond’s captaincy ; and, this being so,
every item in his programme was acceptable, every
man in that crowd was ready to support him without
a question.

Half an hour before the time fixed for the meeting
Connor Desmond jumped from the car on which he
had driven from Mallow. He was a couple of miles
from his destination, but he chose to walk the
remainder of the way. He did not lack courage—
among a brave race there beat no braver heart than
his—but he was troubled at the thought of the task
before him. In the interval since he had undertaken it,
after hours of silent reflection, after long talks with his
old schoolmaster, whose patriotic hopes were as ardent
as ever, the task had become thrice dificult. From
whatever point of view he looked at it—even while
he recognised that in condemning Regan’s policy he
was justified by conviction—he stood condemned
before himself. He saw that the broad effect of his
action would be not to call attention to his dis-
approval of a detail of the policy of his party, but to
show division in its ranks; and that, as Michael
Desmond’s brother, every word he said would have
a special significance. He knew that however he
had felt to Mr. Regan and the ‘no rent’ agitation,
loyalty to his brother and faith in his leadership
would have kept him silent at the present time if it
were not for the reward which was offered to him
for uttering his views ; and even the thought of that
priceless reward failed to give him strength for the
ordeal as the time of his trial drew near.
310 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cur.

The road was bare of people ; they were already
waiting in the town ; and as he walked on he saw in
fancy the crowded street, the people who would hail
him as a fighter on their side. In an hour’s time
they would look at him askance and regard him—a
Desmond, Michael’s brother—as an enemy. He
tried to rehearse mentally some passages of a speech
he had made after long hours of painful thought,
the speech in which he sought to assert his patriotism,
his loyalty to his brother, his devotion to the national
cause, while condemning the present agitation. Alone,
with his sheet of paper before him, it had been com-
paratively easy to phrase his views, to call upon his
party to purge its cause from injustice; but the
thought of that expectant crowd made confusion of
his prepared sentences; he could not remember
them. Time after time during the last few days
had he gone through in imagination the scene in
which he was about to take part. He had pictured
himself approaching the place by the same road on
which he now walked, seen the crowd, heard voices
of welcome, met his brother’s questioning look.
Now the scene he had pictured with a chill at heart
was imminent, and though his courage, his deter-
mination, did not falter, his nerve was unsteady. It
would have been difficult to find for a man a greater
ordeal than that which he had chosen to face. To
go into battle with one’s comrades, to meet any
danger that could be imagined, seemed a happy
dream compared with the thing he had to do—to
enter his own camp, to be greeted with joy by the
people, welcomed by his brother, his leader ; and
then to know himself branded as a traitor, and to
feel that he deserved to be so branded. He was
never a man to take indulgent views of his own
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD ar

conduct; he could not now find comfort in the
reflection that he was going to express his honest
convictions about the present agitation, for he knew
that he was being paid a price for this ; and he did
not tell himself that he was facing the ordeal for the
sake of Kathleen, to gain the means of saving her
and her family, for he knew that this was not the
reason. Horace Croker could have done that for
her. It was that he might win her for himself that
he was doing it. He had no glow of exultation
to brace him for the contest. He went into it
despising himself,—cold, isolated, but with dogged
determination.

As he neared the town he overtook a few late-
comers on foot, and one or two vehicles passed him.
Among the latter was a carriage drawn by a pair of
grey horses with green rosettes in their bridles. In
it were two ladies in whose attire the national colour
was again conspicuous. One of them looked
curiously at Connor as they went by, but his eyes
were on the ground, and he did not know that it
was Lady Desmond who had passed. The fighting
was over, and the people were crowding towards the
platform when the unexpected visitors drew up,
attracting universal attention ; and indeed the grand
equipage and the men on the box with powdered
hair presented a curious spectacle in the midst of
that collection of outside cars and donkey-carts.
Amazement was followed by a burst of applause
when the green ribbands told their story, and it was
seen that a new and distinguished supporter had been
won to the national cause. The beautiful lady who
sat like a queen bowing in acknowledgment of the
cheers was regarded with enthusiastic admiration,
and respect for her tempered the ridicule which
312 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS se cuar.

might otherwise have greeted her English servants.
It was in hushed tones that the powdered hair was
criticised.

‘Whishper !” asked one who was really curious, ‘ is
it insect powther ?’ while another explained that it
was put on to match the horses, and that mahogany-
coloured paint was used when they drove chestnuts.

The proceedings had already begun when Connor
entered the crowd. The parish priest was saying a
few words of a non-controversial nature, bidding the
people be true to their faith and their leaders.
Desmond, Mr. Regan, and a couple of Members of
Parliament, an American delegate, the newspaper
reporters, and about a dozen others, old Mr.
Desmond among them, were on the platform.
Connor was recognised on all sides, and a way made
for him until he reached the front of the crowd.
Here he was seen by friends on the platform, and at
the conclusion of the parish priest’s remarks he was
called by name, and beckoned to a seat among Mr.
Regan’s supporters. A cheer from the people greeted
him as he ascended the steps—hostile groans would
have been sweeter to him—and the hatefulness of his
position was emphasised by the welcome he received
on the platform. His brother’s face was lightened
with the pleasure of a happy surprise in the belief
that Connor’s affection and loyalty had triumphed
over his personal views on a detail of policy. His
father also looked genuinely pleased, and Mr. Regan
somewhat ostentatiously offered his hand, an honour
which the young man contrived to avoid by bowing
coldly and taking his seat. He was desperately
nervous. He felt stifled by the consciousness of his
false position. Hostility would have aroused his
spirit and given him strength ; but in all that crowd
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 413

there was not a man who did not regard him as a
friend, a supporter of Mr. Regan; not one who would
understand or could tolerate the scruples which divided
him from his brother in his present policy. A sense
of his isolation chilled him as he looked at the people
and listened to the cheers with which they were hailing
Desmond’s speech. He hardly heard his brother’s
words. He waited, miserably aware that presently
he himself would be standing before that assemblage
of his neighbours and countrymen, not knowing how
to find words to deliver his message, and condemned
by every person there. There were two ways in
which he might carry out his task: he might con-
trive to fulfil his uncle’s conditions, and yet make a
speech in which his dissent from Mr. Regan’s policy
might be almost hidden in a veil of patriotic ardour ;
or he might make his statement without attempting
to modify its effect. The temptation to choose the
former course came to him, and he recognised it as
a temptation. It showed him that his courage was
shaken, and of that he was ashamed. It is at such
moments as these, when a man has not even the
support of his conscience in the difficult course,
that his very soul is tested; for even more divine
than the sense of duty itself is that voice which bids
a man be true to his manhood on the rare occasions
when these two are not one. Connor knew that he
had acted ignobly and for personal interests in oppos-
ing his brother publicly ; he also knew that having
done so he would be thrice shamed if he did not
fight the battle with all his strength, that it was a
better thing to fight bravely in the wrong cause than
timidly in the right. He made his supreme effort,
determined to seek no shelter, and shrink from no
consequences. He would fight now for the honour
314 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS re

of fighting ; and with this resolution the very magni-
tude of his trial became a stimulus to his courage,
and with a glow of pride he felt that, whether Kathleen
O’Brien was to be won or lost, he had faced for the
chance of winning her the greatest ordeal he could
imagine possible for him. For a few moments,
remembering Kathleen, he forgot his surroundings ;
they grew real to him again in the burst of cheering
which followed Michael Desmond’s brief speech.
As Connor looked at the stern handsome face of
the man who had always been, and still remained,
his hero, the leader he longed to serve, as he remem-
bered the bond which had been between them since
his childhood, the pain of his position became more
acute than ever. He longed to prove his affection
and loyalty, he was stirred by the old enthusiasm,
and he was the only man who was silent in that
cheering crowd. Nevertheless, he no longer flinched
from his trial, and the pride of his race told him
that, though he might not be forgiven by his brother
or his father for what he did, he might so bear him-
self as to escape their contempt.

Mr. Regan immediately followed Desmond. He
spoke at length, intemperately and without eloquence,
his speech consisting chiefly of abuse of the Govern-
ment and the landlords. He deplored the present
impossibility of open rebellion, maintained that the
landlords were aliens without right in the soil, and
counselled the withholding of rents as a practical
means of compelling a reformation of the whole land
tenure of the country. He was heard gladly—indeed
any nominee of Desmond was sure of a warm welcome
—and the extreme views which he expressed were not
likely to find opposition in an excited crowd. But
the exaggeration, the unjust abuse, and the whole tone
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 315

of the speaker’s address excited Connor’s disgust, and,
added to his personal contempt for the man, did much
to nerve him to strike his blow when the time came.

As the shouts which hailed the termination of
Mr. Regan’s speech died away, Connor at once rose.
On the platform at least this was unexpected, as it
had been arranged that one of the Members of
Parliament present was to speak next. Glances were
exchanged. Desmond looked pleased. The Duhallow
Court carriage, which was about to depart, was stopped
by a signal from Lady Desmond, who looked with
interest at the new speaker. Blind Tom Begley,
standing beside the platform, was heard to inquire
who came forward, and his comment, ‘Oh, Masther
Connor, good luck to him! Ye’ll hear God’s truth
from him,’ reached the young man’s ears as he stood
looking out on the mass of eager faces.

The burst of cheering with which his appearance
was received was the most disconcerting introduction
he could have found; but though he was pale he
showed little nervousness—indeed one of the news-
papers in its description next morning of the meeting
spoke of the effrontery of his attitude and his callous
disregard for the feelings of his venerable father who
was present. What he said in his speech he never
clearly remembered. The accounts which appeared
in the papers differed a good deal, and, indeed, after
his opening remarks there was so much interruption
that a connected report was almost impossible. ‘There
are some of us in Ireland at the present time,’ he began,
‘who love our country, and are staunch Home Rulers,
but believe that the policy which Mr. Regan has
recommended to you is unworthy of a great cause.
I am here to-day, not to support Mr. Regan, but
to oppose him.’ According to one newspaper this
316 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

declaration was received in dead silence, and the
report said it was almost pathetic to see the distress
which gradually showed itself on the countenances of
the people when they perceived that one whom they
believed to be a trusted friend proved to be a traitor.
The passage in his speech which followed, in which
he begged the people to keep their noble cause un-
stained by injustice, and exhorted them not to imitate
the wrongs which had been committed against them
in the past by abusing the freedom they had won,
was not repeated in the Nationalist papers, but was
unctuously belauded in those of the opposite party.
‘The speaker proceeded,’ said one of the former, ‘to
cover his defection by lecturing his party, with a fine
mixture of hypocrisy and effrontery, on the purity of its
motives, and having succeeded in producing a feeling
of disgust in his audience he won their ridicule by
completely breaking down.’ The latter organs, after
stating that he expressed his views clearly and boldly
and held his ground to the end, reported that he
was at last prevented from proceeding by interrup-
tion which came, not from the people who were
silent and impressed, but from the platform.

There was some truth in both reports. The
distressed silence of the audience was becoming almost
more than Connor could bear, when the interruption
behind him restored his fighting power. ‘Shame,’
‘Traitor,’ ‘Government spy,’ were shouted, and at
last Mr. Regan, rushing to the front of the platform,
cried, ‘ How long will you listen to this ?’

Connor got no further. Every one on the
platform was on his feet and the silence of the
crowd was broken. ‘Government spy,’ ‘Govern-~
ment informer,’ shouted an infuriated politician, and
soon the people took up the cry. ‘A traitor in the
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD ar7

camp,’ roared Mr, Regan. ‘Turn him out of your
town, boys’; anda band of young men belonging
to one of the hurly clubs pressed forward to the
platform as though to carry out the proposal. There
was confusion everywhere, and it began to look as
if Connor might be roughly handled. Then Michael
Desmond came forward.

‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ he said to those around
him. He was perfectly cool and looked almost
unconcerned. The moment he raised his arm there
was silence in the crowd. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘that
my brother spoke the truth when he told you that
he had the cause of Ireland at heart and was on our
side. He has acted unwisely in insisting on the
points where he disagrees with Mr. Regan, and he
will be sorry for it. Mr. Regan is too sure of your
confidence to allow a young man’s impetuous words
to disturb him, and I know that you will show your
confidence in him and me by voting for him to a man
when the day comes. As to my brother, gentlemen,
if his generosity to our enemies looks like disloyalty
to his friends I ask you to forgive him, and accept
my assurance that there is not a man here who loves
his country more truly.’

Connor had expected his brother’s contempt and
repudiation. The generous words he spoke to the
people cut him to the heart. He rose as Michael
sat down, and turning in his direction bowed and
descended the steps of the platform. The ranks of
the crowd opened and made a passage for him.
There was a significant silence. Another speaker
had come forward on the! platform, but no one was
listening to him ; all eyes! were turned on the young
man who passed between them with bent head,
making no attempt to carry himself either proudly
318 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

or defiantly. ‘For God’s sake, Masther Connor, go
back and tell them you didn’t mane it,’ one man
said as he went by; but no hostile word assailed
him.

He had faced and accomplished the task he had
undertaken, but he left the meeting with feelings
more near to the humiliation of defeat than the
exaltation of victory.

On his way from Mallow, Connor had left his
portmanteau at the Ballyvodra lodge, with a message
to say he would be returning in the evening. As he
walked homeward, the brother and the lover in him
in turn had possession of his heart ; and, at first, the
pain of the scene he had just been through over-
shadowed the joy of seeing Kathleen again with his
task fulfilled. In the bitterness of that hour he saw
himself separated from those who were serving their
country, constrained to remain silent and allow
himself to be identified with the opponents of the
national cause. In vain he told himself that he had
expressed his honest conviction, for he knew he had
done so not with the interests of his country at heart
but to gain his own ends, and he knew that what he
had done would damage his brother and give his
enemies a pretext for speaking of disunion in the
party. His brother’s words, his generous defence
of him before the people when he felt that he had
deserved his contempt and repudiation, kindled all
his old loyalty and affection for his hero. He
longed to prove his devotion to him, and he saw
no way of doing it. He had taken his stand against
his party’s present policy, and for him there was now
no turning back, and for Michael no compromise.
The secret knowledge of his motives in coming
forward at the meeting oppressed him. He wondered
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 319

what Kathleen would think of it if she were told.
Would a girl condemn a man for having acted thus
for love of her? Not if she loved him. The
thought of posing before her heroically was intoler-
able tohim. The truth of his love for her compelled
him to trust her, and he made up his mind to tell
her everything. With that resolution something of
rest came to his troubled spirit.

It was a golden autumn evening, and in the
contrast to the noisy activity of the little town the
Sabbath peace of the country was the more marked.
The roadside cottages were deserted, except here
and there where an old woman sat half-asleep in a
doorway, or a child in charge of some goats stood
on an adjoining bank. In the little oatfields the
crows were feeding undisturbed among the piled
sheaves, cows undriven came up from the river to
their milking places, and the roads were empty of
wayfarers.

About half-way between Buttevant and Ballyvodra
the Duhallow Court carriage overtook Connor, and
at a signal from Lady Desmond was stopped.

‘May I be neighbourly and offer you a lift,
Mr. Desmond ?’ she said pleasantly.

‘It is very kind of you, Lady Desmond,’ he
replied, ‘ but—’ he hesitated and added with a laugh,
‘walking is good for me just now.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I quite understand. I was
intensely interested in the meeting. I thought you
might be tired, but you must promise to come over
and call on me soon. You will find my sympathies
as Irish as you could wish them.’

The sudden appearance and departure of the
beautiful lady, and some speculation about her
motives in attending the meeting, distracted Connor’s
320 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

attention for a few moments, but she was hardly lost
to sight before ,his thoughts reverted to his own
affairs. And now, as he drew nearer to Ballyvodra
and Kathleen, the hopes and fears of the lover
banished all other emotions. His fears were those
of every true lover who holds his lady the greatest
prize the world has to give and himself unworthy of
it. His own altered position and Kathleen’s attitude
at their last meeting gave him good reason for hope.
It was as a friend, as a brother, not as a lover, that
he had begged her to let him help her, but neverthe-
less she knew that he was her lover. Though she
had not accepted his offer she had not refused, and
hope whispered again that she would at once have
done so, knowing that he loved her, if she also knew
that it was impossible to return his love.

He had now won the position to give him a right
to try and win her; but she was not won. That
glorious adventure which was to give him his heart’s
desire or leave him in a barren world was now before
him. His spirit kindled at the prospect : he did not
think of failure. For years he had been compelled
to be a passive lover ; now all the restrained passion
of his love was urgent for expression. He dreamed
of the winning of her; dreamed that the girl—the
lightest touch of whose hand thrilled him, while his
had won from her only the frank confidence of
friendship—was in his arms at last, the comrade
still, but how much nearer for the new-born reserve
that comes with love. He dreamed that she was
won, and made pictures of the future. It might be
necessary to leave the neighbourhood until the
present trouble had blown over. Directly he had
made arrangements for relieving her family of their
difficulties he would take her away with him—it
XIX CONNOR’S REWARD 321

mattered not where, the world was theirs. For
a while they would make a new home and find rest
far away, and by-and-by they would return again
to the old Duhallow country.

He had struck into the fields on the slopes above
Ballyvodra and looked down on the little river and
the belts of woods sheltering the house. Kathleen
herself was coming towards him. Connor saw and
recognised her in the distance. He stood still for a
moment, and then hurried on with a beating heart.
He was almost afraid to meet her: the girl he had
dreamed of had been his, the girl herself was still
unwon. Had she guessed he was coming that way,
or was their meeting an accident? Had her reflec-
tions during the week that had passed since he had
told her of his love pleaded for him or against him ?
He hurried on, fearing, yet eager to know, and
feeling that at last the hour had come when all
uncertainty would be at an end. She was walking
slowly, and did not quicken her pace as they drew
nearer, nor wave a signal in return for his. He
saw, the moment he caught sight of her face, that
she was in trouble, but that did not discourage him ;
he dreaded nothing so much as the frank smile of
comradeship, which seemed in her a charm to keep
love withal at arm’s length.

‘Oh, Kathleen,’ he said, ‘’tis you yourself! 1
mean I have been thinking about you so much since
I saw you last, that now you are really here I can
hardly believe it.’

‘I heard you were at the meeting, Connor. Your
uncle told me. I wanted to see you.’ She spoke
with constraint, her eyes fixed on the ground.

‘Oh, that meeting !” he exclaimed ; ‘I have got it
over. It had to be done. I'll tell you all the

Y
322 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

reasons another time: I spoke against Regan, and
you know what that means—a breach with Michael.
Don’t speak of it now. I want to forget everything
about it except that I was fighting on your side.’

‘On my side!’ she echoed. ‘Did you—did
Michael disown you before the people ?’

“He excused me. He defended me,’ said Connor.

Her cheek flushed.

‘I felt like a traitor,’ he went on, ‘ but God knows
I was true to my country and true to you, Kathleen.
Oh, my dearest, I cannot hide anything from you.
I cannot pretend that it was friendship that made me
do what I have done to win the means of helping you.’

She was walking at his side, and turning towards
her as he spoke he was dismayed to see the utter
misery of her expression.

‘What is it, dear?’ he said gently. ‘Have I said
too much? Have I spoken too soon? Let me
wait, then, and be your friend still.’

Her eyes filled, the tears ran down her cheeks as
she looked at him and tried to speak.

‘Don’t, Connor,’ she said brokenly. * Don’t say
such things. Oh, how can I tell you? I didn’t
know you cared so much.’

He felt chilled with a premonition of disaster.
‘What is it you have to tell me, Kathleen?’ he asked
quickly.

‘Connor, dear, dear old boy, I cannot give you
the love you ask for.’

‘Not now,’ he said eagerly, ‘ but some day perhaps.
I have waited a long time, and I can wait still.’

They had come to a gate on their path, and he
stood facing her without attempting to open it.
Her paleness and the look in her eyes alarmed him,
and he forgot his own pain at the sight of hers.
xIx CONNOR’S REWARD 423

‘I see,’ he said. ‘It’s a friend you want now, and
only a friend. I can be that to you.’

‘Oh, if that were possible, Connor, and I might
still love you as I have always loved you; but it is
impossible, and I don’t deserve your love.’ Her
lips trembled, and with a great effort she forced her-
self tospeak. ‘Connor, I have given my love and I
have given my promise.’

The shot that strikes the vital part may give no
pain, and for the moment a man may hardly know
that he is wounded.

‘What !’ Connor exclaimed mechanically. ‘ To
Horace Croker ?’

‘No,’ she answered, ‘to Michael.’

Then Connor felt like a man who has received
his death-wound. He leant against the gate and
covered his face with his hands. Kathleen stood
at his side, her eyes blinded with tears, her only
thought the pain of the friend she loved so dearly
and had wounded so deeply. She came closer to
him and laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Oh,
Connor,’ she said, ‘tell me that you forgive me,’ and
as he raised his head and turned to her she flung her
arms round his neck and drew his head down to her
and kissed him.

The next moment he was gone and she remained
standing at the gate, robbed for the time of all the
new joy that love had brought into her life by the
thought of the sorrow which it had brought into
Connor’s. He was dearer to her than she herself
knew.

With one exception the Nationalist papers in
their accounts of the meeting, in obedience to
Desmond’s instructions, made little of Connor’s in-
324 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cnar. xix

trusion, while those of the opposite party called
special attention to it. It was with the keenest satis-
faction that Mr. Barrington read the headlines to
the column of description in a Cork journal on the
morning after the meeting. ‘Split in the Nationalist
ranks.” ‘A divided camp.’ ‘Plain speech from
Mr. Connor Desmond,’ stood out boldly before his
delighted eyes. He had won his victory, he had
triumphed over his sister, he had found in his heir
a supporter of his own views. He felt that Connor
had been tried almost too severely, he rejoiced in
the prospect of the reward which awaited him.
Mr. Barrington had concluded his business in Dublin
with the speed which wealth allows. He was now
in possession of all the Ballyvodra mortgages, and
these he was about to hand to his nephew directly
they met. He expected to see him during the day,
or at latest on the following morning ; but while he
was still complacently waiting for his arrival Connor
was already far away from his native place, resolved
in the bitterness of his pain that it should see his
face no more.
CHAPTER XX
THE FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT

THE reappearance of Lady Desmond at Duhallow
was the immediate cause of Michael’s proposal to
Kathleen. The presence of the fascinating lady
awoke disquieting memories, and he was angry with
himself that he should be disturbed or find himself
thinking of her with anything but indifference.
Though by every tradition of the relations between
the sexes the shame was hers, not his, it nevertheless
befell that in thinking of her he was aware of a
curious reversal of the accepted order of things, and
was conscious, not of having made a conquest, but
of having suffered a defeat—a humiliation to be
erased only in contempt for the woman who could
make this thing possible. She presented herself to
his imagination as the embodiment of all that was
beguiling and untrue in woman, as the corroboration
of her own cynical estimate of her sex.

To turn from her to Kathleen was to know that
there was at all events an exception. Unscrupulous
himself, his faith in her true nature gave him back
the lost dreams of his boyhood ; the thought of her
love brought him a sense of rest. She gave him a
new outlook on life. His mother had influenced
his youth ; by her the ambition of his career had been

325
326 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

inspired, but no one had hitherto influenced his man-
hood ; he had gone his own way pursuing a definite
object, careless of the opinion of friend or enemy.
He had been attracted by women—in the case of
Corinna all the passion of his nature had been aroused
—but he had not loved. Now, with youth left
behind him, a feeling of the springtime of life came
back to him with Kathleen ; a belief that the old
dreams might be realised, and his whole life’s work
ennobled by devotion to one brave-hearted girl.

He had won her with a word. He had been
her hero, distantly worshipped, and the moment he
declared himself as her lover she was ready to give
him her whole allegiance. Easy victories in love are
allowed to the hero; but when a maiden’s imagina-
tion has been captivated by heroic qualities in a man
he must prepare to stand the test of close inspection.
He must remain her hero if he would possess her
heart. Their engagement, at his wish, was to remain
for a time a secret. He had political reasons, which
he frankly explained, for desiring this. At the
moment his alliance with the daughter of a Protestant
landlord would be unpopular, and might be used to
his prejudice by a section of his own party whose
loyalty was doubtful. Kathleen readily concurred ;
indeed, the arrangement was a welcome one, for she
also had the feelings of her father and her family to
consider. Her whole outlook on life was suddenly
changed. While her love gave Desmond a sense of
repose, she was herself excited and restless). Him
whom she loved she must follow ; his hopes must be
her hopes, his people her people ; yet how could she
forsake her own? He was the enemy of her class,
she must stand by his side, yet how could she forget
the faiths she had held? Peradventure her love
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 327

might influence him and help to bring reconciliation
where there had been hostility—but that was a dream.
Meanwhile she must follow him whithersoever he led.
He was her hero, her lover, and she longed to serve
him. His personal magnetism had made men feel the
like ; it made the girl who worshipped him restless
that she could not prove her love in some act of devo-
tion. She dreamed day and night of these things.

Horace Croker took his defeat at the polls and
his rejection by Kathleen like a good sportsman.
He decided that the constituency was unworthy of
him, and he unworthy of the lady. Mr. O’Brien
was bitterly disappointed ; he had built new hopes
for the future on the prospect of Kathleen’s marriage,
and with their collapse he became gloomy and
irritable. Mr. Barrington found an opportunity
of suggesting to him that the reason of Kathleen’s
refusal of Croker might be found in her attachment
to Connor Desmond, whom, he took care to add, he
had decided to make his heir. But Mr. O’Brien
listened impatiently ; the name of Desmond had
grown hateful to him ; and it was one of Kathleen’s
new troubles that her father, who had hitherto for-
borne to speak ill of the man who had saved her
life, constantly denounced him as the chief instru-
ment of his ruin.

Desmond saw her trouble and understood it, and
was troubled himself.

‘Oh, Michael,’ she said to him at one of their
short stolen interviews, ‘I have-made your cause
mine, and therefore I am not afraid to plead the
cause of those who will think I have deserted them.
You might be their leader too.’

‘My sweetheart is trying to convert me already,’
he laughed.
328 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘You might win them.’

‘No,’ he replied ; ‘ but if ever a chance of recon-
ciliation should seem possible, I will remember your
faith in me and try and prove my love for you.’

She could ask for nothing more ; and that hope
of love given by her to the enemy of her people,
coming back again to her people in the healing of
strife, was a light on her path in these dark days.

Sir Henry and Lady Desmond had been called
on by the county, and had given a garden-party at
the Court. Sir Henry had then gone to his grouse
moor in Scotland—his wife remaining at Duhallow
with her mother and her old school-friend, the
Comtesse de Prayon, as companions. Sir Henry’s
secretary, Mr.Severn, also delayed his departure, partly
with the object of discussing the resources of the
property with the agent, and partly because he had
the misfortune to be in love with Lady Desmond.

Corinna began at once to show a special interest in
the welfare of the people, and her growing popularity
was established beyond question by her sympathy
with the national cause and her appearance at the
Buttevant meeting. Her next experiment was the
organisation of a great féte for all the people of the
neighbourhood in the grounds of Duhallow Court.
No such entertainment had been thought of in that
countryside within the memory of man, and for a
week beforehand nothing else was talked of. A few
months previously Sir Henry’s name had been held
in contempt; now it was loudly applauded ; and
Tom Begley, remembering his verses on the rebuild-
ing of the Court, was busy with a revised version for
production on the day of the gathering. Invitations
were sent out to all classes; but from the gentry,
who were offended at Corinna’s open sympathy with
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 329

their opponents, there were few acceptances. The
O’Briens were asked, but they refused ; Michael
Desmond was asked, and he also declined.

The invitation to Desmond had a significance
known only to the sender and the recipient. It was
the first communication between them since their
parting before Corinna’s marriage.

‘Dear Mr. Desmonp,’ she wrote, ‘I shall be very grateful
to you if you will come to the entertainment I am giving
on the 23rd to the people—to your people. Now I have
come to live among them I am very anxious to help them,
and I thought before attempting anything serious it would
be best to have a merry-making. Your presence would do
what nothing else could do to make it a success, and would
help me in every way.—Very sincerely yours,

Corinna Desmonp.’

This letter Michael read and re-read with peculiar
interest. On the face of it, it suggested a desire on
her part to renew acquaintance with him on an under-
standing that the past was to be ignored or forgotten,
and he could see that as they were almost certain to
meet sooner or later it might be a relief to her that it
should be at once, and in the conventional way she
proposed. It might have been expected that his
feelings of chivalry would have inclined him to meet
her wishes, and that in view of his relationship to
Kathleen he might have been glad for his own sake
to raise a barrier of a conventional friendliness between
the past and the present. But stronger than any
such feeling was that of unforgiveness, and self-love
made him resent her easy assumption of forgetfulness.
Enough of her fascination still troubled him to make
him wish to punish her. A whisper of the fancy
that she might be less indifferent to him than the
letter suggested—there were rumours that she and
330 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ss cuar.

Sir Henry were not on cordial terms—was pleasing
to his vanity, and yet he was not vain enough to
entertain it. The possibility, however, of this being
the case was an equally good reason why he should
not renew acquaintance with her. As to the invita-
tion, he rejected an inclination to leave it unanswered
lest she should fancy he retained for her any other
feeling than indifference, and he was satisfied that in
his brief and courteous reply she could find nothing
to indicate that he had the least interest in her.

The incident, however, did not end with the
writing and delivery of the letter. The evening
before the féte found Desmond still uncertain as to
whether he should go or not, and it was no longer a
letter to which he was considering the reply, but the
memory of a spoken entreaty. That morning, in the
village street, Corinna, accompanied by Mr. Severn,
had met him. He had bowed to her and passed on,
but a moment later she had left her companion and
was at his side.

‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘be generous! let us be friends !
It can cost you so little, and it means so much to me.
Do not let the people think you despise me. I am
very unhappy. Please, please come to-morrow.’

She was gone before he could reply, and, though
prompt decision was habitual with him, the evening
had come and he still hesitated. It was her fascina-
tion which made him hesitate. If he had felt indifferent
to her charms he could easily have complied with her
wish ; but she attracted him still, and he was angry
with himself for being: attracted by the woman he
despised. He had almost forgotten the witchery of
her beauty which had conquered him once until she
stood close at his side again, and he saw her pleading
eyes and trembling lips. ‘Curse the witch,’ he
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 331

muttered, ‘she’s lovelier than ever, and less to be
trusted’; and ‘Perhaps she is speaking the truth,
perhaps she is unhappy,’ was his other reflection.

He could not have said whether it was the attrac-
tion of the witch or the desire to behave kindly to
an unhappy lady that made him finally decide to look
in at the entertainment next day.

The féte justified all expectations, and the hostess
won the admiration of every one. A radiant figure,
gaily attired, she went among the people, encouraging
the contests, talking to those who seemed neglected,
and making every one welcome. Those guests of
her own class who had come in spite of her recent
exhibition of political sympathy were her willing
helpers. Colonel Spencer Boyle acted as starter in
the races, Dr. Riordan as judge. The young men
became voluntary waiters, and their sisters joined in
the children’s games. They had the pleasant prospect
of a merry supper-party at the Court after the
dancing in the great tent, which was to bring the
entertainment to a close, had commenced.

Lady Desmond had just distributed the prizes for
the sports, and was standing in the centre of a little
group of her. friends when Desmond appeared. Mr.
Severn, the only person who observed her critically,
noticed the flush which sprung to her face, but their
greeting had the easy familiarity of old acquaintance.

Desmond exchanged formal. bows with some of
his neighbours, shook hands cordially with Father
Barry, and was introduced to Mrs. Temple-Cloud
and the Countess. Old Dr. Riordan, the only man in
the parish who was on terms of familiarity with him,
began at once to chaff him about his late arrival.

‘And you missed all the best of the fun, man,’
said he. ‘We're after having a tug-of-war that
332 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS caar,

would beat all the election fights that you ever saw
in your life. The men who live on this side of the
river against those on the other side, and nothing
would satisfy them but they would have the river
between them, just below there where it isn’t very
deep. Twenty a side and a long rope and a flag in
the middle of the river for goal. Such a pull you
never saw, till at last the men beyond the river got
the grip of the others and had half-a-dozen of them
in the water and well on to the flag when Jemmy
Shaughnessy went under, and he still holding on to the
rope. ‘I’m drounded,”’ says he, as he went under ;
but he stuck to it, and one of the others that was
down got his feet under a boulder, and sat there in
the river-bed with his head just out, and divil an
inch could they move ’em beyond that till the men
beyond let the rope go slack for a moment, and under
went the lot. If the other fellows won the prize,
"twas these got the whisky to keep the cold out of
their wet bodies, so all were satisfied.’

‘I see your party has been a thorough success,
Lady Desmond,’ said Michael, joining in the laughter
which greeted the doctor’s description of the en-
counter.

‘There wasn’t such a day in Duhallow for years,’
said Father Barry, ‘and ’twill be long remembered.’

‘How could we fail with such guests?’ Corinna
agreed merrily. ‘They won’t let me fail. They
don’t need to be entertained. They are guests that
enter into partnership with their hosts. The more I
see of them the more the good manners of your
people delight me, Mr. Desmond.’

‘And that blind man’s poetry!’ exclaimed the
Countess.

