A=8 A=o u s 0— i 1 =S 4 _^.^ z 1 > IBI 7 4 =^ ■!> 3 Cll 7 1 • ^^ s^Ai.:t>* /'''/■ THE O'DONOGHUE; TALE OF IRELAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. BY CHARLES LEVER, ESQ. ACTUOR OF "CONFESSIONS OF H*RRY I.OKREQUER," "CHARMJS O'MAHEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON," "JACK IIINTOX," "TOM BURKE OF 'OCRS,'" &C. &C. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. K. BROWNE. DUBLIN WILLIAM CURRY, JUN. AND COMPANY WILLIAM S. ORR AND CO. LONDON. FKASER AND CO. EDINBURGH. 1845. L/BRARY 1)UBL1^ r'lllNIKD By PUIIDON, urothers, (5, Bachelor's-walk. JOHN WILSON, ESQ., j'rofpssor of Moral Philnsojiliy in the fniversHy of Edinliiiigli, &<■. fi' Dear Sik, It is but seldom that the few hues of a dedication can give the pleasure I now feel in availing mj'self of your kind permission to inscribe this volume to you- As a boy, the greatest happiness of my life was in your writings ; and among all my faults and failures, I can trace not one to j^our influence, while, if I have ever been momentarily successful in upholding the right, and de- nouncing the wrong, I owe more of the spirit that suggested the effort to yourself than to any other man breathing. With my sincerest respects, and, if I dared, I should say, with my warmest regards, I am, yours truly, CHARLES LEVEK. Cailsnihe, October 18th, 1845. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Glenflesk ..,....• 1 CHAPTER II. The Wayside Inn . . . . . • .6 CHAPTER III. The Cottage and the Castle . . ' . . .12 CHAPTER IV. Kerry O'Leary . . . . . . .24 CHAPTER V. Impressions of Ireland . . . . . .33 CHAPTER VI. The Black Valley . . . . . . .40 CHAPTER VII. Sir Archy's temper tried . . . • . .50 CHAPTER VIII. The House of Sickness . . . . . .59 CHAPTER IX. A Doctor's Visit . . . . . . .65 VUl CONTENTS. CHAPTER X, I'A(.K An Evening at Mary M'Kelly's . . . . .72 CHAPTER XI. Mistakes on all sides . . . . . . 87 CHAPTER XII. The Glen at Midnight ...... 97 CHAPTER XIII. The Giiai'dsman ....... 105 CHAPTER XIV. The comments on a hurried departure .... 113 CHAPTER XV. Some of the pleasures of property . . • • . ll!> CHAPTER XVI. The Foreign Letter ...... 12!> CHAPTER XVII. Kate O'Donoghue ....... 137 CHAPTER XVIII. A hasty Pledge ....... 14.') CHAPTER XIX. A Diplomatist defeated . . . . , .150 CIIAPIER XX. Temptation in a weak hour .... . 161 {CONTENTS. CHAVTICIl XXI. r\r,K The Ueturn of the Eiivov . . . . . HiH CHAITI'R XXI J. A Morning Visit . . . . . . .173 CHAl'lKR XXIII. Some opposite traits of character . . . . . 1 7l> CHAPTKK XXIV, A Walk by Moonlight . . . . . .193 CHAPTER XXV. A (lay of difficult negociutioiis . . . . . 197 CHAPTER XXVI. A hist evening at home ..... . 20G CHAPTER XXVII. A Supper Party . . . . . . . •21'! CHAPTKR XXVIII. The Capital and its pleasures ..... 225 CHAPTER XXIX. First Inipressions ....... 23G CHAPTER XXX. Old characters with new faces ..... 242 CHAPTER XXXI. Some hints ahout llarrv Talbot ..... 248 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXII. PACK A presage of danger ...... 257 CHAPTER XXXIII. The St. Patrick's Ball . . . . . .262 CHAPTER XXXIV. The Daybreak on the Strand ..... 278 CHAPTER XXXV. The Wanderer's Return ...... 289 CHAPTER XXXVI. Suspicions on every side ...... 299 CHAPTER XXXVII. Hemsworth's Letter ....... 306 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Tampering and Plotting . . . . . .312 CHAPTER XXXIX. The Brothers . . . . . . .321 CHAPTER XL. The Lull before the Storm ...... 326 CHAPTER XLI. A Discovery ....... 331 CHAPTER XLII. The Shealing . . . . . . .341 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XLIIT. The Confederates . . . . . . .349 CHAPTER XLIV. The Mountain at Sunrise ...... 353 CHAPTER XLV. The Progress of Treachery ..... 362 CHAPTER XI, VI. The Priest's Cottaqe ...... 370 CHAPTER XI.VTT. The Day of Reckoning' . . ... . .377 CHAPTER XLVTII. Tiie Glen and the Bay . . . . . .388 CHAPTER XLIX. The End ....... 403 T>1ST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Thk Reckoning . . . . A Fireside Group The Farewell Canter Sir Archy and tiie Beggars Kerry O'Leary reading the news by deputy . Terry, Sir Marniaduko, and Sybella Roach's return to The O'Donoglme's Castle Sir Arehy in a Dilemma Roach's Couveniency Mark and Frederick The Game of Chess The Cavern .... Kerry astonishes Sir Marmaduke Good Night .... Mark drawing a cork The Student .... The Wager . . . . Mark's Exit from the Ball The Paper . . . . . The Wanderer's return Hcmsworth visits Lanty in prison Sir Archy liears something to his advantage The Shealing . . . . Mark makes a dash at the Soldiers The Escape . . . . Marie recognised by an old Acquaintance Fkontispiicce. Paoe 16 31 53 . (50 89 . 95 98 . 115 154 . 159 107 . 177 213 . 217 234 . 252 270 . 276 293 . 316 340 . 345 .^94 . 397 40S THE O'DONOGIIUE; A TALE OF IRELAND EIETY YEARS AGO. CHAPTER I. GLENFLESK. In that wild and picturesque valley wliicli winds its way between the town of ]Macroom and Bantry Bay, and goes by the name of Glenflcsk, the character of Irish scenery is perhaps more perfectly displayed than in any other tract of the same extent in the island. The mountains, rugged and broken, are singularly fanciful in their outline ; their sides a. mingled mass of granite and straggling herbage, where the deepest green and the red purple of the heath-bell are blended harmoniously together. The valley beneath, alternately widening and narrowing, presents one rich meadow tract, watered by a deep and rapid stream, fed by a thousand rills that come tumbling, and foaming down the moun- tain sides, and to the traveller are seen like white streaks marking the dark surface of the precipice. Scarcely a hut is to be seen for miles of this lonely glen, and save for the herds of cattle and the flocks of sheep here and there to be descried, it would seem as if the spot had been forgotten by man, and left to sleep in its own gloomy desola- tion. The river itself has a character of wildness all its own — nov.-, brawling over rugged rocks — now ibaming between high and narrow sides, abrupt as walls, sometimes, flowing over a ledge of granite, without a ripple on the surface — then plunging madly into some dark abyss, to emerge again, lower down the valley, in one troid)led sea of foam and spray : its dull roar the only voice that echoes in the moun- tain gorge. Even where the humble roof of a solitary cabin can be seen, the 2 THE O DONOGHUE. aspect of habitation rather heightens than diminishes the feeling of lonehness and desolation around. The thought of poverty enduring its privations unseen and unknown, without an eye to mark its strug- gles, or a heart to console its griefs, comes mournfully on the mind, and one wonders what manner of man he can he, who has fixed his dwelling in such solitude. In vain the eye ranges to catch sight of one human being, save that dark speck be such which crowns the clifP, and stands out from the clear sky behind. Yes, it is a child watching the goats that are browsing along the mountain, and as you look, the swooping mist has hidden him from your view. Life of dreariness and gloom ! What sad and me- lancholy thoughts must be his companions, who spends the live-long day on these wild heaths, his eye resting on the trackless waste where no fellow-creature moves ! how many a mournful dream will pass over his mind ! what fearful superstitions will creep in upon his imagina- tion, giving form and shape to the flitting clouds, and making the dark shadows, as they pass, seem things of life and substance. Poor child of sorrow ! How destiny has marked you for misery ! For you no childish gambols in the sun — no gay playfellow — no pad- dling in the running stream, that steals along bright and glittering, like happy infancy — no budding sense of a fair world, opening in glad- ness ; but all, a dreary waste — the weariness of age bound up with the terrors of childhood. The sun was just setting on a mellow evening, late in the autumn of a year towards the close of the last century, as a solitary traveller sat down to rest himself on one of the large rocks by the road-side ; di- vesting himself of his gun and shot-pouch, he lay carelessly at his length, and seemed to be enjoying the light breeze which came up the valley. He was a young and powerfally-built man, whose well-knit frame and muscular limbs showed how much habitual exercise had contri- buted to make the steepest paths of the mountain a task of ease to him. He was scarcely above the middle height, but with remarkable breadth of chest, and that squareness of proportion which indicates consider- able physical strength ; his countenance, except for a look of utter list- lesness and vacuity, had been pleasing ; the eyes were large and full, and of the deep grey which simulates blue ; the nose large and well-formed; the mouth alone was unprepossessing — the expression it wore was of ill- humour and discontent, and this character seemed so habitual that even as he sat thus alone fuid in soUtude, the curl of the upper lip be- trayed his naUnc. THE O DONOGIIUIi:. o His dress was a shooting-jacket of soino coarse stuff, stained and washed by many a mountain streamlet ; loose trowscrs of grey cloth, and heavy shoes — such as arc worn by the jjeasantry, wherever such luxuries are attainable. It would have been difficult, at a mere glance, to have decided what class or condition of life he pertained to ; for, although certain traits bespoke the person of a respectable rank, there was a general air of neglect about him, that half contradicted the sup- position. He lay for some time perfectly motionless, when the tramp of horses at a distance down the glen suddenly roused him from his seeming apathy, and resting on his elbow he listened attentively. The sounds came nearer and nearer, and now, the dull roll of a carriage could be heard approaching. Strange noises these in that solitary val- ley, where eveu the hoofs of a single horse but rarely roused the echoes. A sudden dip of the road at a little distance from • where he lay, con- cealed the view, and he remained in anxious expectancy, wondering what these sovuids should portend, when suddenly the carriage seemed to have halted, and all was still. For some minutes the youth appeared to doubt whether he had not been deceived by some swooping of the wind through the passes in the mountains, when the sound of voices fell on his car, and at the same mo- ment, two figures appeared over the crest of the hill, slowly advancing up the road. The one was a man advanced in years, but still hale and ngorous, in look — his features even yet eminently handsome, wore an air of mingled frankness and haughtiness ; there was in their ex- pression the habitual character of one accustomed to exert a degree of command and influence over others — a look, which of all the charac- teristics of temper, is least easily mistaken. At his side walked one who, even at a passing glance, might be pro- nounced his daughter, so striking the resemblance between them. She did not seem above sixteen years of age, but through the youthful traits of her features you could mark the same character of expression her father's wore, modified by the tender beautv, which at that age, blends the loveliness of the girl with the graces of woman- hood. Kathcr above than below the middle height, her figure had that distinguishing mark of elegance high birth impresses, and in her very walk a quick observer might detect an air of class. They both stopped short as they gained the summit of the hill, and appeared wonder-struck at the scene before them. The grey gloom of twilight threw its sombre shadows over the valley, but the mouutaia peaks were tipped with the setting sun, and shone in those rich \'iolet and purple hues the autumn heath displays so beautifully. The dark- 4 THE O DONOGHUK. leaved holly and the bright arbutus blossom lent their colour to every jutting cliff and promontory, which, to eyes unacquainted with the sce- nery, gave an air of culture strangely at variance with the desolation around. " Is this wild enough for your fancy, Sybella," said the father, with a playful smile, as he watched the varying expression of the young girl's features, " or would you desire something still more dreary ?" But she made no answer. Her gaze Avas fixed on a thin wreath of smoke that curled its way upwards from what appeared a low mound of earth, in the valley below the road ; some branches of trees, covered with sods of earth, grass-grown and still green, were heaped up together, and through these the vapour found a passage and floated into the air. "I am wondering what that fire can mean," said she, pointing downwards Avith her finger. " Here is some one will explain it," said the old man, as for the first time he perceived the youth, who still maintained his former attitude on the bank, and with a studied indifference, paid no attention to those whose presence had before so much surprised him " I say, my good fellow, v/hat does that smoke mean we see yonder ?" The youth sprung to his feet with a bound that almost startled his questioner, so sudden and abrupt the motion ; his features, inactive and colourless the moment before, seemed almost convulsed now, while they became dark with blood. " Was it to me you spoke ?" said he, in a low guttural tone, which his passion made actually tremulous. "Yes " But before the old man could reply, his daughter, with the quick tact of womanhood, perceiving the mistake her father had fallen into, hastily interrupted him by saying, — " Yes, sir, we were asking you the cause of the fire at the foot of that cliff." The tone and the manner in which the words were uttered seemed at once to have disarmed his anger ; and although for a second or two he made no answer, his features recovered their former half-listless look, as he said — " It is a cabin — There is another yonder, beside the river." " A cabin ! Surely you cannot mean that people are living there?" said the girl, as a sickly palor spread itself across her cheeks. " Yes, to be sure," replied the youth ; " they have no better here- abouts." TItR o Doyor.HUE. 5 '* What jiovprty — Avliat tlroadt'nl misery is this !" said she, as the great tears gushed forth, and stole hea\ily down lier face. " They are not so poor," ausv/ered the young man, in a voice of ahnost reproof. " The cattle along that mountain all belong to these people — the goats you see in that glen arc theirs also." " And whose estate may this be ?" said the old man. Either the questioner or his question seemed to have called up again the youth's former resentment, for he fixed his eyes steadily on him for some time without a word, and then slowly added — " This belongs to an Englishman — a certain Sir Marmaduke Travers — It is the estate of O'Donoghue." - " Was, you mean, once," answered the old man quickly. " I mean what I say," replied the other rudely. " Confiscation can- not take away a right, it can at most " This speech was fortunately not destined to be finished, for while he was speaking, his quick glance detected a dark object soaring above his head. In a second he had seized his gun, and taking a steady aim, he fired. The loud report was heard repeated in many a far-off glen, and ere its last echo died away, a heavy object fell upon the road not many yards from where they stood. "This fellow," said the youth, as he hfted the body of a large black eagle from the crround — " This fellow was a confiscator too, and see what he has come to. You'd not tell me that our lambs were his, would you ?" The roll of wheels happily drowned these words, for by this time the postillions had reached the place, the four post-horses labouring under the heavy-laden travelling carriage, with its innumerable boxes and im- perials. The post boys saluted the young man with marked deference, to which he scarcely deigned an acknowledgment, as he replaced his shot- pouch, and seemed to ])repare for the road once more. Meanwhile the old gentleman had assisted his daughter to the car- riage, and was about to follow, when he tin-ned aroiuid suddenly and said — " If your road lies this way, may I offer you a seat with us ?" The youth stared as if he did not well comprehend the offer, and his cheek flushed, as he answered coldly — " I thank you ; but my path is across the mountain." Both parties saluted distantly, the door of the carriage closed, and the word to move on was giAen, when the young man, taking two dark feathers from the eagle's wing, approached the window. 6 THE o'dOKOGHUE. " I was forgetting," said he, in a voice of hesitation and diffidence, " perhaps you would accept these feathers." The young girl smiled, and half blushing, muttered some words in reply, as she took the offered present. The horses sprung forward the next instant, and a few minutes after, the road was as silent and de- serted as before ; and save the retiring sound of the wheels, nothing broke the stillness. CHAPTER II. THE WAYSIDE INN. As the glen continues to wind between the mountains, it gradually becomes narrower, and at last contracts to a mere cleft, flanked on either side by two precipitous walls of rock, which rise to the height of several hundred feet above the road ; this is the pass of Keim-an-eigh, one of the wildest and most romantic ravines of the scenery of the south. At the entrance to this pass there stood, at the time we speak of, a small wayside inn, or shebeen-house, whose greatest recommendation was^ in the fact, that it was the only place where shelter and refreshment could be obtained for miles on either side. An humble thatched cabin abutting against the granite rock of the glen, and decorated with an almost effaced sign of St. Finbar converting a very unprepossessing heathen, over the door, showed where Mary M'Kelly dispensed "en- thertainment for man and baste." A chance traveller, bestowing a passing glance upon this modest edi- fice, might deem that an inn in such a dreary and unfrequented valley, must prove a very profitless speculation — few, very few travelled the road — fewer still would halt to bait within ten miles of Bantry. Report, how- ever, said differently ; the impression in the coimtry was, that "Mary's" — as it was briefly styled — had a readier share of business than many a more j)romising and pretentious hotel ; in fact, it was generally believed to be the resort of all the smugglers of the coast ; and the market, where the shopkeepers of the interior repaired in secret to purchase the con- Jraband wares and " run goods," which poured into the country from the shores of Fr.'^-nce and Holland. THE O DONOGHUE. 7 Vast storehouses and caves were said to exist in the rock behind the house, to store away the vahiable goods, wliich from time to time arrived ; and it was currently believed that the cargo of an Indiaman might have been concealed within these secret recesses, and never a cask left in view to attract snsj)icion. It is not into these gloomy receptacles of contraband that we would now conduct our reader, but into a far more cheerful andmore comfortable locality — the spacious kitchen of the cabin, or, in fact, the apartment which served for the double puri)ose of cooking and eating — the com- mon room of the inn, where around a blazing fire of black turf was seated a party of three jiersons. At one side sat the fat and somewhat comely figure of INIary herself, a woman of some five-and-forty years, with that expression of rough and ready temperament, the habits of a wayside inn will teach. She had a clear, full eye — a wide, but not unpleasant mouth — and a voice that suited well the mellifluous intonation of a Kerry accent. Oppo- site to her were two thin, attenuated old men, who, for dress, look, age, voice, and manner, it would have been almost impossible to distinguish from each other ; for while the same weather-beaten, shrivelled expression was common to both, their jackets of blue cloth, leather breeches, and top boots, were so precisely alike, that they seemed the very Dromios brought back to life, to perform as postillions. Such they were — such they had been for above fifty years. They had travelled the country from the time they were boys — they entered the career together, and together they were jogging onward to the last stage of all, the only one where they hoped to be at rest ! Joe and Jim Daly were two names no one ever heard disunited ; they were regarded as but one corporeally, and although they affected at times to make distinctions themselves, the world never gave them credit for any consciousness of separate identity. These wei'e the postillions of the travelling carriage, which having left at its destination, about two miles distant, they were now regaling themselves at Mary's, where the horses were to rest for the night. " Faix, ma'am, and it's driving ye may call it," said one of the pair, as he sipped a very smoking compound the hostess had just mixed, "a hard gallop every step of the way, barrin the bit of a hill at Carrignacurra." " Well, I hope ye had the decent hansel -for it, any how, Jim ?" "I'm Joe, ma'am, av its plazing to ye. Jim is the pole-end boy; he rides the layders. And it's true for ye — they behaved daceut." "A goold guiuca, divil a less" — said the other, "there's no use iii 8 THE o'dONOGHUE. denying it. Begorra, it was all natural, them's as rich as Crasis ; sure didn't I see the young lady herself throwing out the tenpenny hits to the gossoons, as we went by, as if it was dirt ; bad luck to me, but I was going to throw down the Bishop of Cloyne." " Throw down who V said the hostess. " The near wheeler, ma'am ; he's a broken-kneed ould divil, we bought from the bishop, and called him after him ; and as I was saying, I was going to cross them on the pole, and get a fall, just to have a scramble for the money, with the gaffers." " 'They look so poor,' says she. God help her — it's little poverty she saw — there isn't one of them crayters hasn't a sack of potatoes." "Ay — more of them a pig." " And hens," chimed in the first speaker, with a horror at the im- position of people so comfortably endowed, affecting to feel any pres- sure or poverty. "And what's bringing them here at all?" said Mrs. M'Kelly, with a voice of some asperity ; for she foresaw no pleasant future in the fact of a resident great man, who would not be likely to give any encourage- ment to the branch of traffic her principal customers followed. " Sorrow one of me knows," was the safe reply of the individual addressed, who not being prepared with any ■siew of the matter, save that founded on the great benefit to the country, preferred this answer to a more decisive one. "'Tis to improve the property, they say," interposed the other, who was not equally endowed with caution. " To look after the estate him- self he has come." "Improve, indeed!" echoed the hostess, "Much we want their improving ! "Why didn't they leave us the ould families of the country? It's little we used to hear of improving, when I was a child. God be good to us. — There was ould Miles O'Donoghue, the present man's father, I'd like to see what he'd say, if they talked to him about improvement. Ayeh ! sure I mind the time a hogshead of claret didn't do the fort- night. My father, rest his soul, used to go up to the house every ^Monday morning for orders ; and ye'd see a string of cars follovnng him at the same time, with tay, and sugar, and wine, and brandy, and oranges, and lemons. Them was the raal improvem.ents !" " 'Tis true for ye, ma'am. It was a fine house, I always heerd tell." " Forty-six in the kitchen, besides about fourteen colleens and gos- soons about tlie place ; the best of cnthertainment up stairs and down." " Musha! that wis grand." TIIK O DONOGHUfi. 9 " A keg of sperlts, with a spigot, in the scrv.iuts' liall, and no saying by your leave, but drink while ye could stand over it." " The Lord be good to us !" piously ejaculated the twain. " The hams was boiled in sherry wine." " Begorra, I wish I was a pig them times." " And a pike daren't come up to table without an elegant pudding in his belly that cost five pounds !" "'Tis the fish has their own luck always," was the profound niedita-. tion at this piece of good fortune. " Ayeh ! ayeh ! " continued the hostess in a strain of lamentation, "When the oidd stock was in it, we never heerd tell of improvements. He'll be making me take out a license, I suppose," said- she, in a voice of half contemptuous incredulity. " Faix, there's no knowing," said Joe, as he shook the ashes out of his pipe, and nodded his head sententiously, as though to say, that in tlie miserable times they'd fallen upon, any thing was possible. " Licensed for sperits and groceries," said Mrs. M'Kclly, with a sort of hysterical giggle, as if the thought were too much for her nerves. " I wouldn't wonder if he put up a " pike," stammered out Jim, thereby implying that human atrocity would have reached its climax. The silence which followed this terrible suggestion, was now loudly interrupted by a smart knocking at the door of the cabin, which was already barred and locked for the night. " Who's there ?" said Mary, as she held a cloak across the blaze of the fire, so as to prevent the light being seen through the apertures of the door — "'tis in bed we are, and late enough, too." " Open the door, IVIary, it's me," said a somewhat confident voice. " I saw the fire burning brightly — and there's no use hiding it." " Oh, troth, Mr. Mark, I'll not keep ye out in the cowld," said the hostess, as, unbarring the door, she admitted the guest whom we had seen some time since in the glen. " Sure enough, 'tisn't an O'Douoghue we'd shut the door agin, any how." "Thank ye, Mary," said the young man ; " I have been all day in the mountains, and had no sport ; and as that pleasant old Scotch uncle of mine gives me no peace, when I come home empty-handed, I have resolved to stay here for the night, and try my luck to-morrow. Don't stir, Jim — there's room enough, Joe : Mary's fire is never so grudging, but there's a warm place for every one. What's in this big pot here. Mar J ? " "It's a stew, sir ; more by token, of your honour's ])ro'\'idin'." *'Miue— howis tliat?" 10 THE o'dONOGHUE. "The hare ye shot afore the door, yesterday mornmg ; sure it's raal luck we have it for you now ;" and while Mary employed herself in the pleasant bustle of preparing tlie supper, the young man drew near to the fire, and engaged the others in conversation. "That travelling carriage was going on to Bantry, Joe, I suppose?" said the youth, in a tone of easy indifference. " No sir ; they stopped at the lodge above." "At the lodge ! — surely you can't mean that they were the English family — Sir Marmaduke." "'Tis just himself, and his daughter. I heerd them say the names, as we were leaving Macroom. They were not expected here these three weeks ; and Captain Hemsworth, the agent, isn't at home ; and they say there's no servants at the lodge, nor nothin' ready for the quality at all ; and sure when a great lord like that " " He is not a lord, you fool ; he has not a drop of noble blood in his body : he's a London banker — rich enough to buy birth, if gold could do it." The youth paused in his vehemence, then added, iu a mutter- ing voice — " Rich enough to buy up the inheritance of those who have blood in their veins." The tone of voice in which the young man spoke, and the angry look which accompanied these words, threw a gloom over the party, and for some time nothing was said on either side. At last he broke silence abruptly by saying — " And that was his daughter, then?" " Yes, sir ; and a purty crayture she is, and a kind-hearted. The moment she heerd she was on her father's estate, she began asking the names of all the people, and if they were well off, and what they had to ate, and where was the schools." " The schools !" broke in Mary, in an accent of great derision — "inusha, it's great schooling we want up the glen, to teach us to bear poverty and cowld, without complaining : learning is a fine thing for the hunger " Her irony was too delicate for the thick apprehension of poor Jim, who felt himself addressed by the remark, and piously responded — "It is so, glory be to God !" '""Well," said the youag man, who now seemed all eagerness to re- sume the subject — " well, and what then ?" " Then, she was wondering where was the roads up to the cabins on the mountains, as if the likes of them people had roads !" " They've ways of their own — the English," interrupted Jim, who felt jealous of his companion being always referred to — " for whenever TIIK o'dOXOGHUE. 11 we passed a little potatoe garden, or a lock of oats, it was always, ' God be good to us, but they're mighty poor hereabouts ;' but when we got into the raal wild part of the glen, with divil a house nor a human being near us, sorrow word out of their mouths but * fine, beautiful, elegaut !' till we came to Keim-an-eigh, and then, ye'd think that it was fifty acres of wheat they were looking at, wid all the praises they had for the big rocks, and black cliffs over our heads." " I showed them your honour's father's place on the mountains," said Joe. " Yes, faith," broke in Jim ; " and the young lady laughed and said, 'you see, father, we have a neighbour after all.'" The blood mounted to the youth's cheek, till it became almost purple, but he did not utter a word. " "Tis the O'Donoghue, my lady,' said I," continued Joe, who saw the difficulty of the moment, and hastened to relieve it — "that's his castle up there, with the high tower. 'Twas there the family lived these nine hundred years, whin the whole country was their own ; and they wor kings here." " And did you hear what the ould gentleman said then ?" asked Jim. " No, I didn't — I wasn't mindin' him," rejoined Joe ; endeavouring with all his might to repress the indiscreet loquacity of the other. " What was it, Jim ?" said the young man, with a forced smile. " Faix, he begun a laughing, yer honour, and says he, * We must pay our respects at Coort,' says he ; ' and I'm sure we'll be well received, for we know his Royal Highness alread/ — that's what he allied yer honour." The youth sprang to his feet, with a gesture so \'iolent and sudden, as to startle the whole party. " What," he exclaimed, " and are we sunk so low, as to be a scoff and a jibe to a London money-changer? If I but heard him speak the words " " Arrah, he never said it at all," said Joe, with a look that made his counterpart tremble all over. " That bosthoon there, would make you believe he was in the coach, convarsing the whole way with him. Sure wasn't I riding the wheeler, and never heerd a word of it. Whisht, I tell ye, and don't provoke me." "Ay, stop your mouth with some of this," interposed Mary, as she helped the smoking and savoury mess around the table. Jim looked down abashed and ashamed ; his testimony'^was discre- dited ; and without knowing why or wherefore, he yet had an indistinct glimmering that any effort to vindicate his character would be ill-re- 12 THE O DONOGIIU)2. ceived ; he therefore said nothing more : his silence was contagious, and the meal which a few moments before promised so pleasantly, passed off witli gloom and restraint. All Mary INI 'Kelly's blandishments, assisted by a smoking cup of mulled claret — a beverage which not a Chateau ou the .Rhone could rival in racy flavour — failed to recall the young man's good-humour : he sat in gloomy silence, only broken at intervals by sounds of some low mut- tering to himself. Mary at length having arranged the little room for his reception, bade him good night, and retired to rest. The postillions sought their dens over the stable, and the youth, apparently lost in his own thoughts, sat alone by the embers of the turf fire, and at last sunk to sleep where he was, by the chimney-corner. CHAPTER III. THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." Of Sir Marmaduke Travers, there is little to tell the reader beyond what the few hints thrown out already may have conveyed to him. He was a London banker, whose wealth was reputed to be enormous. Ori- ginally a younger son, he succeeded somewhat late in life to the baronetcy and large estates of his family. The habits, however, of an active city life — the pursuits which a long career had made a second na- ture to him — rendered him both unfit to enter upon the less exciting duties of a country gentleman's existence, and made him regard such as devoid of interest or amusement. He , continued therefore to reside in London for many years after he became the baronet ; and it was only at the death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, that these habits became distasteful ; he found that he could no longer continue a course which companionship and mutual feeling had rendered agree- able, and he resolved at once to remove to some one of his estates, where a new s])here of occupation might alleviate the sorrows of his loss. To this no obstacle of any kind existed. His only son was already launched into life as an officer in the guards ; and, except his daughter, so lately before the reader, he had no other children. The effort to attain forgetfidness was not more successful here, than THE o'uONOGHUE. 13 it is usually found to be. Tlie old niJtli sought, but found not in a country life the solace he expected ; neither his tastes nor his habits suited those of his neighbours ; he was little of a sportsman, still less of a fanner. The intercourse of country social life was a poor recom- pense for the unceasing flow of London society. He grew wearied very soon of his experiment, and longed once more to return to his old haunts and habits. One more chance, however, remained for him, and he was unwilling to reject without trying it. This was, to visit Ire- land, where he possessed a large estate, which he had never seen. The propert}^, originally mortgaged to his father, was represented as singularly picturesque and romantic, possessing great mineral wealth, and other resources, never examined into, nor made available. His agent. Captain Ilemsworth, a gentleman who resided on the estate, at his annual \isit to the proprietor, used to dilate upon the manifold advantages and ca- pabilities of the property, and never ceased to implore him to pay a visit, if even for a week or two, sincerely trusting the while that such an intention might never occur to him. These entreaties, made from year to year, were the regular accompaniment of every settlement of account, and as readily replied to by a half jiromise, which th.e maker was certainly not more sincere in pledging. Three years of country.life had now, however, disposed SirlMarmaduke to reflect on this long unperformed journey ; and, regardless of the fact that his agent was then grouse-shooting in Scotland, he set out at a moment's notice, and without a word to apprise the household at the lodge of his intended arrival, reached the house in the evening of an autumn day, by the road we have already been describing. It is but justice to Sir Marmaduke to add, that he was prompted to this step by other than mere selfish considerations. The state of Ireland had latterly become a topic of the press in both countries. The poverty of the people — interpreted in various ways, and ascribed to very op- posite causes — was a constant theme of discussion and conversation. The strange phenomenon of a land teeming with abundance, yet overrun by a starving population, had just then begun to attract notice ; and theories were rife in accounting for that singular and anomalous social condition, which unhappily the experience of an additional half century has not succeeded in solving. Sir JNIarmaduke was well versed in these popular writings ; he had the " Whole State of Ireland" by heart ; and so firmly was he persuaded that his knowledge of the subject was perfect, that he became actually impatient until he had reached the country, and commenced the great scheme of regeneration and civilization, by which Ireland and her people 14 THE ODONOGHUE. were to be placed among the most favoured nations. He had heard much of Irish indolence and superstition — Irish bigotry and intole- rance — the indiflference to comfort — the indisposition to exertion — the recklessness of the present — the improvidence of the future ; he had been told that saint-days and holydays mulcted labour of more than half its due — that ignorance made the other half almost A'alucless ; he had read, that, the easy contentment with poverty, had made all indus- try distasteful, and all exertion, save vi^hat was actually indispensable, a thing to be avoided. " Why should these things be, when they were not so in Norfolk, nor in Yorkshire ?" was the question he ever asked, and to which his knowledge furnished no reply. There, superstitious, if they existed — and he knew not if they did — came not in the way of daily labour. Saints never unharnessed the team, nor laid the plough inactive — com- fort was a stimulant to industry that none disregarded ; habits of order and decorum made the possessor respected — poverty almost argued mis- conduct, and certainly was deemed a reproach. Why then not propa- gate the system of these happy districts in Ireland ? To do this was the great end and object of his visit. Philanthropy would often seem unhappily to have a dislike to the practical — the generous emotions appear shorn of their freedom, when trammelled with the fruit of experience or reflection. So, certainly it was, in the case before us. Sir jMarmaduke had the very best intentions — the weakest notions of their realization ; the most unbounded desire for good — the very narrowest conceptions of how to effect it. Like most theorists, no speculative difficulty was great enough to deter — no practical obstacle was so small as not to affright him. It never ap- parently occurred to him that men are not every where alike, and this trifliu"- omission was the source of difficulties, which lie persisted in ascribin"^ to causes outside of himself. Generous, kind-hearted, and benevolent, he easily forgave an injury, never willingly inflicted one ; he was also, however, hot-tempered and passionate ; he could not brook opposition to his will, where its object seemed laudable to himself, and was utterly imable to make allowance for prejudices and leanings in others, simply because he had never experienced them in his own breast. Such was, in a few words, the present occupant of "the Lodge" — as the residence of the agent was styled. Originally a hunting box, it had been enlarged and ornamented by Captain Ilemsworth, and converted into a cottage of singular beauty, without, and no mean pretension to comfort, within doors. It occupied an indenture of the glen of Keim- an-eigh, and stood on the borders of a small mountain-lake, the surface THE ODONOGHUE. 