‘Oh, Tom Begley! he’s a great fellow,’ cried the
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 333

doctor. ‘He delivered his poem just before the
prizes were distributed. He has you in it too,
Desmond, my boy, sure enough. What’s this he
called you? Britain’s terror, Erin’s pride ?
He freed us from worse bonas than the Egyptians.
How’s this it went?’
‘ But not from Dr. Riordan’s prescriptions,

Desmond capped him.

‘And that’s the fellow,’ laughed the doctor, ‘I
pulled through the measles. But how did the verses
go? Can’t any one give me a help? Oh, I havea
bit of it now :—

*Twas he from the Egyptians’ yoke unbound us,
But she hath cast the bonds of love around us.
Great is the name of Desmond, and we trust her,
Since she has taken it, to guard its lustre,
Which now to prove she gave a noble féte,

With dancing, whisky, prizes, and cold mate.

Oh, but I’ve forgotten all the rest of it. I take
exception to his flattery of our friend here, but we
can all endorse his praises of our hostess.’

‘The dancing’s beginning,’ said Corinna, ‘I hear
the fiddling. We might have a look at it for a
few minutes, and then it will be time for us to think
about having some supper ourselves.’ She kept
Desmond at her side on the way to the dancing
tent. ‘I need not tell you how grateful I am,’ she
said. ‘When can I have a few moments’ talk with
you? After supper? You will come back with us?’

‘No, Lady Desmond, I am going now. Again
let me thank you for the interest you are taking in
the people and our cause.’

He offered her his hand in farewell, but she did
not take it.
334 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘T will walk a little way with you,’ she said, turn-
ing. ‘I suppose you will take the river-path.’

For a little while they walked without speaking.
She was very pale, and he, contrary to his calculations,
found himself agitated by her presence.

‘I suppose that was the place where they had the
tug-of-war,’ he remarked as they came to the river-
side.

‘Oh yes, I suppose so,’ she said absently ; and
then she turned to him suddenly with flashing eyes.
‘Are you trying to build up a barrier of formality
between us?’ she cried. ‘Oh, Michael, for God’s
sake don’t be cruel!’

In the sternness of his face was written, not his
disapprobation of her words, but his effort to repress
his own emotion.

‘I should have thought,’ he answered, ‘that I was
taking the kindest and wisest course possible.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that it were a year ago, and
that we were walking again across the country on
that windy afternoon! Oh that we could have our
time again, and take the right path instead of the
wrong !’

He imagined her conscience to be reproaching
her with their secret, and replied, ‘Our hope is
always in the path before us. We have forgotten
the wrong turning of yesterday.’

‘Forgotten it!’ she echoed. ‘You don’t under-
stand me. It is not my love for you I regret ;
it is my madness in marrying another. You may
not regret that I did so. The burden is mine.’

He was taken aback by her confession. A glow
of triumph swept through him and was followed by
a throb of pain. He turned to her without speak-
ing, unable to speak. As he looked in her face,
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 335

proud in her humiliation, no longer pale but flushed
with shame, he was conscious that a new confiict,
fiercer than any his soul had known before, had
begun within him.

She was the first to speak. ‘I cannot tell you
now,’ she said, ‘why I acted as I did when I fled
from you. I must,—you must let me try to explain,
if it is possible to explain, why I did so. I cannot
now. But you will give me a chance.’

‘No,’ he answered, ‘it is better not’; but there
was no finality in his tone.

“You will,’ she said, ‘you will; I know you
will! You are too great, too strong a man to
punish a woman you loved once. Good-bye now.
Good-bye, Michael !’

She gave him her hand, and, as he held it in his,
their eyes met, and a wild thrill born of a flash of
mutual memory went through them both. Again
she flushed ; but as they parted her manner changed,
her face was bright with a smile, and there was
laughter in her voice as she turned and called after
him, ‘Oh, Mr. Desmond, I have forgotten half I
wanted to say to you, but if by chance you care for
a stroll to-morrow afternoon I shall be walking along
the river-path towards the Castle about four o’clock.
Good-bye. I must go and look after my guests.’
She ran off without giving him time to answer, and
he stood watching her with excited fancies and
bewildered thoughts.

On his homeward walk his reflections were inter-
rupted by a disagreeable incident. A man who
appeared to have been waiting for him suddenly
stood in his path, his hat in his hand, and addressed
him in servile speech. Desmond recognised with
a start of surprise and an exclamation of anger
3 36 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

the villainous features of Costello, the man he had
defended in the Rahilly murder case.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said to him
sternly. ‘I thought you were in America.’

‘ America’s a fine place,’ said Costello, ‘ but who'd
have a better right to be in Ireland than a poor man
who came near swinging in the holy cause of his
counthry? And swing he would if your honour
hadn’t defated his innemies and proved me innocent
to the wurreld.’

‘Well, what is it you want?’ asked Desmond
roughly.

‘Tis little enough, thin. What good is me life to
me, what good is me honest ca-rachter that you proved
to the jury, Misther Desmond, if me old neighbours
turn their backs agin’ me? Oh,’ he went on in a
cringing tone, ‘’tis your honour can do a little thing
for me that lI] make a poor pathriot respected in his
own counthry as he should be by good rights. Tis
that little farm of your honour’s at Connux that’s
vacant next month that I’d ax you to put me into.
Tis well I’d farm it, and if there was anny other ways
of showing me respect and gratitude besides payin’
me rint, indeed, thin, you’d find me ready to help the.
cause of the ould counthry when you wanted me.’

Desmond watched him while he was speaking
with a look of intense disgust. ‘Costello,’ he said,
‘you know my opinion of you quite well. After
the trial I gave you money enough to pay your
passage to America, and to get rid of you out of the
neighbourhood I'll do so once more. The ticket
will be in Father Barry’s hands on Wednesday, and
you can go to him for it.’

‘Was it a ticket to America I was requiring?’
asked Costello with sarcasm.
xx FETE AT DUHALLOW COURT 337

Desmond walked on, the man following close at
his side.

‘Now be off. I will have nothing more to. do
with you,’ Michael said angrily.

‘Is that the way you thrate the man who served
your cause?’ asked Costello.

‘I wish to God I’d let them hang you as you
deserved,’ said Desmond.

‘Faith,’ said Costello coolly, ‘for that matter J
always felt twas a sort of partnership job between
you and me.’

‘Go to hell!” cried Desmond, swinging his arm
round and pushing Costello roughly aside.

He acted unwisely, and contrary to his usual
deliberate methods, in dealing with the ruffian. He
was a man whose enmity it might be dangerous to
arouse, and in the look which he gave Desmond at
that moment hatred was written with horrid malignity.
CHAPTER XxXI
THE TOWER IN THE MOONLIGHT

For the first time in his life Desmond was compelled
to recognise a struggle between good and evil in his
soul, He had lived uninterrogated by his conscience,
following those lines of conduct which had seemed to
him expedient or pleasant or fitted to the achievement
of the ends he had in view. In his sight scruples
existed for the weak, moral obligation for the timid :
the strong man made his own commandments and
was not afraid to break them. But sooner or later
comes to every one a revelation of the powers of
light and darkness ; and for Desmond there was now
no question of balancing expediencies, but a clear
perception of Right and Wrong —a definite com-
pulsion to choose between them.

Kathleen O’Brien had altered his outlook on life.
In the love she gave him and in the love she had
won from him his whole view as to the relationship
between man and woman had been corrected, and
yet the fascination of one whom he did not love
called him from his allegiance. Every noble quality
he possessed, the same spirit of devotion which had
made him ardent in the service of his country, bade
him be true to the girl who had inspired his love ;
while the weakness which he had thought his

338
CH. XXI THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 339

strength, the outcome of a thousand victories of self
over principle, held him in bondage to an un-
chivalrous passion. Right and Wrong, clearly de-
fined, confronted him at last, and he did not attempt
to shut his eyes to his responsibility. As to his
previous relationship with Corinna he had no accusa-
tions of conscience. The passion which had then
overmastered him had been that of the lover who
desired nothing so much as to wed the woman who
evoked it. Now that woman was another man’s
wife, and he loved her no longer. Now he loved a
girl who had given him her whole heart and trusted
him implicitly.

He remained in a state of uncertainty as to
whether he would meet Corinna, up to a short time
before the hour in the afternoon which she had
named. In vain did he tell himself that he was
secure in his love of Kathleen from any danger of
falling under the spell of Corinna’s influence : his
desire to meet her proclaimed his danger. Their
relationship had a morbid attraction for him. Once
he believed that he had won her; she had placed
herself completely in his power; she had then in-.
comprehensibly rejected him ; and now she let him
see that instead of wishing the past to be forgotten
she cherished its memory. He was utterly unable
to understand what her motives had been in throw-
ing him over after she had given herself to him,
and he was curious to have some explanation from
her own lips. Her conduct gave her a lurid
fascination, and an element of cruelty entered into
the passion which her attitude of self-surrender had
rekindled. The desire to see her, to enter into
temptation with the intention of resisting it, grew
stronger the more he allowed his thoughts to dwell
340 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ean

on her, and at the same time he knew that his only
honourable course was to avoid, not to approach,
that temptation.

The Right and the Wrong confronted him. Had
he the power to choose between them? Modern
philosophy would say ‘No,’ would tell us that his
action would be the result of agencies beyond his
control—of circumstances, and the qualities he had
inherited from his ancestors ; that while seeming to
exercise his will-power on one side or the other, he
was really obeying the commands of inevitable laws.
And yet, however reasonable the philosophy may
appear, we are not convinced. An instinct stronger
than any logic tells every man at critical moments of
his life, when good and evil are clearly shown to
him, that he himself stands separate from circum-
stances, separate from his own inherited or acquired
qualities, a soul that claims kinship with a power
superior to law and capable of being true or untrue
to itself. This critical moment had arrived in
Desmond’s life. Though a thousand outside in-
fluences drew him this way or that, though the
temperament he had inherited, the character which
the years had shaped, chose the field of battle, his
very self grew distinct from these in conscious power
of captaincy. Though the easy victories which his
own desires in the past had won made the fight for
what he knew to be his duty a thousand times
harder, he felt that if he failed it would not be
because the task was too great, but because he
deliberately refused to make the choice which it
was his to make.

He failed, and failed as other strong’ men have
done, by taking the wrong step which”‘he thinks
may allow of return. To see Corinna, to face the
xxi THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT § 341

temptation with the intention of resisting it, was
the fatal step; and, while he took it, while he
assured himself that their interview should be one
which should leave his loyalty to Kathleen unstained,
he knew that he had disobeyed that divine voice
which is the freedom of the soul, and that he had
made his choice for evil and subjection.

It was a cloudless afternoon of autumn, lighting
brilliant foregrounds of coloured woodland and
golden cornfields among grey limestone walls, and
veiling the mountain horizons in soft haze. Corinna,
dressed in white with ribbands of pale gold, and blue
cornflowers in her straw hat, seemed, like the soft
air, to claim the autumn day for summer ; and her
beautiful face, untouched by any shade of anxiety,
was radiant as the sunshine around her. From her
manner of greeting Desmond they might have been
old friends and comrades without a thought to
disguise or a feeling to-repress; and he, at first
constrained in speech and self-conscious, speedily
found ease in the initiative of her fine acting. She
took his coming for granted, and spoke as though
it were the most natural thing in the world for them
to be together again.

‘This is just the afternoon for a walk,’ she said,
‘and I wish I had more time, but some of my guests
are leaving this afternoon and I must get back to
say good-bye. I should like to have gone exactly
the same way we went the last time we had a walk
together—across the fields towards Kilcolman.’

‘ Anywhere,’ said he.

‘Now what does that mean?’ Corinna laughed.
‘That you are in a mood of indifference, or are so
pleased with the weather and the company that
every direction is equally good.’
342 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS. cHaP.

‘Well, let us take the old path,’ he answered,
“and see how it looks in a new light. You remember
how it was blowing that afternoon. You had to
battle with the wind.’

‘And with you. Yes, I remember.’

He gave her his hand in crossing the river by the
plank bridge, part of the rail of which was broken,
and he noticed that she wore her wedding-ring but no
other. This little token brought home to him with
a curious emphasis the change which their relationship
had undergone since the last time he had been in
that place with her. She continued to talk lightly ;
and the absence of any attempt on his part to do
more than respond to her lead began to suggest
that he was there at her bidding, and threw on
her the whole task of referring to the past, or by
ignoring it of seeking to establish a new under-
standing between them which cancelled the past.
He could not guess what was in her mind; but,
apart from his strong desire to know the real
state of her feelings, his instincts as a gentleman
called upon him to relieve her of the burden of
meeting the situation unhelped. In assuming that
she desired to establish a_ relationship which
ignored the past, and by giving their talk a
turn in that direction, he for a moment credited
himself with a step towards that moral victory
which he had come out assuring himself he was
to win.

‘Well!’ he began. ‘A good deal has happened
to both of us since we last came this way. We
have chosen our paths and learned our lessons; but
I hope we are as good friends as ever.’

She gave him a quick glance, and, almost to his
surprise—so different was her manner from that of
xa THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 343

the previous day—responded gaily in the spirit of
his suggestion.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I have always counted
on you as my friend. We have always understood
each other. And haven’t I shown my allegiance?
—TI mean politically. I am heart and soul with
oe and your cause, and eager to help you where

can.

‘T am not ungrateful,’ he replied.

‘But how I envy you!’ she went on with
animation. ‘Not in your leadership—that is yours
alone—but in having a cause in which you can
throw all your strength, a country you can love. I
am English, but do I love England? In a vague
way I suppose I am proud of our traditions, but
there is nothing in our prosperous Empire which
wins my love as Ireland wins yours. I suppose
my cause is the Liberal party, and for us Ireland is
a political question : for you it is a faith. It might
have been this for me too.’

A picture of what Corinna would have been as a
comrade-in-arms if she had married him flashed
across his imagination. For him Kathleen had aban-
doned her own cause ; but her heart was not in his.

‘Sit Henry Desmond is an English politician,’ he
said coldly, with the deliberate purpose of suggesting
that he understood her to feel the obligation of
sharing her husband’s views ; and she, reading him
well enough to see that he spoke with intent to
wound, was glad of it, for there was nothing she
desired less than his indifference.

‘Yes, I envy you,’ she repeated, disdaining to
vindicate her independence. ‘To have a faith one
can live or die for is to find happiness, whether it be
in your country, or in God, or in man or woman.
344 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAR.

Weare most of us without any of these. But come!
don’t let me spoil our walk by gloomy reflections.
I am ready to forget everything except the present.
I am in a holiday mood.’ She called his attention to
a flock of golden plover, flashing black to white as
they wheeled in their flight ; and with troubled hearts
and preoccupied thoughts they spoke lightly for a
while of the charm of the wild life of that country,
and other things that concerned them little. She
played her part so well that Desmond was in greater
doubt than ever as to the state of her feelings towards
himself. Looking at her as she walked at his side
without a trace of self-consciousness in her manner
he was filled with amazement, and found it almost
impossible to realise that their relationship to each
other was what it was, and that she had once given
herself to him utterly,—that with a whisper he might
set her cheeks aflame. He was not prepared for her
easy assumption that the past was to be ignored, and
the more this became apparent the more strongly did
he feel the desire to claim the intimacy of their secret.
He had never forgotten her beauty, though he had
believed himself indifferent to it ; but now every flash
of her eyes, every turn of her head, beguiled him
again as it had done in the days when he had passion-
ately longed to possess her.

If there were to be any reference to the past it
seemed clear that she did not intend to be the first to
make it, and for a time Desmond avoided the vol-
canic theme himself. They talked of the meeting at
Buttevant, of Connor, and of the prospects of the
Nationalist party in the coming session with apparent
interest, while each of them wondered what thoughts
the while were hidden in the other’s heart. At last
Corinna gave the word for return, pleading her duty
xa THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 345

to.her guests as an excuse, and at a quickened pace
they set off homewards.

At the end of the next field she climbed a fence
that stood in their path without his assistance, and
jumped lightly into the field beyond.

‘I remember doing that,’ she said, ‘in this very
place a year ago on our first walk. It seems yester-
day. Let us cancel the interval! Let us fancy it is
the same walk !’

“Do you remember what we were talking about ?’
he asked significantly.

‘Oh yes, very well,’ she replied. ‘You wanted
me to be your wife, and I wanted you to be my
friend. I told you_I did not love you, and you asked
me to let you try to make me love you, and I gave
you leave to try. You were to have the whole after-
noon for the task,’ she laughed. ‘I was not sure
about my own feelings towards you, but I was con-
vinced you did not love me. You were merely
influenced by my attractions as a woman. I know
all the signs. I have longed for love and not won
it, and I have won admiration and loathed it. You did
not love me, though possibly you thought you did.’

Her manner changed while she was speaking, and
there was a note of real earnestness in her last words.
They were generous, too, inasmuch as they permitted
Desmond an escape from the humiliation of the re-
jected lover ; but he did not take it.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said harshly, ‘ and I don’t
understand you. You know I loved you then.’

‘ Well,’ she answered, recovering her irresponsible
tone, ‘ perhaps we differ in what we mean by love, or
I may have been wrong. Let us go on with our old
walk. No, let us build castles in the air! It is
amusing to think what might have been.’
346 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS bins

‘If you had married me?’

‘Yes. Fancy we were married a year ago and
have been parted ever since. It has been kept a
secret and—to-day we have met again.’

She gave him a look in which coquetry was a veil
to deep feeling, and his pulses quickened as he met
it. He was falling under the spell of her witchery.
The picture of Kathleen came to him and he dis-
missed it impatiently, stung by the reproach, as a man
might dismiss an innocent child from his side when
entering unholy places.

‘It was a long time to wait,’ she added, noting
the impression she had made, ‘but we had to keep
the secret for political reasons. And you are glad to
have me with you again?’ She laughed gaily to
lighten the significance of her words.

‘Oh,’ cried Desmond, ‘what a witch you are!
You show me the girl I lost. I am walking with her,
not with you. She was brave and loyal and honest
—and how beautiful! I am looking at her now and
I see she is as beautiful as ever.’

‘ There is your old Castle tower shining in the sun-
light,’ she said. ‘Is it there you would be taking me
this evening ?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It is there I would be taking
her—there among my own people. The fairest and
bravest of women, the rose of the world, won from
the camp of the enemy—a girl whose love would

ive a man new faith in women, new strength to
serve his fellow-men. This is the bride I would have
led to her new home.’

They had reached the wooden bridge across the
river, and she stood leaning against the rail and look-
ing into the water.

‘And by-and-by when we were alone again
xxi THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 347

together,’ she said musingly, ‘when the night fell
and the moonlight was on the river, there would be
dear memories to recall and a whole year’s store of
love to claim.’

She looked up at him for a moment, and then
turned her head again to the running stream.

‘Tell me, Corinna, for God’s sake,’ he said with
sudden passion, ‘why you married Sir Henry
Desmond.’

She was silent a moment and her colour rose.
‘Because I distrusted your love for me and hated
myself for loving you,’ she answered. ‘Because you
made me despise myself in treating me as your
captive, with my freedom gone, because I had given
you my love. Because other women had been before
at your mercy like me. Because I rebelled against
the power which held me, the power which women
have had to submit to from the beginning of the
world. Because—I cannot put my madness into
words—I cannot tell you now. I might in other
circumstances make you understand.’

There was a tiny splash in the water. Apparently
by accident, but in reality by her own contrivance,
Corinna’s wedding-ring slipped off her finger and
disappeared among the stones in the river bed.

‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘my ring has slipped off—my
wedding-ring. But the water is not deep. Can you
see it?’

She made a pretence of trying to discover it, and
Desmond silently assisted. The clear water tinted
with the gold stain of peat rippled over the rocks and
pebbles of its bed, but the ring was not in sight.

‘Show me the exact spot where it fell,’ he said,
‘and I will go in and see if it can be found.’

‘ Are you so anxious to find it?’ she asked with
348 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

a curious laugh. ‘It does not concern me so much.
I have no superstitions. And you would probably
get wet for nothing.’ She walked on across the
plank and he followed her. ‘ Now,’ she continued,
‘I think this is our parting-place. I must get back
to say good-bye to my guests. When they have
gone and IJ am alone to-night I will go on with our
castle-building and finish the picture of the honey-
moon we began.’

‘There was something more, some other reason
you have not told me for your marriage,’ he ex-
claimed. ‘I have a right to know.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I cannot. No words can explain.
If you knew my heart better you might understand.
Here in the broad daylight how can I speak what is
in my heart? But perhapsp——’

‘Perhaps by-and-by ?’

‘I am leaving here in a day or two. I suppose
we shall not meet again, not for a year perhaps.
Think of me kindly. I am not happy. Think of
me as the girl of our fancied home-coming.’

‘I must see you again before you go,’ he said. ‘You
will meet me by-and-by—to-night. When the dark-
ness is round us you can say what is in your heart.’

‘Do you wish to know ?” she asked.

‘I will know!’

It was he who now showed emotion ; her manner
gave no betrayal of her agitation.

‘My remaining guests, Mr. Severn and the
Countess, and I are going to a ball at the Barracks
to-night. I will stay at home, perhaps. I cannot
promise. Perhaps I will come.’

‘T will be here at nine o’clock. Will that time
do? You will not fail?’ His words had the tone
of a command.
x THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 349

‘T shall not go to the ball,’ she answered, ‘ but I
cannot promise to meet you. I may think it better
to stay at home and do my castle-building alone.’

‘I will be here,’ he said.

They stood facing each other as they parted.

‘And I—if I come. Do you want to meet the
cold unfaithful girl you have thought me? or ,
she faltered, and her colour rose to a deep blush
under his gaze. ‘Good-bye,’ she added gravely.
‘Good-bye, dear Michael.’

It was the first time during their interview that
she had spoken his Christian name.

 

Corinna came down to dinner dressed for the ball,
and she had never looked more beautiful. Her neck
and shoulders lost nothing of their fairness from the
enfolding snow of her pure white dress, and they
won a lustre from the shadowy darkness of her hair.
She made a brilliant picture in black and white,
saved from all suggestion of coldness by the glow on
her cheek and the radiant light of her eyes. The
Countess expressed her admiration with her wonted
volubility, and Mr. Severn showed his, less openly
but not less conclusively, in the quality of his glances.
He was in the unhappy frame of mind of a man who
knows himself to be unwisely in love; and this was
his last evening at Duhallow. He was convinced
of Lady Desmond’s indifference to her husband ;
he was equally convinced of her indifference to
himself.

Corinna was more than usually animated during
dinner, and kept her friends amused by her talk,
until she startled them by suddenly announcing that
she did not intend to go to the ball.

‘But, good heavens, why ?’ asked the Countess.
350 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuar.

‘Why? Because I am capricious and have
changed my mind,’ she laughed. ‘I have not had
an evening to myself for a week, and the thought
of dancing with soldier boys till one or two in the
morning has become irksome to me.’

‘If Lady Desmond is not going we may as well
all give it up,’ said Mr. Severn.

‘Oh, indeed, I mean to go,’ cried the Countess.
‘I have promised the little Colonel to dance with
him, and he is a dear. Am I to go alone?’

‘Indeed you are not. Mr. Severn will take care
of you,’ said her hostess.

‘But you must come, Corinna, really. What
excuse am I to make for you?’

‘None at all, or, if you like, give the Colonel my
love and say I am the most disappointed woman in
the world to-night, but that sheer fatigue after a
fortnight’s entertaining has sent me to bed.’

They were hardly convinced that she had made
up her mind not to go until they had entered the
carriage and were driven off without her, the
Countess exclaiming about the wilfulness of her
charming Corinna to a silent and reflective com-
panion.

Meanwhile the battle between right and wrong
was going on within Desmond, but it was now an
unequal contest. The temptation had increased a
hundredfold since his interview with Corinna in the
afternoon, and the show of resistance he made was
almost mechanical. The firelight cast shadows on
the grim walls of his room in the tower, and a gleam
of moonlit sky showed through the narrow un-
curtained window. It was nearing the time appointed
for the meeting, and he paced the floor with a
nervous restlessness quite unwonted with him in
xxi THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT = 351

times of emergency. Presently he lighted a lamp,
and going to the adjoining chamber which he used
as a bedroom, unlocked a cabinet and took from it
two little pictures which he looked at for a long time.
They were both of Kathleen—one a recent photo-
graph, the other a miniature painted soon after the
time when he had saved her life in the hunting field.
It was the latter which chiefly attracted him. It had
caught that winning expression of innocence and
mischief which time had hardly changed ; and there
was something else in the face of the child, something
in its confident trustfulness, which appealed specially
to his chivalry and seemed to ask for his protection.
He looked at it reverently and put it away with a
feeling of sharp pain, conscious that he was like a
man who has fallen on his knees to ask heaven to
save him from a temptation which he knows the
while will not be resisted. That sweet face, the true
unstained nature it bore witness to, almost inspired
him to make a fresh desperate effort to be loyal.
He might abandon the meeting with Corinna
altogether, or he might keep his appointment and
tell her the bare truth—tell her that her marriage
had put an impassable barrier between them, and
that he was engaged to be married to Kathleen
O’Brien. The former, the only path which promised
safety—for as a wise man and a brave soldier once
said, ‘ when there is a woman to be encountered the
only course is to run away ’—he rejected ; and the
latter he accepted as a final compromise with his
feverish desire to meet her. He had lost his battle :
he was conquered before he went out.

It was a night when the moon, shining through
cloudless skies, filled the land with golden light that
trembled into silver when it touched the broken
352 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHar.

waters of the stream. Thick dew was on the ground,
a sweet smell of the earth in the air, and so still was
the hour that even the reeds and the flags on the
river bank were unstirred. Here in the cloisters of
the stream, where the alder-trees hung over the
murmuring water and the moonlight was interwoven
with the shadows on the path—a trysting-place for
happy lovers—here came those unhappy ones for
whom the beauty of the scene could be no bond,
its solitude no benediction. The whole future of
their lives depended upon that hour; but greater
issues than their own welfare hung upon their
honour, and the destiny of a great cause was in their
unconscious keeping.

Up to the very moment of their meeting Desmond
deceived himself and refused to acknowledge that
his will was in subjection to the temptation which
was like fire in his blood. It was otherwise with
Corinna. To win back Desmond’s love, to give
herself utterly to him, was the one passionate desire
of her life ; and her fear was, not that she might be
weak in the time of temptation, but that he might
be strong. She had felt some apprehension that he
might possibly fail to keep his appointment, and her
heart beat violently when she saw him coming
towards her; but she neither quickened her foot-
steps nor gave any indication of her emotion when
they met. Bareheaded, in her evening attire, with a
cloak about her shoulders, white like a bride, the
lady who came down the river path was beautiful
as the princess in a fairy tale, with all the magic of
the moonlight about her.

‘So you have come,’ he said abruptly.

‘You wished it,’ she replied.

‘But what am I to you?’
xxi THE TOWER IN MOONLIGHT 353

‘TI hardly know,” she answered, with a little laugh.
‘A neighbour, an old friend, a judge, an advocate,
anything, everything, whatever you choose it to be
yourself.’

They had turned and were walking in the direction
of the Castle. In the distance the old tower stood
out in the moonlight.

‘We left our story unfinished this afternoon,’
she continued. ‘Would you have liked it to be a
true story ?”

‘ Perhaps, if the lady had been true.’

‘The story of what ought to have been is some-
times truer to our lives than the things that really
happen,’ Corinna said. ‘The lady in the story was
true. Where did we leave it? They were married
in secret a year ago, and had been parted ever since
until—until to-night.’

Her hand touched his as they walked side by
side. He clasped it for a moment and then roughly
rejected it. ‘Don’t mind the story. I want no
make-believe,’ he said. ‘What am I to you now?’

‘What only one man can ever be to a woman,’
she said, in a low tone.

He took her hand again, not roughly now, and
felt it tremble in his.

In silence they walked on, his eyes seeking hers,
her head averted. At aturn of the path the song of
the river grew suddenly more distinct.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘It is the same sound. I
have never ceased to hear it. It was my bridal song.’

‘You have not forgotten?’ he whispered.

“I remember nothing else.’

He drew her a little closer, and her bare arm
slipped from beneath her cloak and rested on his.

“Look at me,” he said.

2A
354 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS  cuar. xxi

She turned her beautiful pale face to his, and the
next moment she was in his arms, her heart wild
with joy, her eyes blinded with tears.

‘Oh, Michael,’ she cried. ‘I am yours, yours,
yours only. I was mad when I left you, but I have
never been untrue. I have loved you only. Oh,
my dearest, I am yours. Take me, Michael, I am
your wife.’

He held her to his heart and kissed her.

“You love me still,’ she whispered.

‘Love!’ he echoed, ‘what is it? A boy’s dream.
Don’t ask me for love.” He drew her to him again
and there was a roughness almost cruel in the move-
ment ; but she was content.

‘Now,’ she said, disengaging herself, ‘let me
leave you. We had better part now.’

‘Can we?’ he asked.

They walked onward, they were close to the
Castle. The tower stood up in moonlight out of
black shadows.

‘The story was unfinished,’ she answered, after a
pause, ‘ but—but, Michael, let me go ;

He held her hand and led her on.

'* My feet are wet with dew,’ she said. ‘My shoes
and stockings are too thin.’

‘ Are they ?’ he laughed recklessly ; ‘ then we must
dry them. I have a fire in my room.’

‘Where are you taking me, Michael? I am
afraid,’ she whispered.

They were in the shadow of the Castle tower ;
Desmond took a key from his pocket and unlocked
the door.

‘Come,’ he said, and Corinna followed him into
the darkness. Then he drew a bolt across the door
and led her up the winding stairway of the tower.

 
CHAPTER XXII
DISHONOUR

Tue prospects of the Nationalist party had never
looked so hopeful as they did that autumn. The
days of the Conservative administration were
numbered, the bye-elections had told of the change
in English public opinion, and in the House of
Commons, at the head of his solid phalanx drilled to
move as one man, Desmond controlled the situation.
His alliance with the Opposition was an understood
thing, and it was also understood that the price to
be paid for it when the Liberal party came into office
was self-government for Ireland.

One afternoon during the autumn session, two
of Desmond’s most ardent supporters, Mr. William
Burke and Mr. Quinlan, were seated in the smoking-
room of the House of Commons discussing the
position when another of the party, Mr. Keefe,
approached them, and curtly asked them if they had
seen the evening news. He placed a paper on the
table beside them and merely adding, ‘ You'll find
good reading in the second page,’ passed on.

The others left the paper unopened and went
on talking. ‘Good reading!’ was Mr. Burke’s
comment. ‘That means bad, or Keefe wouldn’t have
troubled to call our attention to it; or else ’tis some

355
356 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

lie about Desmond. I believe he’s as jealous as the
devil of him.’

‘There’s more than one of them like him,’
replied his companion. ‘They’ve felt the whip—
and no man can make it sting more than Desmond
when he chooses. But, take them all through, how
he handles them! They'd follow him to hell.’

‘While he was winning battles on the way,’ Mr.
Burke laughed. ‘But how if things went against
him? Wouldn’t it sort us out a bit?’

‘Who knows ?’ replied the other. ‘But nothing
can go against him, and the easiest part of the road
lies before us now. Our fight is won.’

‘The man who rules the Liberal party is won.’

‘And all his motley crew. By Gad ’tis amazing !
Even the Nonconformist smugs shouting for the
liberties of the Catholics they hate.’

‘They hate the Tories more,’ said Mr. Burke.
‘But hush! They’re our bed-fellows at present, my
dear man.’

‘And we'll be going to bed with them with spurs
on, like Dr. Growling, when our time comes,’ said
Mr. Quinlan.

His friend laughed. ‘We shall put the Liberals
into power,’ he said; ‘ but they’ll have to dance to
our tune. They don’t care really a bit more for our
cause than we care for theirs, but Desmond has
played the game confoundedly well. He has been
down again at Wilton Towers with the great man.
There are some points in the Bill he is rather tough
about, I believe.’

‘The Constabulary ? ’

‘Yes, and the number of Irish members in the
Imperial Parliament, and the judges; but I think we
shall get pretty well all we want to begin with. I
XXII DISHONOUR 357

had five minutes’ talk with Desmond this afternoon.
He seemed very confident. Did you ever meet
Lady Desmond, the old man’s niece ?’

‘No, my boy. We move in different circles, as
they say; but I’ve seen her and heard enough of
her.’

‘More than enough?’

‘Well, I heard some gossip in which our leader’s
name occurred, but of course his enemies never lose
a chance.’

Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance
of another member of the party, who appeared to
be in a great state of excitement. He rushed over
to them and asked them if they had heard the
news.

‘Indeed we have not,’ said Mr. Quinlan ; ‘ but
I'll go bail ’tis in that paper lying there, and some-
thing unpleasant too, or Keefe wouldn’t have brought
it over.’

‘Well, it is damned unpleasant,’ said the new-
comer. ‘Sir Henry Desmond has filed a petition
for divorce against his wife, and Michael Desmond
is the co-respondent.’

Mr. Quinlan sprang from his seat with an oath.
Mr. Burke dropped his pipe, and then quickly picked
it up.

Pig you sure ?’ he asked.

‘Certain! Tis already in the paper.’

‘ Another invention of the enemy.’

“Let’s hope so. There’s no question about the
petition, or about Desmond being the co-respondent.
There’s no other name, but I daresay ’tis a trumped
up thing and he’ll clear himself all right.’

‘But what object can Sir Henry have in discredit-
ing him?’ Mr. Burke mused. ‘He’s on our side.’
358 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

The men were silent.

‘There’s nothing in it,’ Mr. Burke resumed. ‘I
saw Desmond this afternoon. He never looked
serener. "Tis an infernal invention. Is there a
crime he has not been accused of at one time or
another? "Tis a conspiracy. They’ve been hiring
private detectives to give false information, and
they’ve made a fool of Sir Henry. Tis done to
blacken Desmond before the public at a critical
time.’

‘That’s my own view,’ said Mr. Quinlan, and
they were again silent.

Other people were talking with animation in the
room on the same topic. Mr. Keefe strolled back
to his colleagues.

‘Well, what do you think of the news?’ he
asked.

‘What do you think of it?’ rejoined Mr. Burke.

‘I think ’tis serious. He may clear himself; I
expect he will. But suppose he should not be able
to. Have you thought of that ?’

‘No, and I wouldn’t disgrace me mind by think-
ing of it,’ said Mr. Quinlan.

“Well, I have,’ said Keefe ; ‘and I’ve heard the
views of some of our English friends. If it goes
against him it means that the Liberal party will have
to repudiate him, the Nonconformists wouldn’t stand
it; and then good-night to Home Rule for a
generation, unless, of course, we choose another leader.
That’s the position if he cannot clear himself ; but
no doubt he will.’

Mr. Burke rose angrily. ‘Let’s get out of this,’
he exclaimed. ‘I want some fresh air. Come along,
Quinlan, we’ll go round to Desmond’s rooms. And
we may as well tell him that some of them are already
XXII DISHONOUR 359

beginning to talk about his successor,’ he added
contemptuously.

There were others among Desmond’s friends who
had talked of speaking to him on the subject which
monopolised attention among politicians that after-
noon, but not one of them did so. When they met
him they thought better of it: there was something
in his dignified, self-contained bearing which seemed
to foredoom personal allusion to the region of
impertinence. He spoke in debate that night, and
on rising was greeted with a warmer cheer than usual
by his own party, and was listened to with curious
attention by all.

He left the House at half-past ten and drove to
Upper Brooke Street, where he dismissed his cab and
walked for a short distance to the residence of the
Comtesse de Prayon. He was taken to the drawing-
room, which was brightly lighted but empty, and a
moment afterwards the Countess appeared.

‘Ah, my dear Mr. Desmond,’ she said effusively,
‘you are here! We have been expecting you this
half-hour. My darling Corinna will be with you at
once. So this wicked scandal is abroad. ‘The jealous
husband is seeking base revenge for her coldness to
him, but my Corinna has nothing to fear. I am her
friend, her confidante, Mr. Desmond—one you may
trust with all secrets,’

Desmond bowed. ‘Happily, my dear Countess,
we have no secrets.’

“No secrets!’ she exclaimed. ‘If I were a man
and that were so, and Corinna the lady, I should say
‘unhappily ”’ not “happily.” But you are discreet,
though an Irishman.’ She shrugged her shoulders
and gave him a comical smile.

‘I am very grateful to you, madame, for giving
360 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

me the opportunity of meeting Lady Desmond at
your house,’ he said. ‘I know you will pardon me
for seeming impatient, but my time is the shortest.’

‘ Of course,” she agreed, going tothe door. ‘And
remember, Mr. Desmond, that my house is at your
service at all times and all hours. You may rely on
my friendship and discretion.’

She left the room, and a few minutes later Corinna
entered. She was very pale, and there was anxiety
in her first questioning look at Desmond as she
closed the door. Then she ran to him and flung her
arms round his neck. He returned her embrace
less warmly than she desired, and the anxious look
returned to her face as she drew away from him.

‘You are troubled about the—the exposure,’ she
said, ‘and you have come to decide what we are to
do. You will find me cool-headed, Michael.’

‘There is not much time,’ he said. ‘I cannot
venture to stay here long. They are watching me.
I should not wonder if one of their detectives were
walking up and down outside at this moment. It
may be impossible for me to see you again before the
case comes on, and I want to get everything clear
between us as to our defence.’

She winced at the word ‘defence,’ and a deeper
trouble came into her eyes, but her emotion did not
cloud her wits.

‘Oh, don’t be so business-like,’ she said, taking
his hand. ‘I have not seen you for a fortnight, and
I must have my lover to myself before I can bring
my mind to think of anything else. I can face any-
thing with you here to help me.’ She laid her hands
on his shoulders and looked at him with the smile
which had so often fascinated him. It was passion,
not love, which had drawn him to her, but though
XXII DISHONOUR 36 I

its fires had burned low and her power over him had
gone, an afterglow remained, and her incomparable
beauty still made its appeal to him. His kisses
brought the colour to her cheeks, and with a brighter
light in her eyes she led him to a sofa and sat at his
side, still holding his hand.

‘No,’ she said, ‘on second thoughts I would
rather get the business over first and keep my love
till afterwards. I will imagine for a moment that I
am in a lawyer’s office. I am all attention.’

Her attempt to veil the naked ugliness of the
impending theme with grace of manner met no
response from Desmond. He came direct to his
subject.

‘I do not believe they can succeed,’ he said.
‘ The evidence is untrustworthy and incomplete. A
witness like Costello is worth nothing—a man who
barely escaped hanging—and what a piece of irony
that it was I who saved his contemptible life!’

‘You nearly killed him, though, since.’

Desmond smiled with grim satisfaction at the
memory of the thrashing he had given him one night
when he found that he had been watching his move-
ments when Corinna was with him.

‘It was not very discreet of me,’ he said, ‘ but it
will account for his readiness to appear against me.
They won’t believe him. Then this man, Severn,
who seems to me to have been at the bottom of the
whole thing! He appears to have been on the
watch too, and to have taken the story to Sir Henry
Desmond.’

‘Yes,’ Corinna answered, with contempt. ‘A
chivalrous gentleman, indeed, who would endeavour
to bring punishment on a woman for following a

path in which he would gladly have led her himself.’
362 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘ Jealousy, of course,’ said Desmond ; ‘ but beyond
saying that we were alone together what can he prove?
There are good reasons to give for our private inter-
views ; it has been hardly a secret that you were an
intermediary in political negotiations.’

Corinna laughed in spite of a growing feeling
of misery in her heart. ‘Politics!’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh yes.’

‘And as to the other evidence,’ Desmond con-
tinued, ‘I hardly know. Some hotel servants at
Chester, perhaps ; but I don’t believe we have much
to fear—unless—there is one thing I particularly
want to know, Corinna. Did you make any sort of
admission to your—to Sir Henry Desmond ?’

‘No,’ she replied, with some agitation. ‘No
admission ; but he may perhaps have made some
inferences from my manner or some thoughtless
words.’

‘Can you remember what you said?’ he asked
anxiously ; ‘it is important.’

She was very pale again. ‘Some information had
been given to him, Michael. I think he wished
to find it was false. When he came home from
Scotland he—I suppose my appearance pleased him,
he was never indifferent—he would have been glad
of my indignant denial.’

‘You did not give it ?’

She flushed crimson. ‘Michael, would you have
had me go back to him as his wife? Could you—
could you bear to think of it? I admitted nothing,
but I denied nothing. I made him leave me, and
next day I left his house.’

‘I don’t think that should be construed adversely,’
he said reflectively. ‘A proud woman unjustly
accused might naturally do that.’
XXII DISHONOUR 363

‘A proud woman justly accused, a woman who
has given herself to a man she loves. could she do
otherwise ? Michael, you torture me by your cold-
ness |”

He began to perceive a danger in her reckless
disregard of consequences. ‘Don’t think me blind
to the difficulty of your position, or ungrateful for
your loyalty to me,’ he said, ‘but the present is a
time for cool judgment. We have to make sure of
our defence.’

She echoed the word. ‘Do you really mean to
defend the case ?’ she said excitedly.

He looked at her in amazement.

‘Can you, would you defend it, Michael ? Iam
yours, yours whatever happens. But then—I mean,
if it were not proved, you could not claim me. And
what would be my fate? Would you have me still
bound to the man. who is called my husband?
When you—you are my husband? Oh, Michael,
my darling, let us face it! Let us leave it un-
answered! What is the gossip of a day when we
have all the future before us? Let us brave the
world together!’ She clasped his hands passionately
and tears sprung to her eyes; but though he was
not unmoved by her emotion, love only could have
given the answer she longed for, and love was not
in his heart.

‘Corinna,’ he said, drawing her closer to him,
‘we must face this trouble bravely. It is not merely
the question of the world’s comment—that is nothing
to us—but there are other far graver issues. If the
case is proved against me, it means not only my
own political ruin, but the ruin of the Nationalist
cause.’

He rose and began pacing up and down the room.
364 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cai

‘Oh, how they’ve waited for a chance like this,’ he
went on; ‘this is the weapon my enemies have prayed
for, but we will make it useless to them. Corinna,
you must not think me cold. It is as a comrade
needing your help, rather than as a lover, that I am
compelled to discuss this with you.’

She had conquered her emotion and gave him
her attention.

‘ This is the position,’ he continued. ‘ We are on
the eve of securing self-government. I have won
your uncle to our side, and he has compelled his party
to come with him; but if the case goes against me
the alliance will be at an end; his own party will
insist on his abandoning me, And more than this, in
my own country the priests would condemn me and
counsel the people to distrust me. Our party would
be disorganised and divided, and our cause would be
ruined. Icould perhaps face ruin for myself, but not
the destruction of my life’s work for my country.’

‘Your country is your love, not I,’ she said;
‘but I see the position is more serious than I under-
stood. Tell me what you want me to do.’

He gave a brief outline of the scheme of defence
he proposed and the attitude he wished her to take
in her interview with her lawyers, and arranged a
plan to enable them to communicate with each other
again with the least risk of their meeting being dis-
covered. She showed herself cool and clear-headed,
and it was not until this cheerless business had been
discussed and he was preparing to leave her that her
feelings again overpowered her.

‘And if these defences are made secure, if the
case should not go against us,’ she said piteously,
‘what will be my position? Oh, Michael, have you
thought of our future relationship ?’
XXII DISHONOUR 365

‘We must let all this blow over before we con-
sider the future,’ he said evasively.

‘But, Michael, am I to be banished from you?’

‘We shall find opportunities of meeting,’ he
answered, with a dishonesty of which he was ashamed
while he spoke the words, for he had made up his
mind that there must be no renewal of their past
relationship.

‘Oh,’ she cried, and there was an ominous
flash in her eyes, ‘as your neighbour, or perhaps
your mistress, with no hope of being your companion,
your wife. Michael, oh, Michael, give me some
comfort!” She had risen and was standing at his
side, and he laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

‘My poor girl,’ he said, ‘I share. your trouble.
We have a hard fight before us. We must help
each other now. You must trust me to do what is
best.’

The full difficulty of his position confronted him,
and he saw an unexpected danger in Corinna’s
attitude, in her evident desire that the case should
be undefended and that she should be free from her
marriage bonds. It was even possible that if he
made a false step in his treatment of their relation-
ship she might bring disaster upon them by con-
fession, and the one—the only way he saw of
appealing to her and steeling her to save him by
defending her innocence was by continuing to play
the part of lover. Thus one false step, one act of
dishonour leads to others ; and the man who would
willingly retreat from the desperate path finds him-
self enmeshed in unforeseen toils.

He played the lover’s part against his will, to
gain an object, not to win back love, for in the future
he looked forward to Corinna had no part. If any
366 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cuar. xxu

woman had a place in it, it was still Kathleen O’Brien,
and of her he dared not think at present. But
though the part was insincere, it was nota difficult
one to play with that beautiful woman who was at his
side ; and once embarked on it, seductive memories
quickened his ardour, and the charm of her presence
again took possession of him. It was all that was
needed to gain him the mastery over her will, and
while he held her close and comforted her with
loving words she forgot her own trouble in the
desire to serve him and obey his wishes. Sinful her
love might be, but it was real and passionately great.

‘If they cannot prove anything, and you silence
your enemies and your career is uninjured,’ she said,
as he was about to leave her, ‘then I must be
content even if we are parted ; but if—if it should
go against you, oh, Michael, do not think hardly of
me as the woman who has brought this on you. If
all the world were against you I would stand by you
in your fight against the world. I have given you
the utmost love a girl can give a man. Whatever
happens, whether you claim me or whether I am
driven from you, I am yours, yours only.’
CHAPTER XXIII
DESMOND UV. DESMOND

Tue Desmond divorce suit was awaited with a public
interest which no case in modern times had equalled;
and this not so much because of the distinction of
the persons concerned—the fame of the Irish leader,
and the celebrity of Lady Desmond, a brilliant figure
in society, a beauty, the niece of the late Prime
Minister—as on account of the grave political issues
which were involved. By the Conservatives, who
had been decrying Desmond as the greatest enemy
of the Empire, an adverse result which would dis-
credit him in the eyes of the public was fervently
hoped for; to the Liberals who were in alliance with
him, and saw that his failure to clear himself would
mean political confusion, perhaps disaster, his success
was of vital importance; and in the ranks of his own
party there was consternation. Among these were a
few who for personal reasons might hope that he
would fail, but the majority saw that whatever blow
fell on their leader fell on their country, and not only
did they desire no other leader, but they knew that
they could not find one.

Desmond himself seemed at the time to be the
only man among them who treated the situation with

367
368 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS car.

unconcern, and his demeanour did much to restore
confidence among his followers and convince them
that this suit was but one more attempt on the part
of his enemies to ruin him.

At this period of difficulty and uncertainty the
danger which threatened Desmond’s career troubled
him less than his own self-contempt on account of
the part he found himself obliged to play. He could
meet difficulty and face danger; his spirit rose to the
occasion of a fight, however desperate; and in fighting
he was not scrupulous; but he was no hypocrite, and
the necessity of defending his innocence to Kathleen
O’Brien while he still posed as a lover to Corinna
was abhorrent to him. Corinna he no longer loved,
and the overmastering passion which had led him
from his allegiance to Kathleen had ceased to
dominate him. The sentimental affection which
Kathleen had awakened in him remained unchanged ;
his unfaithfulness to her stung him with remorse.
His imagination harrowed him with a picture of the
loyal, brave-hearted girl’s feelings on hearing the
tidings of the divorce case, and he hesitated as to the
course to adopt in speaking about it to her. There
was one and only one honest way possible, and that
was to see her, confess everything to her, and either
win her forgiveness or accept her rejection like a man.
And he would have done well to trust to her
generosity, but this course needed a moral courage
which his recent capitulation had undermined.
Furthermore, he saw that this straightforward course
would involve his abandoning the pretence of the
lover’s part with Corinna; and to do this might
mean her refusal to defend the case, and the wreck
of his political career.

Previously, when the right and the wrong had been
XXIII DESMOND v. DESMOND 369

so luminously presented to him, he had made the
fatal choice, though he knew there was a power in
him to resist it; now his will to choose was enfeebled,
and from the first evil step he was driven into a path
on which hypocrisy and deception were his weapons
of war.

He wrote at once both to his father and Kathleen
on the subject which he knew would be speedily
brought to their notice from other directions. He
addressed his letter to his father—not, as was his
custom, to his mother ; for to her, when he faced the
task, he found a peculiar difficulty in lying. He
referred in his letter to the divorce proceedings as
the latest and most abominable attempt on the part
of his political enemies to discredit him; and while
he admitted that his private interviews with Lady
Desmond, who had acted as an intermediary in
negotiations between him and the Liberal party,
might offer a pretext for calumnious inference, he
maintained there was no real cause for apprehension,
and expressed his confidence that the case would
result in the humiliation of his accusers. ‘It is
curious,’ he added, ‘that this attack should. come
from the descendant of the man whose memory as the
family traitor we cherish with loathing.’

In his letter to Kathleen he also spoke of the
divorce proceedings as an attempt—the last, vilest,
and most desperate attempt—on the part of his
enemies to injure him, and bade her be of good
courage and rest assured that he would triumphantly
prove his innocence. He also alluded to the private
political negotiations, and admitted with false candour
that there had been a time, before her marriage, when
he had been under the influence of her personal
charms.

2B
370 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS oir.

‘My greatest trouble at this harassing time,’ he went on
—and this he wrote honestly—‘is on your account. It
pains me more than I can say that you should have the
distress of hearing my name scandalously assailed by people
always ready to believe the worst of me, while it is not in
your power to defend me. ‘You have always heard evil
spoken of me, and yet you have believed in me. My
character has been blackened to you a hundred times, and
yet you have trusted in my honour; and now at a time
when my enemies are a pack of wolves yelping at my heels,
and even my friends are dismayed, the one comfort I have,
the only thing that gives me rest, is the certainty of your
faith in me, the knowledge that, however plausible the
accusations made against me, there is one loyal, sweet-hearted
Irish girl who trusts me implicitly. Do not be troubled,
dearest, and have no fear as to the result of the case. But
for the pressure of my work, which now occupies every
moment of my time, I would have come over to see you,
to tell you more happily than I can write it of the love that
grows deeper for you every day, and to win from your lips
the dear answer of your confidence which my heart already
understands.’

“My ovearest Micuaet, Kathleen replied—‘If I
have hesitated to desert my own people and their party and
stand at your side, I do so no longer. ‘This last and most
cruel attempt to injure you will do you no harm, but ‘I
cannot forgive those who are eager to believe what is said
against you, and who talk of you as if it were true. Don’t
be distressed on my account, my only trouble is on yours,
and in thinking of all the worry this publicity must give
you when you are hard pressed and overworked already.
Please do not let us discuss the subject at all. And yet
there is one thing I would say and am almost afraid to say.
Dear Michael, remember that I will marry you when you
like. And might it perhaps be a good thing if our engage-
ment were kept a secret no longer? Perhaps you might
feel glad at a time when these lies are abroad that the world
might see that I was proud to prove my contempt for them.’
XXIII DESMOND v. DESMOND 371

The effect of the letter on Desmond was to kindle
his love for the girl who wrote it to enthusiasm, and
at the same time it gave him more pain than he had
ever before had to endure. He loathed the vileness
of responding to her perfect trust with fresh dis-
simulation, but he saw no other course. To confess
the truth to her, to break with Corinna, to abandon
his defence of the divorce suit, meant political
disaster and probably also the loss of Kathleen. He
had not the moral courage for this; but it needed
courage also of another sort, a desperate determina-
tion, to adhere to the course he had chosen—to
defend before the world, before his accusers, before
the girl who loved him, the honour which did not
exist; to bear himself proudly before his friends and
his enemies, and to go into the fight with a good
heart, when he knew that defeat meant ruin. But
this courage he had.

Kathleen’s generous proposal to publish their
engagement at once was obviously undesirable, as it
would undoubtedly arouse Corinna’s anger and lead
to her confession of the truth. He wrote with
glowing gratitude to Kathleen, but told her that he
could not accept her suggestion, for he was deter-
mined to clear his own name of suspicion before he
allowed hers to be associated with it. To no one
else except his lawyer did he even allude to the
impending case, and while it was the subject of burn-
ing interest in political circles, it was not mentioned
in his presence even by his most intimate associates.

Nightly in the House of Commons, with unabated
energy and unrivalled skill, he continued to direct
the tactics of obstruction which were harassing
every movement of a weakened Government ; his
demeanour was unruffled by any semblance of
372 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS és

anxiety ; and, as one of his opponents remarked, he
gave Sir Henry Desmond a look the next time he
passed him in the lobby, which was what you might
have expected if that gentleman had been the co-
respondent and he the petitioner. Desmond was a
born fighter, a superb fighter, and the greatest battle
of his life had begun.

The case came before the Court in November.
A divorce suit in which people in high places are
concerned is always eagerly followed. Glimpses of
private life, significant in illustration of character—
and nowhere else obtainable—are provided for the
public by the Court. Moreover, an infringement of
the seventh commandment has a fascination alike for
the frivolous and the respectable, and seems to afford
a sort of vicarious satisfaction even to those least
likely to fall into temptation themselves. A noted
beauty who was niece of a great statesman, and a
rising politician of good social standing, would in
themselves have been attractive enough actors to give
celebrity to the case in which they played a part;
but it was the fame of Desmond and the political
issues which hung upon the result of the suit that drew
the eager attention not only of England and Ireland,
but of half the world, to that Court of Justice.

We need not follow the proceedings very closely :
their sequel alone affects those whose fortunes we are
following. The case was outlined by the Counsel for
Sir Henry Desmond, who undertook to bring con-
clusive evidence to prove that the co-respondent and
Lady Desmond had been constantly alone together
in circumstances which admitted of only one con-
struction.

Sir Henry himself was the first witness. Comport-
ing himself with a bearing in which the dignity
XXIII DESMOND v. DESMOND 373

befitting an English statesman was mingled with the
severity proper to an outraged husband, and the pain
natural to a chivalrous gentleman on being compelled
to accuse a lady, he made a long statement in which
he referred to the terms of amity which had for a
time existed between his wife and himself, the
gradually growing coldness on her part, and finally,
after his return from Scotland and hers from Ireland,
the culmination of the coldness in her refusal to
resume marital relations. He stated that at this time
she made certain remarks which first aroused his
suspicions, and that when a few days later, after
receiving some information as to her intimacy with
the co-respondent which seemed to require explana-
tion, he had spoken to her on the subject, she had
given him unsatisfactory answers. Cross-examined
on this point, he would not swear that what she said
was a direct confession of her guilt, but maintained
that it was equivalent to a tacit admission. ‘ There-
fore,’ observed Counsel sarcastically, ‘we are to
assume that when a lady proudly disdains to reply to
a false accusation it is to be regarded as an admission
of guilt.’

Following Sir Henry Desmond, Mr. Severn, his
secretary, Costello, servants at a Holyhead hotel, a
private detective, and the Comtesse de Prayon—an
unexpected appearance—were called as witnesses.

The evidence of Costello was discredited by the
defence on the grounds of his notorious bad char-
acter, though here Desmond’s own words on behalf
of that ruffian in the murder trial were quoted as a
reply ; while again, on the other side, the thrashing
which Desmond had given the fellow when he found
him playing spy was adduced as a motive for his
seeking revenge in bearing false witness against him.
374 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Costello’s evidence and his ridiculous attitude and
cunning under cross-examination made the humorous
episode in the trial. Mr. Severn, who had also
played the spy, was a contemptible figure under
examination. ‘The zeal of his master’s house has
indeed eaten up the man who played detective on
his hostess in the intervals of collecting political
statistics,’ remarked Counsel ; but no motive of self-
interest or enmity could be shown to weaken the
value of his statements. The evidence of hotel
servants at Holyhead was brought to prove that
Lady Desmond and Michael, who had admittedly
travelled to England together, had occupied adjoin-
ing bedrooms with a connecting door; but it was
allowed that these rooms were often let separately,
and that the door could be secured by a lock on both
sides. The Countess was avowedly on the side of
the defence, but her equivocations, her protestations,
and her admissions did as much to damage the cause
she ostentatiously supported as if she deliberately
aimed at producing that effect.

Lady Desmond’s evidence was looked forward to
with intense interest, but when the time came for her
to appear she had not arrived, and Desmond was
called before her. His evidence was faultless in its
clear simplicity. Himself the most brilliant lawyer
of his time at the Irish Bar, he knew what to say,
what to leave unsaid ; and cross-examination served
only to give him an opportunity to strengthen his
position. He produced but one witness, and he was
no less a personage than the ex-Premier. The object
of calling him was to prove the contention that Lady
Desmond had been a medium of political negotiation
between the Liberal party and the Irish chief, and
that this fact was in itself an ample reason for the
XXII DESMOND v. DESMOND 375

secret interviews which had taken place between
them. He stated that it was quite true that Lady
Desmond had been the first to bring him and Mr.
Desmond together, and on one or two occasions
afterwards had assisted the communications. He
had nothing more to say, and refused to give any
expression of opinion as to the necessity of frequent
interviews. On the whole, the evidence against
Desmond seemed inconclusive, and provided Lady
Desmond could face the ordeal of cross-examination
successfully, a judgment in his favour was not
improbable. Here, however, fell the blow. Her
non-appearance in Court at the proper time caused
some anxiety to the lawyers, to be followed shortly
afterwards by consternation when they received a
letter from her to say that she had decided not to
submit to the humiliation of public insult, and would
have no part in the proceedings. An attempt to see
her at the house of the Comtesse de Prayon, where
she had been staying, was futile, as she had left and
her address was unknown.

Whether in the eyes of the law her absence, her
failure to deny the charge against her, turned the
scale of justice in condemnation, or whether the
Court concerned itself with the evidence only, it is
for lawyers to pronounce an opinion ; but in the eyes
of the world this was held to be the determining
factor in the case. The Court gave judgment that
Lady Desmond was guilty of adultery with the co-
respondent, Michael Desmond, and granted a decree
nist.

The news of the result of the trial created intense
excitement in both islands; but while in Ireland the
amazement, incredulity, and dismay found for the
moment no expression, in England there arose an
376 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHar,

immediate tumult of vociferation. The newspapers,
condemned to silence during the trial, were like
hounds in full cry at sight of their quarry. The note
of hatred and triumph was dominant, and even in
that section of the English press which belonged to
the party in alliance with Desmond the alarm was
almost universal. The Tory organs invited the
world to behold what manner of man their opponents
had entered into partnership with for the dismember-
ment of the Empire. The papers under Non-
conformist influence demanded of the Irish party
that they should instantly choose another leader ; and
even the moderate exponents of Liberal opinion,
while maintaining that the political situation remained
unchanged, gravely counselled the necessity on
Desmond’s part of at least a temporary retirement
from public life. In the Nationalist ranks there was
consternation ; but while the severity of the blow
which had fallen was felt, and the danger to their
cause, if Desmond remained in command, fully re-
cognised, the first impulse on the part of the majority
of his followers was to stand by their leader.

He treated the whole affair himself with an
apparent indifference and contempt which amazed
even those who were most familiar with his coolness.
To his most intimate friends he made no explanation,
no protest against the decision of the Court, and
allowed them no opportunity of discussing the subject.
As to his leadership of the party, he took it for granted
that this remained indisputable. The day after the
conclusion of the trial he had notices sent out to the
Irish members convening a meeting for the followin
week, to discuss recent negotiations with the Liberal
leaders on certain clauses in the Home Rule Bill, and
the same evening he started for Ireland, having
XXIII DESMOND iv, DESMOND 377

previously telegraphed to Kathleen O’Brien that he
was coming. As his train was leaving, a letter was
brought to him. He recognised the writing with a
look of displeasure, and having read the note, tore
it up and threw the fragments out of the carriage
window. ‘Could you come and see me here to-night
or to-morrow morning if only for five minutes,’ were
Corinna’s words, written from the house of the
Comtesse de Prayon.

In the three days of Michael’s absence in Ireland
much happened in the political world. The outcry
against him grew louder. Conferences were held
between the Liberal leaders and certain of the Irish
members, in which the former urged that public
opinion made it imperative that the Nationalist party
should elect a new chairman. Desmond received
their communication on his return to London with a
burst of anger and a flat refusal. His decision was
followed by the publication of a letter from the ex-
Premier, in which he stated that his party no longer
recognised Desmond as the Irish leader, and insisted
on his being replaced before negotiations could be
continued. The Nationalist ranks were thrown into
confusion. ‘Those who, jealous of his supreme influ-
ence and power, had been secret enemies in his camp,
now boldly declared themselves ; and, covering their
disloyalty under a show of patriotism, vehemently
demanded his removal from his present office. They
were few in number. Of the rest, one section,
influenced by motives of prudence, and believing that
the only hope of triumph for the Nationalist cause
lay in the Liberal alliance, counselled his temporary
retirement; the other, true to the man who had
fought their battles and created their strength, deter-
mined to stand by their leader at all costs.
378 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

It thus happened that the meeting which Desmond
had called for dealing with the Bill became a dis-
cussion of his own position, and instead of finding
himself leading, as heretofore, a united party to
battle, he was standing in a divided camp, confronted
with the outburst of an internal struggle, destined to
be more cruel and desperate than any he had taken
part in against the common enemy.

It is a fault of our national character that we are
precipitate in judgment, quick in resentment, intem-
perate in antagonisms ; and in nothing had Desmond’s

enius been more clearly demonstrated than in the
power he had shown in silencing differences, humour-
ing prejudices, and controlling into a compact and
unanimous force the party he led. The discordant
elements long held together by the magnetism of his
rule had at last flown asunder, and these he strove
with all his skill to reunite. At that first memorable
meeting with his colleagues he came near to success.
A resolution, proposed by Mr. Keefe, that his chair-
manship of the party had terminated, was not carried.
He himself offered to resign provided the Liberal
party would give definite assurance on the disputed
clauses in the Home Rule Bill, and a deputation was
appointed to communicate with the Liberal leader on
the proposition. He refused to discuss the subject
until Desmond had been superseded, and the fight
was renewed.

At each meeting of the Nationalists the debates
grew stormier, the antagonism between the sections
of the party more marked ; and now that Desmond
was no longer acting as an arbiter, a healer of
differences, but was himself fighting on one side, all
hope of peace disappeared. He may have acted
unwisely in his own interest and the interest of his
XXII DESMOND v. DESMOND 379

cause in not resigning, if only temporarily ; but his
blood was up; his wrath was kindled against men,
placed by himself in their present position, who now
opposed him ; the attacks of those members, enemies
in secret who had now declared themselves openly,
stung him to fury; and he repudiated the dictation
of the Liberal party with passionate resentment. His
final words, addressed to the meeting in which the
division of the party became complete, were long
remembered both by his friends and his enemies.

‘In deserting me,’ he said, ‘you are abandoning
your cause. In bowing to English commands, in
permitting an English party to appoint your leader,
you are humiliating Ireland. England has never
given Ireland anything except when compelled to do
so—except at the point of the sword. In repudiat-
ing me you are throwing away your sword. With
your ranks broken, your counsels divided, I see you
as sheep on the mountains which have no shepherd.
With those who now stand by me and who will follow
me, I shall re-create a national fighting force; we will
reorganise our power. You have abandoned me, but
Ireland has not. You are to-day the supposed repre-
sentatives of Ireland—to-morrow you will be so no
longer. You will represent the English Liberal
party, not Ireland ; the English Nonconformist press,
not our national liberties. When I look round me
and see among you those whose fear of the threats or
trust in the promises of England are greater than
their confidence in the leader who compelled England
to make terms with him; when I see among these
the faces of the friends I have trusted, of the men I
have selected to serve their country, I am filled with
sorrow. God knows I would be fighting with you,
not against you; but if you compel me to fight
380 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cnap. xxi

against you, I am fighting with Ireland against you.
If I am your leader no longer, I remain the leader of
the Irish people.’

He spoke with passionate earnestness, and there
was not a man in the room who wasunmoved. The
magnetism of the great leader who had brought them
through difficulty and despair to the threshold of
victory thrilled them once more. His enemies were
silent, his loyal supporters sprang to their feet and
acclaimed their hero ; and the others, that majority
of his old followers who believed that they were
serving their country best,in forsaking him, and who
were about to enter on a fierce struggle against him,
rose and left the room, despondent of the future and
sad at heart.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BROTHERS

Wuize the poet is always very tender to the rejected
lover (who is very frequently no other than himself),
the philosopher is inclined to regard him with a
smile, foreseeing a day when the hero of the
wounded heart will re-enter the lists of Jove none -
the worse for his tumble. It is not the blow, not
the impact— which might have been tragic — but
the reassuring rebound which is comic; and the
philosopher has been led by his observations to
regard the buffetings of love as hardly more
harmful than those of the clown’s bladder which
we see leaping back from the bald head in a
pantomime.

There must, however, be some discrimination
between the ninety-nine lovers who are but imper-
fectly acquainted with the ladies who reject their
admiration and the one whose devotion has been the
growth of years and is fast bound with comradeship ; ;
and in the case of Kathleen O’Brien’s suitors our
philosopher, ready to smile at the blighted hopes of
Horace Croker, might perhaps pause to wonder what
consolation Time could bring to Connor Desmond.
Connor asked himself this question, believing there
was no consolation for him ; but he was a young and

381
382 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHAP.

vigorous man, sound in body and mind, and there
was something healthy even in his sorrow, for in his
most disconsolate hours he did not look at life
pessimistically. He accepted his loss of Kathleen
as a decree against which there was no appeal—her
acceptance of his brother made it final—andiit spoke
well for the generosity of his nature that he could
nevertheless think of Michael without bitterness.
For the sake of Kathleen, Connor had dared to stand
in the sight of his countrymen as a deserter from his
cause, and he was not ashamed of what he had done,
though probably if his action had been followed by
success instead of failure he would have been ashamed.
He had lost the respect of his countrymen, lost the
confidence of his brother, lost the girl he had fought
so hard to win, and for the time life offered him no
new hope or strenuous aim ; yet even then he did not
rail against fate or indulge in much self-pity. He
bore his trouble like a man, and went back to his
chambers in Dublin, glad to find work which helped
to occupy his mind and keep him from brooding on
his own sorrow.