15 of which "was dotted ■with wooded islands. Behind tht cottage, and favoured by the shelter of the ravine, the native oaks grew to a great size, and contrasted by the rich foliage waving in tlie breeze, witli the dark sides of the cliff" ojtpositc, rugged, barren and immutable. In all the luxuriance of this mild climate, shrubs attained the height of trees ; and flowers, rare enough elsewhere to demand the most watch- ful care, grew here, unattended and unregarded. The xery grass had a depth of green, softer and more ])leasing to the eye than in other places. It seemed as if nature had, in compensation for the solitude around, shed her fairest gifts over this lonely spot, one bright gem in the dreary sky of winter. About a mile further down the glen, and seated on a lofty pinnacle of rock, inmiediately above the road, ctood the once proud castle of the O'Donoghue. Two square and massive towers still remained to mark its ancient strength, and the ruins of various outworks and bastions could be traced, extending for a considerable distance on every side. Between these square towers, and occupying the space where originally a curtain wall stood, a long low building now extended, whose high-pitched roof and narrow windows vouched for an antiquity of little more than a hundred years. It was a strange incongruous pile, in which fortress and farm-house seemed welded together — the whole no bad type of its past and its present owners. The approach was by a narrow cause- way, cut in the rock, and protected by a square keep, through whose deep arch the road penetrated — flanked on either hand by a low battle- mcatcd wall ; along these, two rows of lime trees grew, stately and beau- fid in the midst of all the ruin about them. They spread their waving foliage around, and threw a mellow, solemn shadow along the walk. Except these, not a tree, nor even a shrub, was to be seen — the vast woods of nature's own planting had disappeared — the casualties of war the chances of times of trouble, or the more ruinous course of poverty, had laid them low, and the barren mountain now stood revealed, where once were waving forests and shady groves, the home of summer birds, the lair of the wild deer. Cows and farm-horses were stabled in what once had been the out- works of the castle. Implements of husbandry lay carelessly on all sides, neglect and decay marked every thing, the garden-wall was broken down in many jilaces, and cattle strayed at will among the torn fruit-trees and dilapidated terraces, while, as if to add to the droarv as- pect of the scene, the ground for a considerable distance around' had been tilled, but never subsequently restored to grass land, and now along its ridged surface noisome weeds and thistles grew rankly, taintiu"- the 16 THE o'donoghue. air mtli their odour; and sending up heavy exhalations from the moist and spongy eartli. If, without, all looked sad and sorrow-struck, the appearances within, were not much better. A large flagged-hall, opened upon two long ill-lighted corridors, from which a number of small sitting- rooms led off. Many of these were perfectly devoid of furniture; in the others, what remained seemed to owe its preservation to its want of value rather than any other quality. Cracked looking-glasses — broken chairs, rudely mended by some country hand — ragged and patched carpets, were the only things to be found, with here and there some dirt-disfigured piece of framed canvas, which, whether tapestry or painting, no eye could now discover. These apartments bore little or no trace of habitation ; indeed, for many years they v/ere rarely entered by any one. A large square room in one of the towers, of some forty feet in dimensions, was the ordinaiy resort of the family, serving the pur- poses of drawing and dining-room. This was somewhat better in appearance : whatever articles of furniture had any pretension to comfort or convenience were here assembled ; and here, were met, old- fashioned sofas, deep arm-chairs, quaint misshapen tables like millipedes, and fat old footstools, the pious work of long-forgotten grandmothers. A huge screen, covered with a motley array of prints and caricature ^ cut off the group around the rtmple fire-place from the remainder of the apartment, and it is within this charmed circle we would now conduct our reader. In the great arm-chair, to the right of the ample fire-place, sat u. powerfully built old man, whose hair was white as snow, and fell in lon^ ■waving masses at either side of his head. His forehead, massive and expanded, surmounted two dark, penetrating eyes, which even ex- treme old age had not deprived of their lustre. The other features of his face were rather marked by a careless, easy sensuality, than by any other character, except that in the mouth the expression of firmness was strongly displayed. His dress was a strange mixture of the cos- tume of gentleman and peasant. His coat, worn and threadbare, bore traces of better days, in its cut and fashion ; his vest also showed the fragment of tarnished embroidery along the margin of the flapped pockets ; but the coarse knee breeches of corduroy, and the thick grey lambswool stockings, wrinkled along the legs, were no better than those worn by the jjoorer farmers of the neighbourhood. This was the O'Donoghue himself. Opposite to him sat one as unlike him in every respect as it was possible to conceive. He was a tall, spare, raw-boned figure, whose grey eyes and high cheek-bones bore traces of a different race from that of the aged chieftain. An ex- «- w Tiir. o'donogiiuk. 17 pression of intense acutencss pervaded every teatiire of his face, and seemed concentrated about the angles of the mouth, where a series of deep wrinkles were seen to cross and intermix with each other, omens of a sarcastic spirit, indulged without the least restraint on the part of its possessor. His wiry grey hair was brushed rigidly back from his bony temples, and fastened into a short queue bchind> thus giving greater apparent length to his naturally long and narrow face. His dress was that of a gentlcmau of the time : a full-skirted coat of a dark brown, with a long vest descending below the hi])s ; breeches somewhat a deeper shade of the same colour, and silk stockings, with silver- buckled shoes, completed an attire which, if plain, was yet scrupu- lously neat and respectable. As he sat, almost bolt upright, in his chair, there was a look of vigilance and alertness about him very oj)i)o- site to the careless, nearly drooping air of the O'Donoghue. Such was Sir Archibald M'Nab, the brother of the O'Donoghue's late wife, for the old man had been a widower for several years. Certain circumstances of a doubtful and mysterious nature had made him leave liis iiativc country of Scotland many years before, and since that, he had taken up his abode with his brother-in-law, whose retired habits and solitary residence afforded the surest guarantee against his ever being traced. His age must have been almost as great as the O'Donoghue's ; but the energy of his character, the lightness of his frame, and the habits of his life, all contributed to make him seem much younger. Never were two natures more dissimilar. The one, reckless, lavish, and improvident ; the other, cautious, saving, and full of forethought. O'Donoghue was frank and open — his opinions easily known — his re- solutions hastily formed. M'Nab was close and secret, carefully weigh- ing every thing before he made up his mind, and not much given to iujparting his notions, when he had done so. In one point alone was there any similarity between them — pride of ancestry and birth they both possessed in common ; but this trait, so far from sernng to reconcile the other discrepancies of their natures, kept them even wider apart, aiul added to the passive estrangement of ill-matched associates, an additional element of active discord. There was a lad of some fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat be- side the fire on a low stool, busily engaged in deciphering, by the fitfyjji light of the bog-wood, the pages of an old volume, in which he seemed deeply interested. The blazing pine, as it threw its red gleam over the room, showed the handsome forehead of the youth, and the ample locks of a rich auburn, -w hich hung in clusters over it ; while his face was strikingly like the old man's, the mildness of its expression — c 18 THE o'donogiiue. partly the result of youth, partly the character imparted by his pre- sent occupation — was unlike that of either his father or brother ; for Herbert O'Donoghue was the younger son of the house, and was said, both in temper and appearance, to resemble his mother. At a distance from the fire, and v/ith a certain air of half assurance, half constraint, sat a man of some five-and-thirty years of age, whose dress of green coat, short breeches, and top boots, suggested at once the jockey, to which the mingled look of confidence and cunning bore ample corroboration. This was a well-known character in the south of Ireland at that time. His name was Lanty Lawler. The sporting habits of the gentry — their easiness on the score of intimacy — the ad- vantages of a ready-money purchaser, whenever they wished " to weed their stables," admitted the horse-dealer pretty freely among a class, to which neither his habits nor station could have warranted him in pre- senting himself. But, in addition to these qualities, Lanty was rather a prize in remote and unvisited tracts, such as the one we have been describing, his information being both great and varied in every thing going forv.'ard. He had the latest news of the capital — the fashions of hair and toilet — the colours worn by the ladies in vogue, and the new- est rumours of any intended change — he knew well the gossip of pohtics and party — upon the probable turn of events in and out of parliament he could hazard a guess, with a fair prospect of accuracy. V/ith the prices of stock and the changes in the world of agriculture he was thoroughly familiar, and had besides a world of stories and small-talk on every possible subject, which he brought forth with the greatest tact as regarded the tastes and character of his company, one-half of his acquaintances being totally ignorant of the gifts and graces, by which he obtained fame and character with the other. A roving vagabond life gave him a certain free-and-easy air, which, among the majority of his associates, was a great source of his popu- larity ; but he well knew when to lay tliis aside, and assume the exact shade of deference and respect his company might require. If then with O'Donoghue himself, he Avould have felt perfectly at ease, the pre< sence of Sir Archy, and his taciturn solemnity, was a sad check upon him, and mingled the freedom he felt with a degree of reserve far from comfortable. However, he had come for a purpose, and, if successful, the result would amply remunerate him for any passing inconvenience he might incur ; and with this thought he armed himself, as he entered the room some ten minutes before. " So you are looking for Mark," said the O'Donoghue to Lanty. " You can't help hankering after that grey marc of his." TiiK o'donociiue. If) " Sure enough, sir, there's no denying it. I'll have to give him the forty pounds for her, though, as sure as I'm here, she's not worth the money ; but when I've a i'aney for a beast, or take a conceit out of her — it's no use, I must buy her — that's it !" " Well, I don't think he'll give her to you now, Lanty ; he has got her so quiet — so gentle — that I doubt he'll part with her." " It's little a quiet one suits him ; faix, he'd soon tire of her if she wasn't rearing or plunging like mad ! He's an elegant rider, God bless him. I've a black horse now that would mount him well ; he's out of ' Divil-may-care,' Mooney's horse, and can take six foot of a wall flying, with fourteen stone on his back ; and barring the least taste of a capped hock, you could not see speck nor spot about him wrong. " "He's in no great humour for buying just now," interposed the O'Donoghuc, with a voice to which some suddenly awakened recollec- tion imparted a tone of considerable depression. "Sure we might make a sv.op with the mare," rejoined Lanty, determined not to be foiled so easily ; and then, as no answer was forth- coming, after a long pause, he added, "and havn't I the elegant pony for Master Herbert there ; a crame colour — clean bred — with white mane and tail. If he was the Prince of Wales he might ride her. She has racing speed — they tell me, for I only have her a few days ; and, faix, ye'd win all the county stakes with her." The youth looked up from his book, and listened with glistening eyes and animated features to the description, which, to one reared as he was, possessed no common attraction. " Sure I'll send over for her to-morrow, and you can try her," said Lanty, as if replying to the gaze with which the boy regarded him. " Ye mauna do nae sich a thing," broke in M'Nab. " Keep your rogueries and rascalities for the auld generation ye hae assisted to ruin ; but leave the young anes alane to mind ither matters than dicing and horse-racing." Eitlicr the O'Donoghue conceived the allusion one that bore hardly on himself, or he felt vexed that the authority of a father over his son should have been usurped by another, or both causes were in o})cration together, but he turned an angry look on Sir Archy, and said — • " And why shouldn't the boy ride ? was there ever one of his name or family that didn't know how to cross a country ? I don't intend him for a highland pedlar." " He might be waur," retorted JI'Nab, solemnly, " he might be an Irish beggar." 20 THK O DONOGHUE. '•By my soui, sir," broke in O'Douoghue ; but fortunately an inter- ruj)tiou saved the speech from being conchided, for at the same moment the door opened, and Mark O'Donogliue, travel-stained and -weary- looking, entered the room. " Well, Mark," said the old man, as his e3-es glistened at the appear- ance of his favourite son — " what sport, boy '/" " Poor enough, sir ; five brace in two days is nothing to boast of, besides two hares. Ah, Lanty — you here ; how goes it 1" "Purty well, as times go, Mr. JMark," said the horse-dealer, affect- ing a degree of deference he would not have deemed necessary liad they been alone. " I'm glad to see j^ou back again." " Why — what old broken-down devils have you now got on hand to pass off upon us ? It's fellows like you destroy the sport of the country. You carry away every good horse to be found, and cover the country with spavined, wind-galled brutes, not fit for the kennel." "That's it, Mark — give him a canter, lad," cried tlie old man, joy- fully. " I know what you are at well enough," resumed the yoirth, encou- raged by these tokens of approval ; " you want that grey mare of mine. You have some fine English officer ready to give you an hundred and fifty, or, may be, two hundred guineas, for her, the moment you bring her over to England. " May I never • " That's the trade you drive. Nothing too bad for us — nothing too good for them." " See now, Mr. Mark, I hope I may never " " AVell, Lanty, one word for all ; I'd rather send a bullet through her skull this minute, than let you have her for one of your fine English patrons." " Won't you let me speak a word at all," interposed the horse- dealer, in an accent half imploring, half deprecating. " If I buy the mare — and it isn't for want of a sporting offer if I don't — she'll never go to England — no — devil a step. She's for one in the country here beside you ; but I won't say more, and there now." At these words he drew a soiled black leather pocket-book from tlie breast of his coat, and opening it, displayed a thick roll of bank notes, tied with a i)icce of string — " There now — there's sixty pounds in that bundle there — at least I hope so, for I never counted it since I got it — take it for her or leave it — just as you like ; and may I never have luck with a beast, but there's not a gentleman in the county would give the same money for her.'' Here lie dropped his voice to a whiyper, and added, " Sure the speedy cut is ten pounds off her price any day^ between two brothers." Tin: o DONonnui:. 21 "What!" said tlio youtii, as liis hrows met in passion, and liis heightened colour showed liow his anger was raised. " Well, well — it's no matter, there's my (jfler ; and if I make a ten ponnd note of her, sure it's all I live by ; I wasn't born to an estate and a fine property, like yourself." These words, uttered in such a tone as t) be inaudible to the rest, seemed to mollify the young man's wrath, for, sullenly stretching forth his hand, he took the bundle and opened it on the table before him. " A dry bargain never was a lucky one, they say, Lant}' — isn't that so ?" said the O'Donoglme, as, seizing a small hand-bell, he ordered uj) a supply of claret, as well as the more vulgar elements for punch, should the dealer, as was probable, prefer that liquor. " These notes seem to have seen service," muttered Mark : " here's a ragged fellow. There's no making out whether he's two or ten," " They were well handled, there's no doubt of it," said Lanty, " the tenants was paying them in ; and sure you know yourself how they thumb and finger a note before they part with it. You'd think they were trying to take lca\e of them. There's many a man can't read a word, can tell you the amount of a note, just by the feel of it ! — Thank you, sir, I'll take the spirits — it's what I'm most used to." "Who did you get them from, Lanty?" said the O'Donoghue. " ]\Ialaclii Glynn, sir, of Cahernavorra, and, by the same token, I got a hearty laugh at the same house once before." " How was that ?" said the old man, for he saw by the twinkle of Lanty's eye, that a story was coming. " Faix, just this way, sir. It was a little after Christmas last year that Mr. Malachi thought he'd go up to Dublin for a mouth or six weeks with the young ladies, just to show them, by way of ; for ye see, there's no dealing at all down here ; and he thought he'd bring them up, and see what could be done. INlusha ! but they're the hard stock to get rid of! and somehow they don't improve by holding them over. And as there was levees, and drawing-rooms, and balls going on, sure it would go hard but he'd get off a pair of them anyhow. Well, it was an elegant scheme, if there was money to do it ; but devil a farthin' was to be had, high or low, beyond seventy pounds I gave for the two carriage horses and the yearlings that w-as out in the field, and sure that wouldn't do at all. He tried the tenants for 'the November,' but ■what was the use of it, though he offered a receipt in full for ten shil- lings in the pound? — when a lucky thought struck him. Troth, and it's what ye may call a grand thought too. He was walking about be- fore the dcor, thinking and ruminating how to raise the money, when 22 THE ODONOGiiur:. he sees tlie sheejJ grazing on the lawn fomint him — not that he could sell one of them, for there was a strap of a bond or mortage on them a year before. ' Faix,' and says he, ' when a man's hard up for cash, he's often obliged to wear a mighty thread-bare coat, and go cold enough in the winter season — and sure it's reason, sheep isn't better than Chris- tians ; and begorra,' says he, * I'll have the fleece off ye, if the weather was twice as cowld.' No sooner said than done. They were ordered Into the haggard-yard the same evening, and, as sure as ye're there, they cut the wool off them three days after Christmas. Musha ! but it was a pitiful sight to see them turned out shivering and shaking, with the snow on the ground; And it didn't thrive with him ; for three died the first night. Well, when he seen what come of it, he had them all brought in again, and they gathered all the spare clothes and the ould rags in the house together, and dressed them up, at least the ones that were worst ; and such a set of craytures never was seen. One had an old petticoat on ; another a flannel waistcoat ; many, could only get a cravat or a pair of gaiters ; but the ram beat all, for he was dressed in a pair of corduroy breeches, and an ould spencer of the master's ; and may I never live, if I didn't roll down full length on the grass when I seen him." For some minutes before Lanty had concluded liis story, the whole party were convulsed with laughter ; even Sir Archy vouchsafed a grave smile, as, receiving the tale in a different light, he muttered to himself — • "They're a' the same — ne'er-do-well, reckless deevils." One good result at least tbllowed the anecdote — the good-humour or • the company was restored at once — the bargain was finally concluded ; and Lanty succeeded by some adroit flattery in recovering five pounds of the price, under the title of luck-penny— a portion of the contract M'Nal) would have interfered against at once, but that, for his own • especial reasons, he preferred remaining silent. The party soon after separated for the night, and as Lanty sought the room usually destined for his accommodation, he muttered, as he went, his self-gratulations on his bargain. Already he had nearly reached the end of the long corridor, where his chamber lay, when a door was cautiously opened, and Sir Archy, attired in a dressing-gown, and vyith a candle in his hand, stood before him. " A word wi' ye. Master Lawler," said he, in a low dry tone, the horse-dealer but half liked. " A word wi' ye, before ye retire to rest." Lanty followed the old man into the apartment with an air of alFected carelessness, which soon, however, gave way to surprise, as he surveyed THE o'donogiiue. 23 the chamber, so little like any other in that dreary mansion, Tlic walls were covered with shelves, loaded with books ; maps and prints lay scattered about on tables ; au oak cabinet of great beauty iu form and carving, occupied a deep recess beside the chimney ; and over the fire- place a claymore of true Highland origin, and a pair of silver-mounted pistols, were arranged like a trophy, surmounted Ijy a flat Ilighland cap, with a thin black eagle's feather. Sir Archy seemed to enjoy the astonishment of his guest, and for some minutes made no effort to break silence. At length he said — "Ye war speaking about a sma' pony for the laird's son. Mister Lawler — may I ask ye the price V The words acted like a talisman — Lanty was himself in a moment. The mere mention of horse flesh brought back the whole crowd of his daily associations, and with his native volubility he proceeded, not to reply to the question, but to enumerate the many virtues and perfections of the " sweetest tool that ever travelled on four legs." Sir Archy waited patiently till the eloquent eulogy was over, and then, drily repeated his first demand. " Is it her price?" said Lanty, repeating the question to gain time to consider how far circumstances might warrant him in pushing a market. " It's her price ye're asking me, Sir Archibidd ? Troth, and I'll tell you : there's not a man in Kerry could say what's her price. Goold wouldn't pay for her, av it was value was wanted. See now, she's not fourteen hands high, but may I never leave this room if she wouldn't carry me — ay, myself here, twelve stone six in the scales — over e'er a fence between this and Inchigeela." "It's no exactly to carry you that I was making my inquiry," said the old man, with an accent of more asperity than he had used before. " Well then, for Master Herbert — sure she is the very beast " " What are you asking for her ? — canna you answer a straightforred question, man ?" reiterated Sir Archy, in a voice there was no mistaking. " Twenty guineas, then," replied Lanty, in a tone of defiance ; " and if ye offer me pounds I won't take it." Sir xVrchy made no answer ; but turning to the old cabinet, he un • locked one of the small doors, and drew forth a long leather pouch, curiously embroidered with silver ; from this he took ten guineas in gold, and laid them leisurely on the table. The horse dealer eyed thera askance, but without the slightest sign of having noticed them. " I'm no goin' to buy your beast, Mr. Lawler," said the old man, slowly ; "I'm just goin' merely to buy your aivi good sense and justice. You ?ny the po^.vney is wo'th twenty guineas." 2-4 "Thk o'donoghuk. "As sure as I stand hove. I woukln't " " "Weel, weel, I'm content. There's half the money ; tak' it, but never let's hear anither Avord about her here : bring her awa wi' ye ; sell or shoot her, do what ye please wi' hor ; but, mind me, man" — ^here his voice became full, strong, and commanding — "tak' care that ye meddle not wi' that young callant, Herbert. Dinna fill his head wi' ranting thoughts of dogs and horses. Let there be one of the house wi' a soul above a scullion or a groom. Ye have brought ruin enough here; you can spare the boy, I trow: there, sir, tak' your money." For a second or two, Lanty seemed undecided whether to reject or accept a proposal so humiliating in its terms ; and when at length he acceded, it was rather from his dread of the consequences of refusal, than from any satisfaction the bargain gave him. " I'm afraid. Sir Archibald," said he, half timidly, " I'm afraid you don't understand me well." " I'm afraid I do," rejoined the old man, with a bitter smile on his lip; "but it's better we should understand each other. Good night." "Well, good night to you, any how," said Lanty, with a slight sigh, as he dropped the money into his pocket, and left the room. " I have bought the scoundrel cheap !" muttered Sir Archy, as the door closed. " Begorra, I thought lie was twice as knowing !" was LanlJ^'s reflec- tion, as lie entered his owia chamber. CHAPTER IV. KERRY O I.KART. Lanty Lawler was stirring the first in the house. The late sitting of the preceding evening, and the deep potations he had indulged hi, left little trace of weariness on his well-accustomed frame. Few con- tracts were ratified in those days without the solemnity of a drinking bout, and the habits of the O'Donoghue household were none of the most abstemious. All was still and silent then as the horse-dealer de- scended the stairs, and took the ])ath towards the stable, where lie had lell his hacknev the night before. THE o'noxor.HUE. 25 It was Laiify's intention to take possession of liis new i)urcliase, and set ont on liis journey before the others were stirring ; and with this object he wended his way aeross the weed-grown garden, and into the wide and dreary court-yard of the building. Had he been disjiosed to morahze — assuredly an occupation he was little given to — he might have indulged the vein naturally enough, as he surveyed on every side the remains of long past greatness and present decay. Beautifully proportioned columns, with florid capitals, supplied the place of gate piers. Richly carved armorial bearings were seen upon the stones used to repair the breaches in the walls. Fragments of inscriptions and half obliterated dates appeared amid the moss-grown ruins ; and the very door of the stable had been a portal of dark oak, studded with large nails, its native strength having preserved it when even the masonry was crumbling to decay. Lanty passed these with perfect indifference. Their voice awoke no echo within his breast ; and even when he noticed them, it was to mutter some jeering allusion to their fallen estate, rather than with any feel- ing of reverence for what they once represented. The deep bay of a hound now startled him, however. He turned suddenly round, and close beside him, but within the low wall of a ruined kennel-yard, lay a large foxhound, so old and feeble that, even roused by the approach of a stranger, he could not rise from the ground, but lay helplessly on the earth, and with uplifted throat sent forth a long wailing note. Lanty leaned upon the wall, and looked at him. The emotions which other objects failed to suggest, seemed to flock upon him now. That poor dog, the last of a once noble pack, whose melody used to ring through every glen and ravine of the wild mountains, was an appeal to his heart he could not withstand ; and he stood with his gaze fixed upon him. "Poor old fellow," said he compassionately, " it's a lonely thing for vou to be there now, and all your old friends and companions dead and gone. Rory, my boy, don't you know me ?" The tones of his voice seemed to soothe the animal, for he responded in a low cadence indescribably melancholy. "That's my boy. Sure I knew you didn't forget me;" and he stooped over and patted the poor beast upon the head. " The top of the morning to you, ^Mister Lawlcr," cried out a voice straight over his head — and at the same instant a strange-looking face was protruded from a little one-paned window of a hay loft — " fis early you are to-day." "Ah, Kerry, how are you, my man? I vras taking a look at Rory here." 26 TtiE o'EONOoiiur;. " Faix, lie's a poor sight now," responded the other with a sigh ; " but he v.-asn't so once. I mind the time he could lead the pack over Cubber-na-creena mountain, and not a dog but himself catch the scent, after a hard frost and a north wind. I never knew him wrong. His tongue was as true as the priest's — sorra lie in it." A low whine from the poor old beast seemed to acknowledge the praise bestowed upon him ; and Kerry continued — "It's truth I'm telling; and if it wasn't, it's just himself would contradict me. — Tall3dio ! Rory — tallyho ! my ould boy ;" and both man and dog joined in a deep-toned cry together. The old walls sent back the echoes, and for some seconds the sounds floated through the still air of the morning. Lanty listened with animated features and lit-up eyes to notes whicli so often had stirred the strongest cords of his heart, and then sud- denly, as if recalling his thoughts to their former channel, cried out — • " Come down, Kerry, my man — come down here, and unlock the door of the stable. I must be early on the road this morning." Kerry O'Leary — for so was he called, to distinguish him frorn those of the name in the adjoining county — soon made his appearance in the court-yard beneath. His toilet was a hasty one, consisting merely of a pair of worn corduroy small clothes and an old blue frock, with faded scarlet collar and cuffs, which, for convenience, he wore on the present occasion buttoned at the neck, and without inserting his arms in the sleeves, leaving these appendages to float loosely at his side. His legs and feet were bare, as was his head, save what covering it derived from a thick fell of strong black hair that hung down on every side like an ill-made thatch, Kerry was not remarkable for good looks. His brow was lov/, and shaded two piercing black eyes, set so closely together, that they seemed to present to the beholder one single continuous dark streak beneath his forehead : a short snubby nose, a wide thick-lipped mouth, and a heavy massive imder-jaw, made up an assemblage of features, which, when at rest, indicated little of remarkable or striking ; but when animated and excited, displayed the strangest possible union of deep cinming and simplicity, intense curiosity and apathetic indolence. His figure was short, almost to dwarfishness, and as his arms were enor- mously long, they contributed to give that air to his appearance. His legs were widely bowed, and his gait had that sloueliing, shambling motion, so indicative of an education cultivated among horses and stable-men. So it was, in fact ; Kerry had begun life as a jockey. At THE o'dONOGIUTE. 27 thirteen he rode a whining race at the Curragh, anJ came in first on the back of Bhie Blazes, the wickedest horse of the day in Ireland. From that hour lie became a celebrity, and until too old to ride, was the crack jockey of his time. From jockey he grew into trainer — the usual transition of the tadpole to the frog ; and when the racing stud was given up by the O'Donoghue in exchange for the hunting field, Kerry led the pack to their glorious sport. As time wore on, and its course brought saddening fortunes to his master, Kerry's occupation was invaded ; the horses were 'sold, the hounds given up, and the kennel fell to ruins. Of the large household that once filled the castle, a few were now retained ; but among these was Kerry, It was not that he was useful, or that his services could minister to the comfort or convenience of the family ; far from it, the commonest offices of in-door life he was ignorant of, and, even if he knew, would have shrunk from performing them, as being a degradation. His whole skill was limited to the stable-yard, and there, now, his functions were unneeded. It would seem as if he were kept as a kind of memento of their once condition, rather than any thing else. There was a pride in maintaining one who did nothing the whole day but loun£;e about the offices and the court-yard, in his old ragged suit of huntsman. And so, too, it impressed the country people, who seeing him, believed that at any moment the ancient splendour of the house might shine forth again, and Kerry, as of yore, ride out on his thoroughbred, lo make the valleys ring with music. He was, as it were, a kind of staff, through which, at a day's notice, the whole regiment might be mustered. It was in this spirit he lived, and moved, and spoke. He was always going about looking after a " nice beast to carry the master," and a " real bit of blood for Master Mark," and he would send a gossoon to ask if Barry O'Brien of the bridge "heard tell of a fox in the cover below the road." In fact, his preparations ever portended a speedy resumption of the habits in which his youth and manhood were spent. Such was the character who now, in the easy deshabille described, de- scended into the court-yard with a great bunch of ^eys in his hand, and led the way towards the stable. •' I put the little mare into the hack-stable, Mr. Lawler/' said he, "because the hunters is in training, and I didn't like to disturb them with a strange beast." "Hunters in training!" replied Lanty in astonishment. "Why, I thought he had nothing but the grey marc with the black legs." "And sure, if he hasn't," responded Kerry crankily, "couldn't he buy them when he wants them." 28 THK O DONOGHUE. " Oil, that's it," said the other, laughing to himself'. " No doubt of it Kerry. Money will do many a thing." " Oh, it's wishing it I am for money ! Ead luck to the peace or ease I ever seen since they became fond of money. I remember the time it was, ' Kerry go down and bring this, or take that,' and devil a more about it ; and lashings of every thing there was. See now ! if the horses could eat pease pudding, and drink punch, they'd got it for askin' ; but now it's all for saving, and saving. And sure, what's the use of goold ? God be good to us, as I heard Father Luke say, he'd do as much for fifteen shillings as for fifty pounds, av it was a poor boy wanted it." " "What nonsense are you talking, you old sinner, abotit saving. Why man, they haven't got as much as they could bless themselves on, among them all. You needn't be angry, Kerry. It's not Lanty Lawler you can humbug that way. Is there an acre of the estate their own now ? Not if every perch of it made four, it wouldn't pay the money they owe." " And if they do," rejoined Kerry indignantly, " who has a better right, tell me that? Is it an O'Donoghue would be behind the rest of the country — begorra, ye're bould to come up here and tell us that." " I'm not telling you any thing of the kind — I'm saying that if they are ruined entirely " "Arrali! don't provoke me. Take your baste and go, in God's name." And so saying, Kerry, whose patience was fast ebbing, pushed wide the stable-door, and pointed to the stall where Lanty' s hackney was standing. " Bring out that grey mare, Master Kerry," said Lanty in a tone of easy insolence, purposely assumed to provoke the old huntsman's anger. " Bring her out here." " iVnd what for, would I bring her out ?" *' May be I'll tell you afterwards," was the repl3^ " Just do as I say, now." " The devil a one o' me will touch the beast at your bidding ; and what's more, I'll notlet yourself lay a finger on her." "Be quiet, you old fool," said a deep voice behind him. lie turned, and there stood Mark O'Donoghue himself, pale and haggard after his night's excess. "Be quiet, I say. The mare is his — let him have her." " Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed Kerry, "here's the hunting season beginning, and sorrow thing you'll have to put n saddle on, l^arrin' — Ijarrlu' " THE O DONOGHUE. 