On hearing of the proceedings in the Divorce
Court his first feeling was one of anger, produced by
an instant conclusion that the accusation against his
brother was a villainous conspiracy on the part of his
enemies, and a perception that the public scandal
would be nothing less than torture to Kathleen. He
knew the sensitive refinement of her nature, and
pictured her distress at the comments she would be
sure to hear from those around her; but he also
understood her brave heart, and he had no fear that
her faith in Michael would be shaken by evil report.
His impulse was to go to her in case she needed the
cheer of a proved friend, but when it came to the
XXIV THE BROTHERS 383

point he found a difficulty in facing an interview, and
chose instead to send a letter—one of the friendly,
affectionate communications he had so often before
written to her—in which quite casually he alluded to
this last attempt to discredit Michael, and his sorrow
that she should have to suffer the annoyance of
hearing him calumniated.

Nevertheless, though it was his honest conviction
that Michael was innocent and that he would
triumphantly prove it when the case came before
the Court, he found his imagination prompting the
question : ‘What if by chance this is true?’ And
here again his first thought was not of himself, but of
Kathleen ; not of the possibility this might give him
of yet winning her himself, but of the misery it
would entail upon her ; and when, subsequently, that
other aspect of the situation also occurred to him,
he dismissed the suggestion as a whisper of the
devil.

The result of the divorce proceedings, which had
amazed and shocked the. whole country, roused
Connor to action. He still found it almost
impossible to believe that his brother was not
innocent. How was it possible, he kept asking
himself, that a man who loved Kathleen O’Brien, and
had only just won her promise to marry him, could
be capable of this gross infidelity ? For the sin itself
he might have found excuse, but he could find none
for the unpardonable disloyalty. He preferred to
believe, in spite of the damaging evidence, that
justice had miscarried, and that after many a
previous futile effort on the part of Michael’s
enemies to blacken his character, a diabolical plot
had at last succeeded.

The news of the split in the ranks of the Nationalist
384 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS sick,

party and Michael’s desertion by the majority of his
followers still further aroused Connor’s indignation,
and feeling that there had never been a time
when his brother stood so much in need of the
loyalty of his friends, he went over to London to
see him.

The struggle between the two sections of the
party had begun in bitter earnest : old bonds that had
taken long years to forge had been snapped in a
day ; old friendships were changed to hatreds; the
national cause itself was almost forgotten in the
strife between its upholders. Michael had been at
work night and day, organising his forces and
planning his new and desperate campaign. The
strain had begun to tell upon him, and Connor
was struck by the change in his appearance when
they met.

The visit was unexpected by Michael. He
returned late in the evening to his chambers and
found Connor waiting for him. In a moment the
hard look which his face had worn when he entered
the room disappeared, and the old winning smile that
Connor knew so well took its place.

‘Connor!’ he cried, grasping his hand ; ‘ my dear
lad! You, then, have not deserted me.’

‘No, I thought you might want me just now,’
Connor answered.

‘ My God, you’re right!’ said Michael. ‘Tis now
I know my true friends. I didn’t doubt you. If I
had known where you were I’d have sent for you.
And you have come of your own accord—the one
comrade I really need. Tis the first ray of sunshine
I have seen for some time.’ He took off his over-
coat and rang the bell. ‘When did you come?
Have they shown you your room? Have you had
ey THE BROTHERS 385

anything to eat?’ he asked. ‘That’s right ; then we
can smoke.’

A servant brought in a decanter of whisky and
glasses, and Michael flung himself into a chair and
lighted a cigar.

‘Well, blood’s thicker than water, old fellow,’
he said. ‘I never doubted you. We differed on a
detail of policy, but details are thrown to the winds
now. It’s a question of friend or foe, and you and I
are fighting together again and fighting for Ireland.
These fellows who have thrown me over at the
command of an English party, men who owed
their position to me— your friend Regan’s one of
them, by the way—these deserters neither know their
countrymen nor me. And there are some among
them who have hated me, and been eager for my
overthrow. If they think they have succeeded,
they don’t know their countrymen and _ they
don’t know me. MHalf the work of my life is
undone, Connor, but I shall not rest till I have
completed it.’

‘You will,’ said Connor warmly. ‘I am with
you heart and soul, and glad of the chance of
fighting at your side. In all the wretched annals of
our history there had not been a more shameful
thing than this conspiracy to discredit you ; and even
if the charge against you had been true, they would
have deserved to have been put up and shot for
deserting you.’

Desmond’s heart was smitten with a sudden pang.
Not only Kathleen, but Connor also, believed him
innocent, in spite of the evidence of the trial. It
would have been a relief to him if his brother had
taken it for granted that he was guilty; he was
burdened by false pretences ; he had not lost his self-

2c
386 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

respect, but dissimulation was undermining it. He
rose from his seat, threw away his cigar, and began
pacing up and down.

‘Connor,’ he said, after a short silence, ‘I have
no friend I can trust like you. There shall be
no barrier of dishonesty between us. You have
generously refused to believe the charges against me,
in spite of the result of the proceedings. To every
one else I have said that the accusation was false. It
is true.’

‘My God!’ cried Connor. ‘What about
Kathleen?’

‘Then you know. She has told you of our
engagement ?>

‘Yes, yes,’ Connor answered impatiently. ‘And
this was going on since your engagement? You
did not love her!’ The look of contempt in his
face stung Michael like a whip. He had been able
to face his enemies unflinching ; he shrunk from his
brother’s scorn.

‘I have loved her and no other,’ Michael replied.

‘Loved her! Well, have you broken her heart ?
What does she feel about it ?’

‘She doesn’t believe it !’

‘Have you lied to her about it?’

Desmond bore his brother’s questioning humbly.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘If I had told her the position it
would have broken her heart. She gave me no
chance of confession. She took my fidelity to her
for granted. No man could have told her the truth.
And there are times when a man must conceal the
truth from the girl he loves. She could never
understand.’

‘Well, I am a man, and I don’t understand,” said
Connor. ‘It is incredible. But you will have to tell
XXIV THE BROTHERS 387

her. Even now it is not too late. Trust in her
generosity, and she will forgive you. I know her
better than you; but for God’s sake don’t put this
deception between you and her or it will end in
sorrow. I wouldn’t have cared a damn if you had
been in a dozen divorce cases, but I cannot forgive
your disloyalty to that girl.’

‘And do you think I can forgive myself,’ ex-
claimed Michael. ‘I would give ten years of my
life to be able to recall the last few months. But if
you knew everything you would condemn me less.
Listen now! You are my only friend. I can have
no half confidences with you. Perhaps I can tell you
enough to make you understand how a man may be
unfaithful to a woman without ceasing to love her.
It might not have been possible for you. You and
I regarded women differently. So much the better
for you.’

The desire to lessen Connor’s contempt for his
conduct had led him to the point of telling him the
whole story of his relations with Corinna, but he
checked the impulse. He suddenly saw it as a
crowning dishonour to seek excuse for himself in
condemning an unhappy woman.

“But perhaps you would not understand,’ he said,
‘and no! I shall not try to make you understand. I
took the wrong path. There is no excuse for me.
I was disloyal to the best girl that ever loved a sinful
man, and I have to bear the burden of my dishonour.
You know the worst of me, Connor, and I would
not have it otherwise. Judge me as generously
as you can. You are the only man whose opinion
matters to me.’

‘Don’t imagine I am setting myself up as a judge
of your morals,’ Connor answered ; ‘but Kathleen
388 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

has been a great friend of mine since we were
children, and I am troubled, desperately troubled on
her account. I am not going back on you, but I
want to put my whole heart into the fight, and I
couldn’t do it unless you play the game fairly with
her. If you tell her the truth and trust to her love
and generosity she will forgive you—I am certain of
it, though it will hit her hard; but if you let her
marry you with this lie between you, it will end
badly.’

‘How many men tell the innocent girls they are
going to marry of certain episodes in their past
lives ?’ asked Michael. ‘They could not understand.
We have to lie to them. It would break Kathleen’s
heart to know the truth.’

‘It would not,’ Connor persisted, ‘ not if you told
her in time. It would break her heart to find out
afterwards that you had been deceiving her. And if
by chance I am wrong, and if when you told her
she refused to marry you, wouldn’t you prefer that
to playing the hypocrite all your life. Michael,
I entreat you to follow my advice in this and
make a clean breast of it. You'll have her on
your side, and you'll go into your fight with a new
spirit.’

Michael had returned to his chair, and was sitting
with his head bent forward and a far-off look in his
eyes. ‘I will, Connor,’ he said. ‘Iam not thinking
of the danger of losing her, but of the shock, the
pain it will give her. Iam not as bad as you think.
Yes, it will perhaps be better to face it.’

Connor’s heart was pained by the worn and
dejected look on his strong brother’s face, and
though he was sick at heart himself he made an
effort to cheer him,
xxiv THE BROTHERS 389

‘Well,’ he said, ‘ we will talk no more of it now.
There is fighting to be done, and I am here to help
you. Tell me how things stand, and what is to be our
next move against this alliance of English hypocrites
and Irish turncoats.’

‘Connor,’ said Michael, ‘ you are the best friend
and the best brother a man ever had.’

They talked on political subjects and on Michael’s
plans to a late hour, and no further reference was
made to Kathleen until they were parting for the
night, when Michael reverted to the painful subject
himself. ‘ All the while we have been talking,’ he
said, ‘I have been unable to forget your words about
Kathleen. I see you are right, and it is my duty to
tell her the truth whatever comes of it. I give you
my word I will do so.’

‘And I give you mine ‘to stand by both of
you through thick and thin,’ replied Connor
warmly.

In the fight which raged between the two sections
of the Nationalist party the minority who remained
faithful to Desmond were inspired by a fierce
enthusiasm, a loyalty to their old leader which gave
them a strength and union lacking among those on
the other side. These had no true captain, and
many of them, patriotic men who believed they were
acting in the true interests of their country in
sacrificing Desmond for the maintenance of the
Liberal alliance, had little heart for a fight against
their old chief. The battlefield was transferred
from England to Ireland, and here, but for one
adverse influence, Desmond would have carried all
before him. The Catholic clergy, however, felt
themselves bound to withdraw their support from
him in consequence of the revelations of the Divorce
390 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Court, and he found himself met by an opposition
more powerful than any political organisation in the
land. This he had foreseen ; he was prepared for
more than a temporary check in his campaign; but
his confidence in himself and in the temper of the
people remained unchanged, and he looked forward
to ultimate victory.

Connor plunged into the struggle at his side, and
showed a capacity for hard work and organisation
hardly inferior to his brother’s. He travelled
through the country establishing political agencies,
he spoke himself at public meetings where Michael
could not be present, and he undertook the temporary
management of a new daily paper in Dublin, estab-
lished to take the place of one that had gone over
to the enemy.

Connor was whole-heartedly on his side. The
gallant fight his brother was making rekindled his
old hero-worship, contempt for the men who had
deserted their leader aroused his fighting spirit,
and the knowledge of the burden of remorse
which Michael had to bear unknown to the
world touched his generous heart. The promise
Michael had given him to confess the truth to
Kathleen, after having already denied it, and his
perception of the magnitude of his ordeal, won
Connor’s forgiveness and loyal allegiance; but it
was something more than comradeship or hero-
worship or contempt for disloyalty that made
Connor stand at the side of the man who had won
the girl he had hoped to win for himself. It was
his love for that girl that still inspired him. He
knew that she would need his counsel and help in
the dark days that were before her; that it would
be possible for him to help her to bear the burden
XXIV THE BROTHERS 391

by standing by her as a brother ; and that an oppor-
tunity was now given him of proving the depth and
breadth of his devotion, by hiding from her his

own sorrow, and fighting at the side of the man
she loved.
CHAPTER XXV

A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP AND A FRIEND’S LOVE

GENTLE rain had been falling for hours, the far
horizon of mountain and moorland visible from
Ballyvodra on clear days was hidden in the mist, and
the view narrowed to the belts of woodland that
skirted the park. The wet day brought its own
cheerfulness to the place. Work in the fields was
exchanged for work in the farm buildings. A
pleasant hum came from the barn, and a haze of
winnowed chaff issued from one of its windows.
Here men and women were at work together, and
merry voices and laughter told of labour that was
no burden. In the other buildings also there was
activity. Tom Condon the shepherd was engaged
with two helpers in repairing and tarring sheep nets,
and the shed in which they were working was full of
the half-pleasant, half-suffocating fumes that came
from a cauldron of pitch that boiled above a wood
fire ; while in cowhouse and haggard a dozen jobs
which had been kept for a rainy day, such as the
breaking of a store of oil-cake, the repairing of a
farm butt, the cutting up of firewood, were having
attention.

The place had its old look, no indication of the
hotel. The tourist season was over, and the three

392
CHAP. XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 393

Englishmen who had taken up their quarters at
Ballyvodra for the winter’s hunting had gone home
for Christmas. Mr. Barrington was the only remain-
ing guest, and Mr. O’Brien went his rounds again
with something of the feeling of a proprietor.
Kathleen had no reason to be displeased with the
result of her venture. For a first season the hotel
had been fairly successful, and the immediate pressure
of money difficulties had been removed by Mr.
Barrington’s purchase of the mortgages on the
estate.

Troubles graver than the old ones occupied her
mind this morning as she looked out on the picture
of blurred woodland framed by her window. She had
just finished writing a letter, and the train of thought
that followed was not happy. The letter was to
Corinna, and ran thus :—

Dear Lapy Desmonp—I have just learned from a news-
paper report of your serious illness, and as I have no doubt
as to what has caused it, I feel compelled to write: to you.
For it may be some comfort to you, some help to you in
bearing this cruel wrong, to know that another woman, and
she as deeply concerned in the truth as yourself, believes,
indeed knows, that you areinnocent. Perhaps you have not
heard of my engagement to Mr. Desmond, but in any case
you will be glad of my assurance that even before he himself
told me that the accusation was false, I never had any doubt
about it. His enemies have been lying in wait for him
throughout his career, and in the triumph of this fiendish
plot you have also had to suffer—more, indeed, than any one
else. I trust you may be given strength to bear your terrible
trouble, and if my friendship and sympathy can be any
comfort to you, you may count upon it now and always.—
Believe me, dear Lady Desmond, very sincerely yours,

KaTuLteEn O’BRIEN.

She had written this letter on an impulse of
394 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

generous sympathy to a sister in distress, led from her
own suffering to consider the greater distress of an-
other. What was her own trouble, she thought, com-
pared with that of a loyal wife who was shamed before
the world and repudiated by her husband on a false
charge? It had pained her to write the letter and
to speak of her engagement to Michael, but a double
motive had guided her.

Deciding to post the letter with her own hand,
she put on her hat and a waterproof, and set off
through the rain to the little post-office which had
been established in one of the cottages at the cross
roads since the opening of the hotel. Mrs. Deleuchry,
the mother of the young postmistress, caught sight
of Kathleen as she was passing, and ran to the
door.

‘Oh, Miss Kathleen,’ she cried, ‘is it passing the
door ye are, and not coming in to spake a word
to us?’

‘Of course I was coming in, Mrs. Deleuchry.
And how’s himself? Ah, there you are, Patsy!’
Kathleen exclaimed, as an old man emerged from
the darkness and smoke of an inner room.

‘Bring a chair for her honour’s ladyship, Patsy,’
said his wife. ‘Indeed, ’tis good to see you, Miss
Kathleen, and the rain-drops shining on your pretty
pink cheeks. We thought ’twas a thrifle pale you
were looking in the summer wid all the throuble of
the hot-tel, but now, thank God, you’re shamin’ the
roses in your own gyarden.’

‘I am never ill,’ Kathleen laughed. ‘In a good
hour be it spoken,’ she quickly added in deference
to local superstition. ‘Now tell me, is there any
news ?”

‘There is, then,’ replied the old man. ‘Jem
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 395

Costello’s back again. I seen him pass this door
wid me own eyes.’

Kathleen gave a little shiver.

‘And Mary Rahilly’s lost her rayson, honest
woman,’ added Mrs. Deleuchry, ‘and they do be
spakin’ of takin’ her to the Infirmary.’

‘Poor woman,’ said Kathleen. She knew that
the Infirmary was the word which a sense of delicacy
substituted for the Lunatic Asylum.

‘ Wandherin’ in her poor mind,’ her informant con-
tinued, ‘and sayin’ she laid her curse on Michael
Desmond, and she couldn’t take it off him. The
Lord preserve us, and keep us from harm.’

‘ And ’tis Michael Desmond Costello has to thank
that he did not swing for John Rahilly, and what does
he do for the man that gave him his life?’ The old
man hesitated, his good-breeding telling him that the
subject of the divorce was not a proper one for him
to speak of before a young lady. ‘ He’ll shwing yet,’
he added.

‘And now for some more cheerful news,’ said
Kathleen with a sudden effort. ‘Is it not true that
Pat Dorgan is going to be married to the widow
Hennesy ?’

‘*Tis thrue, miss! There was a matter of fifteen
pounds between them, but she found the money shure
enough. Some say she had it hidden, and more say
*twas lint her by Tom Fehan.’

‘But Tom Fehan was the other man who wanted
to marry her, or whom she wanted to marry,’ laughed
Kathleen.

‘Begorra, your honour has it,’ chuckled the old
man. ‘That’s why he lint her the money, so he’d be
safe himself.’

‘I forgot me manners, Miss Kathleen, and never
396 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

axed afther his honour and the ladies. Oh, wisha,
glory be to God,’ Mrs. Deleuchry cried in the same
breath, while she ran tothe door. ‘There’s Masther
Connor gone by, walking at the rate of ahunt. Sure
I didn’t know he was at home.’

Kathleen flushed with surprise. ‘Are you sure?’
she asked, going to the door herself for verification.
‘’Tis indeed ; I suppose he’s on his way up to the
house.’

‘Phaix, he’d have saved time by calling at the
post-office,” remarked Mrs. Deleuchry, with that
respectful familiarity which is nowhere so marked as
among the retainers of an Irish family. ‘A grand
young gintleman, God bless him; and they do be
tellin’—old Mr. Desmond said the words himself—
that Mr. Barrington’s money ’s his widout the axin’
if he’d take sides agin’ Mr. Michael. But not he!
They’re fightin’ on the one side, and, plaze God,
they’ll win and let the dirty money go.’

‘Yes, I think he’s quite right to do so,’ said
Kathleen, rising. ‘Well, good-bye. I must be
going.’

‘And good luck, miss, and ’tis proud we are to
have kept you so long,’ and ‘ God bless your honour,’
said the old couple.

Kathleen had not seen Connor since the evening
after the Buttevant meeting, when he had asked her
to be his wife, but she had found some relief from
the miserable memory of that interview in the letter
he had since written to her about Michael. It had
breathed such comradeship, such brotherliness, that she
felt she could now meet him without constraint, and
that he could meet her without pain. She loved him
very deeply, more even than she knew ; she relied on
him as on no one else ; and now, in her time of tribu-
xa A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 397

lation, she longed to confide in him. And he played
his part bravely, and betrayed nothing of the pain
it gave him to meet her; indeed, so old was their
friendship that they fell at once and quite natur-
ally into their familiar manner with each other. In
taking it for granted that their former relationship
was to be unchanged, nay, perhaps even made dearer
by the impossibility of a closer bond, she struck a
true note of love in not hesitating to ask the help of
one whom she could never repay.

‘Connor,’ she said, ‘there is no one in the world
I wanted so much to see as you. I always seem to
come to you in my troubles, and I want your advice
more than I ever did.’

‘I thought you would,’ he said. ‘We must have
a good talk. Now where shall we go? I don’t
much want to meet my uncle. Do you mind the
rain?’

‘Not a bit,’ she replied. ‘ We can walk, or get
shelter in one of the sheds.’

“It is like old times again,’ said he, as they passed
the gates of the outer yard and caught a glimpse
of the horses tackled to the capstan arms of the
threshing machine. ‘Not a trace of the hotel.
How well I remember the time when I used to look
over here from the other side of the boundary fence
to an undiscovered country, and the eventful after-
noon when you first took me round the place. It is
just the same, with some of the mystery gone.’

‘And afterwards on that windy evening when
you took me over to the Castle,’ said Kathleen,
‘and left me in the tower. And do you remember
the dinner-party that you and Michael came to after
my accident ?’

‘I suppose boy and girl lovers seldom marry,’
398 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS sae

he remarked; ‘but they make the best friends.’
He spoke lightly of their relationship, determined
that no distress on his account should be added to
the burden she had to bear, and Kathleen seemed to
catch his generous intention. She gave him a smile
that rewarded him for the moment, but became an
illumination of his sorrow when he recalled it
afterwards.

In the big shed in the haggard they found a
sheltered resting-place. Kathleen sat on the shaft
of acart and Connor leant against one of the posts
of the shed and lighted his pipe, his whole attitude
being singularly unlike that of a disconsolate lover.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘ we’re in for a big fight.’

‘Connor, it is such a comfort to me to know that
you are with Michael—helping him, I mean. After
the Buttevant meeting I thought k

‘Little differences of policy are forgotten now,’
said Connor, ‘It is a question of standing by your
captain or deserting him. It will be a hard fight,
but we shall win in the end. Michael has won the
hearts of the people. They will have no other
leader.’

‘He is overworking himself, Connor. I thought
when I saw him last week he looked dreadfully worn.
Couldn’t you make him take a rest ?’

‘Nobody can, not even you. You saw him last
week ?’

‘For a short half-hour. He drove out to see me
from Mallow. I don’t think he even went home.’

Connor was wondering whether he had yet faced
his ordeal of telling Kathleen the whole truth. He
concluded from her manner that he had not done so.

‘My greatest trouble is in not being able to help
him,’ she continued. ‘Everything has become very

 
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 399

dificult for me. You know I cannot suddenly
forget my old sympathies. I feel like a deserter to
my own party and my own people in joining yours,
and yet I must do so; and my hope was that I
might perhaps influence Michael and bring him to
look less bitterly on the landlords. But now, when
I hear the things they say against him, when I find
them eager to believe the cruel lies about him—about
him and Lady Desmond—all my feelings are changed,
and I hate the people who attack him, and my only
desire is to be able to help him.’

Connor’s heart sank. What would she feel when
she knew the truth? How would Michael be able
to face the ordeal of telling her? And yet he still
felt that it was imperative that he should tell her, if
there was to be any real bond of love between them.

‘And I feel so miserable on my father’s account,’
she went on. ‘I don’t mind much what any one else
thinks about my marrying Michael, but it will be a
terrible blow to him.’

‘You have a trial before you that very few girls
could stand,’ said Connor, ‘but you will go through
it all right. And remember that you can count on
me as a brother.’

Again a pang shot through his heart at the
thought of the crowning sorrow in store for her
when she heard Michael’s confession. If he had had
to make it himself he could hardly have felt more
acutely, and for a moment the easy course of con-
cealment and falsehood presented itself to him as
an alternative to the cruelty of telling the truth. He
rejected it because he believed in the nobility of
Kathleen’s nature, and in the love that covereth a
multitude of sins; indeed, he believed that a union
that was founded on deception would end in misery.
400 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

He could do nothing towards paving the way for
Michael, or so little that it seemed to him nothing ;
yet it was with a step in this direction in view that
he began speaking of his brother’s finer qualities, his
unflinching courage and devotion to his country,
adding a footnote about the weaknesses of great men,
and protesting that if Michael had been guilty of the
charges brought against him it would not have
justified his desertion by his friends.

‘But of course you never doubted him even
before he told you the charge was false,’ said
Kathleen ; and Connor could only reply, and it was
the truth, that he had not doubted him.

‘And what about the hotel?’ he asked. ‘Can
it be carried on after you are married?’

‘IT don’t know what will happen, Connor. They
can never get on without me. Michael says that he
will undertake that my people shall be saved from
ruin. But what can he do? My father would
rather starve than accept his help. There is no
immediate fear, because Mr. Barrington has taken
up the mortgages, and of course he will not press us
for overdue interest—another humiliation. How
long are you staying, Connor ?’

‘Only to-night, but I shall be back again next
week. Michael is going to speak at Cork, and there
is the Mallow election on the 20th. It will be the
first great fight, a test of our strength. The parlia-
mentarians, or whatever the deserters call themselves,
have nominated a man called Sullivan, and Michael
wants me to stand against him.’

©You, Connor !’

‘Yes, and if he cannot get a better man I must.
I don’t wish for a political career, Kathleen. It is
not my game, but now I cannot keep out of the
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 401

fight. There are times when fighting, and fighting
against odds, is the finest thing in the world.’

‘You are the best brother and the truest friend
that ever lived,’ she said, and the tears gathered in
her eyes as she spoke. She was not deceived by his
manner into believing that the wound which love
had inflicted was healed. She knew. it was not so,
and she loved him more than ever for his generosity
and brave bearing. Hero-worship had inspired her
love for Michael and had called forth her devotion
and loyalty ; friendship had so mingled with her
feelings for Connor that it concealed from her own
knowledge the depth and tenderness of the hidden
love.

She accompanied him on his way home as far as
the lodge. In the twilight of the winter afternoon
the soft rain was still falling, and the darkening
country looked lonely and cheerless. Nor was there
for either of them that prospect of the bright fireside
and merry faces within doors that so cheers the
heart at shut of eve. For him the stern grey tower
of the Castle, looming in the mist, seemed home no
longer ; for her the old home of her fathers looked
alien. She who had been its mistress, who had
fought so hard to save it from ruin, was about to
leave it, to be thought a deserter by her family. A
vision returned to her of the old days—happy in
spite of poverty—when the schoolroom window,
dark now, beckoned her to a jolly tea-party of unruly
young brothers; and her heart sank as she pictured
her father wandering about the place of which he
now hardly considered himself the master, and her
brother Jack hanging about the stables, discontented
and pessimistic, brooding on their fallen fortunes.
And now she was going to leave them, and she

2D
402 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

hardly dared to contemplate what would happen.
The hotel could not be carried on without her, and
it seemed to her inevitable that the old place would
have to be given up; perhaps not sold, for it
occurred to her that Mr. Barrington had made
himself so much at home there that he might like to
rent it; and after awhile, with Michael’s help, she
might bring the family together again. She had not
abandoned the great hope of using her influence
with Michael for the promotion of a better feeling
between his party and that of her people, nor forgotten
her dream of the national union of all those who
loved and laboured for their country. It was a
noble dream—not impossible of realisation under. the
inspiration of Desmond’s genius if he had made it
his aim; but it was her dream, not his; and now,
in the desperate fight which had been brought upon
him by his own dishonour, he had little thought for
anything but dealing his enemies the hardest blows
he could strike.

In other circumstances Kathleen would have post-
poned her marriage until she saw some means of
helping her family out of their difficulties, but now
she felt that her first duty was to Michael. She must
stand by him even though she deserted her family.
He was discredited and condemned, but she could
show her faith in him. A glow of joy went through
her in realising that by marrying him at once, by
showing the world that she believed in his innocence,
she would strengthen the faith of others in him, and
help him as perhaps no one else could. This idea
took possession of her; she wondered she had not
thought of it before, and grew eager to act on her
inspiration—restless until she had written to Michael
about it.
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 403

She did so that evening in a letter expressing
devotion and courage which would have renewed the
strength of any lover whose heart was not burdened
by a dishonourable secret. There was no note of
hesitation. She claimed her right to stand beside
him, and she urged him to make immediate arrange-
ments for their marriage, offering to come to him
the moment he gave the word. When her letter
was written, and she saw imminent the step which
was to change her whole life, though she did not
waver a moment in her decision, a great sadness
came over her. Now that she was about to leave
the old place, perhaps never to return to it, she
understood how passionately she loved it. Now
that she was about to desert her people her heart
yearned towards them with unspeakable tender-
ness.

The house was dark and silent. As Kathleen
came downstairs from her room she could hardly
believe that a month or two before it had been full
of strangers. Its old glamour was upon the place
again; it had its old dignity. She was full of
memories of her childhood—of games of hide-and-
seek in the dark corridors and recesses and those
mysterious, awe-inspiring, deserted bedrooms used for
storing wool; of merry gatherings in the school-
room, and the hopeless attempts of Mr. O’Toole and
Miss Green to preserve order; of evenings when
there was a dance in the barn, and she and Jack used
to steal out in disobedience to orders and watch the
fun from the top of the piles of oat-sheaves, stored
for threshing, that rose almost to the roof. The
place was the same, but the thought that she was
about to leave it gave everything a new significance.
With a heavy heart she went in search of her father,
404 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cnae,

and found him seated at a table in his little room,
gloomily reading a tract by the light of a candle.
She came behind him and put her arms round his
neck, and laid her cheek against his.

‘What about a game of backgammon ?’ she
asked.

He did not move. She felt the touch of a tear
against her cheek. ‘You're the only one that ever
comes near me,’ he said. ‘There is no love left.
You're the only one I can turn to.’

She suffered acutely. How could she desert
him? How could he bear her marriage to the man
he considered to be the chief instrument of his
misfortunes ?

‘We all love you,’ she said ; ‘ but you know the
boys are shy of showing their feelings, and ;

He broke into one of his tirades. ‘Shy!’ said he,
brushing his tract away with a wave of his hand.
‘By the powers, I like their shy way of showing
their love! ‘You might have a bit more pride
about you, sir,” said I to Jack this very evening,
“‘than be spending half your time smoking among
the stable-boys ”’ ; and, says he, ““ What pride would
be expected from the son of a hotel-keeper?” throwing
in me teeth what’s already sticking in me throat
and choking me. Me own children look down on
me, and know I’m not master in me own home.
Barrington’s master. He has the mortgages, and
could turn us out any day he liked; and “’tis Mr.
Barrington this,” and “Mr. Barrington that,” from
me own servants. I am a by-word among the
people. What were David’s words? ‘We are
become an open scorn and derision to them that are
round about us,” not that I care a thrawneen for
their opinion. “I am become like a pelican in the

 
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 405

wilderness and a pillibeen-meek?* in the desert,” or
maybe ’twas an owl,’ he added.

‘Yes, ‘twas an owl,’ Kathleen smiled. ‘We
must give up the hotel, father. Could you bear to
leave the place for a few years?’

He looked up at her perplexed.

‘T believe we could let it. I believe Mr. Barring-
ton would take the house and the demesne on a lease
for a term, and if you could bear to leave it for a
while would it not be best? You—we could take a
small house in Mallow or Queenstown or somewhere
till times were better. I want you to promise to try
and arrange it with Mr. Barrington. I think he
would like to carry on the hotel himself. It would
amuse him. The rent he would pay would cover
the interest on the mortgages, and we should have
our own rents from the tenants to live on, very
quietly, and I have something left too. Jack could
stay on and look after the farm for Mr. Barrington.
You see, if I were sure of being here to look after
the hotel—for a first year it has done very well—but
I might not be here.’

‘And where else would you be ?’ he interrupted.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I might want to get married,
or—lI’m tired of it too,’ she said desperately. ‘It
would be better to let the place. Let me see Mr.
Barrington about it, will you, dear ?’

‘Indeed I will,’ said he in a tone of satisfaction.
‘When you turned me into a hotel-keeper I did not
complain. Fifteen generations of O’Briens, beginning
with a king, and ending with a licence to sell spirits.
By the law, ’twas a bitter pill! but ’twas the will o’
God, and I swallowed it.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I think I can arrange with Mr.

1 Pillibeen-meek =a green plover.
406 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

Barrington, and we will try and settle it at once.
It will only be for a few years, and then you—then
we can come home and have things as they used
to be.’

Her heart misgave her as she spoke.

‘Don’t make the lease too long, Kathleen,’ he
pleaded. ‘I aman old man. I should like to come
back and die in the old place.’

It was not the picture of her father’s trouble
in having to leave his home that was distressing -
Kathleen. She knew that, in spite of his protesta-
tions against pride, his own pride was so great that
he would welcome any relief from the humiliation he
felt in his present position. What dismayed her was
the thought of the blow that was in store for him
when he heard of her alliance with Michael Desmond.
Never had a brave girl’s heart been more cruelly torn
between two conflicting duties. To keep her engage-
ment a secret, to postpone her marriage and to
remain by her father was the easier, and this she
would have done if the man she loved had stood
innocent before the world. His condemnation by
the world decided her. His career was at stake; he
was attacked not only by his former enemies but by
his former friends ; he was condemned by the world
when she knew him to be innocent. If she delayed,
it would be too late: she could help him now as it
seldom fell to the lot of a girl to help her lover, by
showing the world her faith.

She astounded her father, always accustomed to
find her calm and undemonstrative, by a sudden
outburst of feeling.

‘Father !’ she cried, again flinging her arms round
his neck, ‘dear, dear father, if ever I do anything
that seems unkind, that seems wanting in love for
XXV A LOVER’S FRIENDSHIP 407

you, promise me, dear father, promise to forgive me!
Promise to remember what | am saying now, that
when you think I am cruel I am loving you more
than ever, and that nothing can ever come between
us—nothing I could do could make you not love
me. Promise me!’ Her tears flowed fast. She
kept her face hidden in her father’s shoulder.

‘ What, my pet!’ he exclaimed in a sort of alarm.
‘What is it? Don’t be troubling now, my pet.
You have too much to think of, and you’re bothered
about me, and you who have all the trouble of the
family on yourself.’ It aroused him to find himself
in the position of comforter and exhorter with
Kathleen, so accustomed had he become to a reversal
of these parts. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we are going to win
our battle yet, and I must try and help you a bit
more, my dear. Would you mind,’ he spoke very
apologetically—‘ would you mind if we said a little
prayer together?’
CHAPTER XXVI

Vox POPULI

Wiru the exception of the few lines which Corinna
had sent to Desmond asking for an interview on the
evening of the conclusion of the trial, she had not
attempted to communicate with him. He had left
her note unanswered, and she had made no further
sign. Whatever her feelings might be, she was too
proud to plead with him. Towards her his chief
feeling was resentment. At the moment when his
fame was brightest, when the labours of his life were
on the verge of consummation, she had brought
disaster upon him. He did not excuse himself, but
he had no pity for her. Not that he imagined that
she stood in need of pity. She was not one of those
women who need the support, the protection of a
man; she had made no secret of her scorn for the
dependent woman; she had played her part de-
liberately. His heart was further hardened by the
belief that the judgment of the Court would have
been in his favour if Corinna had come forward as
he had expected—as she had promised—and denied
the charges brought against him. If her object had
been to obtain freedom from the bondage of her
marriage she had achieved it; if she had contem-
plated a subsequent marriage with himself she had
408
CHAP. XXVI VOX POPULI 409

amazingly miscalculated. She had misread him if
she imagined he would marry the woman whose love
was not great enough to make her come to his aid at
a desperate juncture—who had preferred to allow
him to stand face to face with political ruin. And yet
though he felt for her neither pity nor love, he could
not forget her; though her fascinations had all but
wrecked his career, their memory could still quicken
his pulses. They had won him from his faith to
Kathleen, but his passion was ashes now; and he
turned with a tenderer love, a stronger faith, to the
brave-hearted girl who had shown her loyalty to him
when all the world condemned. He read the letter
in which Kathleen urged him to allow their marriage
to take place at once with a glow of pride in her.
It stimulated while it humiliated him. It ennobled
her in his sight, and made him dread more than ever
the ordeal of fulfilling his promise to Connor, and
confessing the truth to her before their marriage.
He would have sacrificed everything except his
political career, which was the breath of his life, to
have been able to go to her with a clear conscience.

And why should she know? he asked himself
again. He hesitated, not from fear that knowledge
of the truth would make her refuse to marry him,—
he shared Connor’s faith in the generosity of her
nature, the greatness of her love, and believed that
she would forgive him. But the cruelty of it! The
contemplation of the scene in which he, whom she
trusted so magnificently, would have to tell her that
her faith was without foundation, was more than he
could bear. He turned away from it.

That his marriage to Kathleen in the present
crisis of his fortunes might be of practical advantage
to him he saw at once, but it was not on that account
410 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS aay

that he accepted her proposal. He did not at first
agree to it. In his reply to her letter he brought a
flush of joy to her face by his words of fervent love
and gratitude, but he urged the postponement of
their marriage until the present storm was over, and
they could enter on their new life under happier
skies.

*I should miss the beauty of the clear skies if I had not
been with you in the storm,’ she wrote again; ‘and unless I
am at your sidein the fight I shall not deserve to share the
victory with you.’

It was the answer he desired. He felt that he had
found his mate. With such a girl beside him he
could fight his battles with renewed strength. The
sooner she came to him the better ; and if he had to
make confession to her, the sooner that was done the
better. If!—but why should he undeceive her?
how could he torture her? She might forgive him ;
but would it not be the forgiveness of a broken
heart ?

‘It shall be as you wish,’ he wrote, in reply to her second
letter. ‘Indeed, I cannot do without you. You come to
me in my hour of misfortune, but I know that there will
dawn a day when Ireland will be as proud of you for this as
Iam now. I have written tomy mother,’ he said later on ;
‘she has always been my best adviser and truest friend. Do
not wait till I come, Kathleen, go over and see her. She
will welcome you with loving arms. I shall be at home
before the Mallow election, and we can then arrange our
plans. Next Thursday is fixed for my meeting in Cork, the
most important meeting since the crash. It is to be open to
every one, and I shall feel the pulse of Ireland. I shall know
whether I am still the leader of my countrymen. If my
mother is going you might accompany her ; or would you
rather wait until after our marriage before appearing at my
side in public? My heart is touched when I think of what
XXVI VOX POPULI 4II

it will cost you to leave your people, and of the pain it will
cause your father. But if my duty to my country has made
me the enemy of his class, my love for you will help me to
find a way of winning his confidence and claiming the right
to serve him.’

That last sentence gave Kathleen her chief comfort
at this time.

The meeting in Cork was a memorable one. No
such popular demonstration had been witnessed in the
country since the great gathering in the Rotunda at
Dublin on the occasion of Desmond’s liberation from
prison. But there was this marked difference between
the two meetings. At the Rotunda the multitude had
been unanimous; it came to greet the national hero;
it spoke with one voice. At the Cork meeting, the
vast throng that filled the hall, the thousands that
could not gain admittance and crowded the approaches,
were divided in allegiance, hostile to each other, in
doubt of their own convictions. There, popular
emotion had been concentrated; here, it was un-
directed, and hung wavering between fanatical
allegiance and a readiness to break in fragments the
fallen idol.

Desmond’s opponents had been working as hard
ashe. The verdict of the Divorce Court had been
used to the utmost in their efforts to damage his
character. He was branded as a traitor for fighting
to retain the leadership of the party instead of
resigning it for the good of the country. The
Catholic clergy, conscientiously but sorrowfully, had
condemned him. Among the thoughtful there was
doubt, hesitation, and ‘pain; in the multitudes, un-
rest, anger at the situation, an intense desire to see
him and hear him speak in his own defence, a
412 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

compulsion either to acclaim him their hero or
destroy him—they hardly knew which.

The meeting was an open one, but the platform
was entirely occupied by Desmond’s friends and
delegates from his supporters all over the country.
The chairman was Mr. Sheehan, one of the members
for the city; its other Nationalist representative,
Mr. Blake, being in the opposite camp.

At eight o’clock, the hour fixed for the meeting,
Desmond had not arrived. The crowd was impatient
and disorderly, and Mr. Sheehan looked out in some
anxiety on the turbulent scene beneath him. He
turned and made a signal to the organist of the
hall who was in attendance, and for some minutes
the confusion of voices was lost in the surge of
music.

During this interlude Connor Desmond came on
to the platform with his mother and Kathleen
O’Brien, and led them to seats near the chairman.
They were the only ladies present. Mrs. Desmond
looked quite calm, but Kathleen was pale with
excitement. She dimly saw the mass of people and
heard the organ. The man who was to be her
husband was about to hear the verdict of the
people, and she was herself there to testify to her
faith in him. The music ceased ; its effect on the
people had been to excite not to soothe. At its
conclusion a wilder tumult than before arose in the
hall. Cries of ‘Desmond!’ ‘Desmond!’ ‘God
save Ireland!’ ‘Traitor!’ ‘Where is our leader ?’
rang out above the babel of voices.

There was something unhuman, something akin
to the elemental forces of nature when they threaten
man, in the collective fury of the multitude.
Kathleen was frightened. As she looked down
XXVI VOX POPULI 413

on the vast assemblage of people she experienced
for the first time in her life the fascination of
multitude. Connor was hardly less under its spell.
It was a living whole in whose being their own
individuality was lost. It was like a great tree
in whose branches the wind was roaring, and they
were but as leaves on the tree. She. looked round
for Michael, but he had not arrived. A message
was brought to the chairman; he exchanged a
few words with Connor, and then rose to speak.
After endeavouring unsuccessfully to command
silence he made the best of such hearing as he could
obtain, and begged the audience to be patient. Mr.
Desmond, he said, had met with a slight accident on
his way through the crowd, but would be there
almost immediately. In the meantime he hoped
that order would be preserved, while Mr. Donovan,
who had done so much for the cause in America,
addressed them.

Mr. Donovan rose, but after his first few
sentences he found it impossible to proceed. He
tried good-natured banter and indignant reproach in
turn, and finally abandoned his attempt. Once
more the organ was put in requisition, and this
time the musician made happy choice of a stirring
tune with rebel words, known to every one present.
Some began singing, and in a moment the refrain
was taken up all over the hall :—

Qh the French are on the sea
Says the Shan Van Vogh!;

The French are on the sea,
Says the Shan Van Vogh.

The chorus grew louder, and as the final lines

1 Sean bean bocht—poor old woman = Ireland,
414 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

rang out the sound of the organ was almost drowned
in the volume of the voices :

The French are in the Bay,
They'll be here without delay,

And the Orange shall decay,
Says the Shan Van Vogh !

These few minutes of unanimity were inspirit-
ing. The rebel blood in old Mrs. Desmond was
fired and her eyes brightened. She looked round
for Michael ; it was a moment fitted for his appear-
ance, but he was not there. The music ceased, the
moment passed, the tumult began again. Cheers
were given in one part of the hall for Mr. Blake
and answered by counter cheers for Desmond.
At the back of the building actual fighting was
going on. The audience was becoming a riotous
mob. ‘The chairman had lost all control, and it
looked as if the meeting would be broken up. A

The confusion was at its worst when Desmond
arrived. His entrance was the signal for every one
on the platform to stand up. His arm rested in
a sling and he was pale, but there was not the
slightest trace of excitement or agitation in his face
ormanner. A tremendous roar of cheering, mingled
with hostile shouts and groans, greeted his entry, and
continued while he crossed the platform and shook
hands with the chairman. He bowed to his audience
and to his friends on the platform, and then took a
seat next to his mother. His composure was not
feigned. He had the rare gift of perfect self-
control; he had the still rarer power of finding
the full measure of his strength in the hour of
emergency. His genius won inspiration from
danger; the crisis which quickened his pulses
XXVI VOX POPULI 41§

cleared his brain. In contemplating the scene be-
fore him his spirit rose; he was conscious of his
strength. He exchanged a few words with his
mother, whose composure was almost equal to his
own, and he answered Kathleen’s anxious question-
ing look with a reassuring smile. ‘I can never be
beaten with you at my side,’ he whispered to her.
His confidence was not shared by his friends.
Though the tumult had slightly abated it broke
out again with the chairman’s attempt to introduce
Desmond, nor did it cease when he sat down, and
the man himself, whom they were waiting to judge,
stood before them. At this moment the storm of
voices rose to its wildest, but there was this change
in the attitude of the multitude: previously their
attention had been undirected; now every eye in
the building was fixed on Desmond.

He waited with his uninjured arm resting on the
table, and looked out over the tempestuous scene as
calmly as a man, secure on a rock, may watch a
raging sea breaking at his feet. His commanding
figure, his strong, handsome face, marked him for
a leader of men ; and he stood now, not as one who
had come to plead, but as one who was there to be
obeyed.

The uproar continued, but gradually a change,
almost imperceptible at first, came over it. Its
volume did not diminish, but it became less dis-
cordant. Cries were no longer answered by counter
cries, and by degrees the sounds acquired a
rhythmical beat. ‘The acclamation, whether friendly
or hostile, was becoming unanimous, there was an
element of order in the tumult. Every moment
the change became more marked. The regular
waves of sound had a subdued note, as of a distant
416 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

sea, with 2 murmured undertone, a whispered hush.
Desmond knew that he had won his hearing. He
took a step to the front of the platform and held
up his arm. The cheers ceased; the murmur died
away; almost suddenly there was a complete
silence. In the hall where for half an hour had raged
a cyclone of furious uproar, it was now so still that
the voices in the street outside could be heard.
Desmond began to speak, and with his first sentence
his audience was won.

‘England,’ he said, ‘has commanded you to
abandon me. I think I know you well enough to
be sure that you will not allow your enemies to
choose your leader. I have compelled England
to recognise that Ireland isa nation of free men, not
a subject state. I have led you to the gates of victory,
and I hold the key of that gate in my hand. Destroy
me at the bidding of England, and you destroy your
own liberties for another generation !’

He paused a moment. There were no cheers,
but an inarticulate sound went through the hall as
though the people had held their breath when he
spoke, and were again breathing.

‘You made me your leader,’ he continued, ‘and
because I have led you triumphantly, England hates
me. She would conquer you by destroying your
captain. Conspiracy after conspiracy has been formed
against me and has failed. Now the last, the basest
of all, has succeeded. An English Court has con-
demned me. But do you accept the verdict of an
English Court ? To me it is nothing. My country-
men are my only judges. You are my Court of
Appeal. If you condemn me, I accept your
judgment. If you acquit me, I am still your
leader.’
XXVI VOX POPULI 417

A tremendous burst of cheering—unanimous and
prolonged—answered Desmond’s appeal. He turned
and exchanged glances with his mother. Kathleen
was no longer pale; her eyes were bright with
excitement ; she had seen her hero in battle and she
was proud of him. Connor’s pulses were racing.
All the admiration he had felt for his brother as a
boy fired him again. He also looked on his
hero.

‘I stand firm,’ Desmond continued, when the
cheering ceased. ‘You have delivered your judg-
ment. Men of Cork, to-night you have shown
your loyalty; to-morrow all Ireland will follow
you! And your noble example is needed, for it is
not only England we have to fight against, but
against enemies in our own camp. I cannot but
despise them—I pity them more that, being Irishmen,
they could have been guilty of abandoning their
captain in the midst of the fight and have put their
faith in the promise of a perfidious enemy. Fellow-
countrymen, never trust England! Every reform,
every concession we have won, has been won by
force. Never trust England! and never trust
the Irishman who asks you to put your faith in
England !’

Every word he spoke was listened to with
breathless attention, and the occasional outbursts
of applause were followed by perfect silence.

He went on to give his audience a stirring
account of the struggle for self-government in
Ireland, and the successive victories which had been
won on the way to it during the term of his leader-
ship. He touched the rebel note occasionally with
marked effect. He spoke of Ireland’s past wrongs
and of her heroes who had died for the national

2&
418 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

cause, and at the point when his eloquence had
completely captivated his hearers he seized the
opportunity to strike a blow at those who had
deserted him.

‘I have a page of family history to relate to you,’
he said. ‘You have heard of the bloody statutes of
Queen Anne—those laws which were made for the
destruction of all who remained true to their
religious faith. One of these statutes ordained that
in any estate belonging to a Catholic family, if a
younger brother abandoned his faith and became a
Protestant, he disinherited the elder brother who
remained true to the faith of his country and his
fathers. Nearly two centuries ago this act of
treachery was committed in my family. There were
two brothers. The younger turned Protestant and
inherited the estates. I am the descendant of the
elder brother who was disinherited. Sir Henry
Desmond, one of those who has now conspired
against me, is the descendant of the traitor who
robbed him. But it is not of him I would speak.
It is of the way in which a shameful page of history
is being repeated. We, the Nationalist party, were
one family, bound together by our faith; but now
we have been divided. That section of our party
which has allied itself with England is the treacherous
younger brother, duped by English promises, spurred
by personal ambitions. By the support of the
Nonconformists and Orangemen, by forswearing its
old allegiance, this band of deserters claims the
inheritance of your confidence. But, my friends,
though it was once in England’s power to deprive
you of your civil rights and your religious liberties,
though English laws could once drive from his lands
the man who remained true to the faith of his fathers,
XXVI VOX POP ULI 419

England has never had the power to rob the man
you have chosen to lead you of the proud possession
of your trust. Fellow-countrymen, your confidence,
your loyalty, is the inheritance I claim!’

If any doubt remained of Desmond’s hold on the
affections of the people, the storm of applause that
answered this appeal to them dispelled it. Assured
now of the support of the meeting he went on to
speak of the future. There were men now repre-
senting Irish constituencies, he told them, who in
abandoning him at the dictation of an English party
had also abandoned the cause of their country.
These men must be got rid of. At every election
he would bring forward a candidate who would
oppose the deserter. He was confident of the same
support all over Ireland as he had found in Cork
that evening. And when the Nationalist ranks were
purged of these weaklings and time-servers, he would
lead against the enemy of Ireland a force which
would be stronger than it had ever been before.
His concluding sentence, spoken with impressive
solemnity and listened to with rapt attention, echoed
for many a day in the memories of his hearers.

‘My countrymen,’ he said, ‘I have led you
to victory in the past; with God’s help I will
lead you to greater victories in the future! Though
my life has not been free from blame, though for
many things I stand in need of forgiveness, I can
claim this—that never in thought, or word, or deed,
have I been untrue to my country, or forgotten the
trust that Irishmen have confided in me.’

He sat down, and as he did so his supporters
on the platform rose to their feet and the hall
became a scene of unparalleled enthusiasm. Admira-
tion for the man, loyalty to their leader, self-
420 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cuar. xxvi

reproach for past doubts of him, anger against his
detractors, and the fighting spirit his speech had
aroused—all found utterance in the thunder of
acclamation which followed.

Kathleen grew faint ; for the last hour she had
borne the strain of intense excitement. Now that it
was over her strength failed: the whole scene grew
dreamlike before her. A few minutes later,‘ when
she recovered her self-control, she found herself
standing with her arm in Connor’s on the platform,
and saw Michael descending the steps to the body
of the hall. Crowded as it was, a pathway had
been made down its whole length for Desmond to
pass through. The organist, with an instinct for
dramatic effect, had sounded a peal of triumphant
music, but no one heeded it. Every eye was on
Desmond who, bowing occasionally as he went,
receiving the acclamation which greeted him as
calmly as a general might take the salute of an army,
passed down through the multitude in whose hearts
he was enthroned.
CHAPTER XXVII
DESMOND AND KATHLEEN—THE MORNING

THE account of Desmond’s meeting in Cork which
Mr. Dan Barrington found in his newspaper next
morning was not pleasant reading to the old gentle-
man; but though every sentence of his nephew’s
speech kindled his wrath, the real cause of his dis-
pleasure arose from the fact that Mrs. Desmond and
Connor had been present. The blow dealt by recent
events to the Nationalist party and to Desmond’s
career had given Mr. Barrington a triumph over his
sister in which he had recognised that luck had been
against her: he had felt something like pity for her
at first, picturing a disheartened woman and a dis-
tressed mother; but now she was shown to him
unbroken in pride, appearing on a public platform
with Connor, whom he had used every effort to
detach from her political policy, at her side. In his
fight with his proud sister he was compelled to admit
himself beaten. ‘We can get along very well with-
out you, Dan—you and your money-bags,’ she had
said on the first occasion when he had proposed to
her to make Connor his heir; and the words still
rankled in his mind. He had no doubt she was
now laughing at him in the same contemptuous way
that had goaded him once in childhood to inflict

421
422 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHaP.

corporal punishment on her. But if the prospect of
out-manceuvring his sister had been dear to him,
far dearer was his hope of making Connor his heir.
He had been indulgent to the young man’s Nationalist
sympathies, and had finally stipulated no more than
his repudiation of his brother’s extremer views ; now
he found him supporting Michael on a platform from
which he had almost advocated open rebellion. He
was sincerely attached to Connor ; at the bottom of
his heart he admired him for standing by his brother
in his hour of need ; but his own convictions, his
own pride and self-respect, made it impossible for
him to withdraw the conditions he had made, or
endow with his hard-won fortune a man who
defied his wishes and supported the principles he
detested.

He was also irritated and not a little puzzled by
Kathleen’s presence at the meeting. After Connor,
there was no one he was so much attached to as
Kathleen. The marriage of these two was a cherished
part of his scheme, and he had counted on her to
win Connor’s sympathies from the party which was
eager for the destruction of the class to which she
belonged ; but now she seemed to have been won
herself to the other side. Her conduct was un-
accountable ; for he knew her loyalty to her family
and its political traditions, and was sure that she
would not do a thing which would give pain to her
father for the mere indulgence of a whim. And
politics apart, it was deplorable that a young lady,
unescorted by a relation, should appear in public on
the same platform with a man who had just failed to
clear his name of disgrace in the Divorce Court.
His inability to find any reason for her conduct,
except in the machinations of his sister, added to his
xxvii | DESMOND AND KATHLEEN == 423

displeasure. For the first time since he had known
Kathleen he was angry with her, and he determined
to speak his mind to her very clearly on the first
opportunity.

It was Mr. Barrington’s custom to drive into
Mallow once or twice a week and spend an hour at
the Club. This morning before setting out he rang
his bell and sent a message by Coneen Cal to the
ladies of the house asking to be allowed a few
minutes’ conversation with one of them.

In the hearts of Miss Bridget and Miss Honora
the message produced a little flutter, which was
accentuated by the memory of a talk they had had
with Mrs. Spencer Boyle a day or two before. That
merry-hearted dame was never tired of rallying the
Ballyvodra ladies on their matrimonial prospects,
and had many times told them that Mr. Barrington
was ready to be led by one of them to the altar.
‘The only reason he does not propose is that he
cannot make up his mind between you,’ said she in
their recent conversation.

‘Ah, Mrs. Boyle, you’re talking nonsense,’ and
‘Indeed, Mrs. Boyle, you’re mistaken,’ they had
replied.

‘Well,’ said their neighbour, ‘ask anybody! Ask
Spincer! “Dan Barrington’d make a first-rate
husband for one of the gerrls,” says he to me in bed
last night, ‘and I believe he’s in love. Last time I
was over, I saw him pick up a piece of embroidery
that one of them had left on the hall table,” says he,
‘Cand he laid it down with a sigh and went straight
to the bar and ordered a stimulant.” ’Tisn’t much
escapes Spincer.’

Now the unusual message brought back the con-
versation to their minds.
424 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Which of us did Mr. Barrington mention ?’
Miss Bridget asked.

‘Indeed, Miss, I forget, but it was one o’ ye,’
replied Coneen.

‘Give Mr. Barrington our compliments, and say
Miss Bridget will be in the drawing-room in a few
minutes,’ Miss Honora instructed the boy.

‘My dear, I can’t assume it was I he wished to
see,’ said Miss Bridget after the door was closed.

‘My dear, you are the elder,’ her sister replied
with unselfish devotion.

An affectionate dispute followed and ended by a
decision that they should both go, and the sisters
hurried to their bedrooms to make a few additions
to their toilet. It was decided between them to
wear hats.

As they entered the drawing-room with some
trepidation they found Mr. Barrington impatiently
pacing the floor. His manner was always gallant
with them, and he did not forget to pay each of
them a compliment before entering upon his business.
Having inquired and found that they had not seen
the morning paper, he told them briefly of Kathleen’s
presence at the meeting in Cork, and asked whether
they could throw any light on the circumstance.
They were much distressed and quite incapable of
accounting for it.

‘’T was with Mrs. Major Pym she went to stay,’
said Miss Bridget.

‘And we’re expecting her home this afternoon,’
added Miss Honora.

‘I don’t want her father to hear of it,’ said Mr.
Barrington. ‘I know you get the paper, and I want
you to destroy it to prevent any chance of his read-
ing about the meeting. Tis inexplicable. I cannot
xxv DESMOND AND KATHLEEN 425

understand the girl. The poor old man has troubles
enough, and if she—but you must see her directly
she arrives. I will speak to her also. The good
name of your family is for certain reasons very dear
to me.’

‘You have been very good to us,’ said Miss
Bridget. ‘We can never repay you.’

‘We feel we can rely on you,’ said Miss Honora
timidly.

‘We can speak to you on our private affairs
almost as if you were a bro——’

‘A cousin,’ suggested Miss Honora.

‘My dear young ladies, the obligation is on my
side,’ said Mr. Barrington. ‘You have given me a
home, one I should be sorry to have to leave, and an
alliance between your family and mine is—well, it is
not the time to speak of that now. I hope Kathleen
will be able to give some explanation. By the way,
she was talking to me the other day about giving up
the hotel and my taking a lease of Ballyvodra. I
should be lonely here by myself.’

The sisters kept their eyes on the floor.

‘No, at present I think it is much better that
things should go on as they are. I confess the
hotel amuses me, and as a business man I don’t like
to see a venture dropped when it is beginning to
succeed. But I must have a further conversation
with you about this; your views would affect my
decision. And now I am just off to Mallow. Have
you any commands for the town?’

On his way to the Club in Mallow Mr. Barrington
found a crowded street. The election campaign had
opened ; it was also a Fair-day, and on the conclusion
of business the people had remained to meet Desmond,
who was expected to arrive from Cork with his
426 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

candidate before noon. Some gentlemen standing on
the Club steps were watching the crowd on its way to
the station as Mr. Barrington drove up.

‘We're out of this fight,’ said Major Boyle, who
was among them. ‘We can look on and see them
break each other’s heads. They'll be letting the poor
landlords alone for a bit.’

‘The more I know of your country the less I
understand it,’ said an Englishman who was present.
‘I never saw a friendlier scene than that Fair this
morning. I didn’t hear an uncivil word spoken to
one of the landlords, or a word of politics of any
kind ; and to read the papers one would think you
dare not show yourselves.’

‘They’re all right if the demagogues ’ll let ’em
alone,’ said Mr. Atkins, the resident magistrate.
‘Good - morning, Barrington! He looks mighty
cross,’ he added as the old man passed into the Club.
‘ He’s been reading the account of that meeting.’

‘Old Barrington has pots of money,’ Major Boyle
told the Englishman, ‘and being too old or too lazy
to get himself an heir he’s been trying to find a ready-
made one among his relations, but they’re all rebels,
and he’s a hot Tory. Desmond’s his nephew. Hi,
Linnahan,’ he cried to a man he knew who was
passing in a donkey-cart, ‘tell me which of the
two patriots ought I to vote for ?’

‘ Wisha, then, is it thrue your honour has a vote ?’
asked the man with feigned surprise. '

‘’Tis bringing the franchise down pretty low, but
tis a fact he has a vote,’ said one of the Major's
companions ; and as Mr. Linnahan passed on and
heard the laughter he had provoked, a grin of satis-
faction spread over his face.

As the time for the arrival of the train drew
xxv’ DESMOND AND KATHLEEN = 427

nearer, the approach to the station became crowded.
At the top of the incline where the people were most
thickly packed Tom Begley, seated on an empty
packing-case with his fiddle at his side, was reciting a
poem which he had made in Desmond’s honour and
in denunciation of his enemies.

‘And for once,’ said he when he had concluded,
‘for once—though ‘tis me living—me hat will not go
round. Divil a copper will I take for a word or two
spoken for a hero that’s fought our battles and done
more for Ireland than anny man since Dan’! O’Connell.’

In another part of the crowd Costello was seen.
Ever since the murder of Rahilly he had been avoided
by his neighbours in spite of the verdict which had
pronounced him innocent; but with an effrontery
which showed a brutal courage he had remained in
his own country. Now, with the nation divided into
hostile camps, he relied for protection on Desmond’s
enemies, and hoped to turn to account the part he had
played in the divorce suit. He was loathed for this
even by those who condemned Desmond, but no one
cared to run the risk of provoking a quarrel with him.
He was feared.

Kathleen travelled down from Cork with Desmond
and his party. For her a momentous decision had
been made. With his usual readiness for prompt
action when his resolution was taken, Desmond had
procured a special license, and had proposed to her
that they should be married in Dublin two days later.
She had .consented, stipulating only that, instead of
keeping their secret until after the event as he had
suggested, he should go with her to her father and
tell him of their intention. Connor had been informed
of the plan, and he also, with a pain injhis heart which
he strove in vain to master, approved the scheme
428 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

after receiving a repetition of his brother’s promise to
take Kathleen fully into his confidence.

‘It is the worst thing I ever had to face,’ said
Michael, ‘but I believe you are right. When you
get to Mallow look after mother, and I will drive
Kathleen home.’

Some details as to electioneering plans, and the
arrangements for a meeting which was to be held in
Mallow that evening, were discussed between them
and Mr. Morrison, the candidate, on the journey from
Cork, with a coolness and concentration of attention
on Desmond’s part which might have seemed remark-
able even to one who did not know the agitating
circumstances, past and imminent, that encompassed
him.

It was a piece of good-luck for him that the first
election of the campaign should have fallen in his own
county. At Mallow he expected to win, and he had
little fear as to the nature of his reception by the
people on his arrival. His confidence was justified,
and the few words in which he told them that he had
arrived among old friends and neighbours who had
known him all his life, not to defend himself, but to
gather them round him for the fight, went straight
to their hearts.

Two carriages drawn by horses decorated with
green ribbands had been provided by his agent, and
one of these he entered with Mr. Morrison, Connor
and the ladies occupying the other. His own dogcart
was also at the station, and before leaving he gave his
man instructions to drive to the corner of the road
leading from the town to Duhallow, and wait for him
there.

An excited mass struggling to get close to the
carriage made progress impossible for some minutes,
xxi DESMOND AND KATHLEEN 429

and when at last a way was cleared an incident occurred
which made a further delay. A woman forced her-
self into the open space in front of the carriages, and
held up both her arms. A superstitious import, almost
a veneration, is given among the Irish peasantry to
the words and actions of the demented, and the cheer-
ing crowd, recognising Mary Rahilly, became instantly
silent. The other carriage was close enough for its
occupants to hear her outcry.

‘Michael Desmond,’ she said, ‘I laid me curse
on you once, and sorrow it brought you. I take it
off now, if God will let me and ’tis not too late.
I cursed you because you definded the man that
murthered my husband, and you knowin’ he was
guilty. And that man you saved from hangin’ has
turned agin’ you. May he burn in hell! But may
God forgive me that I cursed you, and help you in
your trouble, Michael Desmond ! ’

‘I am grateful to you, Mary,’ said Desmond
gently, but inwardly much agitated. ‘I shall not
forget your words.’ He signalled to the coachman
to drive on.

“And there,’ she cried in wilder accents, ‘there’s
the murtherer himself!’ She stretched out her hand
towards Costello, who was standing about ten yards
away, immediately in front of a section of the crowd
which had held aloof from Desmond’s supporters.

Desmond stood up in the carriage, and a look of
intense anger darkened his face.

‘Will you allow that man to remain among you ?’
he asked, pointing to Costello. ‘That traitor,
whose false witness has brought this trouble on our
country! That malefactor, whom I saved from the
gallows, and who in return lied about me for English
pay! If you are my friends, if you respect your-
430 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS me

selves, turn the scoundrel out of the town. Let him
find no shelter in the country he has betrayed. Treat
him as a traitor should be treated !’”

The carriage passed on. A movement was made
towards Costello, but though he received no sign of
support from those behind him, not a hand was laid
on him. He stood coolly facing the people with a
look on his malevolent countenance which acted like
a spell on those who approached him. The people
turned away from him as one with a pestilence.
They surged past him in the track of the carriages.
He spoke, but no one heard him, and at last he was
left standing alone in the vacant roadway outside the
station.

After accompanying Mr. Morrison to his hotel
and making some final arrangements for the evening
meeting, Desmond hastened to the place where he
had ordered his man to meet him with the dogcart.
He found Kathleen waiting for him. Connor re-
mained in Mallow on election business, and Mrs.
Desmond had gone on alone.

It was one of the days of our island winter when
a message of spring comes in the south-west wind,
and the January colour of the land is lighted by
April skies. The sweetness of recent rain freshened
the soft air; the sounds of winter and spring com-
mingled. Young lambs were bleating in the sunny
fields, plover calling on the moorland, and in every
hawthorn bush on the wayside the thrushes sang of
the new-born year. ‘The contrast between the quiet
of the countryside and the trouble of the scenes they
had recently witnessed seemed to strike Desmond
and Kathleen at the same moment.

‘Rest after stormy seas,’ she said, turning to him
with a smile.
XXVII DESMOND AND KATHLEEN 431

‘But you are my real rest,’ he answered. ‘ With-
out you I should be still thinking of the fight. You
make me forget it. Your love gives me faith in life
and in the future. That is rest.’

On the eve of her marriage, about to enter on an
unknown path and to be divided from her family,
with the ordeal before her of encountering her
father’s anger and sorrow, she showed herself the
brave comrade in ignoring her own trouble to think
of cheering and inspiriting the man who was to be
her husband. She let her cheek rest for a moment
on his shoulder.

‘I must do all I can to make you forget every-
body except me for the next week,’ she said, laughing
and blushing.

There was no one in sight and he kissed her.
‘For the next week, sweetheart!’ he echoed. ‘No,
for the rest of my life.’

‘Well,’ she replied, ‘to be practical, how long
shall we have for a honeymoon? There is this
election.”

He warned her with a laugh to be prepared for a
wedding-trip different from that of other brides—a
honeymoon on which she would go through the
country, not looking at scenery or visiting friends,
but fighting his battles with him.

‘The thought of it fills me with pride, Michael,’
she said. ‘I mean I shall really be helping you.
Those who might have believed those slanders about
you will kzow they are untrue when they hear of our
marriage.’

‘You are helping me as no one else could,’ he
said, proud and at the same time humiliated by her
splendid confidence in him. ‘You are giving up
everything for me. You are leaving your people
432 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

and earning the reproach of your friends. I have
been their bitter enemy, and I am still bound to fight
against them, but I promise you that in future, instead
of endeavouring to widen the breach, I will do what
I honestly can to lessen it.’