29 "Barring what?" interposed Lanty, with an insolent grin. Tlic young man flushed at the impertinence of the insinuation, but said not a word for a few minutes, then suddenly exclaimed — "Lanty, I h.ave changed my mind; I'll keep the mare." The horse-dealer started, and stared him full in the face — " Why Mr. Mark, surely you're not jn earnest ? The beast is j)nid for — the bargain all settled." "I don't care for that. There's your money again. Fll keep tlie mare.'' " Ay, but listen to reason. The mare is mine. She was so v.hen you handed mo the luck-jienny, and if I don't wish to part with her,' you cannot compel me.'' "Can't I ?" retorted ;Mark, with a jeering laugh; " can't I, faith? Will you tell nie what's to prevent it ? V/ill you take the law of me ? Is that your threat ?'' " Devil a one ever said I was that mean, before !" replied Lanty, with an air of deeply-oifended pride. " I never demeaned myself to the law, and I'm fifteen years buying and selling horses in every county in Mini- ster. No, Mr. Mark, it is not that ; but I'll just tell you the truth, The mare is all as one as sold already ; — there it is now, and that's the whole secret." " Sold! What do you mean ? — that you had sold that mare before you ever bought her?'' " To be sure 1 cUd," cried Lanty, assuming a forced look of easy as- surance he was very far from feeling at the moment. "There's nothing more common in my trade. Not one of ns buys a beast without know- ing where the next owner is to be had." " And do you mean, sir," said Mark, as he eyed him with a steady stare, " do j'ou mean to tell me that you came down here, as you would to a petty farmer's cabin, with your bank-notes, ready to take whatever you may pitch your fancy on, sure and certain thnt our necessities must make lis willing chapmen for all you care to deal in — do you dare to say that you have done this with me .'"' For an instant Lanty was confounded. He could not utter a word, and looked around him in the vain hope of aid from any other cpiarter, but none was forthcoming. Kerry was the only unoccupied witness of the scene, and his foee beamed with ineffable satisfaction at the turn matters had taken, and as he rubbed his hands he could scarcely control his desire to laugh outright, at the lamentable figure of his late antagonist. " Let me say one word, Master Mark," said Lanty at length, and in 30 THE O DONOGHUE. a voice subdued to its very softest key — "just a single word in your own ear," and witli that he led the young man outside the door of the stable, and whispered for some minutes, with the greatest earnestness, concluding in a voice loud enough to be heard by Kerry — " And after that, I'm sure I need say no more." Mark made no answer, but leaned his back against the wall, and folded his arms upon his breast. " May I never if it is not the whole truth," said Lanty, with a most eager and impassioned gesture ; " and now I leave it all to yourself." " Is he to take the mare ?" asked Kerry, in anxious dread lest his enemy might have carried the day. " Yes," was the reply, in a deep hollow voice, as the speaker turned away and left the stable. While Lanty was engaged in placing his saddle on his new purchase, an operation in which Kerry contrived not to afford him any assistance whatever, IMark O'Donoghue paced slowly to and fro in the court- yard, with his arms folded, and his head sunk upon his breast ; nor was he aroused from his reverie until the step of the horse was heard on the pavement beside him. " Poqj- Kittane," said he, looking up suddenly, " you were a great pot : I hope they'll be as kind to you as I was ; and they'd better, too," added he, half- savagely, " for you've a drop of the Celt in your blood, and can revenge harsh treatment when you meet with it. Tell her ov/ner that she is all gentleness, if not abused, but get her temper once up, and, by Jove, there's not a torrent on the mountain can leap as madly ! She knows her name, too : I trust they'll not change that. She was bred beside Lough Kittane, and called after it. See how she can follow ;" and with that, the youth sprang forward, and placing his hand on the top bar of a gate, vaulted lightly over ; but scarcely had he reached the ground, when the mare bounded after him, and stood with her head resting on his shoulder. IMark turned an elated look on the others, and then surveyed tlie noble animal beside him with all the pride and admiration of a master regarding his handiwork. She was, indeed, a model of symmetr}^, and well worthy of all the praise bestowed on her. For a moment or two the youth gazed on her, with a flashing ej^e and quivering lip, while the mare, catching excitement from the free air of the morning, and the spring she had made, stood with swelled veins and trembling limbs, his counterpart in eagerness. One spirit seemed to animate both. So Mark ajipcarcd to feci it, as vvith a bound he sprung into the saddle, and Avith a Avild cheer dashed forward. With ■#' THE o'dONOGHUK. 31 lightning's speed they went, anil in a moment disappeared from view, Kerry jumped up on a broken gate-pier, and strained his eyes to cateh them, while Lanty, muttering maledictions to himself, on the hair- brained boy, turned every where for a spot where he might view the scene. "There he goes," shouted Kerry ; "look at him now; he's coming to the furze ditch into the big field : sec! see! she does not sec the fence ; her head's in the air. Whew — elegant, by the mortial — never touched a hoof to it ! — murther ! murther ! how she gallops in the deep ground, and the wide gripe that's before her ! Ah, he won't take it ; he's turning away." " I wish to the Lord he'd break a stirruji-lcalher," muttered Lanty. "Oh, Joseph!" screamed Kerry, "there was a jump — twenty feet as sure as I'm living. Where is he now ? — I don't see him." " INIay you never," grov.\cd Lanty, whose indignant anger had burst all bounds : " that's not treatment for another man's horse." " There he goes, the jewel ; see him in the stubble field ; sure it's a real picture to see him going along at his ease. Whurroo — he's over the wall. What the devil's the matter now? — they're away ;" and so it was : the animal that an instant before was cantering perfectly in hand, had now set off at top speed, and at full stretch. "See the gate — mind the gate — Master Mark — tear-and-ages, mind the gate," shouted Kerry, as though his admonition could be heard half a mile away. " Oh ! holy Mary ! he's through it," and true enough — the Viild and now affrighted beast dashed through the frail timbers, and held on her course, without stopping. " He's broke the gate to flitters." "May I never, if I don't wish it was his neck," said Lanty, in open defiance. " Do you, then V called out Kerry. " Why, then, as sure as my name's Kerry O'Leary, if there's a hair of his head hurted, I'll '' Wlaat the threat was intended for, cannot be known ; for his eye once more caught sight of his idol, and he yelled out — " Take care of the sheep. Bad luck to ye for sheep, ye're alv.ays in the way. That's the darling — 'twas myself taught you to have a light hand. Ah, Kittane, you're coming to rayson now." "The mare Avont be worth sixpence," muttered Lanty. "'Twas as good as a day's sport to me," said Kerry, wiping his brow with the loose sleeve of his coat, and preparing to descend from the elevation, for the young man now entered the distant part of the lawn, and, at an easy canter, was returning to the stable-yard. " There !" said Mark, as he flung himself from the saddle, " there 32 THE o'donoghue. Kittane, it's the last time you're likely to have a bold burst of it, or myself either, perhaps. She .touched her counter on that gate, Lanty ; but she's nothing the Avorse of it." Lanty grumbled some indistinct niutterings, as he wiped a blood stain from the mare's chest, and looked sulkily at her heaving flanks and sides reeking with foam and sweat. "'Tis a darling you wor," said Kerry, patting her over from her mane to her hind quarters. " Faix, that cut is ten pounds out of my pocket this morning, any- how," said Lanty, as he pointed to the slight scratch from which a few drops of blood still flowed. " Are you off the bargain, tlien," said ]\Lirk sternly, as he turned his head round ; for he was already leaving the spot. " I didn't say so," was the answer. For a second or two Mark seemed uncertain what reply to make, and then, as if controlling his temper, he nodded carelessly, and with a " Good-by, Lanty," he sauntered slowly towards the house. "Well, ?»lr. O'Leary," said Lanty, in a voice of affected politeness. Irishmen are occasionally very fond of employing when they intend great self-respect, " may I trouble you to bring out tliat hack of raine." " 'Tis a pleasure, INIr. Lawler, and no trouble in life, av it helps to get rid of you," responded Kerry, as he waddled off on the errand. Lanty made no reply ; perhaps he felt the encounter unequal — perhaps he despised his antagonist ; in any case, he waited patiently for Kerry's appearance, and then, passing his arm within the bridle of each horse, he slowly descended the avenue towards the high road. THK o'noNO(;iu i:. 33 CHAPTER V. IMI'UKSSIOXS OF Ilir.LANl). It was not without a feeling closely allied to disappointment, that Sir IMarmaduke Travers foimd the advent to his Irish estates niieelihrated by any of those testimonies on the part of his tenantry, his agent, Cap- tain Ilemsworth, had often so gra[)hieally pictured before him. The post-horses were suffered to drag his carriage unmolested to its destina- tion ; tliere was no assemblage of people to welcome — not a bonfire to hail lu's arrival. True, ho liad come totallv unexpectedly. The two servaiit.s scut forward to prepare th<' lodtre for his reception, only reaclud tliere a single ilav before biiH.-ell'. I»ut Sir ^rarnia iiiuili b\ siirpri^c, and, llicii'. In- ;d\\a\> tDinul a deputation, and a eorlege of niountcd A.'omen. 'i'lieri- wt-rr addresses. and triumphal arches, and newspaper ])aragrapiis, and ail the innume- rable but well-known accompaniments of those patronizing acts of con- descension, w hich consist in the visit of a rich man to his own home. Now, however, all was differoit. No cheering sounds broke the quiet stillness of the deep valley. No troops of people on horseback or on foot filled the glen. The sun set, calm and golden, behind the jjurjile hills, uuscared by the lurid glow of a single bonfire. Save from an a])- pearance of increased bustle, and an air of movement and stir around tiie lodge itself, there was nothing to mark his coming. There, indeed, servants were seen to pass and re-pass ; workmen were employed u})on the tiower-garden and the shrubbery walks ; and all the indications of care and attention to the villa and its grounds easily perceptible. Be- yond these precincts, however, all was still and solitary as before. For miles the road could be seen without a single traveller. The mountains seemed destitute of inhabitants. The peaceful solemnity of the deep glen, along which the cloud shadows moved slowly in procession, in- creased the sense of loneliness, and Sir Marmaduke already began to suspect, that this last trial of a residence would scarcely J)l■o^ e more forttniate than the previous ones. Age and wealth are uncomplying task-masters — liabit and ])ower en- dure restraint with an ill grace. The old baronet was liali' angry v.Ith himself for what he felt a mistake, and he coidd not foi-give the country u 34 THE o'donoguue. which was.'the cause of it. He had come expressly to see and pronounce for himself — to witness with his own eyes, to hear with his own ears — ■ and yet he knew not how it was, nothing revealed itself before him. The very labourers who worked in the garden seemed uncommunicative and shy. Their great respect and reverence he vniderstood as a cautious reserve. He must send for Hem&worth — there was nothing else for it. Hemsworth was used to them, and could explain the mode of dealing with them. Their very idioms required translating, and he could not advance without an interpreter. Not so his daughter. To her the scene had all the charm of ro- mance. The lone dwelling beside the blue lake, the tall and peaked mountains lost in the white clouds, the waving forest with its many a tangled path, the bright islands that, gem-like, spangled the calm surface of the water, realized many a poetic dream of her childhood, and she felt that visionary happiness which serenity of mind, united to the warm imagination of early life, alone can bestow. It was a fairy existence to live thus secluded in that lonely valley, where the flowers seemed to blossom for them alone ; for them, the summer birds sang their roundelays, and the fair moon shed her pale light over hill and stream, with none to mark her splendour save them- selves. Not these thoughts alone filled her mind. Already had she noticed the artless habits of the humble peasantry — their gratitude for the slightest services, their affectionate greetings, the touching beauty of their expressions, teeming with an imagery she never heard before. All appealed to her mind with a very different force from what they ad- dressed themselves with to her father's. Already she felt attracted by the figurative eloquence, so popular a gift among the people. The warm fervour of fancy she had believed the attribute of highly-wrought tem- peraments only, she found here amid poverty and privation ; flashes of bright wit broke from the gloom of daily suffering ; and the fire which gives life its energy, burned brightly amid the ashes of many an extin- guished hope. These were features she was not prepared to meet among a peasantry living in a wild unvisited district, and day by day they fas- cinated her more strongly. It was not entirely to the difference between father and daughter that these varied impressions were owing. The people themselves assumed a tone quite distinctive to each. Sir Marmaduke they had always heard spoken of, as a stern-tempered man, whose severity towards his tenantry was, happily, tempered by the personal kindness of the agent. Captain Hemsworth constantly impressed them with the notion that all harsh measures originated with his principal — the favours came from himself THE o'dONOCHUE. SS only. The exactions of liij^h rents, the rigorous prosecutions cfthe law, he ever asserted were acts compulsory with him, but always rojiug- nant to his own better feelings. Every little act of grace he accom- l)anied by an assurance, that he " hoj)ed Sir IMarmaduke might not hear of it," as the consequences to himself might prove ruinous. In fact, he contrived to mislead both j)arties in their estimate of each other, and their first acquaintanceship, it could not be supposed, should dispel the illu- sion. The peasantry, however, were the first to discover the error: long before Sir Marmaduke had made any progress in deciphering the mystic symbols of their natures, they had read his from end to end. They scanned him with powers of observation no other people in Euroi)e can compete with ; and while he was philosophizing about the combined influence of their superstitions, their ignorance, and their apathy to suf- fering, they were accurately speculating on all the jiossible benefits which might accrue from the residence amongst them, of so very kind-hearted, but such a mere simpleton of a man as himself. They listened with sincere pleasure — for they love any a])peal to tliem- selves — to the precepts he so liberally bestowed regarding " industry" and "frugality;" nor did they ever make the reply, which was ready at every li}), that industry cannot be practised without an occupation, nor fruga- lity be pushed beyond the very borders of starvation. No ; they answered with a semblance of concurrence, — " True for you, sir ; the devil a lie in it — your honour knows it well." Or, when pushed home by any argument against their improvidence, or recklessness, the ever- present reply was- — "Sure, sir, it's the will of God ;" a piece of fatalism, that rescued them from many a difficulty, when no other aid was near. " They are a simple set of people," said Sir Marmaduke, as he sat at his breakfast in the small parlour of the lodge, which looked out upon the glen. " Very ignorant, very barbarous, but easily led — I see through them clearly." " I like them greatly," said his daughter ; " their gratitude knows no bounds for the shghtest services ; they have a kind of native courtesy, so rare to find amongst a peasantry : how that poor fellow last night wished to climb the cliff, where the eagle's nest is, because 1 foolishly said I had never seen a young eagle." "They are totally misunderstood," said Sir Marmaduke, senten- tiously, rather following out the train of his own reflections, than noticing the remark of his daughter ; "all one hears of their absurd reverence for the priest, or the devoted adherence they practise towards the old families of the country, is mere nonsense. You heard how Dan laughed this morning, when I joked with him about purgatory and the saints ; 36 THE o'dokogiiue. and what a droll description they gave of that queer household — the chieftain — what is his name ? " The O'Douoghue." "Yes ; I never can reiiicmher it. No, no ; they are not so bigotted ; they are merely uninformed. We shall soon see many changes among them, I have written to Bradston about the plans for the cottages, and also the design for a school-house ; and then, there's the chapel — that reminds me I have not returned the priest's visit; he was here the day befure yesterday,'' " If you like, Ave'U ride there ; I have heard that the glen is beau- tiful higher up," " I was just going to propose it ; that mare seems quiet enough : Lawler says that she has been carrvinga lady these last two years; will you try her? ' " T am longing to do so — I'm eevtain she is gentleness itself." ■■ Stiiiiigc fiTlow ihiit lioi>.e-il(-jii(i- i<. tiiu," said the old gentleinan in lial) >i)ld(>(|u\ . ••Ill iMj uilicr (-(Muitrv in rlie uni\erse would sufli ;< 7ueie .siiii|ilcluii hiue taken to I In- Had.' of a juekev : be {iftualiv did iiul Iiiow wliai jtriec iu ask I'ur his hui'.sc ; lie left it all to ourselves. He'd soon finish his career in London, at that rate of going ; but what have we got here — what in heaven's name is all this ?" cried he aloud, as he suddenly rose from the table, and approached a small glass door that opened upon the lawn, Tlie olyect which so excited his astomshrnent was an assemblage of something more than a hundred poor people of every sex and age — from infancy to dotage — seated on the grass, in a wide semicircle, and await- ing the moment when he should issue forth. Every phase of human misery, Avhich want and wretchedness can bestow, was there. The cheeks of some were pale and haggard with recent sickness ; others had but a few tattered rags to cover them ; many Averc cripples, unable to move Avithout assistance. There was wan and sickly childhood, and tremulous old age ; }et the tone of their voices showed no touch of sad- ness ; they laughed and talked with all the seeming of light-heartedness ; and many a droll and merry saying broke from that medley mass of suf- fering and sorrow. The sudden appearance O'f Sir Marmaduke at the door instantaneously checked all merriment, and a solemn silence en- sued, as he walked io'.lh and stood in front of them. "\yi)at do you Avant, my good people ?" said he at length, as none seemed disposed to oj»en the proceedings. Had their tongues been unlocked by the spell of a magician, the effect could not have been more instantaneous — a jjcnect volley of speech ful- Tur; o'donomiuk. :n lowed, in \\:lilcli Sir Mannailukc in \aiii ciidLaNOurcil lo follow tlie words of ail}' single si)fakcr. Their rajtid ulterance, their veheiucut gesticula- tion, and a certain j^nttm-al mode of pronunciation, quite new to him, made them totally unintelligihle, and he stood confused, perplexed, and confounded for several iniiuites, staring around on every side. " Do, in heaven's name, be quiet," cried lie at last ; " let one or two only talk at a time, and I shall learn what you mean." A renewal of the clamour ensued ; hut this time it was a general effoi t to enforce silence — a ])rocess which eventuated in a far greater uproar than before. " Who, or what arc you ?" cried Sir Mavmaduke, at last losing all temper, at the continuance of a tunudt there seemed no ])rospcct of coming to an end. "We're your honour's tenants, every one of us," shouted the crowd with one voice. "il/y tenants !" reiterated he in horror and astonishment. ""What ! is it possible that you arc tenants on my property ? Where do you live, my jioor old man .'" said he, addressing a venerable old fellow, -with a head as white as snow, and a beard like a patriarch's. " lie does not talk any English, yoiu' honour's worship — he Ivas only Irish ; he lives in the glen beyond," said a comely Avoman at his side. "And you, where do you come from yourself?" " I'm a i)oor widow, your honour, with six childer ; and sorra bit I have, but the little garden, and the grass of a goat ; and sure, fifteen shillings every half year is more nor I can pa}', wid all the scrapin' in life." Sir INIarmaduke turned away' his head, and as he did so, his eye fell upon a poor creature, whose bloated cheeks and swollen figure denoted dropsy. The man interpreting the look into a compassionate inquiiy, broke forth in a feeble voice — " I brought the nine shilhngs with me, ver honour ; and though the captain refused to take it, I'm sure you won't turn me out of the little place, for being a trific late. It's the watery dropsy — glory be to God I — I'm under ; but they say I'm get- ting better." While the poor creature spoke, a low muttering of pity burst from those around him, and many a comi)assionate look, and many a cheering word was expressed by those scarce less miserable than himsell'. There w;is now a certain kind ol" order restored to the assembly ; and as Sir ^larmaduke moved along the line, each in turn addressed his sup])lieation or complaint. One was threatened with a distress on his pig, because lie owed two half-years' rent, and could only ])ay a j)ortiou 38 THE O DONOGIIUE. of the debt ; there was a failure in the potatoe crop, and a great famine the consequence. Another was only recovering from tlie " shak- ing ague," and begged for time, since if he thrashed his oats, now, tliey would bring nothing in the market. A third entreated liberty to cut his turf on a distant bog, as he was up to his knees in water, in the place allotted to him. Some came with odd shillings due on the last rent-day, and anxious to get leave to send their children to the school without payment. Every one had some favour to look for — some mere trifle to the granter ; the whole world to him who asked — and, for these, many had come miles away from homes far in the mountains ; a glimmering hope of succour, the only encouragement to the weary journey. As Sir Marmaduke listened with a feigned composure to narratives, at which his very heart bled, he chanced to observe a strange-looking figure, in an old scarlet uniform, and a paper cap, with a cock's feather stuck slantwise iu the side of it. The wearer, a tall, bony youth, with yellow hair, carried a long wattle over his shoulder, as if it were a gun, and when the old baronet's eye fell upon him, he immediately stood bolt upright, and held the sapling to his breast, like a soldier presenting arms. "Shoulder hoo ! " he cried, and as the words were heard, a hearty burst of laughter ran through the crowd ; every grief and sorrow was at once forgotten ; the eyes wet with tears of sadness, were now moistened with those of mirth ; and they laughed like those whose hearts had nevci known suflPering. " Who is this fellow?" said Sir Marmaduke, half doubting how far he might relish the jest like the others. " Terry the Woods, your honour," replied a score of voices together. " Terry the Woods !" repeated he, " and is Terry a tenant of mine ?" " Faix, I am proud to say I am not," said Terry, grounding hisweapon, and advancing a step towards him ; " divil a farthin' of rent I ever ])aid, nor ever will. I do have^ my health mighty well — glory be to God ! — and sleep sound, and have good clothes, and do nothing for it ; and they say I am a fool, but which of us is the greatest fool after all." Another outbreak of laughter was only quelled by Sir Marmaduke asking the reason of Terry's appearance there, that morning — if he had nothing to look for. " I just came to pay my respects," said Terry composedly, " to wish you a welcome to the country. I thought that as you might be lading the same kind of life as myself, we wouldn't be bad companions, you see, neither of us }iaving much on bur hands ; and then," continued he. THE o'nONOGHVE. 30 as he took off his paper honnet and inailo a ileop reverence, " I wanted to sec the young lady there, for they tould me she was a horn beauty." Miss Travers blushed. She was young enough to blush at a com- phment from such a source, as her fother said laughingly — " Well, Terry, and have they been deceiving you ?" " No," said he, gravely, as with steady gaze he fixed his large blue eyes on the fair features before him. " No — she is a j)urty crayturc — a taste sorrowful or so — but I like her all the better. I was the same myself when I was younger." Terry's remark was true enough. The young girl had l)cen a listener for some time to the stories of the people, and her face betrayed the sad emotions of her heart. Never before had such scenes of human suffer- ing been revealed before her — the tortuous windings of the poor man's destiny, where want and sickness lie in wait for those whose happiest hours are the struggles against poverty and its evils. " I can show you the beautifullest places in the whole country," said Terry, approaching Miss Travers, and addressing her in a low voice, "I'll tell you where the white heath is growing, with big bells on it, like cups, to hould the dew. Were you ever up over Keim-an-eigh ?" " Never," said she, smiling at the eagerness of her questioner. " I'll bring you, then, by a short-cut, and you can ride the whole way, and maybe w'e'U shoot an eagle — have you a gun in the house ?" " Yes, there are three or four," said slie humouring him. "And if I shoot him, I'll give you the wing-feathers — that's what they always gave their sweethearts long ago • but them times is gone by." The girl blushed deeply, as she remembered the present of young O'Donoghue, on the evening they came up the glen. She called to mind the air of diffidence and constraint in which he made the proffer, and for some minutes paid no attention to Terry, who still continued to talk as rapidly as before. " There, they are filing off," said Terry — " orderly time," as he once more shouldered his sapling and stood erect. This observation was made with reference to the crowd of poor people, whose names and place of residence Sir Marmaduke having meauwhile written down, they were now returning to their homes with happy and comforted hearts. "There they go," cried Terry, " and an awkward squad they are." "Were you ever a soldier, Terry ?" said Miss Travers. The poor youth grew deadly pale — the very blood forsook his lips, as he muttered, " I was." Sir ^larmaduke came up at the instant, and Terry checked himself at once and said — 40 THE O DONOGIIUE. "Wliencvcr you \vanl me, Icivc Avord at IMary ]M 'Kelly's, in tlic glen below, and I'll lieai- of it." " But dou't you think you had Lcttei" remain here with us ? you could help in the garden and the walks." " Xo ; I never do he working at all— I hate work.'' "Yes, but easy work, Terry," said jMiss Travers, "among the flowers and shrubs here." '< Xo — I'd be quite low and sorrowful if I was to be staying in one place, and maybe — maybe" — here lie whispered so low, as only to be heard by her — " maybe they'd find me out." "Xo; there's no fear of that," said she, "we'll take care no one shall trouble you — stay here, Terry." "^Vcll, I believe I will," said he, after a pause, "1 may go away when I like." " To be sure, and now let us see how you are to be lodged," said Sir !Marmaduke, who already, interested by that inexplicable feeling which grows out of our pity for idiotcy, entered into his daughter's schemes for poor Terry's welfare. A small cottage iii'-.u' tbe Ijoni-housc on the vci'ge of tlu; lake, in- habited bv a labourer and his cliildrcn, oll'ercd tlic wished-i'or asvlum, aud there Terry was at onee installed, and recognised as a member of the household. CHAPTER VI. "TUE black A'ALI.KY." Although deferred by the accidents of the morning, Sir IMarma- duke's visit to the priest Avas not abandoned, and at length, he and his daughter set out on their excursion up the glen. Their road, after pur- suing the highway for about two miles, diverged into a narrow valley, from which there was no exit save by the mode in which it Avas entered. Vast masses of granite rock, ])iled heap above heaj), hung as it were suspeiuled over tbeir heads, the tangled honey-suckle fallhig in rich festoons from these, and the ])urp]e arbutus glowing like gra})e-clusters among the leaves. It was a mellow, autumnal day, when the warmth of colouring is sobered down liy massive shatlows — the iiiii)ress of the Tin: o noNoraur. 41 clouds whicli inovcd slowly above. Tlie air wns liot and tliick, and, save Avhcii an occasional breeze came, uafti^l fioiii tlie waler, was even op])rcssivc. The silence of the glcn Avas prolound— not a bird was beard, nor was there in the vast expanse of air, a single wing seen floating. As they rode, they often stopped to wonder at the strange but beautiful efu-cts of liglit tliat glided now slowly along the mountains— disap])cared — then shone again ; the giant shadows seeming to chase each other througli the dreary valley. Thus, sauntering along they took no note of time, when at last the long low cottage, where the priest lived, came in sight. It Avas an humble abode, but beautifully situated at (he bottom of the glcn ; the whole valley lying expanded in front, witli its bright rivulet and its bold sides of granite. The cottage itself v,as lillle better than that of a poor farmer; and save from the ornament of some creei)crs, which were trained against tlie walls, and formed into a deep l)orch at the entrance, differed in no respect from such. A few stra"-- gling patches of cultivation, of tlie very rudest kind, were seen, here and there, but all without any eilbrt at fence or enclosure. Some ^^i]d fruit- trees Avere scattered over the little lawn in front, if the narrow strip of grass that Hanked the river could l)e called ^ueji, and here, a small Kerry cow was grazing, the only living thhig to be .seen. A little well, arched over with pieces ef rock, and surmounted bv a small wooden cross, stood close to the road-side, and the wild-thorn that overshadowed it was hung on every side AAitli small patches of rags of every colour and texture that human dress ever consisted of; a sif>-ht new to tlie eyes of the travellers, who knew not, that the shrine Avas deemed holy, and the tree, the receptacle of the humble offering of those, Avliosc sorroAvs of mind and body came there for allcA^iatiou and succour. Sir IMarmaduke dismounted and approached the door, Avhicli lav Avidc open ; he knocked gently Avitli his Avliip, and as no ansAver to his sum- mons AA'as returned, repeated it again and again. He noAv ventm-cd to call aloud, but no one came, and at last, both father and daughter l)egan to suspect there might be no one in the house. " This is most strange," said he, after a long i)ausc, and an effort to peep in through the AvindoAvs, half hid Avith honey-suckle. " The place seems totally deserted. Let us try at the back, hoAVcver." Asth' old l)arouet wended his Avay to the rear of the cottage, he muttered a half upbraiding against l;is daughter for not com])lving Avith las desire to have a groom along with them — a AAant, Avhich now in- creased the inconvenience of their ])osition. She laughingly defended 42 THE O DONOGHUE. herself against tlie cliarge, and at the same moment sprang down from her saddle, to assist in the search. " I certainly perceived some smoke from tlie chimney as we came up the gk'n, and there must have been some one here lately, at least," said she, looking eagerly around on every side. " This is indeed solitude," muttered her father, as he listened for some minutes, during which the stillness had an effect most appalling. While he was speaking. Miss Travers had drawn near to a low latticed window which lay half open, and as she peeped in, immediately drew back, and beckoned with her hand for her father to approach, intimating by a cautious gesture that he should do so noiselessly. Sir Marmaduke came stealthily to her side, and, leaning over her shoulder, looked into the room. As both father and daughter exchanged glances, they seemed with difficulty to refrain from laughing, while astonishment was strongly depicted on the countenance of each. As they continued to gaze, their first emotion gradually yielded to a look of intense interest at the scene before them. Seated beside the large turf fire of the priest's kitchen, for such it was, was a youth of some fifteen or sixteen years. [His figure, .light and well proportioned, was clad in a fashion which denoted his belonging to the better class, though neglect and time had made many an inroad on the costume. His brow was lofty and delicately formed — the temples marked with many a thin blue vein, which had given a look of delicacy to the countenance, if the deep glow of health had not lit up his cheeks, and imparted a bright lustre to his eyes. He held before him an open volume, from which he declaimed rather than read aloud, as it seemed, for the special delight and amusement of a small ragged urchin of about nine years old — who, with bare legs and feet, was seated on a little pyramid of turf, right opposite to him. Well might Sir Marmaduke and his daughter feel surprise ; the volume was Homer, from which, with elevated voice and flashing eye, the boy was reading — the deep-toned syllables ringing through the low-vaulted chamber with a sweet but a solemn music. Contrasted with the fervid eloquence of the youth, was the mute wonder and rapt at- tention of the little fellow who hstened. Astonishment, awe, and eager curiosity, blended together in that poor little face, every linea- ment of which trembled with excitement. If a high soaring imagination and elevated tone of thought Avere depicted in the one, the other, not less fo"cibly realized the mute and trembling eagerness of impassioned interest . The youth paused for a few sccondsj and seemed to be reflecting over THE O DONOGHUE. 