The joy his words gave her shone in her
eyes.

‘And with that to look forward to I can go
through anything,’ she said. ‘I can look beyond the
present. In leaving them, instead of being wretched,
I can laugh through my tears and think of the
future.’

‘Your father has never shown any personal
hostility to me,’ said Desmond reflectively.

‘He never forgets that you saved my life.’

‘It will be a difficult interview. Tell me,
Kathleen, what is the amount of those mortgages
on the property ?’

‘ About twelve thousand pounds,’ she answered.

‘Beyond me at present,’ he said; ‘but perhaps
one of these days, with the help of some of my
friends, I can get the mortgages into my own hands
and make you a present of them. Meanwhile I can
guarantee the interest, so you need have no immediate
fear about your father being bothered. I claim the
right of doing this for you. Besides, I particularly
dislike the thought of your family being under an
obligation to my uncle.’

She pressed his hand. ‘What a wonderful thing
love is,’ she said happily ; ‘it makes us accept the
greatest gifts without hesitation, just as if they
belonged to us already, and I have nothing but love
to give you in return.’

A long hill fronted them and, at Kathleen’s
suggestion, they got out of the carriage and made
XXVII DESMOND AND KATHLEEN 433

the ascent on foot. Below them the valley of the
Blackwater and the purple mountains beyond it lay
flooded in sunshine, and in front a couple of miles of
bare upland country shut out the broad horizons of
Duhallow.

It was a day to make merry hearts, and the promise
of the spring which it bore had a special sweetness for
a girl on her bridal eve. And Desmond too, as he
walked up the hill holding Kathleen’s hand, could
have laughed at trouble if it had not been for the
burden of the secret which divided him from his
brave comrade. He was sorely distressed. If con-
fession had to be made at all it must be now. He
had promised Connor to go through with it ; he had
believed with Connor that she would forgive him,
that her love was great enough to bear the trial, and
that it would be an evil thing to marry her with a
lie on his lips and an accursed secret between them ;
and now that the hour had come to face the ordeal
the task appeared well-nigh impossible. His distress
crippled him as a lover. With difficulties in front
of her which few girls have to meet on the eve of
marriage, about to incur the condemnation of her
own people, deprived of all the happy accompani-
ments of bridal, Kathleen’s need was an ardent
wooer. At hér bridal there was to be no gathering
of friends, no loving farewells, not even the religious
ceremony. Consideration for the pain it would give
her father precluded her from being married with
the rites of Desmond’s church ; on political grounds
it was impossible that he should accept the service
of hers; and, this being so, she had agreed to be
satisfied, for the present at least, with the bald legality
of the registry office. But a girl who can make
this sacrifice needs a bold leader, a confident and

2F
434 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuar,

impetuous lover, to lift her up and hurry her onward
at racing speed.

His secret became a warder to his fancies. She
noticed his preoccupation and her spirits fell, though
she made an effort to preserve an appearance of
gaiety.

‘You are thinking of your speech for that meeting
to-night, Michael?’ she laughed.

‘No,’ he replied ; ‘I was thinking about you, and
all you have to go through for me, and I was wonder-
ing what your people think of me since that divorce
suit, whether your father believed me guilty.’

Kathleen’s colour rose. ‘I am going to marry
you, Michael. I know you are innocent,’ she said
with flashing eyes, ‘and if my people could think
otherwise I could almost forget my love for them. I
would never again enter my father’s house.’

He raised her hand to his lips ; he had no words
to express his homage or his remorse. His decision
was taken then and there. Confession was impossible.
He knew that he owed it to her ; he knew that if he
confessed there was hope of forgiveness ; but con-
fession was impossible. Perhaps some day, after their
marriage, he might be able to face it, but not now.
And why ever? Why should he exhume the buried
sin? How could he torture that loving heart? The
past was irrevocable ; the future was his to devote
to her service. His conscience—or was it Connor’s
conscience >—pleaded in vain. His-answer was a
foregone conclusion.

With his decision his spirits rose. The con-
fessional dismissed from his mind he became an ardent
lover, captivating her imagination, banishing her
anxieties by the fervour of his words, the magnetism
of his confident outlook.
XXVII DESMOND AND KATHLEEN 435

‘Kathleen,’ he said, ‘ you have become even dearer
to me than my country, but my allegiance is not
divided. To love you is to love Ireland. You have
given me a dearer country and a greater cause.’

A girl whose hero had become her lover could
hear no sweeter words.

‘With a comrade like you,’ he continued, ‘I can
laugh at difficulties, and I believe we shall even
succeed in conquering your own people and winning
your father to forgive you for marrying me. I will
do my utmost. And now I am going to forget
everything in the world except the girl who in two
days’ time will be my wife.’

The word wife and all it implied sent a thrill
through her blood and brought the colour again to
her face. She was a bonny-looking bride, sweet and
inspiring as the message of the spring which gladdened
that winter day with a promise of fuller warmth and
the blossoming season to come.

‘Now,’ she laughed, ‘I must be practical, and we
have not much time left for business. I suppose it
never occurred to you that a girl has to think about
her trousseau. I may have to borrow from my aunts.
And you have to tell me about the train on Wednes-
day morning, and where we are to meet, and a
hundred other things. What time will you come
over this afternoon and see father?’ she added in a
different tone.

‘I have to leave for Mallow at about seven
o'clock,’ he said. ‘I will come over about five. We
will settle everything else to-morrow. I almost think
it will be better for you not to speak to your father
until I come. Let us go to him together.’

‘Oh, Michael,’ she said, ‘if it were not for having
to leave him, if it were not for the fear of grieving
436 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS aa

him by marrying you, how perfectly happy I should
be.”

They had reached the end of the high land and
were at the verge of the long slope to Duhallow, with
the broad horizon of the country they loved in view.
Fifty miles of sunlit country, rolling pastures divided
by stone walls and high banks, isolated folds of wood-
land and covert that encircled the great houses, tracts
of moorland and sedgy wildernesses, lay between the
distant peaks on the Kerry border in the west and
the eastern mountain wall of the Galtees. And field
and wood and mountain and moor were glowing in
their winter colours of madder and dusky green and
indigo, lighted in the splendour of an April sky, and
deepened by the great shadows of slowly-moving
clouds. The woods of Ballyvodra were below them,
the old tower of Duhallow Castle stood out on the
bare hillside, and the little river Alloa flashed in the
sunshine as it wound its way from the uplands to its
wooded cloisters farther down.

Desmond saw the restful look in Kathleen’s eyes
and half divined her thoughts.

‘You are not going to be banished from the place
you love,’ he said. ‘We must live in London while
Parliament is sitting, but i

‘London ?’ she whispered merrily. ‘I thought
you were going to transfer it to Dublin.’

‘Oh, all in good time,’ he laughed. ‘ Meanwhile
in London. And we must make our home here..
There are several places to let.’

‘The Court,’ she suggested ; ‘ but I know it is a
tradition in your family not to cross its threshold
until it belongs to you again.’

A disturbing memory assailed him. ‘There is
no luck about that place,’ he answered.

 
xxi DESMOND AND KATHLEEN = 437

‘But wherever you take me, Michael, wherever
we live,’ she said, ‘that place will be the best in the
world.’

They had reached the cross-roads at the bottom
of the hill, and here Kathleen suggested that instead
of his driving her up to Ballyvodra she should leave
him and walk the short distance that remained.
Troubled as she was with the prospect of the ordeal
awaiting her in the interview with her father, she kept
up her show of good spirits until they parted. The
smile she then gave Desmond was the sweetest
assurance of love and brave comradeship a man could
have desired from the girl he was about to wed. It
haunted him after he had left her: it gave him more
pain than joy. He knew that it was given to the
man she believed him to be, not to the man he was.

Desmond had lost the great battle of his life on
that evening when he had gone out to meet Corinna.
His present failure to face the duty of confessing the
truth to Kathleen was an inevitable consequence.
He was no longer ‘the master of his fate’ or ‘the
captain of his soul.’ The helm was unguarded ; he
was borne on the tideway. ‘Scruples exist for the
weak, moral obligations for the timid. The strong
man makes his own commandments and is not afraid
to break them,’ had been his contention in the past ;
and in spite of this he had been compelled in an hour
of crisis to a clear recognition of right and wrong
and had made the fatal choice. Now his will
struggled to reassert itself. ‘Why,’ it said, ‘should
he be damned by the past? The future was his.
Why should the world’s conventions, why should
Connor’s conscience, affect his conduct? He had
sinned ; he was greater than his sin. Kathleen loved
him and trusted him. Why should he harass her
438 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuapr. xxvn

with confession of unfaith when he was ready to
make his whole life a proof of his devotion to her?
It was his still to shape his destiny, to be uncoerced
by circumstances.’

On the battlefield of the world’s ambitions this
achievement may be to the strong, but against
spiritual forces the strongest man cannot prevail.
Desmond was not now fighting against the world, he
was fighting against God. To be the master of his
fate a man must be on God’s side. It was not the
exercise of will in defiance of conscience—it was the
sacrifice to truth, the courage to slay the lie that
stood between him and the girl who trusted him, and
to meet the consequences without flinching, that
demanded the strength which proclaims a man greater
than his sin. He was not the captain of his soul,
but its tyrant. He went out to battle with his old
courage, he still fought to win, but the forces he
counted on were no longer under his control.
CHAPTER XXVIII

DESMOND, KATHLEEN, AND CORINNA—
THE AFTERNOON

KarTuieen reached home in time for lunch. Her
brother Jack was out hunting ; Mr. Barrington, who
usually joined the family party when the hotel was
empty, had not returned from Mallow, and Mr.
O’Brien and his sisters were alone. It was a relief to
cher to find by her father’s manner and the casual
inquiry he made about the old friends, at whose
house she had stayed in Cork, that no tidings of her
presence at the meeting had reached him. Her
aunts were significantly silent during the meal, and
she herself became preoccupied. The good spirits
she had shown when her lover was near deserted her.
She escaped to her room at the first opportunity.

She had so much on her mind that she almost
abandoned the attempt to direct her thoughts.
Foremost among her anxieties was the coming
interview with her father and the uncertainty as
to how he would receive the news of her alliance
with Desmond. Apart from his political objections
to the man, he might accept the world’s verdict on
his moral conduct and refuse his consent to the
marriage, in which case she would have to act in
defiance of his wishes—a course she could hardly

439
440 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

bear to contemplate. Then, even if his consent
were won, she knew he would give it with sorrow,
and that, left without her, the burden of his position
would be almost more than he could bear. There
were a hundred things to settle : arrangements to be
made about the hotel, a conference to be held with
Mr. Barrington, all of which demanded undivided
attention, all of them encompassed with difficulty.
She turned in despair from the contemplation of her
cares. The practical business of selecting clothes for
her journey was a welcome distraction. She made
a doleful face on realising the limitations of her
wardrobe, and saw visions of the bridal equipment
she would have considered fitting : for she was by no
means indifferent to personal appearance, and in spite
of her poverty had succeeded, partly by. her good
taste and partly by the help of a pretty figure, in
earning the distinction of a place among the well-
dressed of her sex. Her own little inheritance hav-
ing been spent in furnishing the hotel, she was
almost literally penniless; and though with real
troubles assailing her it might seem incredible that
she could give a second thought to such a trifling
vexation as a picture of herself in the position of a
bride without a trousseau, it is probable that most
women would be able to sympathise with her.

Her preparations for packing progressed slowly.
She lingered over the contents of old drawers, her
books and other treasures, and found the little bed-
room which she had occupied since her childhood
making an appeal to her to be left undisturbed.
The thought that it would be hers no longer, that
some one else would occupy it, made her realise for
the first time how complete a change the step she was
taking would make in her life. The window of the
xxvir DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 441

room, which looked out on the walled garden and the
beautiful flower -border she had cultivated in that
wilderness, was open. A robin sang underneath it
in an apple-tree, and the cheerful voices of the farm-
yard and the sound of the talking of rooks in
the elm-trees came to her with familiar greetings.
Presently she left her work and went out to her
garden. It was not the time of flowers, but the
sweetness hidden in the heart of winter ventured
to disclose itself in that sheltered haven. The
crumbling wall was starred with the blooms of yellow
jasmine, there were snowdrops in the grass borders,
and the air was fragrant with the scent of violets
and daphne.

The spot was peculiarly her own, endeared to her
by association with the happiest hours of her life,
and now, in spite of absorbing troubles, there was
room in her heart for a pang of regret at the prospect
of leaving the beloved possession for others to tend,
or more probably neglect. Memories of summer
evenings when Connor had walked up and down that
garden path with her returned vividly. She looked
back through the years to the day when they had
first made a bond of friendship at the boundary
fence, and realised as she had never done before the
constancy of his devotion and the unselfishness of his
love. She had been concerned almost exclusively
with the thought of the distress her marriage would
cause her father ; now it came home to her that a
greater pain than his was troubling the heart of her-
old comrade. And to her father she could still be
a daughter—her marriage need make no barrier
between them; but with Connor it was different :
that friendship which on her part had always
trembled on the hither side of love, and would
442 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

long ago have leapt the boundary if her heart had
not enthroned a hero; that friendship which on his
part had done every service that love could inspire
without claiming the least of love’s privileges, that
dear and happy comradeship of the past would be
impossible in the future. Her distress was for him,
but with it came a very real and almost inexplicable
regret on her own account. Connor was, indeed,
dearer to her than she knew herself. Michael was
her hero, her lover, her strong knight, who had made
her his captive and kneeled to her as his queen.
Him she admired, almost worshipped. Connor she
loved.

The sound of carriage-wheels in the avenue
caught her ears and made her heart beat quickly.
Michael was not yet due, but he might have come
earlier than he had arranged. More probably it was
Mr. Barrington. She paused to listen: the carriage
stopped at the hall door ; it did not afterwards go
round to the courtyard as would have happened if
Mr. Barrington had been its occupant. Again
conjecturing that it was Michael, she went round
to the front of the house to end her doubts by a peep
at the carriage, and was met in the shrubbery by
Carmody, who brought a card in his hand. A
troubled look came over Kathleen’s eyes as she read
the name.

‘Did you say I was at home ?’ she asked.

‘I did and I didn’t, Miss,’ replied Carmody. ‘I
said you might be in the gyarden, and her ladyship
said she had come over from England and she
wouldn’t be keeping you long.’

The card bore the name of Lady Desmond.

Though Kathleen’s generous heart had bidden her
write to the unhappy lady with loving sympathy,
xxvit DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 443

though she felt keenly for her in the wrong she
believed the world had done her, she shrank now
from an interview. At another time she might have
felt differently; she might have welcomed the
opportunity of speaking words of comfort to an
injured sister; but just now, with anxieties almost
greater than she could bear besetting her, the
prospect of a meeting was wholly distressing. And
it also aroused in her a vague and unaccountable
feeling of apprehension, a fear of some unknown
calamity. She was almost ashamed of her own
nervousness as she entered the drawing-room to
greet her visitor.

At the first glance there was nothing about
Corinna suggestive of suffering or asking for
sympathy. The impression flashed on Kathleen
was that of her exceeding beauty. She was paler
than when she had last seen her, but the change
seemed to have added another charm to her face and
to have revealed a new loveliness in her dark eyes.

She showed no sign of the agitation which was
inwardly consuming her as she took Kathleen’s hand,
but there was nevertheless something in her manner,
some indication that her visit had an unusual
significance, that increased the girl’s feeling of
apprehension.

‘Your letter did not reach me till yesterday,’ she
said. ‘I had left the place you addressed it to. I
started immediately I received it.’

‘You must be tired after your journey. Let me
ting for tea at once,’ said Kathleen; and Corinna
welcomed the suggestion which postponed the
immediate necessity of disclosing the reason of her
visit.

Since she had come into her rival’s presence her
ane HER MAJESTY’S REBELS Gane

emotions had undergone a change. The tidings of
Desmond’s engagement had filled her with madden-
ing jealousy, utter misery. She loved him passion-
ately ; her one hope in life was that he would marry
her, though her pride, which was as strong as her
love, had kept her silent under his neglect. For the
girl who had won his affection her feeling had been
little short of hatred. She had been impatient to
confront her, to tell her the naked truth, and had
almost exulted in the thought of the punishment she
would inflict by the revelation. That hour had come,
but with it an unforeseen influence. Looking into
the sweet face of the girl at her side all hatred, all
jealousy was forgotten. She thought only of the
pain in store for that faithful heart. Kathleen was
no longer her rival: she was a sister in distress.
Corinna’s spirit had always risen against the injustice
which the world has condemned women to suffer in
their relations with men. She rebelled against it
herself, but instead of remaining true to the nobler
instincts of her womanhood, instead of confronting
the wrong she hated with the strength of her own
ideal, she had claimed and exercised an equal liberty
with man in his disregard of moral restrictions. In
marrying Sir Henry Desmond she had sinned, not
against him—him she met on equal terms—but
against Nature, against herself. In giving herself a
second time to Desmond she had sinned, not against
Nature, but against Society. In neither case had she
found mercy.

Now she saw in Kathleen another victim of man’s
infidelity, and the deception of this innocent girl
seemed to her even baser than the desertion of herself.

And why had Desmond deserted her? The
answer supplied by the news of his engagement—the
xxvir DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 445

usual one in such cases—that he had seen another
woman whose attractions he found greater, had
inspired her first feelings of jealousy and hatred for
Kathleen. But was this the reason? In the presence
of her rival she felt that this was not the reason—she
felt that neither Kathleen nor any woman in the
world could have won Desmond from her if she had
had only a woman to compete with. It was his own
career that was her rival. That, she believed, was
more to him than the love of any woman, and she
had ruined it. She felt that the disaster her love
had brought to his fortunes had hardened his heart ;
that her failure to protest her innocence had
embittered him against her; that to marry her
would be to admit the truth of the accusation he had
denied ; that he had turned in anger from the woman
who had ruined his prospects to the brave-hearted
girl who believed in him, and by marrying him
might help to justify the faith of those who hesitated
to condemn him. She found some consolation in
this conclusion. It was at least more tolerable than
the torture of knowing that her lover had been won
from her by the fascination of another, for, though
the worst side of Desmond’s nature was clearly
revealed to her, she still loved him with all the
strength of her passionate soul.

She shrank from the task before her. It was a
cruel thing to tell Kathleen the truth, but it would
be more cruel to allow her to marry without know-
ing it; and for other reasons that alternative was
impossible.

Corinna had made a pretence of drinking the tea
which had been provided for her. As soon as
Carmody had disappeared she left her chair for a
place at Kathleen’s side on the sofa.
446 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

‘Your letter touched me very deeply,’ she said,
‘more than you could guess.’

‘I am very thankful. I was almost afraid after I
had written that you might think it an intrusion. I
did it on an impulse. I longed to let you know how
I felt for you in the terrible wrong you have had to
suffer.’

‘Did Mr. Desmond know you wrote to me ?’

‘Oh no, no,’ Kathleen answered.

‘I wish,’ said Corinna, ‘that I were worthier of
the sympathy of your loving heart.’

The vague feeling of. apprehension that had
troubled Kathleen from the moment of Corinna’s
arrival grew stronger. There was a hint in her
companion’s manner of something unexplained, and
without a suspicion of the full truth she realised that
Michael’s relations with her might have been closer
than she knew, might perhaps have involved some
disloyalty to herself. It was possible even that
Corinna might. love him. She found no words either
to express or conceal her feelings.

‘When have you arranged to be married?’
Corinna asked abruptly.

Kathleen coloured slightly and hesitated. ‘It will
be almost at once,’ she answered after a moment’s
reflection.

‘At once!’ Corinna echoed the words. ‘My
poor child!’ She took Kathleen’s hand and looked
at her with tear-dimmed eyes. ‘Oh, Kathleen,’ she
said, ‘ we are sisters in distress. Your trial is hardly
less than mine. You cannot marry him. You do
not know the truth.’

Kathleen drew her hand from Corinna’s. ‘You
do not understand,’ she said proudly. ‘I know of
the friendship between you and Mr. Desmond. It
XXVIII DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 447

may have been indiscreet. It has given rise, as we
know, to cruel misinterpretation. He may not have
been free from blame; he was not if he let you
think there was anything more than friendship in his
regard for you. If it was so I do not want to hear
about it; it is better forgotten. I wish to be your
friend, Lady Desmond.’

Corinna was silent for a few moments: she was
deeply agitated.

‘Why should I delay to tell you the truth,’ she
said at last. ‘It was to save you from the sorrow
and disgrace of the marriage that I have come to see
you. All that I have been accused of, all that he has
been condemned for is true, true, and I would not
have it otherwise. If I have ever been a wife I am
his. I am his.’

Kathleen grew very pale. She rose mechanically
and, feeling giddy, laid a trembling hand on a chair
to steady herself. ‘It is a lie,’ she gasped. ‘I can-
not bear to be near you. Please go.’

‘Yes, I will go,’ said Corinna. ‘I know how you
must hate me. It is part of my punishment. But
you—you must not deceive yourself. If you had
been already married I might have held my tongue,
but as it is not too late, the truest service I can do
you is to save you and him from this shame and dis-
honour. It is not too late. You are unfettered,
the future is yours, you may still give yourself to a
man worthy of your love. Oh, believe me, I am
thinking of you as much as of myself in this, and
try and have some pity on me. I have sinned for
his sake, and am bearing the punishment. I am
condemned and deserted by him, and yet I would
not undo my sin. My heart bleeds for you in your
trouble, but is not my pain greater than yours?’
448 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS Guan

‘Oh, leave me!’ Kathleen cried. ‘You are lying,
shamefully. You love him and want to divide us
by your lie.’ She sank back on the sofa over-
come.

Corinna stood at her side. ‘My poor child,’ she
said, ‘how I feel for you. I will go. You have
heard only the truth. I think he will not deny it
when you tell him I have seen you. I have some-
thing more to tell you, something he does not yet
know himself. I am going to be the mother of his
child.’

Kathleen gave a low cry; her eyes turned to
Corinna with a fascinated stare; then her head fell
against her arm on the pillow of the sofa.

Corinna saw that she had fainted. She lifted her
head a little and loosened the fastenings of her dress
about the throat, but she did not ring the bell for
assistance nor make any other attempt to revive her.
She stood watching her with the tears running down
her cheeks, and a few minutes later, when the girl
showed signs of recovering consciousness, she stooped
and kissed her and went her way.

Kathleen awoke into a new world: Corinna’s
words had carried conviction with them; in the
realisation of their terrible import a great darkness
had descended upon her. The windows were open,
the evening sunshine filled the room, the clear sing-
ing of a thrush in the garden fell on her ear as she
returned to consciousness. Every detail of the scene
she had just been through flashed back on her mind.
She contemplated it without flinching ; no tears came
to her relief ; her emotions were deadened. Presently
she went to her own room and threw herself on her
bed in the clutches of a blank despair. A forlorn
whisper of hope, ‘It may not be true. He may
xxvit DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 449

be able to vindicate himself,’ left her unmoved.
Corinna’s last words rang in her ears.

~And it was not so much her own sorrow, her own
loss, her eternal division from the man she was on
the eve of marrying that desolated her heart so much
as her outlook on a darkened world, a world in
which love and faith and hope had given place to
deception and disgrace and cruelty. She had lost
her lover; she had also lost her hero. With his
dishonour her whole faith in life was shaken. In
the midst of her meditations a clear question suddenly
arose in her mind. Did Connor know the truth?
She recalled some words he had spoken on that rainy
afternoon when they had last been alone together,
something he had said about a woman’s nobility in
forgiveness which she had hardly understood at the
time but which now became significant. He did
know. Every one knew except herself. And if
Connor were her true friend, how, she asked herself,
could he permit her to remain in ignorance? If he
were still her lover, how could he tolerate the prospect
of her marrying a man of whose infidelity he was
cognisant? Because, loving her himself, it would be
a mean thing to betray his brother’s secret to his
own advantage? Even so, it only proved that he
respected his own code of honour more than he
loved her, and that he could never have really loved
her ; but instead of being consoled by this conclusion,
as a girl who had rejected a suitor and desired his
happiness should have been, she was depressed by: it.
If she had guessed that Connor’s silence was won by
Michael’s promise to confess the truth to her, she
might have turned to him now as the one friend in
the world who could help her in her despair ; but not
knowing this, resenting his apparent half-heartedness,

2G
450 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS ean

his compromise with circumstances, she found herself
left to fight her battle alone, compelled to steel her
heart in self-dependence at a time when it was most
in need of sympathy. Kathleen was the brave-
hearted daughter of a fearless race, and now in
the supreme trial of her life her courage did not
fail. The ordeal before her of meeting Desmond
was one in which any girl in her circumstances
might have refused to endure; but she did not
flinch from facing it.

The daylight was beginning to fail; the thrush
no longer sang in the garden. Kathleen had been
listening to it unconsciously. The silence, the grow-
ing dusk in her room aroused her. She rose and
made an effort to think calmly. Her looking-glass
showed her some disorder of her attire which she
deliberately proceeded to correct. Presently through
the open window she heard the hoof-beats of a
cantering horse in the distance. She listened with a
beating heart as the sound grew nearer. Desmond
rode gaily to claim her.

He had not entered the old faded drawing-room
since the evening of the dinner-party given long ago
in honour of his gallant deed in saving Kathleen’s
life. A memory of the scene and of the child who
had taken possession of him as her hero flashed back
on him. And he was her hero still! So let it be.
The hour when confession had been possible was
gone. The part of the weakling dismayed by the
past was not for him; the future was his own. His
bride should find in him the true lover of her belief.

The only mitigation of the torture of the inter-
view between them was its brevity. The moment
Kathleen appeared Desmond knew that something
had gone wrong. He sprang with open arms to
xxvii DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 451

enfold her, but found no response. The warm-
hearted comrade ready to meet any ordeal for his
sake whom he had parted from a few hours before
was unrecognisable in the girl who stood before him.
There was something unnatural in her composure
and the calm with which she spoke.

‘I have seen Lady Desmond,’ she said ; ‘ she has
just left me.’

He realised the full import of her words. He
stood frozen. His fighting power, which had never
failed him in presence of an enemy, refused the
encounter with truth. He did not pretend to mis-
understand the significance of Kathleen’s words, or
deceive himself with the hope that Corinna had
withheld the truth. He had heard his condemnation.

“You believe her ?’ he asked.

‘Do you deny it, Michael ?’

He hesitated a moment, but a moment only.

‘No,’ he answered.

‘Oh, Michael!’ she cried in a tone that wrung
his heart. ‘Oh, Michael!’ She had held a faint
lingering hope that he might have been able to prove
his innocence.

He turned away, unnerved, and took a few rest-
less paces in the darkened room before he spoke.
He made no attempt to defend himself, or urge the
madness of passion, or tell her that his love for her
had never failed. And it was of her and her suffer-
ing, not of his own humiliation, his own loss, that
he was now thinking. He found no words to
express his anguish.

‘J dared not tell you,’ he said. ‘I swore to do
so, but could not face it. I promised Connor I
would tell you.’

“Connor knew?’
452 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cae

‘He thinks that I have told you and that you
have forgiven me,’ said Desmond. ‘I know I have
lost your love. I have abandoned even the hope of
your forgiveness.’

A glow of colour came to her pale face.

‘I can forgive you, Michael,’ she said. ‘I have
forgiven you, and I can still give you a sister’s love
if that can help you.’

To most lovers such a promise is the bitterest
mockery of consolation ; to Desmond it was sweet.
He knew that as a lover he had lost her beyond
possibility of redemption, but in the hour of his
shipwreck the assurance that the girl whose loyalty
he had repaid with deception did not wholly despise
him, that she was ready to give him the only love
now possible, shed a ray of light on his darkened
path. He told her he would strive with what
strength was in him to make himself less unworthy
of her forgiveness. He spoke with an effort: the
most eloquent pleader among his countrymen, he
found no words for his own defence.

* Michael,’ she said, ‘ you will not desert her ?’

‘She is nothing to me,’ he answered. ‘I never
loved her. She has ruined my life. Do not speak
of her.’

‘I must,’ said Kathleen. ‘I know what she is
suffering. My burden is nothing to hers. Oh,
Michael, if you care anything for the love I now
give you, prove it to me by doing your duty to her.
No one loves you as she does. She is broken-
hearted.’

‘She has ruined my life,’ he repeated. ‘She is
dead to me.’

‘Dead to you, Michael!” she exclaimed, with a
sudden flash of scorn in her eyes. ‘The woman
xxvit DESMOND, KATHLEEN, CORINNA 453

who has forgotten her honour for your sake, sacri-
ficed everything for your love! But you do not
know all ; she has a further claim on you.’

‘She has no claim on me,’ he said, his heart
hardening against the woman who had betrayed his
secret and exposed his perfidy.

Kathleen’s spirit was strung to a point which
compelled her to speak the words which at another
time would have been unutterable.

‘Michael,’ she said steadily, ‘she has the greatest
of all claims on you. She loves you, and she is
going to be the mother of your child.’

He gave a violent start.

‘You will go to her?’ Kathleen said. ‘Promise
me.’

He remained silent. He was stunned by her
revelation. It showed him in a new light Corinna’s
conduct in confessing the truth to Kathleen and
making her marriage impossible. He also saw
himself as he must appear to Kathleen in the light
of Corinna’s disclosure, and he touched the lowest
depths of self-abasement.

‘If this be true,’ he said, ‘I can thank God that
she came to you, and that I have lost you.’

‘And you will go to her?’ Kathleen urged.

‘T cannot tell.’

‘It is the only thing I ask of you, Michael.’

He saw himself stripped of every semblance of
the heroic in her sight. He saw her ennobled by
trial, thinking not of herself but of her fellow-
sufferer; and, for him, jealous of such shreds of
honour as remained to him, generous in judgment,
eager if possible to find in him something worthy of
respect. ; ;

‘Oh, my dearest,’ he cried, ‘if you can forgive
454 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cu. xxv

me, I ask for nothing else from God or man. And
you said that you might give me a sister’s love!
Some day I may show you how much that means to
me. The hope of it is a light on my way. You
might have left me in utter darkness. Yes, I will
goto her. I had better leave you now,’ he added,
after a moment’s silence.

The room was almost dark, he could not see the
look of infinite sorrow and compassion in her eyes.

‘Good-bye, Michael,’ she said. ‘May God bless
you and help you in your trouble!’ She gave him
her hand, and he raised it to his lips without speaking
and left her.

She stood in the thraldom of a waking dream till
the sound of his horse’s hoofs on the avenue aroused
her. She then went to her own room and flung
herself on the bed. The strain was over; the
strength which her hour of trial had brought forth
failed her now. Her pent-up feelings found relief
in a storm of passionate tears.
CHAPTER XXIX
DESMOND ALONE—THE NIGHT

Dezsmonp rode part of the way down the avenue at
a walking pace, absorbed in thought. He then
abruptly turned across the park and put spurs to
his horse. ‘Thank God for my enemies !’ he cried.
The air was cool and sweet, and a glimmer of day-
light, enough to mark his cross-country path home-
ward, remained. The high bank of the boundary fence
faced him, and he rode at it without a check, and
on, across the fields beyond, at racing speed, taking
every wall and obstruction in his path without turning
a yard out of his course. His spirit exulted in a
sudden realisation of freedom. He had nothing to
conceal, nothing more to lose. The prospect of combat
gave him a thrill of joy ; the knowledge that he was
fighting against desperate odds became a benediction.
Those he loved might forgive him, his friends might
some day rally round him again, but he did not
think of that now. ‘Thank God for my enemies !’
was the expression of the whole passion of his
unconquered spirit.

He rode by the back entrance into the courtyard
of the Castle. It was dark and deserted ; the sound
of his horse’s hoofs was echoed from the high walls ;
the wind woke ghostly whispers among the ruined

455
456 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

outbuildings ; night touched the old place to its
ancestral mood.

Desmond unsaddled his horse himself and went
round the house to his tower entrance. His nerves
were unstrung and his imagination abnormally
active. As he ascended to his room a vivid picture
returned to him of that night long ago when Mary
Rahilly had cursed him, and again he saw her de-
scending the dark stairway while he stood above with
a lantern in his hand lighting her departing footsteps.
He entered the room ; the fire was burning, its light
threw great shadows on the bare walls. There was a
muffled sound of wind in the chimney. A feeling of
loneliness, almost of apprehension, grew upon him.
He drew a chair to the fireside and made an attempt
to review his position and arrange his thoughts, but
old memories kept rising before him. He saw
Corinna in evening attire, a vision of radiance in
those grim surroundings, as she had appeared on
that fateful evening when she had returned with him
to the tower; and while his pulses quickened at the
recollection, his heart hardened against the woman
who had ruined him. And she was going to be the
mother of his child! and she had not told him!
She had been too proud to plead with him on that
claim. He did not doubt the truth of her state-
ment, and the revelation showed her conduct to him
in a new light ; showed him that she could not in
these circumstances, even to save him from political
ruin, come forward and swear that she was innocent
of the accusation that had been brought against her.
Some pity he felt for her, but his love was dead.
He had promised Kathleen that he would go to her,
and this promise he would keep. It might be that
he would marry her for the sake of the child, though
a ‘DESMOND ALONE 457

to do this would be to condemn himself and injure
his prospects still further in the eyes of his country-
men, before whom he had protested his innocence.
The difficulties of the conflict he was engaged in
were greater than ever : he was encompassed on all
sides. He realised his desperate position, and his
courage rose to meet it. The culminating outcome
of his reflections sprung him to his feet. ‘ Let them
say what they like of me!’ the thought flashed. ‘ Let
them have the naked truth! And, by God, with
this lie behind me, I will show those who stand in
my way that I can hit hard!’