43 what he read, wlicn the hoy, in an accent broken with anxiety, cried out — " Read it, again. Master Herbert, Oh, read it again. It's hke the cry of the big stag-hound at Carrignacurra." "It is the language of the gods, Mickey — finer and grander tlian ever man spoke," repUcd the youth witli fervour. "Listen to this, liere;" and then, with solemn cadence he declaimed some twenty lines, while, as if the words were those of an incantation, the little fellow sat spell- bound, with clasped hands and staring eye-balls gazing before him. "What does it mean, Master Herbert? — what is it?" said he, iu panting eageruess. " It's about a great hero, Mickey, that was preparing for battle. He was putting on his armour, a coat and a cap of steel, and he was belting on his sword." " Yes, yes," broke in the little fellow, "and wasn't he saying how he'd murther and kill all before him?" " Right enough," said the youth, laughing. " You guessed it well." " Ah, I knew it," said the boy. " I saw how you clenched j'our fist, and your eyes wor shinin' like sj)arks of fire, and I knew it was darin' them he was, in the book there. What did he do after. Master Herbert ? Just tell me that, sir." " He went out in his chariot " " Say it like himself first, sir, av it's plazin' to jc," said he, with a most imploring look of entreaty. " I do be glad to hear it out of the book." The youth, thus entreated, resumed the volume, and read on for se- veral minutes without stopping. " Oh, that's graud !" said the boy, in a burst of enthusiasm. " 'Tis for all the world the way the thunder comes down the glen — moanin' first, far off on the mountains, and then swellin' into a big roar, and afterwards going clap ! clap ! like a giant clapping his hands. Did he kill the iuimy, master dear ?" " No, he was killed himself, and his body dragged over the battle- field." " Wirra, wlrra, wirra !" broke iu the child, while he rung his hands, and biu'st forth into a torrent of tumultuous grief. " He was kiUed, Mickey, and listen to the lament of his friends for liis death." Scarcely had the youth read a few lines, when Sir INfarmaduke, ad- vancing a little farther, his shadow fell across the chamber. The youth sprang up at once, and came towards them. The flush of surprise — it 44 'i'ni' o DoxoKHUK. mi^ht 1)0, too, of sliaine— was ou liis ieatuvcs ; but there was less u' awkwardness than many might Jiave exhibited in the manner of his address, as he said — " Father liVike is from home, sir. He has been scut for to Bally- vouniey " " You arc his relation, I jiresume ?" said Sir Marmadnke, without letting hhn finish his speech. " I am his pupil," replied the youth, with a tone in ^Yhich offended pride was clearly confessed. " I ask pardon," said the hai-onet hastily. " It was merely tliat I might convey my respectful greetings to the worthy father that I asked the question. Perhaps you will allow me to trespass so far upon you, and say, that Sir JNIarmaduke Travers has heen here." While Sir ^larmaduke was speaking, the youth's eyes were fixed with a steadfast gaze on the features of the young girl, of wliose presence till then he seemed unconscious. Fixed and earnest as his stare was, there was nothing in it of rudeness, still less of insult. It was the unequi- vocal expression of astonishment, the suddenly-a-\vakcned sense of ad- miration in one, on whom, till that very instant, beauty had shed no ias- cination. His eyes were hent u})on her, as Sir INIarmaduke thus iinished speaking, and the old man smiled as he saw the wonder-struck admira- tion of the boy. " You will please to say Sir Marmaduke Travers," repealed he once more, to recall the scattered senses of the youth. " And his daughter ?" inurnnu-ed the other, as he still contmued to stare at her. " Yes, his daughter," rci)licd Sir Marmaduke, smiling. " jMay I ask if there be no shorter road back to 'the Lodge,' than that yonder? for I perceive it is full two liom's later than I suspected." " None for those on horsehack. The mountain path lies yonder, but even on foot it is not without danger." "Come, then, Syheha ; let us lose no time. "We must ride briskly, to reach home by day-light. We are late enough already." " Too late, if you ride not very fast," replied the youth. " The rain lias I'allen heavily on the mountains this afternoon. See that wnU'rlkll yonder. I crossed it dry-shod at day-break, and now^, it is a cataract. This river rises rapidly, and in a single night's rain I have seen the valley ail one lake." "AVHiat are we to do Inen ?" (;ried Iviiss Travers, eagerly, for now she felt self-rejjroach at her refusal to take a groom along with thcui, and was vexed with herself, as well as uiiea«v for her father. Tin: o DONOGiirK. 45 , "Keep the left of tlic valK-y till you reach the tall hlaek rock they call * the Pulpit' — you know it, at least you must have seen it, as you caine along— then cross the stream, it will be forilablc enough by that time, and make the best of your way along under the cliffs, till you arrive at the broken bridge — the two buttresses, I mean, lie-cross the stream there, and gain the meadows, and in some hundred yards you are safe upon the high road. Away then ; lose no more time, now ; a minute is all the space between risk and safety ;" and with these words he sprang forward, and lifted the young girl to her saddle, ere she had time or forethought to decline the service. *' May we not know the name of our kind ad\iser ?" asked Sir Mar- madnke, as he mounted his horse. "Hark! there it comes !" said the youtli, ])ointing upwards to the brow of a cliff, over which a leaping torrent had just bounded. " The inouiitain lakes are flooded, when Dcrryhahn is spouting. Away! away! it' \(in citrc tor sMtVl \ .'' Tbcx turnril lln-ir lMir>r>' lifyu> a.-^ lie >ptv " <;'ood b\c'" they spurred torwards. Short ;(> tlic time iiad been since tliev travelled the same path, the scene was \M)uderfull\ elijuiiied ; the placid stream that stole along, murmuring over its gravelly bed, now rushed onward with a yellow current streaked with white foam ; the tiny rivulets that came in slender drops u})on the road-side, were now become continuous streams of water, hurrying on to bear their tribute to the river. The sky itself was black and louring, resting midway on the mountains, or drifting past in heavy clouds, while no breeze was stirring below. The many torrents as they fell, filled the air with a low monotonous sound, like the noise of tree tops moved by a distant storm. •' I thought I heard a voice calling to us," said Sir Marmaduke, as for the tirst time they slackened their pace, to clear several loose stones that ol)structed the way — "did you hear it ?" "I half thought so, too," replied his daughter ; " but I can see no one near. There it is again!" They halted and listened ; but the swelling uproar of the waterfalls drowned every sound, and they sjnured forward once more, fearing to loiter longer ; yet, both as they went, thought they could trace the words, " come back, come back ;" but from some strange dread of communi- cating tears that might not be real, neitlier told the other. "He said the left side of the valley ; but surely he mistook: see how the water has gained here, and the opposite bank seems dry." " Let us follow the advice, father," cried Svbella, "we have no guid- 40 THE o'donochd*;. ance save his ; lie could not — would not deceive us. Is it not crand ! with all its danger, I can admire it." As she spoke, a tremendous clap of thunder hroke above their heads, and made the valley tremble Avith the sound, while, as if by the shock the charged clouds were rent open, and the rain descended in torrents. With the swooping gush of the ocean spray, storm-lashed and drifted, the rain came down, wrapping in misty darkness every object around them. And now, the swollen cataracts tore madly down the mountain sides, leaping from crag to crag, and rending the clayey soil in deep clefts and gashes. Again the thunder pealed out, and every echo sent hack the sound, till the whole glen vibrated with the deafening clamour. Still they sped onward. The terrified horses strained every limb, and dashing madly on — mid rock and rushing water they went, now, clearing at a bound the course of some gushing stream — now, breasting the beating rain with vigorous chest. The storm increased ; the howling wind joined with the deep-toned thunder into one long continuous roar, that seemed to shake the very air itself. "Yonder!" said the father, as he pointed to the tall dark pinnacle of rock, known by the country people as " the Pulpit" — " yonder !" Sybella strained her eye to see through the dense beating rain, and at last caught sight of the huge mass, around whose summit the charged clouds were flying. " We must cross the river in this place," said the old man, as he sud- denly checked his horse, and looked with terrified gaze on the swollen stream that came boiling and foaming over to where they stood, with branches of trees and fragments of rock rolling onward in the tide. " The youth told us of this spot." " Let us not hesitate, father," cried the young girl, with a tone of firm, iresolute daring she had not used before — "remember what he said, a minute may save or ruin us. Great heaven ! what is that?" A terrific shriek followed her words, and she fell with her head upon her horse's mane ; a broad flash of lightning had burst from a dark cloud, and came with vivid force upon her eyeballs. " Father, dear father, my sight is gone," she screamed aloud, as lifting up her head she rubbed the orbs now paralyzed by the shock. " My child, my child!" cried the old man, with the piercing shriek of a breaking heart ; " look on me, look towards me. Oh, say that you can see me, now — my brain is turning." "Oh God, I thank thee!" said the terrified girl, as once more her vision was restored, and, dindy, objects began to form themselves before her. THE o'donogiiue. 47 With bare head and upturned eyes, the aged man looked up, and poured forth his prayer of tliankfuhicss to heaven. The raging storm beat on his brow inifelt ; his tlioughts were soaring to the Throne of Mereies, and knew not earth, nor all its sorrows. A clap of thunder at the moment broke from the dense cloud al)Ove them, and then, in quick succession, like the pealing of artillery, came several more, while the forked lightning shot to and fro, and at last, as if the very earth was riven to its centre, a low booming sound was heard amid the clouds ; the darkness grew thicker, and a crash followed that shook the ground beneath them, and splashed the wild waves on every side. The spray sprung madly up, while the roaring of the stream grew louder ; the clouds swept past, and the tall Pulpit rock was gone 1 Struck by lightning, it had rolled from its centre, and fallen across the river, the gushing waters of which poured over it in floods, and fell iu white sheets of foam and spray beyond it. *'God is near us, my child," said the old man with fervour; "let us onward.'* Her streaming eyes turned on him one look of aflfection — the em- blem of a heart's love — and she prepared to follow. To return was now impossible, the river had already extended the whole way across the valley in the rear ; the only chance of safety lay in front. " Keep by my side, dearest," said the father, as he rode first into the stream, and tried to head the terrified animal against the current. " I am near you, father, fear not for me," said she firmly, her bold heart nerved to the danger. For some seconds the affrighted horses seemed rooted to the earth, and stood amid the boiling current as if spell-bound ; a fragment of a tree, however, in its course, struck the flank of the leading horse, and he sprung madly forward, followed by the other. Now, breasting the stream — now, sinking to the mane beneath it, the noble beasts strug- gled fiercely on till near the spot, where the Pulpit-rock had left a space between it and the opposite bank, and here, a vast volume of water now poured along unchecked by any barrier. " To my side — near me, dearest — near me," cried the father, as his horse dashed into the seething flood and sunk above the crest be- neath it. " I cannot, father — I cannot," screamed the affrighted girl, as with a bound of terror her horse sprang back from the chasm, and refused to follow. The old man heard not the words — the current had swept him far down into the stream, amid the rent branches and the rolling J^ 48 THE O DOXOGHUE. roclvs — " My childj my chlkl," the only accents heard ahove tlie raging dhi. Twice did the heroic girl try to face the current, but iu vain — the horse phuigcd wiklly up and threatened to fall back, ^Yhen suddenly through the white foam a figure struggled on and grasped the bridle at the head ; next moment, a man leaped forward and was breasting the surge before her — "Head the stream — head the stream if you can," cried he, who still held on, while the wild waves washed over him ; but the poor horse, rendered unmanageable through fear, had yielded to the current, and was now each moment nearing the cataract. " Cling to me, now," cried the youth, as with tlic strength of despe- ration he tore the girl from the saddle, while with the other hand he grasped an ash bough that hung drooping above his head. As he did so, the mare bounded forward — the waves closed over her, and she was I'arried over the precijiice. "Cling fast to nie, and we are .safe."' t-iied tlie voiilli, ai«l willi vijioniti^ ^ia>|» lie held on the nee, and thus >iupj)orted. breasteil tlie siitaiu and reached the bank. Exhausted and worn nut, both mind and body powerless, they both fell senseless on the grass. The last shriek of despair broke from the father's heai't as the horse, bereft of rider, sw'Cpt past him in the flood. The cry aroused the faint- ing girl ; she half rose to her feet and called upon him. The next mo- ment thev were locked In each other's arms. " It was he who saved me, father," said she in accents broken with joy and sorrow ; " he risked his life for mine." The youth recovered consciousness as the old man pressed him to his heart. "Is she safe?" Avere the first words he said as he stared aroimd him vaguely, and then, as if overcome, he fell heavily back upon the sward. A joyous cheer broke forth from several vciccs near, and at the instant, several country people were seen commg forward, with Terry at their head. "Here we are — here we are, and m good time too," cried Terry; "•'and if It wasn't that you took a fool's advice, we'd have gone the other road. The carriage is in the glen, my lady," said he, kneeling down beside Sybella, who still remained clasped in her father's arms. IJy this time, some of Sir Marmaduke's servants had reached tlie spot, and by them the old man and his daughter were assisted toward the high road, while two others carried tlie poor youth, by this time totally unable t) inake the least exertion. TIIK o'DONOfillX i:. 49 "Tills brave boy — this uoblc fellow," ScUlI Sir Miri: aJuke, ns he stooped to kiss the pale high forehead, from which tlie wet hair hung backwards — " Can no one tell me who he is ?" " He's the young O'Donoghue," replied a half dozen voices together; " a good Avarrant for courage or bravery any day.'" " The O'Donoghue !" repeated Sir Marmaduke, vamly endeavouring in the confusion of the moment to recall the name, and where he had heard it. " Ay, the O'Donoghue," shouted a coarse voice near him, as a new figure rode up on a small mountain pony. " It oughtn't to be a strange name in these parts. Rouse yourself, IMastcr Herbert, rouse up, my child — sure it isn't a wettin' would cow you this way ?" "^¥hat! Kerry, is this you?" said the youth faintly, as he looked around him with half-closed eyelids. " Where's my father?" " Faix, he's snug at the parlour fire, my darlin', where his son ought to be, if he wasn't turning guide on the mountains, to the enemy of his kith and kin." These words were said in a v»hisper, but with an energy that made the boy start from the arms of those who bore him. " Here's the pony, JNIaster Herbert, get up on liim, and be off at once ; sure there isn't a blackguard there, with lace on his coat, wouldn't be laughing at your old clothes when the light comes." Sir Marmaduke and his daughter were a few paces in advance as these words were spoken, the old baronet giving directions for bestowing every care and attention on one he deemed his guest. The boy, ashamed and offended both, yielded to the counsel, and suffered himself to be placed upon the saddle. "Now, then, hould fast, and I'll g\iide him," said Kerry, as elbow- ing the crowd right and left, he sprung forward at a run, and in less than a minute had disappeared in the darkness. Sir Marmaduke became distracted at the loss of his benefactor, and message after message was despatched to bring him back, but all in vain ; Kerry and his pony had already gained so much in advance, none could overtake them. " To-morrow then, my child," said Sir ^Marmaduke, "to-morrow will, I hope, enahle me to speak my gratitude, though I shall not sleep well to-night — I never rested with so heavy a debt unpaid before." And with these words they slowly wended their way homeward. 50 THE O DONOGHUE, CHAPTER VII *' SIR archy's temper tried." It was strange that, although the old man and his tender daughter should have sustained no other ill results from their adventure, than the terror ■which even yet dwelt on their minds, the young and vigorous youth, well trained to every accident of flood or field, felt it most seriously. The exertions he made to overtake Sir Marmaduke and his daughter, followed by the struggle in the swollen stream, had given such a shock to his frame, that ere day broke the following morning, he was in a fever. The mental excitement conspiring with fatigue and exhaus- tion, had brought on the symptoms of his malady with such rapidity, that it was evident, even to the unaccustomed observers around him, his state was precarious. Sir Archibald was the first person at the sick youth's bed-side. The varied fortunes of a long life, not devoid of its own share of vicissitude, had taught him so much of medical skill, as can give warning of the approach of fever ; and as he felt the strong and frequent pulse, and saw the flushed and almost- swollen features before him, he recog- nized the commencement of severe and dangerous illness. Vague and confused images of the previous night's adventure, or visions of the dark valley and the tempest, occupied all the boy's thoughts ; and though he endeavoured, when spoken to, to preserve coherency and memory, the struggle was unavailing ; and the imme- diate impression of a question past, his mind wandered back to the theme which filled his brain. " How was it then ?" said Sir Archy, who, as he sat beside the sick bed, questioned the youth about his adventure. " You said something of a horse ?" " Yes ; she was riding. Oh, how bravely she rode too ! It was fine to see her as the spray fell over her like a veil, and she shook the drops from her hair." ""Whence came she? "Who was the lady ?" " Take care — take care," said the youth in a solemn whisper, and with a steadfast look before him ; " Derrybahn has given warning; — the THE O DONOGHUE. 51 storm is coming. It is not for one so tender as yon to tempt the river ol" the hlack valley." " Be still, my boy," said the old man ; "you must not speak tlms ; your head v/ill ache if you take not rest — keep quiet." " Yes ; my head, my head," muttered he vaguely, rcjieating the words which clinked upon his mind. " She put her arm round my neck There — there," cried he, starting up wildly in his bed, " catch it — seize it — my feet are shpping — the rock moves — I can hold no longer ; there — there," and with a low moaning sigh he sunk back fainting on the pillow. Sir Archibald applied all his efforts to enforce repose and rest ; and having partially succeeded, hastened to the O'Donoghue's cjiambcr, to confer with the boy's father on what steps should be taken to procuie medical aid. It was yet some hours earlier than the accustomed time of his wak- ing, as the old man saw the thin and haggard face of Sir Archy peering between the curtains of his bed. " Well, what is it ?" said he, in some alarm at the unexpected sight. " Has Gubbins issued the distress ? Are the scoundrels going to sell us out?" "No, no; it is another matter brings me here," rephed M'Nab, with a gravity even deeper than usual. " That infernal bond ! By God, I knew it ; it never left my dreams these last three nights. Mark was too late, I suppose, or they wouldn't take the interest, and the poor fellow sold his mare to get the money." "Dinna fash about these things now," said IM'Nab with impatience. "It's that poor callant, Herbert — he's very ill — it's a fever he's caught. I'm thinking." " Oh, Herbert !" said O'Donoghue, with a tone of evident relief, that his misfortunes had taken any other shape than the much- dreaded one of money-calamity. " What of him ?" "He's in a fever ; his mind is wandering already." " Not a bit of it ; it's a mere wetting — a common cold : the boy fell into the river last night at the old bridge there ; Kerry told me some- thing about it ; and so, maybe, Mark may reach Cork in good time atler all." " I am no' speaking of Mark just now/' said M 'Nab tartly, " but of the other lad, wha may be dangerously ill, if something be nae done quickly." " Then, send for Roach. Let one of the boys saddle a norse and ride over to Killarney. Oh ! I was forgetting ; let a fellow go off on 52 THK O DONOOHUE. foot, he'll get there hefore evening. It is confoimdedly hard to have nothing in the stables, even to mount a messenger. I hope Mark may be able to manage matters in Cork. Poor fellow, he hates business ns much as I do myself." Sir Archy did not wait for the conclusion of this rambling reply. Long before it was over, he was half-way down stairs in search of a safe messenger to despatch to Killarney for Doctor Roach, muttering be- tween his teeth as he went — " We liae nae muckle chance of the docter if we canna send the siller to fetch him, as weel as the flunkie. Eh, sirs ? — he's a cannie chiel, is auld Roach, and can smell a fee as soon as scent a fever," and with this sensible reflection he proceeded on his waj\ JNIeanwhile the O'Donoghue himself had summoned energy enough to slip on an old and ragged dressing-gown, and a pair of very unlocomotive slippers, with which attired, he entered the sick boy's room. "Well, Herbert, lad," said he, drawing the curtains back, and si^ffering the grey light to fall on the youth's features, "what is the matter? your uncle has been routing me up with a story about yon." He ceased suddenly, as his eyes beheld the change a few hours had wrought in the boy's appearance; 'His eyes, deep-buried in their orbits, shone with an unnatural lustre — his cheeks were pale and sunken, save where a bright patch of florid red marked the centre of each ; his lips were dry and shrivelled, and had a slight tremulous motion, as if he were muttering to himself. " Poor fellow," said the father, " how dreadfully ill he looks. Have you any pain, my boy?" The boy knew the voice, and recognized the kindly accent, but could not hear or understand the words ; and as his eyes glistened with de- hght, he stole his burning hand from beneath the bed-clothes, and held it out, all trembling, towards his father. " How sudden this has been : you were quite well last night, Herbert." "Last night!" echoed the boy, with a strange emphasis on the only words he had caught up. " No, by the way, it was the night before I mean. I did not see you last night ; but, cheer up, my dear boy; we've sent for Roach — he'll put you to rights at once. I hope Mark may reach home before the doctor goes. I'd like to have his advice about that strain in the back." These last words were uttered in soliloquy, and seemed to flow from a train of thought very different from that arising from the object before liim. Sunk in these reflections, he drew near the window, which looked- out ujion the old court-yard behind the house, and where now a very THE OJJONOGHIIE. 53 coiisitlerablc crowtl of beggars liral assembled to collect the alms usually distributed each morning from the kitclien. Each was provided with an ample canvas bag, worn over the neck by a string, and capal)le of con- taining a sntHciency of meal or potatoes, the habitual offering, to sup- port the owner for a couple of days at least. They were all busily engaged in stowing away tlie provender of various sorts and kinds, as luck, or the i)referencc of the cook, decided, laughing or grumbling over their jjortions, as it might he, when Sir Archibald M'Nab hurriedly presented himself in the midst of them — au appearance which seemed to create no peculiar satisfaction, if one were to judge from the increased alacrity of their movements, and the evident desire they exhibited to mo^•e oif. The O'Douoghue laughed as lie witnessed the discomfiture of the ragged mob, and let down the window-sash to watch the scene. " 'Tis going we are ; God be good to lis !" " Ye needn't be cursing that way," said an old hag, with a sack on her back, large enough to contain a child. " Eyah ! the Lord look down on the poor," said a little fat fellow, with a ilanuel night-cap and stockings without any feet ; " there's no pity now at all, at all." "The heavens be your bed, any way,'' said a hard-featured little wo- man, with an accent that gave the blessing a ver}' difiercut signification from the mere words, " Blessed Joseph ! sure It isn't robbers and thieves we are, that ve need hunt us out of the place." Such were the exclamations on every side, intermingled with an undcrgrowl of the " Scotch naygur" — " the ould scrape-gut," and other equally polite and flattering epithets. "This is no' a place for ye, ye auld beldames and blackguards ; avva wi' ye — awa wi' ye at once." " Them's the words ye'll hear in lieaven yet, darlint," said an cil.l fiend of a woman with one eye, and a mouth garnished by a single tooth. " Them's the very words St. Peter will spake to yourself." " Begorra, he'll not be strange in the other place anyhow," muttered another. "'Tis there he'll meet most of his countrymen." This speech was the signal for a general outburst'of laughter. "Awa wi ye, ye ragged deevils ; ye'r a disgrace to a Christian country.' " Throth we wear breeches an us," said an old fellow on crutches ; " nnd sure I hear that's more nor they do, in tlie parts your houoar comes from." Sir Archy's passion boiled over at this new indignity. lie stormed 54 THE O DONOGHUE and swore, with all the hmpetuous rage of one beside himself with pas- sion ; but the effect on his hear,ers was totally lost. The only notice they took was an occasional exclamation of — " There it is now ! Oh, blessed father ! hear what he says ! Oh, holy mother ! isn't he a terrible man ?" — comments by no means judiciously adapted to calm his irritation. Meanwhile symptoms o. evacuating the territory were sufficiently evident. Cripples were taken on the backs and shoulders of their respective friends ; ' sacks and pouches were slung over the necks. Many- a preparatory shake of the rags showed that the wearer was getting ready for the road, when Sir Archy, suddenly checking himself in the full torrent of his wrath, cried out — " Bide a wee — stay a minit, ye auld beasties — I hae a word to say to some amang ye." The altered tone of voice in which he spoke seemed at once to have changed the whole current of popular feeling ; for now they all chimed in with — "Arrah, he's a good man after all ; sure 'tis only a way he has" — sentiments which increased in fervency as Sir Archibald took a tolerably well-filled purse from his pocket, and drew out some silver into his hand, many exclaiming — " 'Tis the kind heart often has the hard word; and sure ye can see in his face he isn't cruel.' " Hear till me," cried Sir Archy aloud, as he held up a shilling before their wistful eyes, " there's mony a ane among ye, able to earu siller. Which o' ye now will step down to Killaruey, and tell the doctcr he's wanted up here wi a' despatch? Ye maun go fixst and bring him, or send him here to-night; and if ye do, I'll gie ye this piece o* siller money when ye come back." A general groan from that class whose age and infirmities placed them out of the reach of competitorship, met this speech, while from the more able section, a not less unequivocal expression of discontent broke forth. "Down to Killarney !" cried one ; "begorra, I wonder ye didn't say Kenmare when ye war about it — the devil a less than ten miles it is." " Eyah ! I'll like to see my own four bones going the same road ; sorra a house the whole way where there's a drop of milk or a pratie." " That's the charity to the poor, I suppose," said the fat fellow ot the night-cap. " 'Tis wishing it I am, the same charity." "We wor to bring the doctor on our back, I hope," said a cripple in a bowl. Tin: o'donoghue. 55 " Did ever man hear or sec the like o' this ?" exclaimed M'Nab, as with upUl'ted hands he stared in w^ndenneut around him. " One \vad na beheve it." " True for you, honey," joined in one of tlic group. " I'm fifty-tliree years on the road, and I never hecrd of any one askin' us to do a hand's turn, afore." " Out of my sight, ye worthless nc'cr-do-weels ; awa wi yc at once and for ever. I'll send twenty miles round the country, but I'll hae a mastiff here, 'ill worry the first o' ye that dares to come near the house." " On my conscience, it will push you hard to find a wickeder baste nor yourself." " Begorra, he won't be uglier any how." And with these comments, and the hearty laughter that followed, the tattered and ragged group defiled out of the yard with all the honours of war, leaving Sir Archy alone, overwhelmed with astonishment and anger. A low chuckling laugh, as the sash was closed over head, made him look up, and he just caught a glimpse of O'Donoghue as he retired from the window ; for in his amusement at the scene, the old man for- got the sick boy and all about him, and only thought of the ridiculous interview he had witnessed. " His ain father — his ain father !" muttered Sir Archy, as with his brows contracted and his hands clasped behind his back, he ruminated in sadness on all he saw. "What brings ye back again, ye lazy scoun- drels ? How dare ye venture in here again ?" This not over-courteous interrogatory was addressed to poor Terry the Woods, who, followed by one of Sir Marmaduke's footmen, had at that instant entered the yard. "What for, are ye come, I say? and what's the flunkie wanting be- side ye?" Terry stood thunderstruck at the sudden outbreak of temper, and turned at once to the responsible individual, to whom he merely acted as guide, to make a reply. " And arc ye tramping it too ?" said M'Nab, with a sneering accent as he addressed the footman. " INIethinks ye might hae a meal's meat out o' the goold lace on your hat, and look mair hke a decent Chris- tian afterwards. Ye'r out of place maybe." These last words were delivered in an irony, to which a tone of in- credulity gave all the sting ; and these only were intelligible to the sleek and well-fed individual to whom they were addressed. In all likelihood, had he been charged with felony or highway robbery, his self-respect might have sustained his equaiumity ; anj 56 THE o'donoghue. common infraction of the statute-law might have been alleged against him without exciting an undue indignation ; but the contemptuous ni- sinuation of being " out of place" — tliat domestic outlawry, was more than human endurance could stomach ; nor was the insult more palatable coming from one he beheved to be a servant himself. It was therefore with the true feehng of outraged dignity he replied — " Not exactly out of place jest now, friend ; though, if they don't treat you better than your looks show, I'd recommend you trying for a new situation." Of a verit}^ Sir Archibald's temper was destined to sore trials that morning ; but this was a home thrust, for which no forethought could have prepared him. " I hope I am no' going to lose my senses," said he, as he pressed his hands on cither side of his temples. " May the Lord keep me from that worst of a' human calamities." This pious wish, uttered with real, unfeigned fervency, seemed to act like a charm upon the old man's temper, as though the very appeal had suggested a calmer and more patient frame of mind. It was, then, with all the dignity of his natural character, when unclouded by momentary flashes of passion, that he said — " What may be your errand here this morning ?" Few and simple as the words were, there was that in their quiet, unassuming delivery, which in a second recalled the footman to a full consciousness of his impertinent mistake. He saw at once the im- measurable gvdph, impassible to any effort of assumption or insolence, which separated them, and with the ready tact of his calling, he respectfully took off his hat, and held forth a sealed letter, without one word of reply or apology. Sir Archibald put on his spectacles, and having carefully read the superscription, turned back towards the house without speaking. "Here is a letter for you, O'Donoghue," said he, as he entered the parlour where the chief was already seated at his breakfast, while Kerry O'Leary, a short distance behind his chair, was relating the cir- cumstances of the last night's adventure. " Is it from Mark ?" said the old man eagerly ; and then glancing at the writing, he threv/ it from him in disapijointment, and added, " I am getting very uneasy about that lad." " Had ye no' better read the letter ; the messenger wha brought it seems to expect an answer," interposed M'Nab. "Messenger! — eh — not by post? Is Hemsworth come back'.'" exclaimed O'Donoghue, with an evident degree of fear in his manner. THE O DONOGIIUE. o7 "No, sir," said Kerry, guessing to what to\nc his master's thoughts were tuniiiig ; " the Captain is not coming, they say, for a month or six weeks yet." "Thank Goil," muttered O'Donoghue ; "tliat scounchcl never leaves mc a night's rest, when I hear he's in the neighhourhood. Will you see what's in it, Archy? — my liead is quite contused this morning; I got up three hours before my time." Sir Archibald resumed his spectacles, and broke the sea^. The con- tents were at some length it would seem, for as he perused the letter to himself, several minutes elapsed. " Go on, Kerry," said O'Donoghue ; "I want to hear all about (his business." "Well, I believe your honour knows the most of it now ; for Avhcn I came up to the glen, they were all safe over, barriu' the marc ; ])oor Kittaue, she was carried down the falls, and they took her up near a mile below the old bridge, stone dead ; Master Mark will fret his heart out when he hears it." " This is a very polite note," interposed Sir Archy, as he laid the letter open before him, " from Sir jNIarmaduke Travers, begging to know when he may be permitted to pay his personal resj)ects to you, and express his deep and grateful sense — Jiis own words — of your son's noble conduct in rescuing his daughter at the hazard of his life. It is written with much modesty and good sense, and the writer canna be other than a true gentleman." " Travers — Travers," repeated O'Donnghuc ; " why that's the man himself. It was he bought tlie estate ; he's Hemsworth's principal." "And if he be," replied M'Nab, "canna an honest man ha'e a bad servant ? There's nothing about Ilemsworth here. It's a ceevil de- mand from one gentleman to anither." " So it is, then, Sir Marmaduke, that has been staying at the lodge these some wrecks past. That was Mark's secret — poor dear boy, ]i2 wouldn't tell me, fearing it would annoy me. "Well, what is it he wants." " To visit you, O'Donoghue." " Whfit nonsense ; the mischief's done already. The mortgage is f'.'.ccloscd; and as for Carrignacurra, they can do nothing before the next term ; Swaby says so, at least." " Can ye no' comprehend. It is no law document ; but a cccvil way to make your acquaintance. Sir Marmaduke wad pay his respects to ye." "Well, let him come," said O'Donoghue, laughing ; "he's sure to find mo at home. The sheriflF takes care of that for him. Mark will be here to-morrow or next day ; I hope he won't come before that." 58 THE O DONOGHUE* " The answer must be a written one," said M'Nab ; " it wad na be polite to gie the flunkie the response." "With all my heart, Archy, so that I am not asked to indite it. Miles O'Donoghue are the only words I have written for many a year" — and he added, with a half bitter laugh — " it would have been as well for poor Mark, if I had forgotten even that same." Sir Archibald retired to Aviite the answer, with many a misgiving as to the substance of the epistle ; for while deeply gratified at heart, that his favourite, Herbert, had acquitted himself so nobly, his own pride was mortified, as he thought over the impressions a visit to the O'Donoghue household might have on the mind of a " haughty South- ern," for such in his soul he believed him. There was no help for it, however ; the advances were made in a spirit so very respectful, every line breathed such an evident desire, on the writer's part, to be well received, that a refusal, or even a formal acceptance of the proffered visit, was out of the question. His reply, then, accepted the intended honour, with a profession of satisfaction ; apologising for his omission in calling on Sir Marmaduke, on the score of ill health, and concluded by a few words about Herbert, for whom many inquiries were made in the letter. This, written in the clear, but quaint, old-fashioned characters of the writer's time, and signed, " O'Donoghue," was carefully folded, and enclosed in a large square envelope, and with it in his hand, M 'Nab re-entered the breakfast room. " "Wad you like to hear the terms of the response, O'Donoghue, before I seal it up ?" asked Sir Archy, with an air of importance. " No, no ; I am sure it's all right and proper. You mentioned, of course, that Mark was from home, but we were expecting him back every day." "I didna make ony remark o' that kind. I said ye wad be happy to see him, and felt proud at the honour of making acquaintance wi' him." " Damn me if I do, then, Archy," broke in the old man roughly. " For so great a stickler for truth as yourself, the words were somewhat out of place. I neither feel pride nor honour on the subject. Let it go, however, and there's an end to it." " I've despatched a messenger for Roach to Killarney ; that bit of a brainless body, Terry, is gone by the mountain road, and we may ex- pect the docter here to-night ;" and with these words, Sir Archy departed to send off" his epistle ; and the O'Donoghue leaned back in his easy chair, sorely wearied and worried by the fatigues of the day. TUK o'donociiue. 