The evening meeting was fixed for eight o’clock,
and it was now half-past six. He had made no
preparation for his speech, though this was hardly
necessary, and he had the half-hour of his drive into
Mallow for arranging his thoughts. A faint, streak
of moonlight on the floor suddenly arrested his
attention and aroused him from his meditations. He
had not seen the new moon, and, superstitiously careful
not to look at it through glass, he left his room without
turning to the window and descended the tower steps.
A gentle wind was blowing from the south-west,
bearing great clouds fringed with light across the dim
country. The little river, dark and silent under the
Castle walls, caught a flash of the moonlight and rippled
into song in the shallows beyond. As Desmond stood
contemplating the scene the fall of a footstep close
by made him start. He went across the shadow of
the tower in the direction from which the sound
came, but found no one there, and accused himself of
unstrung nerves. He then entered the house,
remembering that his mother had specially arranged
an earlier dinner-hour than usual that evening on
account of the meeting.
458 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

Mrs. Desmond was alone by the fireside in the
old panelled sitting-room when Desmond entered.
She was dressed with her customary care, and in the
calm beauty of her stern old face and the simple
dignity of her surroundings there was an accord
which made the room and its occupant seem essential
parts of one picture. A look of unusual tenderness
came into Michael’s eyes as he greeted his mother.
The close bond of sympathy which had always
existed between mother and son had never been so
strong as now. Others had failed him, or he had
failed those others who had been only too ready to
trust him, but between these two the bond was un-
broken. Connor had stood by him nobly, but he
had condemned his conduct. Kathleen had forgiven
him, but she was separated from him irretrievably.
Corinna might be ready to welcome him to her
heart ; he had no love to give her in return. His
mother remained his one true comrade. It was she
who had first inspired his zeal in the service of his
country ; his triumphs had been her triumphs ; and
now in his time of danger and difficulty he knew
that she was fighting beside him and looking forward
to the future without a fear. And he was grateful
to her for her reticence. Of Lady Desmond and the
divorce case hardly a word had been spoken between
them. She had made her own conclusions and
asked him for no explanation, though, if she had
questioned him, he would have found it difficult,
perhaps impossible, to lie to her. Some conversation
had taken place between her and her husband on the
subject ; and the old man, viewing the episode
entirely in the light of his inextinguishable hatred
of the detested branch of his family, had expressed
a hope that the accusation against his son was well
XXIX DESMOND ALONE 459

founded. ‘Serve me fine gentleman damn well
right,’ he said. ‘A breed of traitors may expect
to marry unfaithful wives, and, b’ the powers, when
tis men of the race they robbed do the looting it
looks like justice.’ Probably the subject would
never have been spoken of again between mother and
son if it had not been for the events of the after-
noon, but these had made silence impossible.

‘T have just come back from Ballyvodra,’ he said,
as he stood at his mother’s side. ‘I have seen
Kathleen again. She is not going to marry me.’

The old lady drew a quick breath, but she gave
no exhibition of surprise.

‘ Lady Desmond has seen her,’ he added.

The announcement in its context was tantamount
to a confession. He said no more, but remained
looking into the fire awaiting his mother’s comment.

‘I am glad,’ she said. ‘Kathleen is a good, brave
girl, but I am glad.’

‘I was unworthy of her,’ said Desmond.

‘ Does it hit you hard ?’ she asked.

‘I have the thought of my enemies to comfort
me.’

‘Yes,’ said the old lady with flashing eyes, ‘ your
country is your true love. Your country needs your
love more than ever now when her enemies are trying
to make her unfaithful to you. Her enemies are
your enemies. You were born to fight this fight and
to come through it victorious.’

He gave her a confident smile, and stooped and
kissed her brow. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you shall not be
ashamed of me.’

The subject seemed to have been closed, and
they began talking of the prospects of the Mallow
election until, at the announcement of dinner, as they
460 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cuar.

were leaving the room, Mrs. Desmond suddenly
said : ‘But that other woman! For God’s sake,
Michael, promise me that you will not marry
her !’

‘She has claims on me,’ he said.

‘Do you love her?’

‘No.’

‘Then she has no claim on you. To marry her
would be your ruin. Give me your promise that
you will not even consider the possibility of it.’

The conversation was interrupted by old Mr.
Desmond, who shambled into the room in a pair of
carpet slippers.

‘Come and ate your dinner, man!’ said he to
Michael. ‘You're getting as thin as a ram-pike
with all this work. Ate your dinner and leave
yourself time for a quiet glass of punch afterwards,’

Half an hour later he started for Mallow in his
dog-cart. He had left his man in the town, and he
was alone. It was a cloudy night ; the young moon
had not set, and there was just light enough
to define the white roads and show dim openings
into wide tracts of lonely country on either side.
Desmond allowed his horse to take its own pace.
He endeavoured to concentrate his thoughts on his
speech, but they kept reverting to the scene of the
afternoon with Kathleen, and to what she had told
him of Corinna, and to his mother’s words in their
recent interview.

‘Our greatest enemies to-day,’ he addressed his
audience in fancy, ‘are in our own camp ; are those
Irishmen who, in exchange for the promises of an
English party, would give up our ideal of national
independence. ‘Will you listen when they bid you
sacrifice to the Belly-god? Even if it could be
XXIX DESMOND ALONE 46 I

shown that we should fatten by doing so, which
would you choose? To have Ireland become a
province of England, forgetful of the wrongs which
we have suffered in the past, forgetful of the great
hope for which our fathers have fought and suffered
imprisonment and exile and persecution and death?
or to remain poor, and still keep our birthright of
freedom, our pride in our nationality, our faith in
the future? If I have personal enemies I can forgive
them, for I am a sinner who stands in need of
forgiveness myself, but the enemies of my country—
the Irishmen who are traitors to Ireland—I cannot
forgive.’ His thoughts wandered. ‘She is going to
be the mother of your child” We heard again the
words of the girl who had been on the eve of
marrying him ; her tones vibrated in his memory.
‘Go to her, Michael; promise me that you will go
to her.’

A picture of Corinna rose before him, not as she
had looked when she had first fascinated him with
her radiant beauty, not as when she had conquered
him by the witchery of her seductions, but pale and
weary, condemned by the world, rejected by her
lover ; and yet proud and silent—too proud to plead
with him. And she was going to be the mother of
his child.

‘Promise me that you will not marry that woman!”
he heard his mother’s words and his own reply, ‘I
do not love her.’ And it was true: he did not love
her, but he had: begun to think of her differently—
with pity, almost with tenderness. He had promised
Kathleen to go to her, and he would keep his pro-
mise. Beyond that interview he did not look.

‘Your country is your only love !’—his mother’s
words flashed back through his mind and uplifted
462 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cHAP.

him. To that love he had never been untrue.
Whatever happened, whether he were victorious or
defeated, whether his countrymen accepted or rejected
him, nothing could turn him from that great devo-
tion ; nothing could destroy his right to live, or, if
need were, to die for his country.

The moon was low in the west, and beneath it
the fir-woods of Ballyvodra made a black outline
against a space of unclouded sky. A light shone
from an upper window in the house, and its faint
gleam, the only sign of human life visible, made the
loneliness of the surrounding country more marked.
Here and there in the sedges of a marshy field, or
on the furze-grown banks on the wayside, the wind
made a low rustle, and the sharp note of a fox’s bark
came from a hill covert in the direction of Duhallow ;
but these and the rumble of Desmond’s cart-wheels
were the only sounds that broke the silence of the
night. He was slowly climbing the last stage of the
long ascent from the cross-roads, and was absorbed
in his reflections, when his horse gave a sudden start
and stood still. A man had sprung from some bushes
on the roadside and stood at the horse’s head.

‘I’m wantin’ a few words with you, Michael
Desmond,’ he said. ‘”Tis a nice lonesome place for
a private talk.’

‘Get out of the way, you infernal blackguard !’
cried Desmond, standing up in the cart and giving
Costello a cut across the face with his whip. The
horse plunged, but Costello did not flinch, and
maintained his grip on the reins.

‘Faith, you’re ready with your names!’ he said.
‘This morning "twas “murtherer” you called me
before our friends.’

Still holding the reins with one hand, he drew a
XXIX DESMOND ALONE 463

revolver from his pocket with the other. Desmond
gave him another lash with his whip and almost
simultaneously leapt from the cart and sprang to-
wards him. Before he could reach him Costello had
fired. Three shots in rapid succession broke the
stillness of the night. The horse, half entangled in
the reins, was galloping madly up the hill. Desmond
lay prostrate on the roadside.

‘Now, me pathriot,’ said Costello, ‘ we’re quits—
and here’s one more for the cause of ould Ireland.’

He placed the muzzle of the revolver over Des-
mond’s heart and fired again. Then he dragged the
motionless body into the ditch and fled westwards
across the country.

The moon set ; the darkness fell over the silent
country. The light Desmond had seen in the upper
window at Ballyvodra still shone across the valley.
Kathleen was in her room thinking of the man who,
in spite of dishonour and unfaithfulness, appealed to
her heart, weeping, not for herself, but for her
sister in distress—the woman whose burden of pain
was so much heavier than her own.

And she, that unhappy one, who had sinned and
was bearing the fullest penalty of her sin, who would
willingly have died to make her own again one hour
of the past when Desmond’s heart was hers—she, too,
was watching through that fatal hour, thinking in
tearless despair of the career she had ruined and the
love she could never win back.

And there was one other who loved him even
better than these. In the silent house at Duhallow
the stern old woman who had inspired his patriotism,
the brave-hearted mother who lived in his career,
was on her knees praying that strength for the fight
might be given to him whose battle was already over.
464 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cur. xxix

At the meeting in Mallow that night Desmond’s
friends waited long for his coming. To other speakers
the crowd listened impatiently: there was but one
man whose voice could unite them and whose pres-
ence could inspire. In other places his enemies were
assembled, and denounced him in the name of Ireland.
They knew not what they did. Friend and foe, the
staunch and the disloyal, were equally bereft. The
captain they had loved was lying dead on the road-
side, slain by the man whom he had himself snatched
from the hand of justice. Throughout the length
and the breadth of the land the people were as sheep
without a shepherd. A great cause was stricken.
Ireland had lost her leader.
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION

Micuazt Dzsmonp’s story is told. He sinned and
bore the penalty of his sin, but he served his country
with his whole heart. He failed to achieve the end
he had in view, but his failure was not defeat. Such
service as his does not perish with the man, it remains
a vital influence in the heart of the nation; and to
those who come after him, to those more fortunate
who may find the way he missed in leading his people
to the fulfilment of their nobler aspirations, the
memory of his devotion cannot fail to give courage.
His story is told, but there are others whose fortunes
were connected with his to whom we must bid fare-
well ; and as we wish it to be a happy one, we pass
over two years or more, and come to a day in the
early summer when the old Duhallow country was
gay with the gold of furze bloom, and the shadows
of white clouds borne on the south-west wind dappled
the green slopes of the hills and darkened the blue of
the distant mountains.

The morning sunlight fell softly on the grey walls
of the Castle and the crumbling masonry that sur-
rounded the weed-grown courtyard. Rounding the
hill slope underneath the tower the little river slipped
through deep pools, as blue as the sky they reflected,

465 2H
466 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

into brown shallows, and flashed a thousand ripples
to the sun. The wind rustled in the sedges, the
sound of the talking of rooks came pleasantly across
the fields from the trees that hid Ballyvodra. On
the level space of short grass under the Castle walls
Connor Desmond was walking to and fro in that
meditative mood which comes to us when looking at
a familiar scene after a period of absence. After his
brother’s death he had withdrawn from the active
part he had begun to take in public politics. He
had no heart to enter into the civil strife which
had divided his party and made the cause he loved
ridiculous in the sight of its enemies. He did not
despair of the future; but for the time he saw no
useful way in which he could serve his country, and,
glad of the opportunity which his profession offered
him, put all his energy and ability into his work, and
was rewarded by some emancipation from the tyran-
nous bondage of unanswered love, and by the definite
prospect of a successful career at the Bar. Here at
Duhallow, among the old surroundings, a hundred
memories of sad and happy days came back to him,
and already time and his old habit of facing the facts
of life courageously had made it possible for him to
meditate on past sorrows and future uncertainties
with a tranquil mind.

Those two years had wrought many changes.
Michael was gone, and the Nationalist party was
without a leader. Corinna was gone. Six months
after Desmond’s death she died bearing his child.
She had had a foreboding of the end, and had begged
Connor, who had become to her the staunch friend
which he had been to every one who needed his help,
to take care of the childin the event of her death.
He obeyed her wishes also in laying her at Desmond’s
a CONCLUSION 467

side in the old weed-grown burial-ground at Clogheen ;
and there, in the same place where a few months
before the whole countryside had assembled to mourn
their lost leader, but four people, Corinna’s father and
mother, Mr. John Severn and Connor Desmond, had
stood beside the grave.

The scene came back to Connor now as his
eye rested on the little belt of trees that enclosed
the place of rest. The hill-slopes about it were
again golden with furze bloom, and the larks were
singing as on that day when the earth received all
that remained of the incomparable beauty which had
been the dwelling-place of that warm and wayward
spirit. Connor’s eyes were dimmed with tears, but
a smile brightened them as he turned from the
distant picture to another near by. Through the
courtyard gate Thady was slowly leading a pony
astride of which sat a sturdy fellow of two. Old
Mr. Desmond, shaggy and unkempt, was laughing
at his side, and Mrs. Desmond watched them with
interest as they went down the drive towards the
village. She was much aged, her hair had grown
quite white, but her dark eyes still retained their
old fire. With Michael’s death the light had gone
out of her life: the presence of the child saved her
from apathy. He became her one interest, and, dis-
heartened and stricken with sorrow as she was, her
unconquerable spirit dared still to look forward and
dream of a day when Michael’s son should follow his
father’s footsteps in the service of his country. That
picture, which spoke of the old defeated ambition,
the unhappy love, and the young life radiating hope
which remained in their stead, touched Connor’s
heart. The picture of the old man laughing beside
the boy who was the child of his own race by the
468 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

wife of the hereditary enemy of his family, seemed
to Connor to make the last scene in that story of
human destiny which had been begun long ago in
the act of treachery that had disinherited his people.
The memory of old hatred, passed down the chain
of lives, had found expression in Michael Desmond’s
career ; it had mingled with his passion for Corinna.
Now those fires were burnt out; now it seemed to
Connor that the occasion had come, in the presence
of that young life which had been entrusted to them, to
think no more of revenge but rather of forgiveness.

Presently he went out through the courtyard and
took the path leading to the Ballyvodra cross-roads.
Memories of his brother, and reflection on the careers
of others who, like him, had devoted their lives to
the service of Ireland, absorbed him. ‘They went
out to battle and they always fell.’ Failure seemed
to be their destiny: hope sprung perennially from
their defeats. The wrongs that kindled the revolt
were still unforgotten: the ideals remained un-
dimmed. They had been rebels one and all. There
was not one in all that list of men who had won the
confidence of the Irish people who had not been a
rebel at heart. And yet it was not the Crown but
the Government against which the standard of revolt
was raised. Let our people see their King or Queen,
and no sign of disloyalty shall mar the greeting.
Establish a Royal Residence at Dublin Castle, and
there shall be little for the timorous to fear from a
Parliament on College Green. Give us a Prince or
Princess of Ireland instead of an English official, and
we may forget much contempt and neglect. Her
Majesty’s Opposition fights against the Government
of the day: her Majesty’s rebels fight for the right
of governing themselves under her.
a CONCLUSION 469

So thought Connor, himself one of those rebels ;
and if it be found possible to settle the land question
finally, so that patriotic men of the class for which the
people still retain their instinctive respect, no longer
fearing spoliation, may identify themselves with the
national spirit from which they have hidden them-
selves, and take their proper place in the national
councils,—when these men, and those who have led
the. attack against them may unite in the common
cause of their country’s welfare,—then the day will
have dawned when self-government shall be the
voice of the national life. But the hour is not yet:
its adventure is a duty left for a new generation.
To-day Home Rule spells not Nationalism but
Democracy.

Even to Connor, whose faith in the ultimate triumph
of his party’s aspirations never faltered, the horizon
looked dark. While he dreamed of reconciliation he
saw disunion. He remembered that civil strife divided
his own party ; that the voice of Democracy, which
cried for gain, had grown louder than the voice of
Patriotism which demands sacrifice ; that those whom
the people had been ready to trust, those from whom
they had gladly chosen their leaders, had missed the
opportunity and held aloof. He remembered that
these members of a class which had often forgotten its
duty to the nation, loved their country nevertheless,
and were ready to fight for their right to hold the
lands they had inherited from their fathers. He
remembered the difference in creed that divided class
from class and north from south; and, reflecting
on all these elements of discord, the hope of those
who had read the spirit of Irish nationality looked
to him dim and distant. And yet he saw that
this spirit survived: that the love of Ireland, the
470 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

inspiration which she breathes into her sons, the subtle
influence with which she has made even the invading
enemy her children, was still the most vital force in
the land. And in spite of all past failures he dared
to hope of a future when that spirit of nationality
should conquer dissension, and prove itself great
enough to reconcile the differences of class and party
and creed.

The sight of the Ballyvodra carriage turning up
the hill towards Mallow at the cross-roads—not the
hotel omnibus, but the shabby old waggonette drawn
by a pair of horses and driven by David Condon—
diverted Connor’s thoughts from the contemplation
of the future of his country to a theme still nearer to
his heart. The hotel had been closed and Kathleen
was away from home. After Michael’s death she
had, for the first time in her life, fallen into a
condition of low spirits and indifferent health. She
had no heart for the work of managing the hotel,
and welcomed a proposal of Mr. Barrington that he
should take its responsibilities off her hands while
she had a long holiday. She went first to visit
friends in England, then to her brother in Western
Canada ; and it was there, not long before the time
fixed for her return, that she received letters from her
aunts and her father telling her of the closing of the
hotel, and one from Mr. Barrington informing her
that he had given himself the pleasure of making her
a present of the mortgages on the estate, and had
entrusted the documents to the safe-keeping of her
lawyers in Dublin.

‘I had intended to give them to Connor,’ he wrote,
‘hoping that they would have found their way to you more
happily from his hand than mine ; but I am an old fool for
trying to arrange other people’s happiness, and you are both
ek CONCLUSION 471

young fools in not seeing how to secure your own. And
as my little present cannot reach you in the way I wish,
you must take it from myself, with the blessings of an old
man who has found under your roof the only home he has
known since he lost the comrade of his heart.’

Connor knew that his uncle had taken up the
mortgages, and guessed that it was due to his help
that it had been found possible to close the hotel.
He had heard nothing of Kathleen for some months.
He knew that she was expected home immediately,
but he almost dreaded their meeting. Michael’s
death had brought her no nearer to him. He had
no reason to believe that she would transfer her
affections once given to a man like his brother, even
though she knew that he had been disloyal to her ;
nor, if this were conceivable, had he any mind to
accept a love which should be coupled with an after-
thought of another whom she could have loved
better. He preferred her friendship to this—at least
he imagined he preferred it in those days when they
were apart: it might have been different if she had
been near. In writing to her he had found it hard to
fall into his old familiar ease of comradeship, and his
letters unconsciously took a tone of coldness which
she was quick to note and attribute to a change in
his feelings towards herself. Her tears falling on one
of these loveless pages were eloquent of an altered
state of her own feelings. Neither read the other’s
heart. She could not tell him that, even in the hours
of misery which followed her discovery of Michael’s
infidelity, she had recognised that it was a lost hero,
not a lost lover she mourned: he could not know
that when Michael died her tears were those of a
sister, a comrade who forgives, not those of a woman
whose heart is bereft.
472 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

At the Ballyvodra cross-roads, where at this time
in the morning, when the occupants of the dozen
cottages were away at work, the pigs in the muddy
beds of the roadside ‘loughs,’ some tethered goats,
and a few bare-legged children usually had the place
to themselves, Connor found a little crowd of people
assembled opposite the forge watching the erection of
a remarkable structure. Two poles had been fixed in
the ground, and between them was suspended the
old signboard of the Ballyvodra Hotel, which had
been lying behind the lodge since its disuse. The
new paint on it was hardly dry, and instead of its
former inscription it bore the word ‘ WeELcomg’ in
letters of green on a white background. Branches of
laurel and other shrubs were being fastened to the
bare poles, and the work as it proceeded was the
subject of keen criticism.

‘Haven't you a bit of sthring there, Stephen,’ said
one, * that you’d be tying up that grand bush wid a
sugaun??’”

‘Don’t be binding it too tight,’ said another.
‘Lave the tops droop over.’

“What's this epitaph ye have on the board ?’
asked Tom Begley, who was one of the party.

‘Just “Welcome,” Tom,’ said the painter apolo-
getically ; ‘there was no time for more. We only
had the notice this morning that her honour was
coming to-day.’

‘’Tisn’t much, then,’ said Tom, ‘but she’ll like
the look of that word better than them that was
there before it. "I'was a good day that saw that sign
down.’

‘Oh well, indeed, the hot-tel was grand for thrade,’
said one of the bystanders.

1 A hay rope.
XXX CONCLUSION 473

‘ Phaix it was,’ said another; ‘four dozen eggs
they'd be taking some days, and hins and mushe-
roons.

‘Not to spake of shillings here and half-crowns
there,’ said another. ‘They do be saying Coneen
Cal is a rich man now wid all he gathered from the
visitors.’

‘Are we come so low that we'd be thinking more
of the English half-crowns than: of the pride of
our ould families?’ exclaimed Tom Begley, with
indignation. ‘Bad luck to them and their money,
and more shame to them that curses them behind
their backs and flatthers them to their faces. Poor
we are, and poor we'll have to be ; but we haves our
pride, and ’tisn’t keeping hot-tels but lading the
people we’d wish to see the ould sthock of the
country. And if there’s oulder sthock than the
O’Briens, wher’ll ye find it?’ he asked.

“Where now ?’ came the answer from several.

‘’Tis the best blood in Ireland,’ continued Tom,
‘and for that matther I’m one o’ them meself, though
me grandfather took the name o’ Begley when he
married a fortune and spint it in six months enter-
taining his old frinds, God rest his soul!” He lifted
his eyes as though looking at the inscription above
the arch. ‘’Tisn’t much of an epigraph,’ he said,
‘but, plaze God, T’ll have a few words of pothry for
her honour.’

‘Couldn’t we borry the cannon from the great
house to fire a salute from ?’ some one suggested.

‘That’s a great notion,’ said the blacksmith ;
‘twas good service it done on the day the hot-tel was
closed.’

‘What was that, then?’ asked one who had not
‘been present on that memorable occasion.
474 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS cus.

‘Oh,’ said Hickey, ‘’twas the way one of the
visitors refused to go, saying he’d taken the rooms
for a month, and the month wasn’t up till the next
day, and the young gintlemen they just loaded the
old cannon wid his hair-brushes and his shiny shoes
and his nightshirt, and all the tings he left un-
packed, and blew ’em away out of the cannon.’

‘Wisha, did they now? Glory be to God!’
exclaimed the other. ‘They’re great lads.’

‘And let ye all remember,’ said Tom Begley
solemnly, ‘if anny of ye hear a word spoken agin’
the O’Briens, let ye remember that a lady of the
family, and she the best young lady in the counthry,
stood at Michael Desmond’s side on the platform in
Cork when them that should have been his frinds
deserted him. But,’ he added, ‘it is no time to be
spakin’ of our thrubbles—give me a sup of whisky,
Stephen Hickey—I know you have it in the cup-
board widin’—for the insphiration is upon me, and
*twasn’t on pump wather, nor tay, nor coffee-tay, nor
cocoa-tay, me Muse was raired—no, but on nate
necthar from Mount Parnashius, honest woman, and
you wouldn’t have me disgraced by making bad
pothry to welcome Miss Kathleen. Listen now,’ he
said, after the drink had been provided, ‘ here’s part
of it annyhow :—

We're Bradys, Gradys, Murphys, Quins,
We're Twomys and O’Haras ;

We're Loughlins, Coughlans, Fagans, Flynns,
And Burkes and Macnamaras.

We're Shaughnessys of high degree,
And Begleys bowld as lions ;

But when we welcome thee, Machree,
We're all of us O’Briens.

That’s part, and there’s betther coming; and lest
XXX CONCLUSION 475

anny one should say in afther-years that the po-ut
Begley suffered neglect in his own gineration, let one
of ye pass me hat round, for God knows ’tis bad
times wid me.’

‘That’s well you brought in all thim names,
Tom,’ said one of the group with admiration ;
‘but there’s more you left out. Couldn’t you give
us another verse now?’

‘There’s more, but I'll be keeping them till her
honour comes,’ said Tom.

‘’Tis good practice for you to be repating them,
Tom,’ suggested another. ‘They'll rise aisier to
you when the time comes, and you can send your
hat round agin.’

‘Well, well,’ replied Tom, who like most poets
required little encouragement to repeat his own
verses, ‘maybe there’s truth in what.you say. Give
me another sup o’ whisky. There’s names here,’
he added, after refreshing himself, ‘that on’y the
scholars in me congregation will remimber.

And some of us were ne’er at school,
Some poor and blind, the same as

Great Homer, Job, and King O’Toole,
Meself, and Polyphamus.

But when once more your smile we see
And hear your voice’s kindness,

The poor lay down their load, Machree,
The dark! forget their blindness.

We’re Nolans, Dolans, and O’Sheas ;
We're Linnahens and Carthys ;

We're Dalys, Healys, Condons, Creaghs,
And Crones and Moriartys.

We're Blakes and Roches proud and free,
We’re Kearneys and O’Connors ;

But when we welcome thee, Machree,
The name we love’s your Honour’s.’

’ Blind.
476 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAR,

Connor Desmond had joined the group as Tom
Begley was repeating the last verse, and out of
courtesy to him the people withheld the applause
which they were ready to accord until they heard
his comment.

‘Those are the best verses you ever made, Tom,’
said he, ‘and that’s saying a good deal. But I
have one fault to find. Why didn’t you put in the
Desmonds?’

‘Oh then, Masther Connor,’ replied Tom, ‘I'd
put in anny other name in Ireland and say the name
of O’Brien stood above it this day—anny other name
but Desmond. But ’tisn’t so soon we'll forget one
that’s gone, and while Ireland’s Ireland, there’s no
name that will stand above his.’

The golden morning passed into a noon of cloudless
skies. Waves of the south-west wind rolled over the
uncut meadows, and the warm air was sweet with the
smell of white-thorn and furze blossom. It was a
day of days for the meeting of happy lovers, and
for Connor and Kathleen it needed but a word on
either side to make its benediction all their own.
Each feared the meeting. With the news of her
coming the philosophic mood in which he had schooled
himself to look on the future deserted him ; and to
her, as she drew near home, the joy which filled her
heart was troubled by the doubt lest the welcome
she desired most should be that of a comrade who
was no longer a lover.

There was a holiday that afternoon for every
one at Ballyvodra, and the whole population of the
district had assembled at the cross-roads some hours
before Kathleen arrived. Coneen Callaghan, who had
Xxx CONCLUSION 477

ridden from Mallow on a bicycle, dashed into the
crowd at half-past three with the news that she was
on the way, and shortly afterwards Kathleen drove
up and stopped to receive the greetings of her
humble friends and to hear Tom Begley’s con-
gratulatory poem under the triumphal arch. The
welcome she received would have touched a heart
less warm than hers.

At the hall door of Ballyvodra all the members
of the family, with the addition of Mr. Barrington,
were assembled; and there was much embracing
and laughing, and a hundred questions asked and
left} half answered before the threshold was crossed.
Kathleen’s improved looks were noticed at once, and
she in turn saw with delight the renewed vigour of
her father’s bearing, and could honestly congratulate
her aunts on their youthful appearance. ‘ My dear,’
said Mr. Barrington, ‘I suppose I have no business
here; but I cannot help feeling like one of the
family, and this is the greatest pleasure I have had
for many a day.’ She gave the old man a kiss in
return for his words and deeds of affection, and went
into the house holding her father’s hand.

To find every trace of the hotel vanished and the
house exactly as she had known it from her child-
hood made Kathleen’s return a real home-coming.
She ran from room to room and found everything
arranged as it used to be. From the kitchen, where
Mrs. Irwin, the cook, held her in a motherly embrace,
she flew to her garden, and went on to visit the
stables, the farmyard, the haggard, and every familiar
and beloved corner of the old place. All the work-
people were back from the Cross, for there were
some duties to be performed before the dancing—
with refreshments provided by Mr. Barrington—
478 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

which was to celebrate the conclusion of the happy
day. It was milking-time, and a dozen girls bearing
pails on their ’kerchiefed heads approached her in
single file on their way to the dairy, and stood
smiling, each with a hand raised to steady her
burden, as Kathleen stopped to speak to them.
Old Tom Condon, the shepherd, just in from the
hill-pastures, met her with a delight only less evident
than that of his dogs. Ned Murphy, the plough-
man, whose speech was always difficult to under-
stand, let a stemless pipe drop from his toothless
gums when he saw her, and became wholly inarticulate
in greeting. Before she had completed her round
she had stopped to shake hands with half a dozen
fathers of long families and send kind messages to
wives and children. From all her humble friends
she received a welcome which gladdened her heart,
and tributes of admiration which, even when their
extravagance made her smile, she knew to be sincere.

One thing only troubled the happiness of her
home-coming, and that was the doubt as to what
manner of reception she would receive from Connor
Desmond. The friendship she had once pleaded for
she now feared. She had grown to love him. She
believed that she had always loved him, and she may
have been right, and the change which revealed the
truth no more than a stage of growth like that from
the bud to the unfolding flower. But whether she
were right or wrong, whether the love had always
been there awaiting its hour of expression, or whether
the new light in which Connor had been shown to
her when he stood loyally by the side of the brother
who had become his rival and forgot his own happi-
ness in his endeavour to secure hers, had touched her
imagination and wrought the change in her feelings,
XxX CONCLUSION 479

—whatever influence had been at work, the transi-
tion was complete ; and, with a warmth as sweet as
that of the first days of summer when the spring-
time has been cold, the love of the woman blossomed
out of the friendship of the girl, A joy which made
all others seem worthless without it had come into
her heart with the knowledge of her secret, but with
it also came the fear that is born of love. What
if Connor had changed? What if he had grown
content to accept the relationship she had striven
to establish ? She could not banish the fear, and
yet an after-thought whispered to her that it was
groundless, that a word of love from her would be
all that was needed to break down his reserve. But
for this instinctive promise of her heart, her eyes
would not have shone with happiness as she saw
the old scenes around her; there would have been
no eager visits to familiar haunts nor merry greetings
with kind friends. Connor was in her thoughts the
whole time; she knew that he was at home; she
knew that, after all that had taken place, he would
not approach her again as a lover: the signal must
come from her, and she determined to make it.
The impetus of the high spirits which her home-
coming had excited gave her courage. She ran to
her room and wrote a note which she sent over to

Duhallow Castle by hand.

‘Dear Connor,’ she said, ‘I have just come home. I
will be at the boundary fence about half-past eight.
KATHLEEN.’

She became very thoughtful and sedate after she
had made this impetuous move.

After the closing of the hotel Mr. Barrington had
480 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

taken a small house in Mallow. He would gladly
have remained at Ballyvodra, but a sense of delicacy
told him that while he was there Mr. O’Brien might
be constantly reminded of his obligation to him, and
hardly feel that he had again become master in his
own house. He still cherished his twofold hope
of making Connor his heir and seeing him married
to Kathleen ; but, whatever happened, he was deter-
mined to endow her with a large share of his wealth ;
and so keenly had he identified himself with the
fortunes of the family that he had decided to make
his permanent home in the neighbourhood.

During Kathleen’s absence the household at Bally-
vodra had dropped back into habits of negligence
and disregard of appearances. Dogs were again to
be seen at the breakfast-table while Mr. O’Brien,
oblivious, read little books of devotion. The boys
refused to dress for dinner at night, and Miss
Bridget and Miss Honora gave up all attempts to
maintain decorous observances. ‘We can only wait
for Kathleen’s return,’ they repeated to each other ;
and they were justified in their expectation by the
change which marked the very day of her arrival.
Dinner that evening, it was understood, was to be a
very different thing from the ordinary meal. Mrs.
Irwin had done her part in the kitchen, and a glance
at the table, decorated with flowers and the best
silver and glass, showed that the importance of
the occasion was appreciated. There was also an
unexpected addition to the family party, for Major
and Mrs. Spencer Boyle, near neighbours who, on
hearing of Kathleen’s arrival, had walked over to
Ballyvodra, had been pressed by Mr. O’Brien to
return to dinner. Miss Bridget and Miss Honora
were in a flutter of excitement. It was long since
XXX CONCLUSION 481

the sisters had ventured to appear in their evening
dresses with the little timid openings at the neck
which pleaded pathetically for their lost youth, but
to-night they felt sure that their rashness would
bring no satirical comment from their brother. It
seemed to be known in the house that they were
making unusual preparations, for when Mr. Bar-
rington, who wished to take them into his confidence
about a little present he had for Kathleen, inquired
of Coneen Callaghan if they were in the house—and
this as early as half-past six—Coneen showed signs
of unusual information. ‘They are, sir,’ he replied,
adding with something which looked almost like a
wink, ‘and what’s more, they’re above stairs now,
sthrippin’ for dinner.’

Kathleen herself had not been unmindful of her
appearance. She entered the drawing-room at the
hour of assembling dressed in white and looking
delightfully fresh and attractive. Major Boyle
made her a pretty speech, and his good wife was
generous in flattery. ‘Spincer always said you'd
turn out the prettiest girl in the county, my dear,’
she said, ‘and Spincer’s no bad judge. Don’t
y’ agree with me, Mr. O’Brien?’

“Indeed,’ said Mr. O’Brien gallantly, ‘he has a
wife to prove it.’

‘Ah now, don’t be foolish!’ she replied. ‘’Twas
of Kitty I was speaking.’ She appealed to the
youngest son of the house who had just come into
the room. ‘Now isn’t that a sister to be proud of,
Dan?’

‘Oh, she isn’t too bad,’ Dan admitted with
reluctant admiration ; ‘but "tis a pity some of her
bachelors are not here to admire her instead of just
ourselves. I'll engage, though, they’ll be round the

= 21
482 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP,

place as thick as thistles in a day or two. There’s
Horace Croker and Jemmy Broke and Connor
Desmond and. é
‘Hold your tongue, sir, and remember your
manners,’ cried his father, ‘or ’tis in your own
room you'll eat your dinner.’ But his anger was
over in a moment, and Dan relieved his feelings by
continuing the list of Kathleen’s admirers sotto voce.
For years there had not been so happy a gathering
at Ballyvodra as that which met round the dinner-table
this evening. The relief from his money anxieties
and from the humiliation he had felt while his house
was a hotel had made Mr. O’Brien ten years younger,
and his pleasure in having Kathleen back again gave
him the spirits of a boy. Mr. Barrington, conscious
of his own part in promoting the happiness he saw
around him, sat down to dinner with a content which
was crowned by the knowledge that two bottles of
Mr. O’Brien’s ’47 port had been decanted. Kathleen
set them all talking at once by the questions she
asked about the doings of their neighbours during her
absence, for every one had a bit of gossip to impart
or some story to tell in good-natured ridicule of this
one or that, and every member of her own family
had a different version of the facts, and was anxious
that Kathleen should accept his particular account. She
looked round her and saw the old room, the kind
faces, and her father’s contented smile, and heard her
brothers’ voices in familiar dispute, and her aunts’
deprecating tones, with feelings that trembled between
laughter and tears. The windows opposite to her
were open and showed glimpses of the country
flooded with evening light. Above the dark green
fir-trees at the edge of the park the white clouds
were taking wild-rose hues; a distant peak of the

 
XXX CONCLUSION 483

Galtees flushed in the sunset, and against the purple
distance a golden tract of furze was lighted with all
the splendour of the west. The smell of garden and
field, the sound of lowing cattle, and the talking of
rooks came in at the open window. CKathleen’s
fancies were roaming ; she hardly heard the talk
which was going on around her. She was thinking
of the appointment she had made, eager to be away,
and yet half afraid of her adventure. She was
beginning to wonder, too, how she could contrive to
slip out unseen by the others, or leave her father’s
guests. Mrs. Boyle’s laughter recalled her attention
to her immediate surroundings.

‘Oh, Mr. O’Brien,’ she was saying, ‘ you were a
great lad |’

‘’Tis the story of the five Miss Dalys he’s telling
her,’ whispered Jack to the Major. ‘You'd think
there wasn’t a girl in the county hadn’t been in love
with him.’

‘Five as fine gerrls as you’d wish to see ’—Mr.
O’Brien continued his narration. ‘A_ general’s
daughters. The eldest twenty-five, the youngest
seventeen, and I about twenty-one at the time. And
there were the two boats full of us, three young
officers and myself and those five splendid gerrls,
when we stuck in the sand. There we were and no
getting to land; and, believe you me! I carried
every one of those women ashore on me own back.
Would they trust themselves to the young officers?
No, ma’am! All of them I took. I won the day.’

Every one was listening and laughing. ‘ And
what made it the more difficult was that they all
wore crinolines, I believe, sir,’ observed Jack.

‘They did not, sir!’ replied his father. ‘’T'was
before the time of crinolines. Don’t I remember how
484 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

they clung to me?’ It was long since he had told
the story : it was an indication of his happiest mood,
to be followed by a feeling of self-reproach for having
allowed worldly memories of his youth to occupy his
mind too fondly. Nothing could have given him so
much satisfaction on the evening of Kathleen’s return
as to have gathered his household together and read
prayers from the well-worn volume of family devo-
tions ; but a glance at his sons, and the absence of
any sign of the need of spiritual communion in the
countenances of his guests, compelled him to abandon
the idea.

Towards the end of dinner Mr. Barrington made
the announcement that Duhallow Court was in the
market. There had been some rumours of it afloat,
but the definite news aroused great interest.

‘Well, I don’t wonder at Sir Henry Desmond
wanting to be rid of it,’ observed Major Boyle. ‘ His
associations with the place cannot be very pleasant.’

‘And what good has he been to it, or to the
country ?’ exclaimed Mr. O’Brien. ‘One of your
absentees who lives among us for a couple of weeks
in twenty years, and then joins in the attack on the Irish
landlords over in the English parliament. They’re all
alike, these politicians, English and Irish ; there’s no
trusting ’em—they neither fear the Lord, nor:

‘Nor remember the landlord,’ said Jack in an
undertone.

‘Nor honour the Queen,’ continued his father.

‘They truckle to the voters,’ said the Major, ‘to
the greedy tenants on this side of the water and the
greedy shopkeepers on the other.’

“You have it, sir,’ said Mr. O’Brien ; ‘you have
it to a T. They’re Mountain Pharisees, White-
washed Walls! We put our faith in England, and

 
XXX CONCLUSION 485

what is our reward? We'd have been as well off if
we'd been rebels.’

‘The fact is,’ said Mr. Barrington, ‘that the Irish
gentry put their faith in England when the English
government was aristocratic. Now it’s bourgeois.’

‘We ought to have trusted our own people and
led them,’ said Kathleen. ‘I only hope it is not
now too late to do so. If we trust them, I believe
they will stand by us loyally.’

‘What! Trust the fellows who openly admit they
want to rob you?’ cried the Major. ‘You're half
a rebel yourself, Miss Kathleen.’

She knew the hopelessness of expecting him or
her father to change their point of view, and she
hardly wondered at it when she remembered that
they were accustomed to hear their class subjected to
daily abuse and misrepresentation in the newspapers
of the Nationalist party. If the reconciliation she
dreamed of were to come it would be the work of a
new generation.

She changed the subject which always saddened
her. ‘Wouldn’t the Court suit you, Mr. Barrington ?’
she asked.

‘If I had a wife, my dear,’ he replied, ‘I should
not hesitate.’

‘Ah, Mr. Barrington, what ’d be easier than to
get you one?’ said Mrs. Boyle. ‘Put yourself in
my hands.’

Miss Bridget and Miss Honora exchanged quick
glances.

‘And if I can be of any assistance to you,’ put in
the Major, ‘a life-long experience of the sex and
their weaknesses in many countries——’

‘Spincer !” exclaimed his spouse.

‘Is at your service,’ continued the Major, who
486 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS CHAP.

was engaged in mixing a glass of punch. ‘ You and
I are true to the national drink anyhow,’ he said to
his host. ‘I’ve no doubt that that port is the best,
and Barrington won’t be quarrelling with us for
leaving him to deal with the bottle without our
help.’

Mr. Barrington had filled his glass, and was
examining its crystal gules against the evening sky.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m really thinking about the Court,
and perhaps Jack might help me to look after the
land. We'll talk it over, Jack. And now,’ he added,
turning to his host and standing up, ‘I see the ladies
are getting ready to leave us, and before they go I
want to propose a toast ; and if in giving it there is
one member of the family I have more in mind than
the others, it is not because I do not think with the
most affectionate feelings of them all, but because
she—if an old man may be permitted to speak
plainly—because we have been parted from her, and
because she happens to be the most lovable and
charming young lady in Ireland. Mr. O’Brien,
Your re-united family.’

He filled Mrs. Boyle’s glass with the port he
loved, and the Major stood up with his tumbler of
steaming punch in his hand and added a word of
congratulation. It was a pleasant ending to a merry
meeting, and there were happy tears in Kathleen’s
eyes as she listened to the little faltering speech of
acknowledgment which told how deeply her father’s
heart was touched.

It was already past the hour at which Kathleen
had promised to meet Connor when she went to the
drawing-room with her aunts and Mrs. Boyle. Five
minutes later she had escaped, hardly knowing what
XXX CONCLUSION 487

excuse she had made for leaving, and careless, when
once she had got away, as to what they thought of
her absence. She ran to her room for a cloak and
cautiously descended the stairs, fearful lest she might
be intercepted ; but there was no one in the hall,
and she slipped out through the garden door unseen.
In the shrubbery walks near the house it was already
dusk, but an afterglow of light remained on the
open country, and down in the west the mountain
horizons stood out clear against a sky still warm with
the memory of the sunset. Kathleen’s heart beat
quickly as she crossed the park towards the boundary
fence. Now that the meeting she had so often
pictured was imminent, she had no word of greeting
prepared, no conception as to how she would act
when she saw Connor ; and one moment vague fears
beset her and checked her footsteps, and the next an
impetus of love, a thrill of expectation, hurried her
onward.

Connor was waiting at the spot where they had
first made friends in their childhood. He was on
his own side of the bank, but directly he saw her he
sprang across it, and, playing the part to which he had
steeled himself, called a ‘ Welcome home, Kathleen !’
with the cheerful tone of well-feigned comradeship.

It looked after all as if they were going to meet
in the old friendly way ; but when they drew near,
when they were only parted by a step or two, they
stood suddenly motionless, each seeking the other’s
eyes; and then a signal, the oldest in the world,
the immemorial signal from maid to man, flashed
between them, and the next moment she was held
close in his arms.

There was no thought of explanation, no fear of
misunderstanding. She had always known his secret ;
488 HER MAJESTY’S REBELS | cuar. xxx

he now knew hers. It needs years of devotion to
prove the strength of a man’s love for a woman ; a
true-hearted girl can give him all the assurance he
needs in the surrender of a kiss.

The country had grown very quiet. The lowing
of cattle, the bark of shepherds’ dogs were no longer
heard, and the talkative rooks had settled for the
night. Through the silence came intermittently the
squeak of fiddle-strings that told of festivities at the
cross-roads, and clear in the distance rose the wander-
ing song of the little river as it found the shallows
beyond the Castle. The last bar of rose light had
faded in the west; across the park, through the
great dark trees, the lamps shone cheerfully from the
windows of Ballyvodra ; the mystery of the twilight
filled the land ; and eastward towards the mountains
the first stars shone above the lonely hillside where
Desmond had been laid to rest.

THE END

Printed by R. & R. Crarx, Limirep, Edinburgh.
THE MARPLOT

By SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT

Crown 8vo. 35. 6d.

DAILY TELEGRAPH.— Tis not in novels to command success, but
The Marplot most assuredly deserves it.”

SPEAKER.—‘‘ A work which every reader will enjoy, and which is
instinct with something not far removed from genius from beginning to end.
. . » It is, in truth, a fascinating story, to be read with unmixed enjoyment,
and remembered for many a day after it has been laid aside.”

ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS.—* The Marplot is a remarkable
novel.”

PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“ The Marfplot is a book which the reader
cannot put down without « glow of honest pleasure. From the first page to
the last it is well written, and the characters are real, humorous, and interest-
ing men and women of like passions with ourselves. . . . This book is by and
in itself of a very high excellence. It is unconventionally yet brightly done.
The characters are by no means the people that are to be met every day in
the street, and yet they obey the essential laws of human nature. The story
is at once a romance and a tragedy and a comedy.”

BOOKMAN.—“ There is not a dull page in The Marpiot.”

WORLD.—“ It is not often that the path of the reviewer is brightened
by so admirable a piece of work as Mr. Lysaght’s novel, Ze Marflot. The
descriptions of scenery in Kerry are admirable, and the climax is full of pathos
which the closing scene is not likely to dispel.”

SATURDAY REVIEW.—‘*We do not often come across a better
specimen of modern fiction than Zhe Marplot.”

DAILY NEWS,—* The book abounds in finely individualised character-
sketches. Among these the shy Professor, torn between the promptings of
an amiable disposition and a longing to be left alone with his problems, Uncle
Humphrey and others, are pleasant company.”

ACADEMY,—* The merits of the book are certainly unusual.”

MACMILLAN & CO., Lrp., LONDON

I
ONE OF THE GRENVILLES

By SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT

SPEAKER.—“ Let no man or woman who enjoys a good story,
excellently told, recoil from One of the Grenvilles because of its length.
From first to last there is hardly a page in the book which the reader would
willingly skip. . . . We expected much from Mr. Lysaght after his admirable
story of Zhe Marplot. Our expectations are more than fulfilled by Ove of
the Grenvilles.”

GUARDIAN.—“ We shall tell no more of Mr. Lysaght’s clever and
original tale, contenting ourselves with heartily recommending it to any on
the look-out for a really good and absorbing story.”

ACADEMY,—* There is freshness and distinction about One of the
Grenvilles. . . . Both for its characters and setting, and for its author’s
pleasant wit, this is a novel to read.”

PUNCH. —‘‘It is to the touching story of Mab and her besotted father,
the character of the philosophic Roger, with his love of gipsy-like life, and
his perfect contentment with his freedom as a bachelor, and, above all, to
the scenes on board The Pegasus, with its delightful group of characters, the
old Admiral and his staunch friends, the swivel-eyed Lieutenant, Nana, his
niece, and the obstinate old Colonel, that this novel must owe its present
success and its permanent place as ‘one of the best.’ The chapter in which
the warm-hearted old Captain’s last cruise is described approaches that
masterpiece of simple pathos, the death of Colonel Newcome.”

BOOKMAN.—‘‘So high above the average of novels that its readers
will want to urge on the writer a more frequent exercise of his powers.”

DAILY TELEGRAPH.—*‘It is a considerable tribute to Mr. Lysaght’s
book to say that it is bound to be discussed by any one who reads it, and
whatever the verdict of the reader may be, he cannot fail to be interested
and attracted.”

POEMS OF
THE UNKNOWN WAY

By SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT

Crown 8v0. 4s. 6d. net.

MACMILLAN & CO., Lrp., LONDON

2
 

MACMILLAN’S NEW FICTION

 

° Puck of Pook’s Hill has
Price 6s. been red with enthusiasm.
Especially noteworthy is the

long review in The Spectator,
uc O from which we take the follow-
ing extracts:
, “More than once in these
Pook Ss Hill columns we have called Mr.
Kipling the interpreter to the
English-speaking race. Nothing
of his writing has ever justified
B the name better than the volume
Y before us. Here we have Mr.
Kipling interpreting for us some
RUDYARD of the chiel Phases of English
history, and making us under-

KIPLING stand by the arts of the story-

teller the manner of life and

 

 

 

: thought of the men who of old
time dwelt in these islands, tilled our fields, fought, loved, and
feasted, and of the women who turned their wheels beside an English
fire. We like all the stories, but chiefly those which tell how a Sussex
manor passed to a Norman Lord, and how a Roman Briton served on
the Wall of Hadrian. . . . In these delightful liftings of the veil of
history the story’s heart beats against its side, and moves us as we
are moved by the recital of some poignant entry in Domesday Book,
or by the actual sight of some vestige of Roman occupation, by the
Roman Wall flung in graceful line or long trailing curve across the
Northumberland fells, or by touching with our hands one of the very
milestones that marked the steady tramp of the legions—an Imperial
pedestrian tour that possibly began in Egypt or Palmyra, to end in
Chester or Borcovicum. . . . We must leave Mr. Kipling’s
enchanting book—there is no other word for it—but before we do so
we must mention the poems which are sandwiched between the tales.
Most of them illustrate what follows or precedes; but one with
delicious irrelevance is a smuggler’s song of rare quality....
A book which will delight every boy and girl lucky enough to get it
as a Christmas present, and will be devoured with a thrill of pleasure
by the ‘grown-ups’ before it is slid—never an easy task—into the
narrow black or brown stocking.”

The Daily Chronicle speaks of the book as “a new thing, a magic
mingling of history and romance and folklore, a book for a child to
rejoice in, and for a man to ponder over. In it the treasure of
imagination which is Mr. Kipling’s is wonderfully revealed the book
is peculiarly his own.’’ The quality of unexpectedness adds to the
interest always excited by a new book from this author’s pen. When
Mr. Kipling began to write, to quote The Times, ‘‘he was a deter-
mined realist, and though he sometimes dreamed with his eyes open,
there was nothing to show that he would ever write a book so full of
white magic as this.”

 

 
 

. WORLD.—‘' The setting of
Price 6s. this tale is in the author's first
and best style. It revives that

pleasant familiarity with the
A Lady easy stateliness of the social

high life of Rome, so entirely its
own, and ever yet immutable,

f R which was imparted to us by the
O ome Saracinesca series.”

DAILY NEWS.—‘ In some
aspects A Lady of Rome is

B stronger and more complete,

v artistically, than some of its
predecessors.”

F. MARION TRIBUNE.—“‘A fine novel;

what is more, it treats a not
CRAWFORD particularly healthy subject in

the healthiest way possible.”

 

 

 

GLOBE. —‘' Must certainly
count among Mr. Crawford’s most able studies of Italian character.”

DAILY EXPRESS.—"' Will be judged by many discriminating
readers to be his best. It is the story of a great sin and its expiation.”

GUARDIAN.—“ Mr. Crawford’s understanding of the intimate
impulses and feelings of the man and woman who mistake exultation
for strength, and then have again to realise the force of their own
weakness, is complete, and his pourtrayal of the agonised repulsion of
the wife striving to be loyal to the nervous, hysterical husband is
masterly. The foundation of the interest in the book is an unpleasant
one, but in Mr. Crawford’s hands the details are managed with such
dignity and reserve that even the most Puritan conscience will find
nothing in it which can offend.”

SATURDAY REVIEW.—“ It is full of the charm of atmosphere
and of feeling peculiar to the author, it is written with the practised
skill of the born narrator, and there are in it many excellent pieces of
shrewd observation, and witty sayings.”’

EVENING STANDARD AND ST. FAMES'’S GAZETTE.—
‘The plot of the story is full of human emotion and interest. The
reader feels sympathy with every one of the characters in turn, even
where they conflict with one another in aim and feeling. . . . The
pictures of Rome and of Romans are as good as ever. Mr. Marion
Crawford's work keeps at a wonderfully steady and dignified level.”

DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Mr. F. Marion Crawford is a novelist
whose work may always be taken up with confidence by the reader in
search of a good story well told, and in A Lady of Rome we havea
characteristic novel from his pen. It is a story of strong love—a
passion dominating two people for awhile, and of the long expiation
that followed.”

DAILY MAIL.—“' His touch has lost none of its artistry, for all the
years that are come and gone since he first charmed us into his
garden of romance; his characters move with the old accustomed

grace through the familiar atmosphere; there are no false virtues, no
jarring tones.”

 

 
 

: STANDARD.—“ It has strong
Price 6s. elements of human interest, it
is more intimate than other
prophetic romance from the
same pen, because the personal

In the Days equation is allowed to count for
more; the writer’s own humanity

is allowed more scope, and is
not so much domineered over

oO t e€ Comet by his sociological theories. . . .
The book is clever, almost

inhumanly clever. Of course,
its craftsmanship is deft, con-

By vincing, admirable. Of course,
it is interesting in every page,
and written as only masters of

H. G. WELLS good English can write. So

much Mr. Wells has taught us

 

 

 

to expect, even to demand of
him, and one feels that he will never disappoint us in these matters.”’

DAILY MAIL.— Probably Mr. Wells has done nothing better
than this story of the awakening. Its imagery is delightful, its
phrasing beautiful, and the whole thing is done with so much art that
we pass from the sublimity of ‘the barley fields of God’ to the
absurdity of the pill advertisement on the stile and the Cabinet
Minister in the ditch without disturbing the serenity of the atmosphere
or the perfect beauty of the picture... . Im the Days of the Comet
will take precedence of the best he has yet done.”

Mr. C. F. G. Masterman, M.P., in the DAILY NEWS.—' He
preserves the two qualities which have given him so high a place
in present-day literature: the one, the power of a very remarkable
imagination, utilising the discoveries and assertions of Science, but
uncontrolled by them, and always presenting his material in the light of
human rather than mechanical interest. . . . I do not pretend that
Mr. Wells has given a completely fair account of the modern world.
Mr. Wells would not pretend that he has given a completely fair
account of the modern world. But I wish I could persuade every
adult citizen in England to read In the Days of the Comet.”

MORNING POST.—"' The book is full of vivid writing. We are
made to see and feel the griminess of the Potteries town where
Leadford lived, and there are lurid glimpses of a naval war which
came to a standstill when the Comet struck the earth, and was not
afterwards renewed; for alter ‘the great change’ war became an
impossibility.”

DAILY TELEGRAPH.—“ Mtr. H. G. Wells enjoys his popularity
by a triple right—an original and often fantastic imagination which
stamps nearly all his work as his and no other’s; a curiously logical
habit of thought, which gives his airiest imaginings the semblance of
solid reality; and a literary style which, in its simple yet graceful
directness, inspires in the reader an intimate sense of personal
relationship which the characters presented. Jn the Days of the
Comet shows all these virtues as we have known and loved them
in the past.”

 

 
 

DAILY TELEGRAPH.—"It
is a love idyll from beginning to
end, a delicate, imaginative story
of a perfectly innocent intrigue

‘ between a French novelist and
Disenchanted a Circassian girl in a Turkish
harem.”

DAILY NEWS.—“ The book

is a thousand times more worth

Price 6s.

By the reading than most of what
i ked | h in contemporary
is ranked high i
PIERRE LOTI English fiction. We are let into
the secrets of a city, a country,
Translated by and a people, not as they are to

a geographer or a journalist,

CLARA BELL but as they are to an artist who

re-creates all that he sees in the
fine light of sensibility. Weare

 

 

 

made to pass into a strange but
none the less real world, where for a time we may linger amid aromatic
fragrances, and under blending lights, where the tragedy of an adven-
ture and a romance are played out to the end. . . . Something to
carry with one in the memory, an outline of many brilliant colours, the
framework for a pathetic human romance; something to remember
and feel long after the pages have been read.”

STANDARD.—" A very remarkable and arresting plea that the
women of Turkey of to-day may be given room to live—and to love.”’

COUNTRY LIFE.—“ An arresting picture of life in a harem as it
is lived by cultivated girls in the twentieth century.”

WORLD.— This brilliant work is a romance full of colour,
picturesque and poetic; but it is also a serious study of the social
system under which Turkish women live in the old bondage of the East,
with all the bewildering light, movement, and culture of the western
world now revealed to them, so that it is a question on which wise men
differ whether that revelation is a real boon or a cruel kindness.”

GLOBE.—“ The novel betrays a unique acquaintance with modern
Moslem women of the wealthier classes, and is full of exquisite
descriptions of Stamboul and the Bosphorus.”

GUARDIAN.—“ Like all Pierre Loti's work, it is graceful, charm-
ing, and sympathetic, and at the same time it is unusually free from
the blemishes which disfigure many of his previous novels. No purer
or sweeter women than the three Turkish ladies who sustain the
principal parts have often been represented in fiction. . . . Every
page glows with life and colour, and breathes the immemorial fascina-
tion of the East.”

SPEAKER.—“ Pierre Loti introduces us to the two cities of
Constantinople, and as he describes sea, houses, mosques, bazaars,
the animation, colour, sounds and silences, he continually increases
the sense of a mysterious, ever-elusive city, which harbours and conceals
the inner meaning of Mohammedan life. And from this mystery of
place he set himself to draw out the greater, more romantic, mystery of
persons, a mystery symbolised in the dark, veiled shapeless figures of
the women as they move abroad, speaking to no men but tather or
husband, living as prisoners without hope of release.”

 

 
 

: DAILY MAIL.—“‘It is a
Price 6s. rural tragedy which Mr.
Sheppard has conceived, and
i the scene is Kent. We do
Runnin Horse not scruple to compare his
g novel with some of the

masterpieces of our time.
It need not blush when

Inn placed besides Mr. Hardy’s
work, or Mr. Phillpotts’, or
Mr. Blackmore’s. We con-
B gratulate the author on a
v brilliant piece of work, and

look forward with interest
A. Ts SHEPPARD to his career, for it is
Author of “ The Red Cravat” sound fiction, and a real

feeling and a real know-
ledge are evident in these

 

 

 

ages.”

STANDARD.—‘ Mr. Sheppard itiugtt He regarded as an author
with a great and important future. He has the gift of making old
days and old times live with peculiar vitality and charm. He can
realise the characters of yesterday like few of his contemporaries, and
he can link them into a narrative of stirring times in smuggling or in
war, till finally out of his rough material, drawn from a thousand
unexpected and unfamiliar sources, there emerges a fine polished
story that palpitates with actuality and life.”

MORNING POST.—‘ Running Horse Inn is a notable achieve-
ment for an almost unknown writer, and we shall look for great
things from Mr. Sheppard.”

DAILY CHRONICLE.—" Mr. Sheppard’s is self-respecting work.
It has character. There is a downright quality in it which shows in
the frankness of his humour and the honesty of his sentiment.
Moreover, he has powers of inventiveness which he has not yet
displayed to their full. When he does, he will give us a great novel.”

DAILY TELEGRAPH.—* A book which grips one . . . a bit of
real life most skilfully laid bare.”

MORNING LEADER.—‘ It is a novel rich in character, in
humour, in local colour, in high qualities of style and construction.
The minor folk are admirably drawn ; the dialect, though never very
broad, is the true Kentish. The atmosphere of discontent after the
great wars is suggested with unusual skill and with no intrusiveness ;
the personal side of the plot is no less convincing. Altogether, this is
a fine novel, which will maintain Mr. Sheppard’s promise and
advance his reputation.”

DAILY GRAPHIC.—“ The book will bring the author many new
admirers. Mr. Sheppard has a cultivated style, and a happy knack
of mingling comedy with tragedy, which should carry him far along
the road to fame.”

BLACK & WHITE.“ Mr. Sheppard is too good to be allowed
to become a mere popular and hasty writer. He has a knowledge of
we and an enviable command of picturesque and suggestive
words.

 

 
 

This first novel by a new

Price 6s. writer is a story of the stirring
time of Nelson and of the
terrible fear of an_ invasion

Andrew from ‘“ Boney-party.”’ It has
for heroine one Dorothy Lovel.

She is loved by ‘‘the little
Lieutenant,” a young naval

OO @ OW officer, sans peur et sans
aaa and the hero of the
tale. The scene of the story is
Plymouth, and Mrs. Watson
By skilfully carries us back and
makes us live in the old town
MRS. HERBERT A, as it was a hundred years ago,
with its various customs, its

WATSON occupations, and amusements.

Dorothy’s mother was in early

 

 

youth secretly married to a
young man of much higher rank than herself who afterwards became
the Duke of Middlesex, but until her death, when Dorothy is seven-
teen, she keeps her daughter in ignorance of the facts that on one side
she is of noble birth and that her father is still living. The complica-
tions that arise out of these circumstances form a story of great
interest which is likely to attract much attention.

 

 

This is a book for those who love laughter and appreciate the
open air. It tells the story of a party of young men who have
gone down to live the simple life on a houseboat for their
summer holiday, and who have made a solemn pact to eschew
all social delights, to wear old clothes, and to return as nearly
as may be to the condition of primitive man. By a neighbouring
backwater, however, is pitched The Enemy's Camp, and this
proves a factor most disturbing to the simple life, for some of
its inhabitants are young, fair, and feminine, and in theory very
hostile to unauthorised male society. In fact life before long
becomes anything but simple,

 

as nearly every character in the

book is soon busily engaged in Price 6s.
trying to conceal his or her

fishing, sketching, or shopping 7
expeditions from nearly every- he Enemy S
body else. Many amusing

situations arise out of this

universal duplicity, and there C
is plenty of opportunity for amp
wholesome fun.

The authors, who have col- B
laborated in the work, Messrs. v

Hugh Sheringham and Nevill HUGH T. SHERINGHAM

Meakin, have already made
a bid for recognition as humour- and
ists with The Court of Sac-

harissa which was published NEVILL MEAKIN

two years ago.

 

 

 
 

DAILY ae. Rosa
i Nouchette Carey’s readers are
Price 6s. a wide and faithful circle, and
they will hail her latest novel,
No Friend Like a Sister, with
No Fri end as much pleasurable anticipation
as they have received a dozen
others, all very much on the
‘ ‘ same lines. . . . Her characters
Like a Sister are all pleasant people who have
their counterparts a thousand
times over in the great middle-
class community. In her fresh
By and wholesome pages every
character lives, and she is too
ROSA N. CAREY great an optimist not to give her
stories a sunny ending.”
STANDARD.—“ Her scenes

 

 

 

and her characters are so fresh
and so natural and so true to life, that her new book may be confidently
relied upon by its girl readers for many hours of genuine enjoyment
and profit.”

WHITEHALL REVIEW.—* Written with all her usual simplicity
and ease of style, the story will be welcome to a numerous class
of readers.”’

‘DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Miss Carey has a large and appreciative
public, who find her stories immensely entertaining, and no doubt
they will be thoroughly pleased with the new one.”

ATHENAZUM.—' Her popularity is no doubt deservedly due in
great part to the extreme wholesomeness of her tone, which makes her
stories eminently suitable for the young girl. . . . Miss Carey is at
her best in her descriptions of country life, and in this case the fashion-
able and Bohemian folk are wisely kept subservient to the simpler
specimens of humanity.”

EVENING STANDARD AND ST. FAMES’S GAZETTE.
“‘There is more stuff for thought and a deeper tone of cultivation
about this book than about most of its author’s readable and popular
novels.’

WORLD.—‘' Miss Carey handles her characters with all her
accustomed skill, fitting each into his or her place with true artistic
adroitness, and treating the romance of their lives with tenderness and
sympathy.”

MADAME.—“' Here we have a number of studies of country folk
worthy of Jane Austen, Those who dislike the ‘problem’ novel and
enjoy genuine artistic workmanship in a story cannot fail to enjoy
Miss Carey's latest.”’

SPEAKER.—" Miss Carey’s books are a curious blend of. senti-
mentality and shrewd observation of middle-class humanity, Their
immense circulation proves that she has a multitude of grateful
readers.” ‘

DAILY NEWS.—" In brief, this is a tale told with graceful thought
and filled with human sympathy. . . . To unravel a tangled skein of
love, in which the youngest sister’s life is caught, is the principal task
the writer sets herself to perform.”

 

 
 

THE ATHENZUM.—‘ Mr.
: Churchill tells his story admir-
Price 6s. ably. He grips his reader in
the first paragraph, and never
relaxes hishold. . . . A genuine
s triumph. . . . The book is
( oniston thoroughly well written, and it
is not too much to say that it
places him at the head of con-
temporary American novelists.”
B THE GUARDIAN.— Amost
Y interesting, ce ae) and
most admirable book.’’
WINSTON PALL MALL GAZETTE.—
‘Lengthy as it is, there is not
CHURCHILL a page without its interest,
colour, and significance, and all
contributory to that unity of

 

 

character and meaning which
decides for work of art the question of permanence or the reverse.”

GLOBE.—' Coniston is one of the few novels of the day that
attain great excellence by distinctive ability. It has rare literary merit,
and embodies a study of human nature that has an extraordinarily
penetrating quality.”

STANDARD.—" The story is, in every respect, a remarkable
achievement.”

 

 

The lady who writes under the name of Charles Egbert Craddock
long ago made the Tennessee mountains and mountaineers her literary
property. Her new story is placed among the scenes which have given
character to her most successful novels. The Amulet is the story of
a little band of English soldiers

 

who in 1763 held a stockade ie
fort in Tennessee against the Price 6s.
attacks of the Cherokee Indians,
the most important characters

being the charming daughter of Th A l

the post commandant and the € mu et
young officers of the garrison,
who, immediately on her arrival
to visit her father, engage in a By
vigorous contest for her favour.
The story is full of exciting ;
incident, and well-drawn_pic- CHARLES
tures of the wild surroundings

in which the action passes. EGBERT CRADDOCK

 

 

LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.

 

10,11,66