69 CHAPTER YIII. THE HOUSE OF SICKNESS. How painfully is the sense of severe illness diffused through every part of a household. How solemn is the influence it sheds on every indi\ i- dual, and every object ; the noiseless step, the whispered words, the closed curtains, the interruption to the ordinary avocations of life, or the performance of them in gloom and sadness. When wealth and its appliances exist, these things take all the features of extreme care and solicitude for the sufferer ; all the agencies of kindness and skill arc brought into active exertion, to minister to the rich man in sickness ; but when poverty and its evils are present — when the struggle is against the pressure of want, as well as the sufterings of malady, the picture is indeed a dark one. The many dcticieucies in comfort, which daily habit has learned to overlook, the privations which in the active conflict with the world are forgotten, now, come forth in the solitude of the sick house, to affright and afflict us, and we sorrow over miseries long lost to memory till now. Never since the fatal illness which left O'Donoghue a widower, had there been any thing like dangerous sickness in the house ; and like most people who have long enjoyed the blessings of uninterru])te(l health, they had no thought for such a calamity, nor deemed it among the con- tingencies of life. Now, however, the whole household felt the change. The riotous laughter of the kitchen was silenced, the loud speaking hushed, the doors banged by the wind, or the ruder violence of careless hands, were closed noiselessly— every thing betokened that sorrow was there. O'Donoghue himself paced to and fro in the cham- ber of the old tower, now, stopping to cast a glance down the glen, where he still hoped to see Mark approaching, now, resuming his melancholy walk in sadness of heart. In the darkened sick-room, and by the bed, sat Sir Archibald, con- cealed by the curtain, but near enough to give assistiance to the sick boy should he need it. He sat buried in his own gloomy thoughts, ren- dered gloomier, as he hstened to the hurried breathings and low mutter- ings of the youth, whose fever continued to increase upon him. The CO TIIi: O DONOGHUE. old ill-tempered cook, whose tongue was tlie terror of the region she dwelt in, sat smoking by the fire, nor noticed the presence of the aged fox hound, who had followed Kerry into the kitchen, and now lay asleep before the fire. Kerry himself ceased to hum the snatches of songs and ballads, by which he was accustomed to beguile the weary day. There was a gloom on every thing, nor was the aspect v,ithout doors more cheering. The rain beat heavily in drifts against the windows ; the wind shook the old trees violently, and tossed their gnarled limbs in wild confusion, sighing with mournful cadence along the deep glen, or pouring a long melancholy note through the narrow corridors of the old house. The sound of the storm, made more audible by the dreary silence, seemed to weigh down every heart. Even the bare-legged little gossoon, Mickey, who had come over from Father Luke's with a mes- sage, sat mute and sad, and as he moved his naked foot among the ■white turf ashes, seemed to feel the mournful depression of the hour. " 'Tis a dreadful day of rain, glory be to God !" said Kerry, as he drew a fragment of an old much-soiled newspaper from his pocket, and took his scat beside the blazing fire. For some time he persevered in his occupation without interruption ; but Mrs. Branaghan having ajipa- rently exhausted her own reflections, now turned upon him to supply a new batch. "What's in the news, Kerry O'Leary ? I think ye might as well read it out, as be mumbling it to 3^ourself there," said she, in a tone seldom disputed in the realm she ruled. " Musha then," said Kerry, scratching his head, "the little print bates me entirely ; the letters do be so close, they hav'n't room to stir in, and my eyes is always going to the line above, and the line below, and can't keep straight in the furrow at all. Con^e here, Mickey, alanah ! 'tis you ought to be a great scholar, li\ing in the house with his rever- ence. They tell me," continued he, in a whisper to the cook — "they tell me, he can sarve mass already." Mrs. Branaghan withdrew her dudeen at these words, and gazed at the little fellow with unmixed astonishment, who, in obedience to the summons, took his place beside Kerry's chair, and prepared to com- mence his task. " Where will I begin, sir ?" " Begin at the news, av coorse," said Kerry, somewhat j)uzzled to uecide what kind of intelligence he most desired. " Wh t's this here with a large V in tlie first of it ? ' " Prosperity of Ireland, sir," said the child. r THE O nONOOHT'r. 61 "Ay, road about thiit, Mickey," saul the cook, resuming her pipe With a siii2;-soiig intonation, which neither regarded paragraph nor peviod, but lield on equably througliout a column, the little fellow began — " The prospect of an abundant harvest is now very general through- out the country ; and should we have a continnance of the heavenly weather for a week or so longer, we hope the corn will all be saved." As the allusion made here by the journalist, was to a jieriod of seve- ral years previous, the listeners might be excused for not feeling a per- fect concurrence in the statement. " Heavenly weather, indeed !" grunted out the cook, as she turned her eyes towards the windows, against which the plashing rain was beating — Mike read on. " Mr. Foran was stopped last night in Baggot-street, and robbed of his watch and clothes, by four villains who live in Stoney-batter ; they are well known, and are advised to take care, as such dejtreda- tions cannot go long unpunished. The two villains that broke into the house of the Archbishop of Dublin, rnd murdered the house-maid, will be turned oif ' Lord Temple's trap,' on Saturday next ; this will be a lesson to the people about the Cross-Poddlc, that we hope may serve to their advantage." " Sir Miles ]M 'Shane begs to inforai the person who found his shoe- buckle after the last levee, that he will receive one and eight pence re- ward for the same, by bringing it to No. 2, Ely-pla^e ; or if he prefer it. Sir Miles will toss up who keeps the pair. They are only paste, and not diamond, though mighty well imitated." " Paste !" echoed ^Irs. Brana^han ; " the lying thieves !" her notions on the score of that material being limited to patties and pie-crusts. " The ' Bucks' are imitating the ladies in all the arts of beautifying tlie person. — Many were seen painted and patched at the duchess's last ball. We hope this effeminacy may not spread any farther. — It is INIr. Rigby, and not ]Mr. Harper, is to have the silk gown. Sir George Rose is to get the red ribbon for his services in North America." "A silk gown and a red ribbon!" cried Mrs. Branaghan. "Bad luck to me, but they might be ashamed of themselves." " Faix, I never believed what Darby Long said before," broke in Kerry. " He tould me he saw the bishop of Cork in a black silk petticoat like a famale. Is there no more murders, INIickey ?" *'I don't know, sir, barrin' they're in the fashionable intelligence." "V.'ell, readon." *' Donald, the beast, who refused to leave his cell in Trim gaol at 62 TKE o'donogitue. the last assizes, and was consequently fired at by a file of infantry, had his leg amputated yesterday by Surgeon Huston of this town, and is doing remarkably well." " Where's the sporting news ?" said Kerry. "Is not this it, here ?" as he pointed to a figure of a horse above a column. " Mr. Connolly's horse, Gabriel, would have been in first, but he stopped to eat Whaley, tlie jockey, when he fell. The race is to be run again on Friday next. It was Mr. Daly, and not Mr. Crosbie, horse-whipped the attorney over the course last Tuesday. Mr. Crosbie spent the day with the Duke of Leinster, and is very angry at his name being mentioned in the wrong, particularly as he is bound over to keep the peace towards all members of the bar for three years." "Captain Heavyside and Mr. Malone exchanged four shots each on the Bull this morning. The quarrel was about racing and politics, and miscellaneous matters." " It is rumoured that if the Chief Justice be appointed from England, lie will decline giving personal satisfaction to the Master of the Rolls ; but we cannot credit the report " "The Carmelites have taken llanelagh-house for a nunnery." "That's the only bit in the paper I'd give the snuiF of my pipe for " said Mrs. Branaghan. " Read it again, acushla." The boy re-read the passage. "Well, well, I wonder if Miss Kate will ever come oack again," said she, in a pause. " To be sure she will," said Kerry ; " what would hinder her ? hasn't she a fine fortune out of the property ? ten thousand, I hecrd tlie master say." " Ayeh ! sure it's all gone many a day ago ; the sorra taste of a brass farthen's left for her, or any one else. The master sould every stick an' stone in the place, barrin' the house that's over us, and sure tliat's all as one as sould too. Ah, then, Miss Kate was the purty child, and had the coaxing ways with her." " 'Tis a ])ity to make her a nun," said Kerry. "A pity! why would it be a pity, Kerry O'Lcary?" said the old lady, bristling up with anger. "Jsn't the nuns happier, and dacenter, and higher nor other women, with rapscallions for husbands, and vil- lians of all kinds for childher 1 Is it the likes of ye, or the crayture beside yc, that would teach a colleen the way to heaven ? Musha, but they have the blessed times of it — fastin' and prayin', and doing all manner of penance, and talking over their sins with holy men." ** Whisht ! what's that 1 there's the bell ringing above stairs/' said THE O DONOGHUK. 63 Kerry, suddenly starting up and listening. " Ay, there it is again," and, so saying, he yawned and stretched himself, and after several interjectional grumblings over the disturbance, slowly mounted the stairs towards the parlour. "Are ye sleepin' down there, ye lazy deevils?" cried Sir Archy from the landing of the stairs. '' Did ye ho' hear the bell ?" " 'Tis now I heerd it," said Kerry composedly, for he never vouch- safed the same degree of deference to Sir Archy, he yielded to the rest of the family. " Go see if there be any lemons in the house, and lose no time about it." " Faix, I needn't go far then to find out," whined Kerry; "the master had none for his punch these two nights ; they put the little box into a damp corner, and, sure enough, they had beards on them like Jews, the same lemons, when they went to look for them." " Go down then to the woman, M'Kelly's, in the glen, and see if she hae na some there." "Oh murther! murther!" muttered Kerry to himself, as the whist- ling storm reminded him of the dreadful weather without doors. " 'Tis no use in going without the money," said he slyly, hoping that by this home-thrust he might escape the errand. " Ye maun tell her to put it in the account, man." " 'Tis in bad company she'd put it then," muttered Kerry below his breath, then added aloud — " Sorrow one she'd give, if I hadn't the six- pence in my hand." " Canna ye say it's no' for yoursel', it's for the house — she wad na refuse that." "No use in life," reiterated he solemnly ; " she's a real naygur, and would, not trust Father Luke with a week's snuff, and he's dealt there for sneeshin these thirty years." " A weel, a weel," said M'Nab in a low harsh voice ; " the world's growing waur and waur. Ye maun e'en gie her a shilling, and mind ye get nae bad bawbees in change ; she suld gie ye twelve for saxpence." Kerry took the money without a word in reply ; he was foiled in the plan of his own devising, and with many a self-uttered sarcasm on the old Scotchman, he descended the stairs once more. "Is Master Herbert worse ?" said the cook, as the old huntsman entered the kitchen. " Begorra he must be bad entirely, when ould Archy would give a shilling to cure him. See here, he's sending me for lemons down to Mary's." 64 THE o'donogiiue. Kerrv rung the coin upon the tahle as if to test Us gennniess, and ir.uttered to himself — " 'Tis a good one, devil a lie in it." " There's the hell again ; musha, how he rings it." This time the voice of Sir Archy was heard in loud tones summoning Kerry to his assistance, for Herbert had become suddenly worse, and the old man was unable to prevent him rising from his bed and rushing from the room. The wild and excited tones of the youth were mixed with the deeper titterings of the old man, who exerted all his efforts to calm and re- strain him as Kerry reached the spot. By his aid the boy was con- veyed back to his bed, where, exhausted by his own struggles, he lay without speaking or moving for some hours. It was not difficult to perceive, however, that this state boded more luifavourably than the former one. The violent paroxysms of wild in- sanity betokened, while they lasted, a degree of vital energy and force, which now seemed totally to have given way ; and although Kerry re- garded the change as for the better, the more practised and skilful mnid of Sir Archiljald drew a far different and more dispiriting augury. Thus passed the weary hours, and at last the long day began to de- cline, but still no sign, nor sound, proclaimed the doctor's coming, and M'Nab's anxiety became hourly more intense. " If he come na soon," said he, after a long and dreary silence, "he need na tak' the trouble to look at him." " 'Tis what I'm thinking too," said Kerry, with a sententious gravity almost revolting — " when the fingers does be going that way, it's a mighty bad sign. If I seen the hounds working with their toes, I never knew them recover." 'j-iiK o'noNor.HUF:. ' 65 CHAPTER IX. A DOCTOR S VISIT. The niglit was far advanced as the doctor arrived at the O'Donoghue's nouse, drenched with rain, and fatigned by the badness of tlie roads, where his gig was often compelled to proceed for above a mile at a foot pace. Doctor Roach was not in the most bland of tempers as he reached his destination ; and, of a verity, his was a natnre that stood not in any need of increased acerbity. The doctor was a type of a race at one time very general, but now, it is hard to say wherefore, nearly extinct in Ireland. But so it is ; the fruits of the earth change not iu course of years more strikingly, than the fashions of men's minds. The haljits, popular enough in one generation, survive as eccentricities in another, and are extinct in a third. There was a pretty general impression in the world, some sixty or seventy years back, that a member of the medical profession, who had attained to any height in his art, had a perfect right to dispense with all the amenities and courtesies which regulate social life among less privi- leged persons. The concessions now only yielded to a cook, were then extended to a physician ; and in accordance with the privilege by which he administered most nauseous doses to the body, he was suffered to extend his dominion, and apply scarcely more palatable remedies to the minds of his patients. As if the ill-flavoured draughts had tinctured the spirit that conceived them, the tone of his thoughts usually smacked of bitters, until at last he seemed to have realized, in his own jjcrson, the conflicting agencies of the pharmacopoeia, and was at once acrid, and pungent, and soporific together. The College of Physicians could never have reproached Doctor Roach with conceding a single iota of their privileges. Never was there one who more stoutly maintained, in his whole practice through life, the blessed immunity of " the Doctor." The magic word " Recipe," which headed his prescriptions, suggested a tone of command to all he said, and both his drugs and dicta were swallowed without remonstrance. It may not be a flattering confession for humanity, but it is assuredly a true one, that the exercise of power, no matter how humble its sphere, or how limited its range, will eventually generate a tyrannical habit 66 1HE O'DONOGIIUE. in him who ^yields it. Doctor Roach Avas certainly not the exception to this rule. The Czar himself was not more autocrat in the steppes of Kussia, than was he in any house where sickness had found entrance. From that hour he planted his throne there. All the caprices- of age, all the folhes of childhood, the accustomed freedoms of home, the in- dulgences which grow up by habit in a household, had to give way be- fore a monarch more potent than all, " the Doctor." Men bore the infliction with the same patient endurance they summoned to sustain the malady. They felt it to be grievous and miserable, but they looked forward to a period of relief, and panted for the arrival of the hour, when the disease and the doctor would take their departure together. If the delight they experienced at such a consummation was extreme, so to the physician it savoured of ingratitude. " I saved his life yes- terday," saith he, " and see how happy he is, to dismiss me to-day." But who is ever grateful for the pangs of a toothache ? — or what heart can find pleasure in the memory of sententiousness, senna, and low diet ? Never were the blessings of restored health felt wdth a more suitable thankfulness than by Doctor Roach's patients. To be free once more from his creaking shoes, his little low dry cough, his harsh accents, his harsher words, his contradictions, his sneers, and his selfishness, shed a halo around recovery, which the friends of the patient could not pro- perly appreciate. Such was the individual whose rumbling and rattling vehicle now entered the court-yard of Carrig-na-curra, escorted by poor Terry, who had accompanied him the entire way on foot. The distance he had come, his more than doubts about the fee, the severity of the storm, were not the accessories likely to amend the infirmities of his temper ; while a still greater source of irritation than all existed in the mutual feeling of dislike between him and Sir Archibald M'Nab. An occasional meeting at a little boarding-house in Killarney, which Sir Archy was in the habit of visiting each summer for a few days — the only recreation he permitted himself — had cultivated this sentiment to such a pitch, that they never met without disagreement, or parted without an actual quarrel. The doctor was a democrat, and a Romanist of the first water ; Sir Archy was a member of the Scottish Episcopal Church ; and, whatever might have been his early leanings in politics, and in whatever companion- ship his active years were passed, experience had taught him the fallacy of many opinions, which owe any appearance of truth or stability tliey pos-. sess, to the fact, that they have never advanced beyond the stage of spe- culative notions, into the realms of actual and practical existence ; — but. THE o'donoghtje. 67 above all, the prudent Scotchman dreaded the prevalence of these doc- trines among young and niiscttlcd minds, ever ready to prefer tlie short and hazardous career of fortune, to the slow and patient drudgery of daily industry. If the doctor anticipated hut little enjoyment in the society of Sir Archy, neither did the latter hope for any pleasure to himself from Roach's company. However, as the case of poor Herbert became each hour more threatening, the old man resoked to bury in oblivion every topic of mutual disagreement, and, so long as the doctor remained in the house, to make every possible or impossible concession to conciliate the good-will of one, on whose services so much depended. " Do ye hear ?" cried Roach in a harsh voice to Kerry, who was summoned from the kitchen-fire to take charge of his horse ; " let the pony have a mash of bran — a hot mash, and don't leave him till he's dry." " Never fear, sir," replied Kerry, as he led the jaded and way-worn beast into the stable, "I'll take care of him as if he was a racer ;" and then, as Roach disappeared, added — " I'd like to see myself strapping the likes of him — an ould mountaineer. A mash of bran, indeed ! Cock him up with bran ! Begorra, 'tis thistles and docks he's most used to ;" and, with this sage reflection on the beast's habits, he locked the stable door, and resumed his former place beside the blazing turf fire. O'Donoghue's reception of the doctor was most cordial. He was glad to see him on several accounts. He was glad to see any one who could tell him what was doing in the w-orld, from which all his inter- course was cut off ; he was glad, because the supper was waiting an hour and a half beyond its usual time, and he was getting uncommonly hungry ; and, lastly, he really felt anxious about Herbert, whenever by any chance his thoughts took that direction. "How are you. Roach?" cried he, advancing to meet him with an extended hand. " This is a kind thing of you — you've had a dreadful day, I fear." " D — n me, if I ever saw it otherwise in this confounded glen. I never set foot in it, that I wasn't wet through." "We have our share of rain, indeed," replied the other, with a good-humoured laugh ; " but if we have storm, we have shelter." Intentionally misunderstanding the allusion, and applying to the ruined mansion the praise bestowed on the bold mountains, the doctor threw a despairing look around the room, and repeated the word "shelter" in a voice far from complimentary. 68 THE O DONOGHUE. Tlie O'Donoghue's blood was up in n moment. His brow contracted and his cheek fluslied, as, in a low and deep tone, he said — "It is a crazy old concern. You are right enough — neither the walls nor the company within them, are like what they once were." The look with which these words were given, recalled the doctor to a sense of his own impertinence ; for, like certain tethered animals, who never become conscious of restraint till the check of the rope lays them on their back, nothing short of such a home-blow could have staggered his self-conceit. " ^y> ^7>" muttered he, with a cackling apology for a laugh, " time is telling on us all. — But I'm keeping the supper waiting," The duties of hospitality were always enough to make O'Donoghue forget any momentary chagrin, and he seated himself at the table with all his wonted good-humour and affability. As the meal proceeded, the doctor inquired about the sick boy, and the circumstances attending his illness ; the interest he bestov/ed on the narrative mainly depending on the mention of Sir Marmaduke Travers's name, whose presence in the country he was not aware of before, and from whose residence he began already to speculate on many benefits to himself. " They told me," continued O'Donoghue, " that the lad behaved ad- mirably. In fact, if the old weir-rapid be any thing like what I remem- ber it, the danger was no common one. There used to be a current tliere strong enough to carry away a dozen horsemen." " And how is the young lady 1 Is she nothing the worse from the cold, and the drenching, and the shock of the accident ?" " Faith, I must confess it, I have not had the grace to ask after her. Living as I have been for some years back, has left me sadly in arrear with every demand of the world. Sir Marmaduke was polite enough to say he'd call on me ; but there is a still greater favour he could bestow, which is, to leave me alone." " There was a law-suit or dispute of some kind or other between you, was there not?" " There is something of that kind," said O'Donoghue, with an air of annoyance at the question ; " but these are matters gentlemen leave to their lawyers, and seek not to mix themselves up with." "The strong purse is the sinew of war," muttered the inexorable doctor; "and they tell me he is one of the wealthiest men in England." " He may be, for aught I know or care." "Well, well," resumed the other, after a long deliberative pause. TTii: o'DONOonuE. 6'9 "there's no knowing how this Httle adventure may turn out. If your son saved the girl's hfe, I scarcely think he could press you so hard about " " Take care, sir," broke in O'Donoghue, and with the words he seized the doctor's wrist in his strong grasp ; " take care how you venture to speak of affairs which no wise concern you ;" then, seeing the terrilied look his speech called up, he added — " I have been very irritable latterly, and never desire to talk on these subjects ; so, if you please, we'll change the topic." The door w\as cautiously oj)cncd at this moment, and Kerry presented himself, with a request from Sir Archibald, that, as soon as Doctor Roach found it convenient, he would be glad to see him in the sick-room. "I am ready now," said the doctor, rising from his chair, and not by any means sorry at the opportunity of escaping a tete-a-tcte he had contrived to render so unpalatable to both parties. As he mounted the stairs, he continued in broken ])hrases to inveigh against the house and the host in a half soliloquy — "A tumble-down old barrack it is — not fifty shillings worth of furniture under the roof — the ducks were as tough as soaked parchment — and where's the fee to come from — I wish I knew that — unless I take one of these old devils instead of it ;" and he touched the frame of a large, damp, discoloured portrait of some long-buried ancestor, several of which figured on the walls of the stair-case. " The boy is worse — far worse," whispered a low, but distinct voice beside him. " His head is now all astray — he knows no one." Doctor Roach seemed vexed at the ceremony of salutation being for- gotten in Sir Archibald's eagerness about the youth, and drily answered — " I have the honour to see you well, sir, I hope." " There is one here very far from well," resumed Sir Archy, neither caring for, nor considering the speech. "We have lost too much time already — I trust ye may na be too late now." The doctor made no reply, but rudely taking the candle from his hand, walked towards the bed — " Ay, ay," muttered he, as he beheld the lustrous eyes and wide- spread pupils — the rose-red cheek, and dry, cracked lips of the youtli j " he has it sure enough." " Has what ? — what is it ?" *' The fever — brain fever, and the worst kind of it too." " And there is danger then ?" Avhispered M'Nab. " Danger, indeed ! I wonder how many come through it. Pshaw ! there's no use trying to count his pulse ;" and he threw the hand 70 THE o'dONOGHUE. rudely back upon the bed. " That's going as fast as ever his father vent with the property." A harsh, low, cackliuj; laugh followed this brutal speech, Avhich demanded all Sir Archy's predetermined endurance to suffer vui checked. " Do you know nie ?" said the doctor, in the loud voice used to awaken the dormant faculty of hearing. " Do you know me ?" " Yes," replied the boy, staring steadfastly at him. " Well, who am I, then ? Am I your father ?" A vacant gaze was all the answer. " Tell me, am I your father ?" No reply followed. " Am I your uncle, then ?" said the doctor, still louder. The word, " uncle," seemed to strike upon some new chord of his awakened sense : a faint smile played upon his parched lips, and his eyes wandered from the speaker, as if in search of some object, till they fell upon Sir Archy, as he stood at the foot of the bed, Avhen suddeidy his whole countenance was lighted up, and he repeated the word, ** uncle," to himself in a voice indescribably sweet and touching. " He has na forgotten me," murmured M'Nab, in a tone of deep emotion. " My ain dear boy — he knows me yet." " You agitate him too much," said Roach, whose nature had little sympathy with the feelings of either. " You must leave me alone here to examine him myself." M'Nab said not a word, but, with noiseless step, stole from the room. The doctor looked after him as he went, and then followed to see that the door was closed behind. This done, he beckoned to Kerry, who still remained, to approach, and deliberately seated himself in a chair near the window. " Tell me, my good fellow," said he, affecting an air of confidence as he spoke, " an't they all broke here ? Isn't the whole thing smashed ?" " Broke — smashed !" repeated Kerry, as he held up both hands in feigned astonishment ; " 'tis a droll smash : begorra, I never see money as plenty this many a year. Sure av there wasn't lashings of it, would he be looking out for carriage-horses, and buying hunters, not to say putting the kennel in order." " Is it truth you are telling ?" said Roach, in astonishment. " True as my name is Kerry O'Leary. We offered Lanty Lawler a hundred and twenty guineas on Friday last for a match wheeler, and we're not off of him yet ; he's a big brown horse, with a star on his face ; and the cob for the master cost forty pounds. He'll be here to- morrow, or next day, sure ye'U see hiuj yourself." THE o'dONO&HUK. 71 " The place is falling to ruin — the roof will never last the winter," broke in the doctor. " Well, and whose fault is it, hut tliat spalpeen Murphy's, that won't set the men to work till he gets oak tinilier from the Black Say — 'tis the finest wood in the world, they tell luc, and lasts for ever and ever." " But, don't they owe money every where in the country? There isn't a little shop in Killarney without an account of their's in it." " Of course they do, and the same in Cork — ay, and in Tralee, for the matter of that. Would you have them not give encouragement to more })laccs nor one ? There's not one of those crayturs would send in their bill — no, though we do be askuig for it, week after week. They're afraid of losing the custom ; and I'll engage now, they do be telling you they can't get their money by hook or by crook ; that's it — I knew it well." The doctor meditated long on these strange revelations, so very op- posite to all he had heard of the circumstances of the O'Donoghues; and while his own convictions were strongly against Kerry's narrative, that worthy man's look of simplicity and earnest truth puzzled him considerably, and made him hesitate which side to credit. After a long pause, from which the incoherent ravings of the sick boy aroused him, he looked uj) at Kerry, and then, with a motion of his thumb towards the bed, he muttered — "He's going fast." " Going fast !" echoed Kerry, in a voice very diiferent from his former accent. " Oh, wirra ! there's nothing so bad as death ! Distress and poverty is hard enough, but that's the raal misfortune." A dry sarcastic grin from the doctor seemed to say that poor Kerry's secret was discovered. The allusion to want of means came too naturally not to be suggested by present circumstances ; and the readiness of Doc- tor Roach's apprehension clinched the discovery at once. "We'll go down now," said the doctor; "I believe I know the whole state of the case ;" and, with these words of ambiguous meaning, lie returned to the drawing-room. 72 TFIE O DONOGHUE. CHAPTER :X. AN EVENING AT " I.IARV" M'ICELLy's If sorrow had thrown its sombre shadow over the once-proud liouse ot the O'Donoghue, within whose w.alls now noiseless footste])s stole along, and whispered words were spoken : a very different scene presented itself at the small hostel of Mary M'Kelly. There, before the ample fire- place, a quarter of a sheep was roasting — while various utensils of cookery, disposed upon and around the fire, diffused a savoury odoiu' through the apartment. A table, covered with a snow-white napkin, and containing covers for a party of six, occupied the middlfc of the room ; cups and drinking vessels of richly chased silver, silver forks and spoons, of handsome pattern, were there also — strange and singular spectacle beneath the humble thatch of a way-side cabin. Mary herself displayed in her toilet a more than usual care and attention, and wore in her becoming caj), with a deep lace border, a bouquet of tri-colored ribbons, coquettishly knotted, and with the ends falhng loosely on her neck. While she busied herself in the preparation for the table, she maintained from time to time a running conversation with a person who sat smoking in the chimney corner. Although screened from the glare of the fire, the light which was diffused around showed enough of the dress and style of the wearer to recognize him at once for Lanty Lawler, the horse-dealer. Ilis attitude, as he lolled back on one chair, and supported his legs on another, bespoke the perfection of ease, while in the jaunty manner he held the long pipe-stick between his fingers, could be seen the aftectation of one who wished to be thought at home, as well as to feel so. " What hoiu* did they mention, Mary ?" said he, after a pause of some minutes, during which he puffed his pipe assiduously. " The gossoon that came from Beerhaven, said it would be nine o'clock at aiiy rate ; but sure it's nigher to ten now. They were to come up on the flood tide. Whisht, what was that ? — Wasn't that like the noise of wheels ?" " No ; that's the wind, and a severe night it is too. I'm thinking, Mary, the storm may keep them back." "Not n bit of it ; there's a creek down there, they tell me, safer nor THE o'donoghik. 73 e'er a harbour in Ireland ; and you'd never see a bit of a vessel till you were straight over her: and sure it's, little they mind weather. That Captain Jack, as they call him, says there's no time for business like a gale of wind. The last night they were here there was two wrecks in the bay." "I mind it well, Mary. Faix, I never felt a toast so hard to drink as the one they gave after supper." " Don't be talking about it," said Mary, crossing herself devoutly ; " they said it out of devilment, sorra more." "Well, may be so," muttered he sententiously. "They're Avild chaps any way, and they've a wild life of it." " Troth, if I was a man, tis a life I'd like well," said Mary, w ith a look of resolute determination, well becoming the speech. " Them's the fine times they have, going round the world for sport, and nothing to care for — as much goold as they'd ask — fine clothes — the best of eating and drinking ; sure there's not one of them would drink out of less than silver." " Faix, they may have iron round their ancles for it, after all, Mary." "Sorra bit of it — the jail isn't built yet, that would howld them. What's that noise now? That's them. Oh, no ; it's the water running down the mountain." "Well, I wish they'd come any way," said Lanty ; "for I must be off early to-morrow — I've an order from the ould banker here above, for six beasts, and I'd like to get a few hours' sleep before morning." " 'Tis making a nice penny you are there, Lanty," said iNlary, with a quizzical look from the corner of her eye. "A good stroke of business, suie enough, Mary," replied he, laugh- ingly. " What d'ye think I did with him yesterday morning ? I heerd here, ye know, what happened to the grey mare I bought from Mark O'Dono^hue — that she was carried over the weir-gash and drowned. What does I do, but goes up to the Lodge and asks for Sir Marniaduke ; and says I, ' I'm come, sir, to offer a hundred and fifty for the little mare I sould you the other day f r a hundred ; 'tis only now I found out her real value, and I can get two hundred for her in Cork, the day I bring her up ; and sure your honour wouldn't prevent a ])oor man mak- ing a trifle in the way of his trade.' ' You're an. honest fellow, Lanty,' says he — divil a lie in it Mary, don't be laughing — ' you're an honest fellow ; and although I cannot let you have your mare back again, for she was killed last night, you shall have your own price for the four carriage-horses and the two roadsters I ordered.' With that I began blubbering abjut the mare, and swore I was as fond of her as if shj 74 THE o'donoghue. was mv sister. I wish you'd seen his daughter then ; upon my con- science it was as good as a play. ' They have so much feehn',' says she to her father, ' For fun,' says I to myself. O murther, murther. Mary, and them's the people that rules us !" " Omadhauns they are, the devil a more !" interposed Mary, whose hearty contempt for the Saxon originated in the facility by which he could be imposed upon. "That's what I'm always saying," said Lanty. "I'd rather have the chaytin' tlian the bay ting of John Bull, any day ! You'll humbug him out of his shirt, and faix it's the easiest way to get it after all." "It's a mane way, Lanty," interposed Mary, vpith a look of pride ; "it's a dirty, mane way, and doesn't become an Irishman." " Wait till the time comes, Mary M'Kelly," said Lanty, half angrily, " and maybe I'd be as ready as another." " I wish it was come," said Mary, sighing ; " I wish to the Virgin it was ; I'm tired heerin' of the preparations. Sorra one of me knows what more they want, if the stout heart was there. There's eight bar- rels of gunpowder in that rock there," said she, in a low whisper, " behind yer back — you needn't stir, Lanty. Begorra, if a spark was in it, 'twould blow you and me, and the house that's over us, as high as Hungry mountain." " The angels be near us !" said Lant}^, making the sign of the cross. " Ay," resumed Mary, " and muskets for a thousand min, and pikes for two more. There's saddles and bridles, eighteen hogsheads full." "True enough," chimed in Lanty; "and I have an order for five hundred cavalry horses — the money to be paid out of the Bank of France. Musha, I wish it was some place nearer home." " Is it doubting them ye are, Lanty Lawler ?" " No, not a bit ; but it's always time enough to get the beasts, when we see the riders. I could mount two thousand men in a fortnight, any day, if there was money to the forfe ; ay, and mount them well, too : not the kind of devils I give the government, that won't stand three days of hard work. Musha, Mary, but it's getting very late ; that mutton will be as dry as a stick." "The French likes it best that way," said Mary, with a droll glance, as though to intimate she guessed the speaker's object. "Take a look down the road, Lanty, and try if you can hear any one coming." Lanty arose from his comfortable corner with evident reluctance, and laid down his pipe with a half sigh, as he moved slowly towards the door of the cabin, which having unbarred he issued forth into the darkness. Tin: O DONOCllLK. to "It's likely I'd liear any thing such a night as this," grimiblcd he to himself, "with the trees snapping across, and the rocks tumbling down ! It's a great storm entirely." "Is there any sign of them, Lanty?" cried ]Mary, as she held the door ajar, and peeped out into the gloomy night. " I couldn't see my hand fornint me." " Do you liear nothing ? " " Faix I hear enough over my head; that was thunder ! Is there any fear of it getting at the powder, Mary ?" " Dinl a fear ; don't be unasy about that," said the stout-hearted Mary. " Can you see nothing at all V " Sorra a thing, barrin' the lights up at Carrig-na-curra ; they're moving about there, at a wonderful rate. What's O'Donoghue doing at all ?" " 'Tis the young boy, Herbert, is sick," said ^lary, as she opened the door to admit Lanty once more. "The poor child is in a fever. Kerry O'Leary was down here this evening for lemons for a drink for him. Poor Kerry ! he was telling me, himself has a sore time of it, with that ould Scotchman that's up there ; nothing ever was like him for sconld- ins, and barc-ini;, and abusing ; and O'Donoghue now minds nothinc: inside or out, but sits all day long in the big chair, just as if he was asleep. Maybe he does take a nap sometimes, for he talks of bailiffs, and writs, and all them things. Poor ould man ! it's a bad end, when the law comes with the grey hairs !" "They've a big score with yourself, I'll be bound," said Lanty inquiringly. " Troth, I'd like to see myself charge them with any thing," said she, indignantly. " It's to them and their's I owe the roof that's over me, and my father, and my father's father before me ow-es it. jMusha, it would become me to take their money, for a trifle of vvme and spirits, and tay and tobacco, as if I wasn't proud to see them send down here — the raal ould stock that's in it ! Lanty, it must be very late by this. I'm afeard something's wrong up in the l)ay." "'Tis that SH ne I was thinking myself," said Lanty, with a sly look towards the roasted joint, whose savoury odour was becoming a temp- tation overmuch for resistance. "You've a smart baste in the stable," said Mary; "he has eaten his corn by this time, and must be fresh enough ; just put the saddle on him, Lanty dear, and ride down the road a mile or two — do, and gooil luck attend you." There never was a proposition less acceptable to the individual to 76 THE o'donoghue. whom it ■n'as made ; to leave a warm fire-side was bad enough, but to is^ue forth on a night it would have been inhumanity to expose a dog to, was far too much for his compliance ; yet Lanty did not actually refuse ; no, he had his own good reasons for keeping fair with Mary ]M 'Kelly ; so he commenced a system of diplomatic delay and discussion, by which time at least might be gained, in which it was possible the long-expected guests would arrive, or the project fall to the ground on its own merits. "Which way will they come, Mary?" said he, rising from his seat. " Up the glen, to be sure — what other way could they from the bay. 'iou'U hear them plain enough, for they shout and sing every step of the road, as if it was their own ; wild devils they are." "Sing is it? musha, now, do they sing?" " A}', faix, the drollest songs ever ye heerd ; French and Roosian songs — sorra the likes of them going at all." " Light hearts they have of their own." " You may say that, Lanty La\vler ; fair Aveather or foul, them's the boys never change ; but come now be alive, and get out the baste." "I'm going, I'm going ; it's myself would like to hear them sing a Roosian song. Whisht! what's that ? did ye hear a shout there ?" "Here they are ; that's them," said Mary, springing towards the door, and withdrawing the bolt, while a smart knock Avas heard, and the same instant, a voice called out — " Holloa ! house ahoy !' The door at the moment flew open, and a short, thick-set looking man, in a large boat cloak, entered, followed by a taller figure, equally muffled. The former dropping his heavy envelope, and throwing off an oil-skin cap from his head, held out his arms w-ide as, he said — "Marie, via mie ! embrasse v.oi ;" and then, not waiting for a compliance with the request, sprang forward, and clasped the buxom landlady in his arms, and kissed her on each cheek, with an air com- pounded of true feeling, and stage effect. " Here's my friend and travelling companion, Henry Talbot, coine to share your hospitality, Mary," said he in Enghsh, to which the slightest foreign accent lent a tone of recitative. "One of us, Mary — one of us." The individual alluded to had by this time dropped his cloak to the ground, and displayed the figure of a slight and very young man, whose features Avere singularly handsome, save for a look of great efTcminacy ; his complexion was fair as a girl's, and, flushed by exercise, the tint upon his cheek was of a pale rose colour ; he Avas dressed in a riding THK o'donogiiue. 77 coat, and top boots, winch, in the i\isliion of the day, were vorn short, and wrhikled aronnd tlie leg ; his hair he wore without powder, and long upon his neck; a heavy riding whip, ornamented with silver, the only weapon he carried, composed his costume — one as unlike his com- panion's as could be. Captain Jacques Flahault was a stout-built, dark-complexioned fellow, of some four or five and forty ; his face a grotesque union of insolence and drollery ; the eyes black as jet, shaded by brows so arched, as to give always the idea of laughing to a countenance, the lower part of which, shrouded in beard and moustache, was intended to look stern and savage. His dress was a short blue frock, beneath which he wore a jersey shirt, striped in various colours, across which a broad buff leather belt, loosely slung, supported four pistols and a dirk ; jack boots reached about the middle of the thigh, and were attached to his waist by thongs of strong leather, no needless precaution apparently, as in their looseness the wearer might at any moment have stepped freely from them ; a black handkerchief, loosely knotted round his ncek, displayed a throat brawny and massive as a bull's, and imparted to the whole head an appearance of great size — the first impression every stranger con- ceived regarding him. "Ah! ah! Lawler, you here; how goes it, my old friend? Sit down here, and tell me all your rogueries since we parted. Par St. Pierre, Henry, this is the veriest fripon in the kingdom" — Talbot bowed, and with a sweetly courteous smile saluted Lanty, as if acce})ting the speech in the light of an introduction — " a fellow that in the way of his trade could cheat the Saint Pere himself." "Where's the others. Captain Jack?" said Mary, whose patience all this time endured a severe trial — " where's the rest ?" " Place pour hi potage ! Ma Mie ! — soup before a story ; you shall hear every thing by and by. Let us have the supper at once." Lanty chimed in a wihing assent to this proposition, and in a few moments the meat smoked upon the table, around which the whole party took their places with evident good-will. While Mary performed her attentions as hostess, by heaping up each plate, and ever supplying the deficiency caused by the aj)petitc of the guests, the others eat on like hungry men. Captain Jacques alone in- termingling with the duties of the table, a stray remark from time to time. •' Ventre hieu ! how it blows ; if it veers more to the southard, there will be a heavy strain on that cable. Triiiquons mon ami. Trinquons toujaurs ; Ma belle Marie, von eat nothing." 73 THE o'dONOGIIUE. " 'Tis unasy I am. Captain Jack, about what's become of the others," said Mrs, M'Kelly. " Another bumper. Ma Mie, and I'm ready for the story — the more as it is a brief one. Allans done — now for it. We left the bay about nine o'clock, or half-past, perhaps, intending to push forward to the glen at once, and weigh with the morning's tide, for it happens that this time our cargo is destined for a small creek, on the north-west coast ; our only business here being to land my friend, Harry" — here Talbot bowed and smiled — " and to leave two hogsheads of Bourdeaux, for that very true-hearted, kind, brave homme, Hemsworth, at the Lodge there. You remember last winter we entered into a compact with him to stock his cellar, provided no information of our proceedings reached the revenue from any quarter. Well, the wine was safely stored in one of the caves on the coast, and we started with a light con- science ; we had neither despatches nor run-brandy to trouble us — nothing to do but eat our supper ; saluer madame" — here he turned round, and with an air of mock respect kissed Mary's hand — "and get afloat again. As we came near the ' Lodge,' I determined to make my visit a brief one ; and so leaving all my party, Harry included, outside, I approached the house, which, to my surprise, showed lights from nearly every window. This made me cautious, and so I crept stealthily to a low window, across which the curtain was but loosely drawn, and Mo7't de ma vie ! what did I behold, but the prettiest face in Europe. Une anye de heaute. She was leaning over a table copying a drawing, or a painting of some sort or other. Tete bleu ! here was a surprise. I had never seen her before, although I was with Hemsworth a dozen times." " Go on — go on," said Lanty, whose curiosity was extreme to hear what happened next. '''Eh bien — I tried the sash, but it was fastened. I then went round the house, and examined the other windows, one after the other — all the same. Que faire ? I thought of knocking boldly at the back-door, but then I should have no chance of a peep at la belle in that way." " What did you want with a peep at her ?" asked Mary, gruflBy. " Viable ! what did I want? Pour V admirer, V adorer — or, at least to make my respects, as becomes a stranger, and a Frenchman. Pursuivons. There was no entree, without some noise — so I preferred the room she was in, to any other, and gently disengaging my dirk, I slipped it between the two sashes, to lift up the latch that fastened them. Mort bleu I the weapon slipped, and came slap through the pane, with a tremendous fracas. She started up, and screamed — tiiere THE () DOXOGIIUE. 79 was no iise in any more delay. I put my foot through the window, and pushed open the sash at once — out before I was well in the room, bells were ringing in every quarter of the house, and men's voices calling aloud, and shouting to each other — when, suddenly, the door opened, and whiz went a pistol-ball close by my head, and shattered the shutter behind me. My fellows, outside, hearing the shot, unslung their pieces, and before I could get down to them, poured in a volley — why, where- fore, or upon whom, the devil himself, that instigated them, can tell. The garrison mustered strong, however, and replied — that they did, by Jove, for one of ours, Emile de Louvois, is badly wounded. I sounded the retreat, but the scoundrels would not mind me — and before I was able to prevent it, tele bleu ! they had got round to the farm- yard, and set fire to the corn-stacks ; in a second, the corn and hay blazed up, and enveloped house and all in smoke. I sounded the retreat once more, and off the villains scampered, with poor Emile, to the boat ; and I, finding my worthy friend here an inactive spectator of the whole from a grove near the road, resolved not to give up my supper — and so, me void ! ~h\\t covciQ, can none of you explain this affair? "What is Hemsworth doing, with all this armed household, and this captive princess ?" " Is the ' Lodge' burned down ?" said Lanty, whose interest in the inhabitants had a somewhat selfish origin. '' No, they got the fire under. I saw a wild-looking devil mount one of the ricks, with a great canvas sail all wetted, and drag it over the burning stack — and before I left the place, the Lodge was quite safe." " I'm sorry for it," said Mary, with a savage determination. " I'm sorry to the heart's core. Luck nor grace never was in the glen, since the first stone of it was laid — nor w'ill be again, till it is a ruin ! Why didn't they lay it in ashes, when tJiey were about it?" " Faith, it seemed to me," said Talbot, in a low soft voice, " they would have asked nothing better. I never saw such bull-dogs in my life. It w'as all you could do, Flahault, to call them off." " True enough," replied Jacques, laughing. "They enjoy a biisee like that with all their hearts." " The English won't stay long here, after this night," was Lanty's sage reflection, but one Avhich he did not utter aloud in the present company. And then, in accordance with Jacques' request, he pro- ceeded to explain by what different tenants the Lodge became occupied since his last visit ; and that an English baronet and his dauirhter, with a household of many servants, had replaced Hemsworth and liis 80 THE o'dONOGHUE. few domestics. At every stage of the recital, Flahault stopped the narrative, to give him time to laugh. To him the adventure was full of droller}-. Even the recollection of his wounded comrade little damped his enjoyment of a scene, which might have been attenlled by the saddest results ; and he chuckled a hundred times over what he suspected the Knglishman must feel, on this, his first visit to Ireland. " I could rob the mail to-morrow, for the mere fun of reading his letters to his friends," said he. " Mort bleu ! what a description of Irish rapparrees, five himdred in number, armed with pikes." " I wish ye'd gave him the cause to do it," said Mary, bitterly — • " what brings them here ? who wants them 1 or looks for them ?" " You are right, Mary," said Talbot, mildly. " Ireland for the Irish !" " Ay, Ireland for the Irish !" repeated Mary and Lanty ; and the sentiment was di-ank with all the honours of a favoured toast. For some time the party continued to discuss Flahault's story, and calculate on every possible turn the affair might give rise to. All agree- ing, finally, on one point, that Sir Marmaduke would scarcely venture to protract his stay in a countr}-, where his visit had been signalized by such a reception. The tone of the conversation seemed little to accord with Captain Jacques' humour, whose convivial temperament found slight pleasure in protracted or argumentative discussions of any kind. " Que le dialle Timporte,''' cried he, at last. " This confounded talk has stopped the bottle this half-hour. Come, Talbot, let's have a song, my lad; never shake your head, mon enfant. Well, then, here goes." Thus saying, Flahault pushed back his chair a little from the table, and in a rich deep bass voice, which rung through the high rafters of the cabin, chanted out the following rude verses, to a French vaudeville air — giving the final e of the French words, at the end of each line, that, peculiar accentuation of a — which made the word sound contrahanda ! Though this information as to Captain Jacques' performance seems of little moment, yet such was the fact, that any spirit the doggerel possessed could only be attributed to the manner of the singer, and the effect produced by the intonation we have mentioned. LA CONTRABANDE. A bumper, " mes cnfans," to swallow your care, A full bumper, we pledge, "a Ij'Irlaude ;" The laud of " belles fommes — le pays do bonne chero, " Et tonjours do hi Coutrabande." THE o'noNOniiur. 8l Some liko to make lovo, and some like to niako w ar, Some of beauty obey " la cominamle ;" But wliat is a glance from an eye, "bleu," or " noir," Except it be, " la Contrabande." When a prince takes the easli tliat a peasant can't spare, And lets him lie down "sur la lande;" Call it, as you like — but the truth is, I swear, " C'cst bien pire (juc — la Contrabande." Stolen kisses are over the sweetest, we're told. They sink like a "navire qui fende ;" And what's true of a kiss, is the same, too, of gold. They're both, in their way, " Contrabande !" When kings take your money, they won't even say, " Mon ami le Dieu vous le rende ;" While even the priest, for a blessing takes pay, " C'est partout et toujours, Contrabande." The good things of life are not equal, I'm sure. Then, how pleasant to make the "amende;" To take from the wealthy, and give to tlie poor, " Voila ! que j'appelle, Contrabande." Yet, as matters go, one must not deem it strange, That even " La France et L'Irlande," If good wishes and friendship they simply exchange, There arc folks who call that, " Contrabande." " Vive la Contrabande, mes amis,''^ shmitecl out Jacques, as he arose glass in haud, autl made the room riug with the toast. And every voice repeated the words, in such imitations as they were able. " 'Tis an elegant song, anyway," said Lanty, " if one only under- stood it all — and the tune's miglity like the ' Cruiskeen Lawn.'" " Well, Harry," said Flahault, slapping his friend on the shoulder, " will the song persuade you to turn smuggler ? I fear not. You'd rather ])ractise your own ' Contrabande' among the bright eyes and dark locks of the capital. Well, there are worse 'metiers.' I have had a turn at it these fifteen years, and whether on the waters oi Ontario, or Champlain, or scudding along under the fog-banks of the Scheldt, T never grew weary of it. But, now for a little business talk — where is the Padre ? where's Father Luke ? was he not to have been here to-night?" Mary whispered the answer in the cnptain's car. G 82 THE o'donoghue. " All ! parhleu*' exclaimed he aloud — " is it so ? Practising a little * Contrabaude' of his own — trying to see a poor fellow safe over the frontier, into the next world." " Fie for shame, Captain Jacques," said Mary, with pious horror. " That's not the wjiy to talk of the holy offices." " I wish I had old Maurice Dulang here, the priest of Trois Rivieres, he's the boy could despatch them without trouble." Neither Lanty nor Mary gave any encouragement to Flahault's new turn of the conversation, and so, addressing himself to Talbot, he went on — " We were dining together one day, at the little inn at Trois Rivieres, when a messenger came from Lachegon, for the Pere' to administer the last rites to a ' mourant.' Maurice promised to be there in half-an-hour, but never stirred — and though three other messengers came for him, the answer was all the same — until, at last came word, ' Cest trop tard, il est mortJ " ' Trop tard r said Maurice, 'not a bit of it; give me a pen and uik, and some paper.' With that he folded a piece, note fashion, and wrote — " *MoN CHER Pierre — Pais ton petit possible pour cet pauvre diable, qui s'est gliss6 hors du monde sans mes soins. Apparement il etait bien presse ; mais tu I'arrangera pour le micux. " ' Ton viel ami, " • Maurice Dulang. " ' St. Pierre, a la Conciergerie au Paradis.' "'Put that in his mouth,' said Maurice, 'and there's no fear of him.' " " 'Twas a blessed gospel he gave him," said Mary, who did not com- prehend the French portion of the story, "and sure it's as good as any thing." "We all thought so, Mary. Poor Maurice related the story at Lyons, when he was led out to the guillotine — but though the Com- missaire laughed heartily, and enjoyed it nuich, they had found a bre- viary in his portmanteau, and they couldn't let him oif. Pauvre bete ! To travel about the world with the ' piece de conviction' in his posses- sion. What, Harry, no more wine ?" " I thank you, no more for me, although that claret is a tempta- tion." " A bouquet, every glass of it ! What say you. Master Lawler — does it suit your palate ?" THE o'donoghue. 83 " I begin to think it a taste cold, or so, by this time," said Lanty ; 'I'm not genteel enough for wine, God help me — but it's time to turn in, any how — and there's ]Mary asleep already." "I don't stir till I finish the flask," said Jacques, firmly ; " and ir you won't drink, you needn't grudge me your company. It's hard to say when we meet again. You go northward.. Talbot, isn't that so V " Yes, and that's the point I wish to come to — where and how shall I find a mount ? — I depended on this priest you spoke of to meet me, but he has not made his appearance." " You never fell upon your legs more fortunately — here's your man for a horse, all Ireland over. Eh, Lanty, what's to be had now ?" " Devil a thing can be got for love or money," said Lanty. " If the gentleman only told me yesterday " " Yesterday, Master Lanty, we were riding white horses in the Western Ocean — but that's gone by — ^let us talk of to-day." " My own hackney is here in the stable. If his honour likes him, I'll sell him ; but he's a fancy beast, and must have a fancy price." " Has he strength and speed for a fast ride," said Talbot, " and will his condition bear it ?" " I'll answer for it — you may push on to Cork in a hand gallop, if you give him ten minutes' rest, and a glass of whiskey at Macroom." " That's enough — what's his price?" "Take a look at him first," replied Lanty, "for if you are judge of a beast, you'll not refuse what I ask you." With these words he lighted a candle, and placed it in an old iron lantern, which hung against the wall, and opening a small door at the back of the cabin, proceeded, by a narrow passage cut in the rock, towards the stable, followed by Talbot, Flahault remaining where he was, as if sunk in meditation. Scarcely, however, had the two figures disappeared in the distance, when he shook Mary violently by the shoulder, and whispered in a quick, but collected tone — " Mary — Mary, I say — is that fellow all safe ?" "Ay is he safe," said she, resuming her wonted calmness in a second. " Why do you ask now ?" " I'll tell you why — for myself I care not a sous — I'm here to-day, away to-morrow — but Talbot's deep in the business — his neck's in the halter — can we trust Lawler on his account — a man of rank and large fortune as he is, cannot be spared — what say you ?" "You may trust him. Captain," said Mary, "he knows his life would not be his own two hours if he turned informer — and then this Mr. Talbot; he's a great man you tell me ?" 54 THE O DONOGIIUK. "He's a near kinsman of a great ])eer, and has a heavy stake in tlie g-anie — that's all I know, ]Mary — and, indeed, the present voyage was more to bring him over, than any thing else — but hush, here they come." " You shall have your money — you've no objection to French gold, I ho])e — for several years I have seen no other," said Talbot entering. " I knoAV it well," said Lanty, " and would just as soon take it, as if it had King George on it." "You said forty pounds, fifty Louis is not far off — will that do?" said the youth, as he emptied a heavily filled purse of gold upon the table, and pushed fifty pieces towards the horse-dealer. " As well as the best, sir," said Lanty, as he stored the money in his long leathern pocket-book, and placed it within his breast pocket. "Will Mrs. M'Kelly accept this small token, as a keejisake," said the youth, while he took from around his neck a fine gold chain of Vene- tian work, and threw it gallantly over Mary's ; "this is the first shel- ter I have found, after a long exile from my native land ; and you, my old comrade, I have left you the pistols you took a fancy too, they are in the lugger — and so, now good-bye, all, I must take to the road at once — I should like to have met the priest, but all chance of that seems over." Many and affectionate were the parting salutations between the young man and the others ; for, although he had mingled but little in the evening's conversation, his mild and modest demeanour, added to the charm of his good looks, had won their favourable opinions ; besides that he was pledged to a cause which had all their sympathies. While the last good-bye was being spoken, Lanty had saddled and bridled the hackney, and led him to the door. The storm was still raging fiercely, and the night dark as ever. " You'd better go a little ways up the glen, Lanty, beside him," said Mary, as she looked out into the wild and dreary night. "'Tis what I mean to do,'* said Lanty, "I'll show him as far as the turn of the road." Though the stranger declined the proffered civility, Lanty was firm in his resolution, and the young man, vaulting lightly into the saddle, called out a last farewell' to the others, and rode on beside his guide. ALiry had scarcely time to remove the remains of the supper, when Lanty re-entered the cabin. "He's the noble-hearted fellow, anyway," said he, "and never took a shilling off the first ])rice I asked him;" and with that lie put his Land into his brwibt ])ocket to examine, once more, the stran"-e coin or THE o'j){)No(inui:. 85 France. With a start, a trenuMuloiis oath hroke from hhn — " My mo- ney — my pocket-book is lost," excUiimcd he, in wihl excitement, while lie ransacked pocket alter pocket of his dress. "Bad Inck to that glen, I dropt it out there, and with the torrent of water that's falhng, it will never he found — och, nuirther, this is too had." In vain the others endeavoured to eouilort and console him — all their assurances of its safety, and the certainty of its hcing discovered the next morning, were in vain. Lanty re-lighted the lantern, and mutter- ing maledictions on the weather, the road, and his own ])oliteness, he issued forth to search after his treasure, an occuj)atiou which, with all his perseverance, was unsuccessful ; for when day was breaking, he was still groping along the road, cursing his hard fate, and every thing which had any share in inflicting it. " The money is not the worst of it," said Lanty, as he threw himself down, exhausted and worn out, on his bed. " The money's not the worst of it — there Avas papers in that hook, I wouldn't have seen for double the amount." Long after the old snniggler Avas standing out to sea the next day, Lanty Lawler wandered backwards and forwards in the glen, now search- ing among the Avet leaves that lay in heaps by the Avay side, or, eoually in vain, sounding every rivulet and Avatcr-course Avhich swept past. His search Avas fruitless ; and avcU it might be — the road Avas strewn Avith fragments of rocks and tree-tops for miles — Avhile even yet the swollen stream tore Avildly past, cutting up the causeway in its passage, and foaming on amid the wreck of the hurricane. Yet the entire of that day did he persevere, regardless of the beating- rain, and the cold, drifting Avind, to pace to and fro, his heart bent upon recovering AAdiat he had lost. " Yer sowl is set upon money ; devil a doubt of it, Lanty," said Mary, as dripping Avith Avet,_ and shaking Avith cold, he at last re-enter- ed the cabin ; " sorra one of me Avould go rooting there, for a crock of goold, if I Avas sure to find it." " It is not the money, Mary, I tould you before — it's something else was in the pocket-book," said he, half angrily, Avhile he sat doAvn to brood in sdence over his misfortune. " 'Tis a letter from your sAveethcart, then," said she, with a spice ot jealous malice in her manner, for Lanty had more than once paid his ad- dresses to ]\Lary, whose wealth was reported to be something considerable " j\Lay be it is, and may be it is not," Avas the cranky reply. " Well, she'll have a saving husband, any Avay," said jNIary, tartly, " and one that knoAvs how to keep a good grip of the money." 35 THE ODONOGHUE. The horse-dealer made no answer to this enconium on his economy, but with eyes fixed on tlie ground, pondered on his loss ; meauwliile Mrs. M 'Kelly's curiosity, piqued by her ineffectual efforts to obtain information, grew each instant stroiiger, and at last became irrepressible. " Can't you say what it is you've lost? sure there's many a one goes bv, here, of a Saturday to market — and if you leave the token " " There's no use in it — sorra bit," said he, despondingly. " You know your own saycrets best," said Mary, foiled at every effort ; "and they must be the dhroll saycrets too, when you're so much afraid of their being found out." " Troth then," said Lanty, as a ray of his old gallantry shot across his mind ; " troth then, there isn't one I'd tell a saycrct too as soon as yourself, ?.Iary M'Kelly ; you know the most of my heart already, and why wouldn't you know it all ?" " Faix it's little I care to hear about it," said Mary, with an affecta- tion of indifference, the most finished coquetry could not have surpassed. "Ye may tell it, or no, just as ye plaze." "That's it now," cried Lanty — "that's the v/ay of women, the whole world over ; keep never minding them, and bad luck to peace or ease you get ; and then try and plaze them, and see what thanks you have. I was going to tell you all about it." "And why don't you?" interrupted she, half fearing lest she might have pulled the cord over-tight already ; " why don't you tell it, Laiity dear?" These last words settled the matter. Like the feather that broke the camel's back, these few and slight syllables were all that was want- ing to overcome the horse-dealer's resistance. "Well, here it is now," said he, casting, as he spoke, a cautious glance around, lest any chance listener should overhear him. "There was in that pocket-book, a letter, sealed with three big seals, that Father Luke gave me yesterday morning, and said to me, * Lanty Lawler, I'm going over to Ballyvourney, and after that, I'm going on to Cork, and it's mighty likely I'll go as far as Dublin, for the Bishop may be there, and if he is, I must follow him; and here's a letter,' says he, ' that you must give the O'Donoghue with your own hands' — them was the words — 'with your own hands, Lanty ; and now swear you'll not leave itto any one else, but do as I tell you ;' and, faix, I took my oath of it, and see, now, it's lost ; may I never, but I don't know how I'll ever face him again ; and sure God knows what was in it." " And there was three seals on it," said Mary, musingly, as if such extraordinary measures of secrecy could bode nothing good. THE o'donogiiuk. 87 '* Each of them as big as a half-crown — and it was thick inside too ; musha 'twas the evil day I ever set eyes on it !" and with this allusion to the lost money, which, by an adroitness of superstition, he coupled with the bad luck the letter had brought him, Lanty took his farewell of I\Iary, and, with a heavy heart, set out on his journey. CHAPTER XT. il I S T A K E S ON ALL S I D K S. The occurrence so briefly mentioned by Flahault, of the night attack on the " Lodge," was not so easily treated by the residents ; and so many different versions of the affair were in circulation, that ■Miss Travers, the only one whose information could have thrown any light upon it, -svas confused by the many marvels she heard, and totally unable to recall to mind what had really taken ])lace. Sir Marmaduke himself examined the servants, and compared their testimony ; but fear and exaggeration conspired to make the evidence valueless. Some asserting that there were at least a hundred assailants surrounding the horse at one time — others, that they wore a kind of uniform, and had their faces blackened — some again had seen parties prowling about the premises during the day, and could positively swear to one man, " a tall fellow in a ragged blue coat, and without shoes or stockings" — no uncommon phenomena in those parts. But the butler negatived all these assertions, and stout- ly maintained that there had been neither attack nor assailants — that t.ie whole affair was a device of Terry's, to display his zeal and bravery ; and, in short, that he had set fire to the rick in the haggard, and "got up" the affray for his own benefit. In proportion as any fact occurred to throw discredit on the testimony of each, he who proffered it became a thousand times more firm and re- solute in his assertion — circumstances dubious a moment before, were then suddenly remembered and sworn to, with numerous little aids to corroboration newly recalled to mind. To one point, however, all the evidence more or less converged, and that was, to accuse Terry of being the cause, or at least an accomplice in the transaction. Poor fellow — his own devotedness had made enemies for him every where — the alacrity with 88 THE O DONOGHUE. which lie mounted the hiirning stack was an ollence not soon to be for- gotten by those who ne.Lher risked life nor limb ; nor were the taunts he lavished on their sluggish backwardness to be forgiven now. Unhappily^ too, Terry was not a favourite among the servants : he had never learnt how much deference is due from the ragged man to the pampered menial of a rich household ; he had not been trained to that subserviency oi demeanour which should mark the intercourse of a poor, liousclcss, friendless creature like himself, with the tagged and lace- covered ser- vants of a Avealthy master. Terry, by some strange blunder of his na- ture, imagined that, in his freedom and independence, he was the better man of the two ; he knew that to do nothing, was the preroga- tive of the great; and as he fulfilled that condition to a considerable extent, he fancied he should enjoy its privileges also. For this reason he had ever regarded the whole class of servants as greatly his inferiors ; and although he was ready and willing to peril his life at any moment for Sir Marmaduke or his daughter, the merest common-place services he would refuse to the others, without a moment's hesitation. Neither intimidation could awe, nor bribery bend him — his nature knew not what fear was in any shape, save one — that of.bcing apprehended and shot for a deserter — and as to any prospect of buying his good offices, that was totally out of the question. In an Irish household Terry's character would have been appreciated at once. The respect which is never refused to any bereavement, but, in particular, to that greatest of all afflictions, would have secured for him, there, both forgiveness and affection — his waywardness and ca- price would have been a law to the least good-tempered servant of the family ; but Sir Marmaduke's retainers were all English, and had about as much knowledge of, or sympathy with, such a creature, as he liimseh possessed of London life and manners. As his contempt was not measured by any scale of prudence, but coolly evinced on every occasion of their intercourse, they, one and all, detested him beyond bounds — most, asserting that he was a thorough- paced knave, whose folly was a garb assumed to secure a life of idleness — and all, regarding him in the light of a sp^, ever ready to betray them to their master. When, therefore, one after another, the servants persisted in either openly accusing or insinuating suggestions against Terr}', Sir IMarma- duke became sorely puzzled. It was true, he himself Iiad witnessed his conduct the night before; but if their version was correct, all his daring, energy, and boldness were so many proofs against him. lie was, indeo;!, reluctant to think so badly of the poor fellow — but bow discredit the ci- j ^''V ^„ ^// THE (/i)()N(K;!1UE. S9 deuce of his entire household? His butler had been in his service for years — and oh ! what a claim for all the exercise of evil influence — for all the potty tyranny of the low-minded and the base-horn — tracking its way through eaves-dropping, and 'insinuating its venom in moments ol unguarded freedom. His footman too but why go on ? His daughter alone rejected the notion with indignation; but in her eager vindication of the poor fellow's honour, her excitement militated against success — for age thus ever pronounces upon youth, and too readily confounds a high-spirited denunciation of wrong, with a mistaken, ill-directed enthu- siasm. He listened, it is true, to all she said of Terry's devotedness and courage — of his artless, simple nature — of his single-minded, gentle character ; but by a fatal tendency, too frequent as we advance in years, the scales of doubt ever lean against, and not to the side favour- able to human nature, and as he shook his head mournfully, he said — - " I wish I did not suspect him." " Send for him at least," said his daughter, as with an eflort she re- strained the emotion that agitated her ; " speak to him yourself." " To what end, my child, if he really is innocent?" "Oh! yes, indeed — indeed he is," she exclaimed, • as the tears at length fell fast upon her cheek. " Well then, be it so," said Sir INIarmaduke, as he rung the bell, and ordered Terry to be sent for. "While Miss Travers sat with her head buried in her hands, her fa- ther paced slowly up and down the room; and so absorbed was he in his thoughts, that he had not noticed Terry, who had meanwhile entered the room, and now stood respectfully beside, the door. When the old man's eyes did fall on him, he started back, with horror and astonish- ment. The poor fellow's clothes were actually reduced to a mass of burned rags — one sleeve was completely gone, and, there, could be seen his bare arm scorched and blackened by the fire — a bandage of coarse linen wrapping the hand and fingers — a deep cut marked his brow — and his hair was still matted and clotted with the blood — while his face was of the colour of death itself. " Can you doubt him now, father," whispered the young girl, as she gazed on the poor felloAv, whose wandering eyes roamed over the orna- ments of the chamber, in total unconsciousness of himself and his suf- ferings. " "Well, Terry," said Sir Marmadukc after a pause, " what account do vou give of last night's business ?" "That's a picture of Keim-an-Eigh," said Terry, as he fixed his large eves, open to their widest extent, on a framed drawing on the wall. " There's the Eagle's Cliff, and that's Murrow Waterfall — and there's 90 THE O DONOGHUE. the lake — av, and see if there isn't a boat on it. "Well, well, but it's beautiful — one could walk up the shepherd's path there, where the goat is — ay, there's a fellow going up — musha, that's me — I'm going over to Cubber-na-creena, by the short cut." " Tell me all you know of what happened last night, Terry," re- peated Sir Marmaduke. " It was a great fire, devil a doubt of it," said Terry, eagerly ; " the blaze from the big stack was twice as high as the roof ; but when I put the wet sail of the boat on it, it all went into black smoke ; it nearly choked me." ' How did it catch fire first, Terry ? can you tell us that ?" " They put a piece of tindir in it ; I gave them an ould rag, and they rubbed it over with pov/der, and set it burning.' " Who were they that did this ?" ' The fellows that threw me down — what fine pistols they had, with silver all over them ! They said that they would not beat me at all, and they didn't either. When I gave them the rag, they said, ' Now, my lad, we'll show you a fine fire ;' and, true lor them, I never seen a grander." In this vague, rambling strain, did Terry reply to every question put to him, his thoughts ever travelling in one narrow circle. Who they were that fired the haggard, how many, and what kind of appearance they wore, he knew nothing of whatever ; for in addition to his natural imbecility of mind, the shock of the adventure, and the fever of his wounds and bruises, had utterly routed the small remnant of mider- standing which usually served to guide him. To one question only did his manner evince hesitation and doubt in the answer, and that was, when Sir Marmaduke asked him, how it happened that he should have been up at the Lodge at so late an hour, since the doors were all locked and barred a considerable time previous. Terry's face flushed scarlet at the question, and he made no reply ; he stole a sharp, quick glance towards Miss Travcrs, beneath his eyelids, but as rapidly withdrew it again, when his colour grew deeper and deeper. The old man marked the embarrassment, and all his suspicions were revived at once. " You must tell me this, Terry," said he, in a voice of some impatience ; " I insist upon knowing it." " Yes, Terry, speak it out freely ; you can have no cause for con- cealment," said Sybella, encouragingly. " I'll not tell it!" said he, after a pause of some seconds, during which he seemed to have been agitating within himself all the reasons on either side—* ' I'll not tell it." Tin: o'donogiiue. 91 " Comp, sir," said Sir Marinadukc angrily, " I must and will know this ; your hesitation has a cause, and it shall be known." The boy started at the tones so uuusual to his ears, and stared at the speaker in mute astonishment. " I am not displeased with you, Terry — at least I shall not he, if you speak freely and openly to me. Now, then, answer my question — Yv'hat brought you about the Lodge at so late an hour ?" " I'll not tell," said the youth resolutely. " For shame, Terry," said Sybella, in a low, soothing voice, as she drew near him ; "how can you speak thus to my father. You would not have me displeased with you ?" The boy's face grew pale as death, and his lips quivered with agita- tion, while his eyes, glazed with heavy tears, were turned downwards ; still he never spoke a word. ' "Well, what think you of him, now ?" said Sir Marmaduke in a whisper to his daughter. " That he is innocent — perfectly innocent," replied she, triumphantly. " The poor fellow has his own reasons — shallow enough, douljtless — for his silence; but they have no spot or stain of guilt about them. Let me try if I cannot unfathom this business — I'll go down to the boat-house." The generous girl delayed not a moment, but hastened from the room as she spoke, leaving Sir ?Jarmaduke and Terry silently confronting Dach other. The moment of his daughter's departure. Sir Marmaduke felt relieved from the interference her good opinion of Terry suggested, and, at once altering his whole demeanour, he walked close up to him, and said — "I shall but give you one chance more, sir. Answer my question now, or never." " Never, then !" rcjoin(*d Terry, in a tone of open defiance. The words, and the look by which they were accompanied, overcame the old man's temper in a moment, and he said — " 1 thought as much. I guessed how deeply gratitude had sunk in such a heart. Away ! Let me see you no more." The boy turned his eyes from the speaker till they fell upon his own seared and burned limb, and the hand swathed in its rude bandage. That mute appeal was all he made, and then burst into a flood of tears. The old man turned away to hide his own emotions, and when he looked round, Terry was gone. The hall door lay open. He had passed out and gained the lawn — no sight of him could be seen. 92 llli^ O DONOGIIUE. "I know it, father, I know it all now," said SybcUa, as she came running up the slope from the lake. •' It is too late, my child : he has gone — left us for ever, I fear," said Sir Marmaduke, as in shams and sorr(>w he rested his head upon her shoulder. For some seconds she could not comprehend his words ; and, whca at last she did so, she burst forth — "And, oh, father, think how we have Avronged him. It was in his care Jind devotion to us, the poor fellow incurred" our doubts. His habit was to sit beneath the window each night, so long as lights gleamed within. Till they were extinguished, he never sought his rest. The boatman tells me this, and says, his notion was, that God watches over the dark hours only, and that man's precautions were needed up to that time." With sincere and heartfelt sorrow Sir ]\Iarmaduke turned away. Servants were despatched on foot and horseback to recover the idiot boy, and persuade him to return ; but his path lay across a wild and mountain region, where few could follow ; and at nightfall the mes- sengers returned unsuccessful in their search. If there was real sorrow over his departure in the parlour, the very opposite feeling pervaded the kitchen. There, each in turn exulted in his share of what had occurred, and took pains to exaggerate his claims to gratitude, for having banished one so unpopular and unfriended. Alarm at the attack of the previous night, and sorrow for the unjust treatment of poor Terry, were not Sir Marmaduke's only emotions on this sad morning. His messenger had just returned from Carrig-na- curra with very dispiriting tidings of Herbert O'Donoghue. Respect for the feelings of the family under the circumstances of severe illness, had induced him to defer his intended visit to a naore suitable opportunity ; but his anxiety for the youth's recovery was nnceasing, and he awaited the return of each servant sent to inquire after him, with the most pain- ful im})aticnce. In this frame of mind was he as evening drew near, and he wandered down his avenue to the road-side to learn some minutes earlier the last intelligence of the boy. It was a calm and peaceful hour ; not a leaf moved in the still air; and all in the glen seemed bathed in the trancpiil inlluence of llie mellow sunset. I'he contrast to the terrific storm which so lately swept through the moun- tain-pass was most striking, and appealed (o the old man's heart, as rellecting back the image of human life, so varying in its aspectj so THE o'noNOcnrn. 93 chan-^eful of good and evil. lie stood and meditated on the passages of ills own life, whose tenor had, till now, been so cquahle, but whose fortmies seemed already to participate in the eventful fate of a distracted country. lie regretted, deeply regretted, that he had ever come to Ireland. He began to learn how little power there is to guide the helm of human fortune, when once engaged in the stormy current, and he saw himself already the sport of a destiny he had never anticipated. If he was puzzled at the aspect of a peasantry, highly gifted with intelligence, yet barbarously ignorant — active and energetic, yet indo- lent and fatalist — the few hints he had gathered of his neighbour, the O'Donoghue, amazed him still more ; and by no effort of liis imagination could he conceive the alliance between familv })ride and jiovertv — be- tween the reverence for ancestry, and an utter indifference to the pre- sent. He could not understand such an anomaly as pretension without wealth ; and the only satisfactory explanation he could arrive at, to himself, was, that in a wild and secluded tract, even so much superiority as this old chieftain possessed, attracted towards him the respect of all humbler and more lowly than himself, and made even his rude state seem affluence and power. If in his advances to the O'Donoghue he had observed all the forms of a measured respect, it was because he felt so dee]jly his debtor for a service, that he woidd omit nothing in the repayment : his gratitude was sincere and heartfelt, and he would not admit any obstacle in the way of acknowledging it. Eeflecting thus, he was suddenly startled by the sound of wheels coming up the glen — he listened, and now heard the low trot of a horse, and the admonitions of a man's voice, delivered iu tones of anger and impatience. The moment after, an old-fashioned gig, drawn by a small miserable pony, appeared, from ■which a man had dismounted to ascend the hill. "A fine evening, sir," said Sir ]\Iarmadukc, as the strangei', mIiosc dress bespoke one of the rank of gentleman, drew near. The other stopped suddenly, and surveyed the baronet w ithout s])eak ing ; then, throwing down the collar of his great coat, which he wore high I'ound his face, he made a respectful salute, and said — " A lovely evening, sir. I have the honour to see Sir Marmaduke Travers, I believe? May I introduce myself. Doctor Roach, of Killarney?" "Ah, indeed ! Then you are probably come from Mr. ODonoghue's house ? Is the young gentleman better this evening?" Roach shook his head dubiously, but made no reply. " I hope, sir, you don't apprehend danger to his life ?" asked Sir Marmaduke, with an effort to appear rAm ;is he spoke. 94 THE o noMOcnuKo "Indeed I do, then," said Roach, firmly; "the mischief's done aheady." " He's not dead ?" said Sir Marmaduke, ahnost breathless in his terror. " Not dead ; but the same as dead : effusion will carry him off some time to-morrow." " And can you leave him in this state ? Is there nothing to be done ? Nothing you could suggest ?" cried the old man, scarcely able to re- press his indignant feeling at the heartless manner of the doctor. " There's many a thing one might try," said Roach, not noticing the temper of the question, " for the boy is young ; but for the sake of a chance, how am I to stay away from my practice and my other patients ? And indeed slight a prospect as he has of recovery, my own of a fee is slighter still. I think I've all the corn in Egypt in my pocket this minute," said he, slapping his hand on his pvirse : " one of the late king's guineas, wherever they had it lying by till now." "I am overjoyed to hav(j met you, sir," said Sir Marmaduke hastily, and by a great exertion concealing the disgust this speech suggested. " I wish for an opinion about my daughter's health — a cold, I fancy — but to-morrow will do better. Could you return to Mr. O'Donoghue's to- night ? I have not a bed to offer you here. This arrangement may serve both parties, as I ffjrvently hope something may yet be done fo''' the youth." " I'll visit Miss Travers in the morning with pleasure." " Don't leave him, sir, I entreat you, till I send over ; it will oe quite time enough when you hear from me : let the youth be your first care, doctor ; in the mean while accept this slight retainer, for I beg you to consider your time as given to me now," and with that he pressed several guineas into the willing palm of the doctor. As Roach surveyed the shining gold, his quick cunning divined the old baronet's intentions, and with a readiness long liabit had per- fected, he said — "The case of danger before all others, any day. I'll turn about at once and see what can be done for the lad." Sir JNIarmaduke leaned towards him, and said some words hastily in a low whispering voice. "Never fear — never fear, Sir Marmaduke," 'was the reply, as he mounted to the seat of his vehicle, and turned the pony's head once more down the glen. " Lose no time, I beseech you," cried the old man, waving his hand in token of adieu ; nor was the direction unheeded, for, using his whip -S*, «o THE o'donoghue. 95 witli redoubled energy, tlie doctor sped along the road at a canter, whicli threatened annihilation to the frail vehicle at every bound of the animal. " Five hundred !" muttered Sir jNIarmaduke to himself, as he looked after him. " I'd give half my fortune to see him safe through it," jMeanwhile Roach proceeded on his way, speculating on all the gain this fortunate meeting might bring to him, and tlicn meditating what reasons he should allege to the O'Donoghue for his speedy return. " I'll tell him a lucky thought struck me in the glen," muttered he; "or, what ! if I said I forgot something — a pocket-book, or case of in- struments — any thing will do ;" and, with this comfortable reflection, he urged his beast onward. The night was falling as he once more ascended the steep and narrow causeway, which led to the old keep ; and here, now, Kerry O'Leary was closing the heavy but time-worn gate, and fastening it with many a bolt and bar, as though aught within could merit so much precaution. The sound of wheels seemed suddenly to have caught the huntsman's car, for he hastily shut doAvn the massive hasp that secured the bar of the gate, and as quickly opened a little latched window, which, barred with iron, resembled the grated aperture of a convent door. "You're late this time, any how," cried Kerry. "Tramp back again, friend, the way you came ; and be thankful it's myself seen you ; for, by the blessed Father, if it was jNIaster Mark was here, you'd carry away more lead in your skirts than you'd like." "What, Kerry? — what's that you're saying?" said the astonished doctor ; " don't you know me, man ?" " Kerry's my name, sure enough ; but artful as you are, you'll just keep the otlicr side of the door. Be off now, in God's name. 'Tis a fair warning I give you ; and faix if you. won't listen to rayson, you nitght hear worse ;" and as he spoke, that ominous sound, the click of a gun-cock, was heard, and the muzzle of a carbine peeped between the iron bars. " Tear-and-ounds ! ye scoundrel ! you're not going to fire a bullet at me ?" "'Tis slugs they are," was the reply, as Kerry adjusted the piece, and seemed to take as good an aim as the darkness permitted ; " divil a more nor slugs, as you'll know soon. I'll count three, now, and may I never wear boots, if I don't blaze, if you're not gone before it's over. Here's one," shouted he, in a louder key. " The saints protect me, but I'll be murdered," muttered old Roacli, blessing himself,but unable from terror to speak aloud, or stir frcin the spou "Here's two !" cried Kerry, still louder. Co TIIK O DONOGIIUr. ** I'm going! — I'm going ! give me time to leave this blasted place ; bad luck to the day and the hour I ever saw it." " It's too late," shouted Kerry. " Here's three !" and as he spoke bang went the piece, and a shower of slugs and duck-shot came pepper- ing over the head and counter of the old pony ; for in his fright, Koach had fallen on his knees to pray. The wretched quadruped, thus rudely saluted, gave a plunge and a kick, and then wheeled about with an alacrity long forgotten, and scampered down the causeway with the old gig at his heels, rattling as if it were coming in pieces. Kerry broke into a roar of laughter, and screamed out — "I'll give you another yet, begorra! that's only a true copy; but you'll get the original now, you ould varmint I" A heavy groan from the wretched doctor, as he sank in a faint, was the only response ; for in his fear he thought the contents of the piece were in his body. " Musha, I hope he isn't dead," said Kerry, as he opened the wicket cautiously, and peeped out with a lantern. " Mister Cassidy — Mister James, get up now — it's only joking I was. — Iloly Joseph J is lie kilt ?'"' and overcome by a sudden dread of having committed murder, Kerry stepped out, and approached the motionless figure before him. " 13y all that's good, I've done for the sheriff," said he, as he stood over the body. " Oh I wirra, wirra! who'd think a few grains of shot v.'ould kill "him." " What's the matter here ? who fired that shot ?" said a deep voice, as Mark O'Donoghue appeared at Kerry's side, and snatching the lantern, held it down till the light fell upon the pale features of the doctor. "I'm murdered! I'm murdered!" was the fainf exclamation of old Roach. " Hear me, these are my dying words, Kerry O'Leary mur- dered me." "Where are you wounded? where' s the ball?" cried Mark, tearing open the coat and waistcoat in eager anxiety. . " I don't know, I don't know ; it's inside bleeding I feel." " Nonsense, man, you have neither bruise nor scar about you ; you're frightened, that's all. Come, Kerry, give a hand, and we'll help him in." But Kerry had fled ; the idea of the gallows had just shot across his mind, and he never waited for any further disclosures about his victim ; but deep in the recesses of a hay -loft he lay cowering in terror, and endeavoiu'ing to pray. Meanwhile Mark had taken the half lifeless body on his shoulder, and with the ease and indifference he would have bestowed upon an inanimate burden, coolly carried him into the jjarlour, and threw liim u\um a sofa. niE o'donoghue. 97 CHAPTER XII. THE OLEN AT MI^JNIGIIT. "What have j'ou got there, IMark ?" called out the O'Donoghue, as the young man threw the still insensible figure of the Doctor upon the sofa. " Old Roach, of Killarney," answered Mark sullenly. " That con- founded fool, Kerry, must have been listening at the door there, to what we were saying, and took him for Cassidy, the sub-sheriff; he fired a charge of slugs at him — that's certain ; but I don't think there's much mischief done." As he sjjoke, he filled a goblet with wine, and without any waste of ceremony, poured it down the Doctor's throat. *' You're nothing the worse, man," added he, roughly; "you've given many a more dangerous dose yourself, I'll be bound, and people have survived it too." " I'm better now," said Roach, in a faint voice ; " I feel soriiething better ; but may I never leave this spot if I don't prosecute that scoun- drel, O'Leary. It was all malice — I can swear to that." " Not a bit of it, Roach ; Mark says the fellow mistook vou for Cassidy." " No, no — don't tell me that : he knew me well ; but I foresaw it all. He filled my pony with water; I might as well be rolling a barrel before me, as try to drive him this morning. The rascal had a spite against me for giving him nothing ; but he shall hang for it." " Come, come,- Roach, don't be angry ; it's all jiast and over now; the fellow did it for the best." " Did it for the best ! Fired a loaded blunderbuss into a fellow- creature for the best !" " To be sure he did," broke in Mark, with an imperious look and tone. " There's no harm done, an.d you need not make such a work about it." "Where's the pony and the gig, then?" called out Roach, suddenly remembering the last sight he had of them. " I heard the old beast clattering down the glen, as if he had fifty kettles at his tail. They'll stop him at last ; and if they shouldn't, I don't Biinposc it matters much : the whole yoke wasn't worth a five H 98 THE o'donoghue. pound note — no, even giving the owner into the bargain," muttered he, as he turned away. The indignity of this speech acted Uke a charm upon Roach ; as if galvanised by the insult, he sat bolt upright on the sofa, and thrust his hands down to the deepest recesses of his breeches pockets, his invariable signal for close action. "What, sir, do you tell me that my conveniency, with the pony, harness and all " " Have patience. Roach," interposed the old man ; " Mark was but jesting. Come over and join us here." At the same instant the door was flung suddenly wide, and Sir Archy rushed in, with a speed very unlike his ordinary gait. "There's a change for the better," cried he, joyfully ; " the boy has made a rally, and if we could overtake that d — d auld beestie, Roach, and bring Kim back again, we might save the lad." " The d d auld beestie," exclaimed Roach, as he sprung from the sofa and stood before him, "is very much honoured by your flat- tering mention of him." Then turning towards the O'Donoghue, he added — " Take your turn out of me now, when you have me ; for, by the Father of Physic, you'll never see Denis Roach under this roof again." The O'Donoghue laughed till his face streamed with the emotion, and he rocked in his chair like one in a convulsion. "Look, Archy," cried he — " see now ! — hear me. Roach," were the only words he could utter between the paroxysms, while M'Nab, the very picture of shame and confusion, stood overwhelmed with his blunder, and unable to say a word. " Let us not stand fooling here," said Mark, grufily, as he took the Doctor's arm ; " come and see my brother, and try what can be done for him." With an under-growl of menace and rage, old Roach suifered himself to be led away by the young man. Sir Archy following slowly, as they mounted the stairs. Although alone, the O'Donoghue continued to laugh over the scene he had just witnessed ; nor did he know which to enjoy more — the stifled rage of the Doctor, or the mingled shame and distress of M'Nab. It was, indeed, a rare thing to obtain such an occasion for triumph over Sir Archy, whose studied observance of all the courtesies and proprieties of life, formed so strong a contrast with his own careless and indiff'erent habits. " Archy will never get over it — that's certain, and begad he shan't do so for want of a reminder. The d d auld beestie !" and with the words came back his laughter, which had not ceased as Mark re-entered »♦ ■0:- m m THE o'donoghue. 99 the room. "Well, lad," he cried, "have they made it up — "what has Sir Archy done with him ? " " Herbert's better," said the youth, in a low deep voice, and with a look that sternly rebuked the heartless forgetfulness of his father. " Ah ! better, is he ? Well, that is good news, Mark ; and Roach thinks he may recover V " He has a chance now ; a few hours will decide it. Roach will sit up with him till four o'clock, and then, I shall take the remainder of the night, for my uncle seems quite worn out with watching." " No, Mark, my boy, you must not lose your night's rest ; you've had a long and tiresome ride to-dav." "I'm not tired, and I'll do it," rephed he, in the determined tone of his self-willed habit — one, which his father had never sought to control, from infancy upwards. There was a long pause after this, which Mark broke, at length, by saying — " So, it is pretty clear now that our gan&e is up — the mortgage is foreclosed. Hemsworth has noticed the Bally- vourney tenants not to pay us the rents, and the ejectment goes on." " ^\Tiat of Callaghan ?" asked the O'Donoghue, in a sinking voice. " Refused — flatly refused to renew the biUs. If we give him five hundred down," said the youth, with a bitter laugh, " he says, he'd strain a point." " You told him how we were circumstanced, Mark ? Did you men- tion about Kate's money?" " No," said Mark, sternly, as his bro^ys met in a savage frown. " No, sir, I never said a word of it. She shall not be made a beggar of, for our faults, I told you before, and I teU you now, I'U not suffer it." "But hear me, Mark. It is only a question of time. I'll repay " " Repay!" was the scornful echo of the young man, as he turned a withering glance at his father. "Then there's nothuig but ruin before us," said the O'Donoghue, in a solemn tone — " nothing !" The old man's head fell forward on his bosom, and, as his hands dropped hstlessly down at either side, he sat the very impersonation of overwhelming affliction, while Mark, with heavy step and slow, walked up and down the roomy chamber. "Hemsworth's clerk hinted something about this old banker's inten- tion of building here," resumed he, after a long interval of silence. "Building where ? — over at * the Lodge ?' " " No, here — at Carrig-ua-curra — throwing down this old place, I sup- pose, and erecting a modern villa instead." 100 THE o'dONOGHXJE. " "What !" exclaimed the O'Donoghue, with a look of fiery indigna- tion. "Are tliey going to grub us out, root and branch? Is it not enough to banish the old lords of the soil, but they must remove their very landmarks also ?" " It is for that he's come here, I've no doubt," resumed Mark ; " he only waited to have the whole estate in his possession, which this term will give him." " I wish he had waited a little longer — a year, or at most, tv.o, would have been enough," said the old man, in a voice of great dejectio!i, then added, with a sickly smile — " You have little affection for the old walls, Mark." The youth made no reply, and he went on — "Nor is it to be won- dered at. You never knew them in their happy days ! but I did, INIark — ay, that I did. I mind the time well, when your grandfather was the head of this great county — when the proudest and the best in the land stood uncovered when he addressed them, and deemed the highest honour they could receive, an invitation to this house. In the very room where we are sitting, I've seen thirty guests assembled, whose names comprised the rank and station of the jirovince ; and yet, all — every man of them, regarded him as their chief, and he was so, too — the descendant of one who Avas a king." The animated features of the young man, as he listened, encouraged the O'Donoghue, and he went on. "Thirty-seven thousand acres de- scended to my grandfather, and even that was but a moiety of our former possessions." "Enough of this," interrupted Mark rudely. "It is but an unpro- fitable theme. The game is up, father," added he, in a deep stern voice, "and I, for one, have little fancy to wait for the winner to claim the stakes. Could I but see you safely out of the scrape, I'd be many a mile away, ere a week was over." " You would not leave me, boy !" cried the old man, as he grasped tlie youth's hands in his, and gazed on him with streaming eyes. "You would not desert your poor old father. Oh, no — no, Mark ; this would not be like you. A little patience, my child, and death will save you that cruelty." The young man's chest heaved and fell like a swelling wave ; but he never spoke, nor changed a muscle of his rigid features. " I have borne all misfortunes well till now," continued the father. ** I cared little on my own account, Mark ; my only sorrow was for you ; but so long as Ave were together, boy — so long as hand in hand we stood against the storm, I felt that my courage never failed me. Stay •■ THIC O DONOGIIUE. 101 hy me, then, iMark — lell me that whatever comes, you'll never leave me. Let it not be said, that when age and alHiction fell upon the O'Donoghue, his son — the boy of his heart — deserted him. You shall command in every thing," said he, witli an impassioned tone, as he fixed his eyes upon the youth's countenance. " I ask for nothing but to be near you. The house — the property — all shall be yours." "What house — what property — do you speak of/" said Mark, rudely. "Are we not beggars ?" The old man's head dropped heavily; he relinquished the grasp of his son's hand, and liis outstretched arm fell powerless to his side. " I was forgetting," murnuu'cd he, in a broken voice- — •" it is as you say — you are right, Mark — you must go." Few and simple as the words were, the utterance sunk deep into the young man's heart ; they seemed the last effort of courage wrung from despair, and breathed a pathos he was unable to resist. " I'll not leave you," said he, in a voice scarce louder than a whisper : " there's my hand upon it," and he wrung in his strong grasp the unresisting fingers of the old man. " That's a promise, father, and now let us speak no more about it." "I'll get to my bed, Mark," said the O'Donoghue, as he pressed his hands upon his throbbing temples. "It was many a day since any- thing like emotion had moved him, and the conflict of passion had worn and exhausted him. " Good-night, my boy — my own boy ;" and he fell i;pou the youth's shoulder, half choked with sobs. As the O'Donoghue slowly ascended the stairs, towards his bed- room, Mark threw himself upon a chair, and buried his face in his hands. Ilis sorrow was a deep one. The resolve he had just aban- doned, had been for many a day the cherished dream of his heart — his comfort under every atiliction — his support against every difficulty. To seek his fortune in some foreign service — to win an honourable name, even though in a strange land, was the whole ambition of his life ; and so engrossed was he in his own calculations, that he never deigned a thought of what his father might feel about it. The poverty that eats its way to the heart of families seldom fails to loosen the ties of domestic affection. The daily struggle, the hourly conflict with necessity, too often destroy the delicate and trustful sense of protection that youth should feel towards age. The energies that should have expanded into homely affection and mutual regard, are sj)ent in warding off a common enemy ; and with wcarv minds and seared hearts the gentler charities of life have few- sympathies. Thus was it here. Mark mistook his selfishness for a feeling of indepcQT 102 THE o'dONOGHUK. dence ; he tlioufrht indifference to others meant confidence in himself — and he was not the first who made the mistake. Tired with thinking, and harassed with diflSculties, through which he could see no means of escape, he threw open the window, to suffer the cool night air to blow upon his throbbing temples, and sat down beside thecasement, to enjoy its refreshing influence. The candles had burned down in -the apartment, and the fire, now reduced to a mere mass of red embers, scarce threw a gleam beyond the broad hearth-stone. The old tower itself 'flung a dark shadow upon the rock, and across the road beneath it, and, except in the chamber of the sick boy, in a distant part of the building, not a light was to be seen. The night was calm and star-lit : a stillness almost painful reigned around. It seemed as if exhausted nature, tired with the work of storm and hurricane, had sunk into a deep and wearied sleep. Thou- sands of bright stars speckled the dark sky ; yet the light they shed upon the earth, but dimly distinguished mountain and valley, save where the calm surface of the lake gave back their lustre, in a heaven, placid and motionless as their own. Now and then, a bright meteor would shoot across the blue vault, and disappear in the darkness ; while in tranquil splendour, the planets shone on, as though to say, the higher destinj' is to display an eternal brightness, than the brilliancy of momentary splendour, however glittering its wide career. The young man gazed upon the sky. The lessons which, from human lips, he had rejected with scorn and impatience, now sunk deeply into Ms nature, from those silent monitors. The stars looked down, like eyes, into his very soul, and he felt as if he could unburthen his Avliole heart of its weary load, and make a confidence with heaven. " They point ever downwards," said he to himself, as he watched the bright streak of the falling stars, and moralized on their likeness to man's destiny. But as he spoke, a red line shot up into the sky, and broke into ten thousand glittering spangles, shedding over glen and mountain, a faint but beauteous gleam, scarce more lasting than the meteor's flash. It was a rocket sent up from the border of the Bay, and was quickly answered by another from the remote end of the. Glen. The youth started, and leaning out from the window, looked down the valley ; but nothing was to be seen or heard — all was silent as before, and already the flash of the signals, for such they must have been he could not doubt, had faded away, and the sky shone in its own spangled beauty. " They are smugglers 1" muttered Mark, as he sank back in his chair; for in (hat wild district such signals were employed witliout much fear, THE o'dONOGHUK. 103 by those who either could trust tlie revenue as accomplices, or dare them by superior numbers. INIorc than once it had occurred to him to join this lawless ])and, and many a pressing invitation had he received from the leaders to do so ; but still, the youth's ambition, save in his darkest hours, took a higher and a nobler range : the danger of the career was its only fascination to him. Now, however, all these thoughts were changed : he had given a solemn ])ledge to his father never to leave him ; and it was with a feeling of half apathy he sat, pondering over what cutter it might be that had anchored, or whose party were then preparing to land their cargo. " Ambrose Dcnner, belike," muttered he to himself, " the Flem- ish fellow, from the Scheldt — a greedy old scoundrel too, he refused a passage to a poor wretch that broke the jail in Limerick, because he could not pay for it. I wish the people here may remember it tp him. Maybe its Hans " der Teufel," though, as they call him ; or Flahault — ^he's the best of them, if there be a difference. I've half a mind to go down the Glen and see ;" and while he hesitated, a low, monotonous sound of feet, as if marching, struck on his ear ; and as he listened, he heard the distant tramp of men, moving in, what seemed, a great number. These could not be the smugglers, he well knew : reckless and fearless as they were, they "never came in such large bodies as these noises portended. There is something solemn in the sound of marching heard in the stillness of the night, and so Mark felt it, as with cautious breathing he leaned upon the window, and bent his ear to listen. Nearer and nearer they came, till at last the footfalls beat loudly on the dull ground as, in measured tread, they stepped. At first a dark moving mass, that seemed to fill the narrow Voad, was all he could discern, but as this came closer, he could perceive that they marched in companies or divisions, each headed by his leader, who, from time to time, stepped from his place, and observed their order and precision. They were all country people ; their dress, as well as he could discern, the common costume of every day, undistinguished by any military emblem. Nor did they carry arms ; the captains alone wore a kind of white scarf over the shoulder, which could be distinctly seen, even by the imperfect light. They, alone, carried swords, with which they checked the move- ments from time to time. Not a word was uttered in the dense ranks — not a murmur broke the stillness of the solemn scene, as that host poured on. The one command, " Right shoulders forward — wheel !" being given at intervals, as the parties defiled beneath the rock, at which place the road made an abrupt tm-ning. So strange the spectacle, so different from all he had ever witnessed 104 THE O'CONOGHUE. or heard of, the youth, more than once half doubted lest, a wearied and fevered brain had not cailed up the illusion ; but as he continued to gaze on the moving multitude, he was assured of its reality ; and now was he harassed by conjectures what it all should mean. For nearly an hour — to him it seemed many such — the human tide flowed on, till at length the sounds grew fainter, and the last party moved by, followed, atahttle distance, by two figures on horseback. Their long cloaks con- cealed the wearers completely from his view, but he could distinctly mark the steel scabbards of swords, and hear their heavy clank against.^ the horses' flanks. Suff'ering their party to proceed, the horsemen halted for a few seconds at the foot of the rock, and as they reined in, one called out to the other, in a voice, every syllable of which fell distinctly on Mark's ears — "That's the place, Godfrey; and even by this light you can judge of its strength." "But why is he not with us ?" said the other hastily. "Has he not an inheritance to win back — a confiscation to wipe out?" " True enough," said the first speaker; "but eighty winters do not improve a man's nerve for an hazardous exploit. He has a son though, and, as I hear, a bold fellow." " Look to him, Harvey : it is of moment that wc should have one so near the Bay. See to this quickly. If he be like what you say, and desires a command " The rest was lost in the sound of their retreating hoofs, for already the party resumed their journey, and were in a few minutes hidden from his view. "With many a conflicting doubt, and many a conjecture, each wilder than the other, INIark pondered over what he had seen, nor noted the time as it slipped past, till the grey tint of day-dawn warned him of the hour. The rumbling sounds of a country cart just then attracted his attention, and he beheld a countryman, with a little load of turf, on his way to the market at Killarney. Seeing that the man must have met the procession, he called aloud — " I say, my good man, where were they all marching, to-night — those fellows ?" "What fellows, your honour?" said the man, as he touched his hat obsequiously. " That great crowd of people — you could not help meeting them — there was no other road they could take." " Sorra man, woman, or child I seen, your honour, since I left home, and that's eight miles from this," and so saying he followed his journey, leaving Mark in greater bewilderment than before, THE o'dONOGHUE. 105 CHAPTER XIII, " THE CUARDSMAK." Leaving for a brief season Glenflesk and its inhabitants, we shall asic of our readers to accompany us to London, to a scene somewhat different from that of our last chapter. In a handsomely furnished drawing-room in 'St. James's street, where the appliances of ease and luxury were blended with the evi- dence of those tastes so popular among young men of fashion of the period, sat, or rather lay, in a deep cushioned arm-chair, a young officer, who, even in the dishabille of the morning, and with the evi- dent traces of fatigue and dissipation on his brow, was strikingly hand- some. Though not more than three or four-and-twenty, the habits of his life, and the assured features of his character, made him appear several years older. In figure he was tall and well-proportioned, while his countenance bore those lineaments which are pre-eminently distin- guished as Saxon, — massive but Avell-chiselled features, the harmony of whose expression is even more striking than their individual excel- lence, a look of frank daring, which many were prone to attribute to superciliousness, was the most marked trait in his face, nor was the impression lessened by a certain " hautevr,'" which military men of the time assumed, and which, lie, in particular, somewhat prided himself on. The gifts of fortune and the graces of person will often seem to invest their possessor with attributes of insolence and overbearing, which are, in reality, nothing more than the unbridled buoyancy of youth and power revelling in its own exercise. We have no fancy to practise mystery with our reader, and shall at once mtroducc him to Frederick Travers, Sir jMarmaduke's only son, and Captain in the first regiment of Guards. "Wealth and good looks were about as popular fifty years ago, as they are in the year we w^rite in, and Frederick Travers was as universal a favorite in the circles he frequented as any man of his day. Courtly manners, sj)irits nothing could de])rcss, a courage nothing could daunt, expensive tastes, gratified as rapidly as they were conceived, were all accessaries which won their way among his acquaintances, and made them proud of his intimacy, and boastful of his friendship. That circumstances like these 106 THE O DONOGHUE. should have rendered a young man self-willed and imperious, is not to be wondered at, and such was he in reality — less, however, from the unlimited license of his position, than from an hereditary feature which distinguished every member of his family, and made them as intolerant of restraint, as they were wayward in purpose. The motto of their house was the index of their character, and in every act and thought they seemed under the influence of their emblazoned inscription, "'A tort et a travers." Over his father, Frederick Travers exercised an unlimited influence ; from his boyhood upward he had never met a contradiction, and the natural goodness of his temper, and the affectionate turn of his dispo- sition, made the old man believe in the excellence of a system, whose success lay less in its principle, than in the virtue of him, on whom it was practised. Sir Marmaduke felt proud of his son's career in the world, and enjoyed to the utmost all the flattery which the young man's acceptance in society conferred ; he was proud of him, almost as much as he was fond of him, and a letter from Frederick had always the effect of restoring his spirits, no matter how deep their depression the moment before. The youth returned his father's affection with his whole heart; he knew and valued all the high and generous principles of his nature ; he estimated with an honest pride those gifts which had won Sir Mar- maduke the esteem and respect of his fellow-citizens ; but yet, he thought he could trace certain weaknesses of character, from which his own more enlarged sphere of life had freed him. Fashionable associates, the society of men of wit and pleasure, seem often to suggest more acute and subtle views of life, than are to be obtained in less exalted and distinguished company ; the smart sayings and witty epigrams which are current among clever men appear to be so many texts in the wisdom of the world. Nothing is more common than this mistake ; nothing more frequent than to find, that inter- course with such people diffuses few, if anj^, of their distinguishing merits among their less gifted associates, who rarely learn any thing from the intercourse, but a hearty contempt for all who are debarred from it. Frederick was of this school ; the set he moved in was his religion — their phrases, their prejudices, their passions, he regarded as standards for all imitation. It is not surprising, then, if he conceived many of his father's notions obsolete and antiquated, and had they not been his, he would have treated them as ridiculous. This somewhat tedious explanation of a character with whom we have not any very lengthened business hereafter, demands some TiiK o'uoN()(;i!ui:. 107 apology ii'om us, still, withont it wc should be unable to explain to our reader the reason of those events to whose narrative we are liastcning. On the table, among the materials of a yet untasted breakfast, lay an open letter, of which, from time to time, the young man read, and as often threw from him, with expressions of impatience and anger. A night of more than ordinary dissipation had made him irritable, and the contents of the epistle did not seem of a character to calm him. " I knew it" said he at last, as he crushed the letter in his hand. " I knew it, well ; my poor father is unfit to cope with those savages ; what could ever have persuaded him to venture among them I know not ! the few hundreds a year the whole estate produces, are not worth as many weeks' annoyance. Ilemsworth knows them well ; he is the only man fit to deal with them. Ileigho ! " said he, with a sigh, " there is nothing for it I suppose, but to bring them back again as soon as may be — and this confounded accident Hemsworth has met with in the Highlands, will lay him on his back these five weeks — I must e'en go myself. Yet nothing was ever more ill-timed. The Queen s fete at Frogmore, fixed for AVednesday ; there's the tennis match on Friday, — and Saturday, the first day of the Stag hounds. It is too bad. Hemsworth is greatly to blame ; he sliould have been candid about these people, and not have made his Pandemonium an Arcadia. My father is also to blame ; he might have asked my advice about this trip ; and Sybella, too — why didn't she write ? She above all sliould have warned me about the folly ;" and thus did he accuse in turn all the parties concerned in a calamity, wliich, after all, he saw chiefly reflected in the inconvenience it caused himself. Now, assuredly, Hemsworth requires some vindication at our hands. It had never entered into that worthy man's most imaginative con- ceptions, to believe a \'isit from Sir IVIarmaduke to his Irish property within the reach of possibility ; for although, as we have already said, he was in the constant habit of entreating Sir Marmaduke to bestow this mark of condescension on his Irish'' tenants, he ever contrived to accompany the recommendation with certain casual hints about the liabits and customs of the natives, as might well be supposed sufficient to deter a more adventurous traveller than the old baronet ; and while he pressed him to come, and see for himself, he at the same time plied him with newspapers and journals, whose columns were crammed with the fertile theme of outrage ; the editorial comments on which often indicated a barbarism even deeper than the offence they affected to deplore. The accident which ultimately led to Sir Mar- 108 THE O DONOGHUK. maduke's hurried journey, was a casualty which Hemsworth had overlooked, and when he heard that the family were actually domes- ticated at " the Lodge," his regrets were indeed great. It was only on the day before the intelligence reached him — for the letter had followed him from place to place for a fortnight — that he had the misfortune to break his leg, b}^ a fall from a cliff" in deer shootivig. "Whatever the urgency of the measure, he was totally incapable of undertaking a iourney to Ireland, whither, under other circumstances, he would have hastened with all speed. Hemsworth' s correspondent, of whom we shall have occasion to speak more, hereafter, was the sub-agent of the estate, — a creature of his own, in every sense, and far more in his interest, than in that of his principal, He told him, in forcible terms, how Sir Marmaduke had commenced his work of Irish reformation ; that, already, both the baronet and his daughter had undertaken the task of improvement among the tenantry ; that rents were to be lowered, school-houses erected, medical aid provided for the sick and suffering, more comfortable dwellings built, more liberal wages allowed ; he narrated, how rapidly the people, at first suspicious and distrustful, were learning to feel confidence in their benefactor, and anxious to avail tliemselves of his benevolence ; but more than all, he dwelt upon the conviction, w'hich every hour gained ground among them, that Hems- worth had misrepresented the landlord, and that, so far from being him- self the instrument of, he had been the obstacle to, their welfare and hap- piness. The letter concluded with a pressing entreaty for his speedy return to " the Lodge," as, should he be longer absent, the mischier would become past remedy. Never did agent receive an epistle more alarming ; he saw the game, for whi.ch he had been playing half a lifetime, slip from him at the very moment of winning. For above twenty years his heart was set upon becoming the owner of the estate ; all his plans, his plots, his machinations, had no other end or object. From the deepest stroke of his policy, to the most trivial act of his power, he had held this in view. By his artful management a veil was intercepted between the landlord and the people, which no acuteness on either side could penetrate. The very acts intended as benefits by the owner of the soil, passed through such a medium, that they diverged from their destined direction, and fell, less as blessings than inflictions. The landlord was taught to regard the tenant, as incurably sunk in barbarism, igno- rance, and superstition. The tenant to suppose the landlord, a cruel, unfeeling task-master, with no care but for his rent ; neither sympathy for their sufferings, nor sorrow for their calamities. Hems- THK o'dONOGHUK. 109 worth played liis game like a master ; for while obtaining the smallest amount of rental for his chief, he exacted the most onerous and impoverishing terms from the people. Thus diminishing the apparent value of the property, he hoped one day to he able to purchase, and at the same time prei)aring it for becoming a lucrative and valuable possession, for although the rents were nominally low, the amount of fees and " duty-labor " were enormous. There was scarcely a man upon the property Avhosc rent was paid to the day and hour, and for the favour of some brief delay, certain services were exacted, which virtually reduced the tenants to a vassalage the most miserable and degrading. If, then, the eye ranged over a district of a poverty-struck and starving peasantry, with wretched hovels, naked children, and rude, improfitable tillage, let the glance but turn to the farm around "the Lodge," and, there, the trim fences, the well-weeded corn, and the nicely- cultivated fields, were an evidence of wdiat well-directed labour coidd effect ; and the astounding lesson seemed to say: — Here is an object for imitation. Look at yonder wheat : see that clover, and the meadow beyond it. They could all do likewise. Their land is the same, the climate the same, the rent the same ; but yet ignorance and obstinacy are incurable. They will not be taught — prefer their own barbarous ways to newer and better methods — in fact, are beyond the lessons of either precept or example. Yet what was the real case? To till that model-farm, to make these fields the perfection you see them, families were starving — age, left to totter to the grave, uncared-for — manhood, pining in want and misery, and infancy, to dawn upon suffering, to last a life long. Duty-labour calls the poor man from the humble care of his own farm, to come, with his whole house, and toil vipou the rich man's fields, the requital for which is some poor grace of a week's or a month's forbearance, ere he be called on for that rent these exactions are preventing him from earning. Duty-labour summons him from his own profitless ground, to behold the fruits his exertions are raising for another's enjoyment, and of which he must never taste! Duty-labour culls the days of fairsky and sunshine, and leaves him the gloomy hours of winter, when, with darkness without, and despair within, he may brood, as he digs, over the disproportioned fortunes of his tyrant and himself! Duty -labour is the type of a slavery, that har- dens the heart, by extinguishing all hope, and uprooting every feeling of self-confidence and reliance, till, in abject and degraded misery, the wretched man grows reckless of his life, while his vengeance yearns for that of his task master. Nor does the system end here ; — the agent must bo conciliated bv 110 THE O DONOGHUE. presents of various kinds ; — the humble pittance, wrung from misery, and hoarded up by industry, must be offered to him, as the means of obtaining some poor and petty favour, most frequently, one, the rightful due of the asker. A tyranny like this spreads its baneful influence far beyond the afflictions of mere poverty — it breaks down the spirit, it demoralizes the heart of a people ; for where was black-mail ever ex- torted, that it did not engender cruelty on the one hand, and abject slavery on the other ? So far from regarding those placed above them in rank and station, as their natural friends and protectors, the peasantry felt the great man as their oppressor ; they knew him not, as their comforter in sickness, their help in time of trouble — they only saw in him, the rigid exactor of his rent, the merciless task-master, who cared not for time or season, save those that brought round the period of repayment ; and as, year by year, poverty and misery ate deeper into their natures, and hope died out, fearful thoughts of retribution flashed upon minds, on which no prospect of better days shone ; and, in the gloomy desolation of their dark hours, they wished and prayed for any change, come in what shape, and surrounded by what danger it might, if only this bondage should cease. Men spoke of their light-heartedness, their gaiety of temper, their flashing and brilliant wit. How little they knew that such qualities, by some strange incongruity of our natures, are the accompaniments of deeply-reflective and imaginative minds, overshadowed by lowering fortune. The glittering fancy, that seems to illumine the path of life, is often but the wild-fire that dances over the bleak and desolate heath. Their apathy and indifference to exertion was made a matter of re- proach to them ; yet, was it ever known that toil should be volmitary, when hopeless, and that labour should be endured without a prospect of requital ? We have been led, almost unconsciously, into this somewhat length- ened digression, for which, even did it not bear upon the circumstances of our story, we would not seek to apologize to our reader. Such we believe to have been, in great part, the wrongs of Ireland — the fertile source of those thousand evils under which the land was suffering. From this one theme have arisen, most, if not all, the calamities of the country. Happy were it, if we could say that such existed no longer — that such a state of things was a matter for historical inquiry, or an old man's me- mory — and that in our own day, these instances were not to be found among us. THE o'dONOGHUE. Ill When Hemsworth perceived tliat the project of his hfe was in ])eril, he bethought him of every means by whicli the danger could be averted. Deep and well-founded as w^as his confidence in the cleverness of his deputy, his station was an insurmountable barrier to his utility at the present conjuncture. Sam Wylie, for so this worthy was called, was admirable as a spy, but never could be employed as minister jileni- potentiary : it needed one, now, who should possess more influence over Sir Marmaduke himself. For this purpose, Frederick Travers alone seemed the fitting person ; to him, therefore, Hemsworth wrote a letter marked "strictly confidential," detailing, with pains-taking accuracy, the inevitable misfortunes Sir Marmaduke's visit would entail upon a people, whose demands no benevolence could satisfy, whose expectations no concessions could content. He narrated the fearful instances of their vengeance, whenever disap- pointment had checked the strong current of their hopes ; and told, with all the semblance of- truth, of scenes of bloodshed and murder, no cause for which could be traced, save in the dark suspicions of a people long accustomed to regard the Saxon as their tyrant. The night attack upon " the Lodge" furnished also its theme of terror ; and so artfully did he blend his fact and fiction, his true state- ment, and his false inference, that the young man read the epistle with an anxious and beating heart, and longed for the hour, when he should recal those he held dearest, from such a land of anarchy and misfortune. Not satisfied with the immediate object in view, Hemsworth inge- niously contrived to instil into Frederick's mind misgivings as to the value of an estate thus circumstanced, representing, not without some truth on his side, that the only chance of bettering the condition of a peasantry so sunk and degraded, was by an actual residence in the midst of them, a penalty, whicli to the youth, seemed too dear for any requital whatever. On a separate slip of paper, marked "to be burned when read," Fre- derick deciphered the following lines : — " Above all things, I would caution you regarding a family who, though merely of the rank of farmer, affect a gentility which had its origin some dozen centuries back, and has had ample opportunity to leak out in the meantime ; these are the ' O'Donoghues,' a dangerous set, haughty, ill-conditioned, and scheming. They will endeavour, if they can, to obtain influence with your father, and I cannot too strongly re- present the hazard of such an event. Do not, I entreat you, suffer his compassion, or mistaken benevolence, to be exercised in their behalf. Were they merely unworthy, I should say nothing on the subject; but 112 THE o'dONOGIITj'E. tliey are highly and eminently dangerous, in ft land, where their claims are regarded as only in abeyance — deferred, but not obliterated, by confiscation. "E. H." It would in iiowise forward the views of our story, were we to detail to our readers the affecting scenes which preluded Frederick's departure from London, the explanations he Avas called on to repeat, as he went from house to house, for a journey at once so sudden and extraordinary ; for even so late as fifty years ago, a visit to Ireland was a matter or more moment, and accompanied by more solemn preparation, than many now bestow on an overland journey to India. The Lady Marys and Bettys of the fashionable world regarded him pretty much as the damsels of old did some doughty knight, when setting forth on his way to Palestine. That filial aifection could exact such an instance of devo- tion, called up their astonishment, even more than their admiration ; and many were the cautions, many the friendly counsels, given to the youth for his preservation in a land so rife with danger. Frederick was a soldier, and a brave one ; but still, he was not entirely divested of those apprehensions which the ignorance of the day propagated ; and although only accompanied by a single servant, they were both armed to the teeth, and prepared to do valiant battle, if need be, against the Irish " rogues and rapparrees." Here, then, for the present, we shall leave him, having made his last " adieux" to his friends, and set out on his journey to Ireland. THE o'l.iONO(;iiUK. 1 t3 CHAPTER XIV. THE COMMENTS ON A H'JRSIEU DEPARTURE. Brief as has been the interval of our absence from Glcuflesk, time's changes have been there. Herbert O'Donoghue had experienced a for- tunate change in his mahidy, and on tlie day following Roach's eventful return, became actually out of danger. The symptoms of his disease, so suddenly subdued, seemed to reflect immortal honour on the Doctor, who certainly did not scruple to attribute to his skill, what, with more truth, was owing to native vigour and youth. Sir Archy alone was ungrateful enough to deny the claim of physic, and slightly hinted to Roach, that he had at least benefited his patient by example, if not precept, since he had slept the entire night through, without awaking. The remark was a declaration of war, at once ; nor was Roach slow to accept the gage of battle — in fact, both parties were well wearied of the truce, and anxious for the frur," said Sam, i)lacidly, "and if you couldn't bring the turf up to his door, and cut it for him, and stack it, and carry a creel of it inside, to make the fire, he'd not be content." " Oh, that's it — is it?" said Sir ^larmuduke, "accepting an exjjlanation he was far from thoroughly understanding. " Then here's Jack Hcft'ernan — what does this fellow mean, by saying that a Berkshire pig is no good?" " lie only means, your honour, that he's too good for the place, and wants better food than the rest of the family." "The man's a fool, and must learn better. Lord jNIudford told me that he never saw such an excellent breed, and his swine-herd is one of the most experienced fellows in England. V/idow Mul — ^SIul — what ?" said he, endeavouring to spell an unusually long name in the book be- fore him—" Mulla " " Mullahedert, your honour," slipped in Wylie, " a very dacent crayture." "Then Avhy won't she keep those bee-hives; can't she see what an excellent thing honey is in a house — if one of her children was sick, for instance?" " True for you, sir," said Sam, without the slightest change of fea- ture. " It is wonderful how your honour can have the mind to think of these things — upon my word, it's surprising." " Samuel M'Elroy refuses to drain the field — does he?" " No, sir ; but he says the praties isn't worth digging out of dry ground, nor never does grow to any size. He's a Ballyvourney man, too, sir." " Oh, is he ?" said Sir Marmaduke, accepting this as a receipt in full for any degree of eccentricity. " Shamus M'Gillicuddy — heavens what a name ! This Shamus ap- pears a very desperate fellow ; he beat a man the other evening, coming back from the market." " It was only a neighbour, sir ; they live fornlnt each other." " A neighbour ! but bless my heart, that makes it w^orse." "Sure, sir, it was nothing to speak of; it was Darby Lenahan said your honour's bull was a pride to the place, and Shamus said the O'Donoghue's was a finer baste any day ; and from one word they came to another, and the end of it was, Lenahan got a crack on the scull that laid him ouivering on the daisies." 122 THi: o'donoghue. " Savage ruffian, that Shamvis ; I'll keep a sharp eye on him." " Faix, and there's no need — he's a Ballyvourney man." The old baronet looked up from his large volume, and seemed for a oment undecided whether he should not ask the meaning of a phrase, which, occurring at every moment, appeared most perplexing in signifi- cation ; but the thought that by doing so, he should confess his igno- rance before the sub-agent, deterred him, and he resolved to leave the interpretation to time and his own ingenuity. " What of this old fellow, who has the mill ? — has he consented to have the overshot wheel ?" " He tried it on Tuesday, sir," said Sam, with an almost imper- ceptible smile, " and the sluice gave way, and carried off the house and the end of the barn into the tail race. Pie's gone in, to take an action again your honour for the damages." " Ungrateful rascal ! I told him I'd be at the whole expense myself, and I explained the great sa\ing of water the new wheel would ensure him." " True, indeed, sir ; but as the stream never went dry for thirty years, the ould idiot thought it would last his time. Begorra, he had enough of water on Tuesday, anyhow." *' He's a Ballyvourney man, isn't he ?" " He is sir," replied Wylle, with the gravity of a judge. Another temptation crossed Sir Marmaduke's mind, but he withstood it, and went on — " The mountain has then been divided as I ordered, has it ?" " Yes, sir ; the lines were all marked out before Saturday." " Well, I suppose the people were pleased to know, that they have, each, their own separate pasturage ?" " Indeed, and, sir, I won't tell you a lie — they are not ; they'd rather it was the ould way still." " What, have I taken all this trouble for nothing then ? — is it pos- sible that they'd rather have their cattle straying wild about the country, than see them grazing peaceably on their own land ?" "That's just it, sir; for, you see, Avheu they had the mountain among them, they fed on what they could got ; one, had maybe a flock of goats, another, maybe a sheep or two, a heifer, an ass, or a bullsheen. " A what ?" " A little bull, your honour ; and they didn't mind if one had more nor another, nor where they went, for the place was their own ; but now. that it is all marked out and divided, begorra, if a beast is got tres- passing, out comes some one with a stick, and wallops him back again, THE o'i)OXOuiJ tii. 123 and then the man that owns him, natural enough, would' nt see shame on liis cow, or whatever it was, and that leads to a fight ; and faix, there's not a day now, but there's blood spilt over the same boundaries." " They're actually savages !" said Sir Marmaduke, as he threw his spectacles over his forehead, and dropped his pen from his fingers in mute amazement ; *' I never heard — I never read of such a people." " They're Ballyvourney men," chimed in Wylie, assentively. " D d " Sir Marmaduke checked himself suddenly, for the idea flashed on him that he ought at least to know what he was cursing, and so he abstained from such a perilous course, and resumed his search in the big volume. Alas ! his pursuit of information was not more successful as he proceeded : every moment disclosed some case, where, in his honest efforts to improve the condition of the people, from ignorance of their habits, from total unconsciousness of the social diff"erences of two nations, essentially unlike, he discovered the failure of his plans, and unhesitatingly ascribed to the prejudices of the peasantry, what with more justice might have been charged against his own unskilfuluess. lie forgot that a people long neglected cannot at once be won back — that con- fidence is a plant of slow growth ; but more than all, he lost sight of the fact, that to engraft the customs and wants of richer communities, upon a people sunk in poverty .and want — to introduce among them new and improved modes of tillage — to inculcate notions which have taken ages to grow up to maturity, in more favoured lands, must be attended with failure and disappointment. On both sides the elements of suc- cess Avcre wanting. The peasantry saw — for, however strange it may seem, through every phase of want and wretchedness their intelligence and apprehension suffer no impairment — they saw his anxiety to serve them ; they believed him to be kind-hearted and well-wishing, but they knew him to be also wrong-headed and ignorant of the country, and what he gained on the score of good feeling, he lost on the score of good sense ; and Paddy, however humble his lot, however hard his con- dition, has an innate reverence for abiUty, and can rarely feel attach- ment to the heart, where he has not felt respect for the head. It is not a pleasant confession to make, yet one might explain it without detri- ment to the character of the people, but assuredly, popularity in Ireland would seem to depend far more on intellectual resources, than on moral principle and rectitude. Romanism has fostered this feeling, so natural is it to the devotee to regard power and goodness as inseparable, and to associate the holiness of religion, with the sway and influence of the priesthood. If the tenantry regarded the landlord as a simple-hearted. 124 THE O DONOGHUE. crotchety old gentleman with no harm in him, the landlord believed them to be almost incurably sunk in barbarism and superstition. Their native courtesy in declining to accept suggestions they never meant to adopt, he looked on as duplicity ; he could not understand that the matter-of-fact sternness of English expression has no parallel here ; that politeness, as they understood it, has a claim, to which truth itself may be sacrificed ; and he was ever accepting in a literal sense, what the people intended to be received with its accustomed qualification. But a more detrimental result followed than even these : the truly well-conducted and respectable portion of the tenantry felt ashamed to adopt plans and notions they knew inapplicable and unsuited to their con ition ; they therefore stood aloof, and by their honest forbearance incurred the reproach of obstinacy and barbarism ; while the idle, the lazy, and the profligate, became converts to any doctrine or class of opinion, which promised an easy life and the rich man's favour. These, at first sight, found favour with him, as possessing more intelligence and tractibility than their neighbours, and for them, cottages were built, rents abated, improved stock introduced, and a hundred devices orga- nized to make them an example for all imitation. Unhappily the con- ditions of the contract were misconceived : the people believed that all the landlord required was a patient endurance of his benevolence ; they never reckoned on any reciprocity in duty ; they never dreamed that a Swiss cottage cannot be left to the fortunes of a mud cabin ; that stag- nant pools before the door, weed-grown fields, and broken fences, har- monize ill with rural pailings, drill cultivation, and trim hedges. They took all they could get, but assuredly they never understood the obliga- tion of repayment. They thought (not very unreasonably perhaps), " it's the old gentleman's hobby that we should adopt a number of habits and customs we were never used to — live in strange houses and work with strange tools. Be it so ; we are wiUing to gratify him," said they, "but let him pay for his whistle." He, on the other hand, thought they were greedily adopting what they only endured, and deemed all converts to his opinion who lived on his bounty. Hence, each morning presented an array of the most worthless, irreclaimable of the tenantry around his door, all eagerly seeking to be included in some new scheme of regeneration, by which they Tinderstood three meals a day and nothing to do. How to play off these two distinct and very opposite classes, Mr. Sam Wylie knew to perfection ; and while he made it appear that one portion of the tenantry whose rigid rejection of Sir Marmaduke's doctrines proceeded from a sturdy spirit of self-confidence and indepen- THK o'nONOGIILE. 125 dence, were a set of wild, irreclaimable savages ; he softly insinuated his compliments on the snccess iu other qnartcrs, while, in his heart he well ](new what results were about to happen "They're here now, sir," said Wylie, as he glanced through the window towards the lawn, where, with rigid punctuality Sir M}»rmaduke each morning held his levee ; and where, indeed, a very strange and motley crowd appeared. The old baronet threw up the sash, and as he did so, a general niar- niur of blessings and heavenly invocations met his ears — sounds, that if one were to judge from his brightening eye and beaming counte- nance, he relished well. No longer, however, as of old, suppliant, and entreating, with tremulous voice and shrinking gaze did they make their advances. These people were now enlisted iu his army of "regenerators ;' they were converts to the landlords manifold theories of improved agriculture, neat cottages, pig-styes, dove-cots, bee-hives, and heaven knows what other suggestive absurdity, case and affluence ever devised to plate over the surface of rude and rugged misery. "The Lord bless your honour every morning you rise, 'tis the iligant little place ye gave me to live in. Musha, 'tis happy and comfortable I do be every night, now, barrin' that the slates does be falling betimes — bad luck to them for slates, one of them cut little Joe's head this morning, and I brought him up for a bit of a plaster." This was the address of a stout, middle-aged woman, with a man's great coat around her in lieu of a cloak. " Slates falhng — why doesn't your husband fasten them on again ? lie said he was a handy fellow, and could do any thing about a house." " It was no lie then ; Thady Morris is a good warrant for a job any day, and if it was thatch was on it " "Thatch — why, woman, I'll have no thatch; I don't want the cabins burned down, nor will I have them the filthy hovels they used to be." " Why would your honour? — sure there's rayson and sinse agin it," was the chorus of all present, wdiile the woman resumed — " Well, he tried that same too, your honour, and if he did, by ray sowl, it was worse for him, for when he seen the slates going off every minit with the wind, he put the harrow on the top " " The harrow — put the harrow cm. the roof?" " Just so — wasn't it natural ? But as sure as the wind riz, down came tlic harroWj and stript every dirty kippeen of a slate away witn it.* " So the roof is off," said Sir Marmaduke with stifled rage. " Tis as clean as ray five fingers, t)ie same rafters," said she with unmoved gravitv. 126 THE o'donoghue. " This is too bad — ^Wylic, do you hear this ?" said the old gentle- man, with a face dark with passion. " Aye," chorused in some half dozen friends of the woman — "nothing stands the wind like the thatch." Wylie whispered some words to his master, and by a side gesture, motioned to the woman to take her departure. The hint was at once taken, and her place immediately filled by another. This was a short little old fellow, in yellow rags, his face concealed by a handkerchief, on removing which, he discovered a countenance that bore no earthly resemblance to that of a humai. ^eing : the eyes were entirely concealed by swollen masses of cheek and eye-lid — the nose might have been eight noses — and the round immense lips, and the small aperture be- tween, looked like the opening in a ballot-box. "Who is this? — what's the matter here?" said Sir Marmaduke, as he stared in mingled horror and astonishment at the object before him. " Faix, ye may well ax," said the little man, in a thick guttural voice. " Sorra one of the neighbours knew me this morning. I'm Tim M'Garrey, of the cross-roads." "What has happened to you then?*' asked Sir Marmaduke, some- what ruffled by the sturdy tone of the ragged fellow's address. " 'Tis your own doing, then — divil a less — you may be proud of your work." " My doing ! — ^how do you dare to say so?" " 'Tis no darin' at all — 'tis thrue, as I'm here. Them bloody bee- hives you made me take home wid me, I put them in a corner of the house, and by bad luck it was the pig's corner, and, sorra bit, but she rooted them out, and upset them, and with that, the varmint fell upon us all, and it was two hours before- we killed them — divil such a fight ever ye seen : Peggy had the beetle, and I the griddle, for flattening them agin the wall, and maybe we didn't work hard, while the childer was roarin' and bawlin' for the bare life." " Gracious mercy, would this be credited ? — could any man conceive barbarism like this ?" cried Sir Marmaduke, as with uplifted hands he stood overwhelmed with" amazement. Wylie again whisperedj something, and again telegraphed to the appli- cant to move off ; but the little man stood his ground and continued. " 'Twas a heifer you gave Tom Lenahan, and it's a dhroU day, the M'Garrey 's warn't as good as the Lcnahans, to say we'd have nothing but bees, and them Avas to get a dacent baste !" "Stand aside, sir," said Sir Marmaduke ; "Wylie has got my orders about vou. Who is this?" THE o'dONOGHUE. 127 " Faix, me, sir — Andrew Mahcr. I'm come to give your honour the key — 1 roiildn't stop there any longer." " What ! not stay in that comfortable house, with the neat shop I had built and stocked for you ? What does this mean ?" " 'Tis just that, then, your honour — the house is a nate little place, and barrin' the damp, and the little grate, that won't burn turf at all, one might do well enough in it ; but the shop is the divil entirely." " How so — what's wrong about it V " Every thing's wrong about it. First and foremost, your honour, the neighbours has no money ; and ti. Aigh they might do mighty well for want of tobacco, and spirits, and bohea, and candles, and soap, and them trifles, as long as they never came near them, throth they couldn't have them there fornint their noses, without wishing for a taste ; and so one comes in for a pound of sugar, and another wants a ha' porth of nails, or a piece of naygar-head, or an ounce of starch — and divil a word they have, but ' put it in the book, Andy.' By my conscience, it's a quare book would hould it all." " But they'll pay in time — they'll pay when they sell the crops." "Bother,! lax yer honour's pardon — I was manin' they'd see me far enough first. Sure, when they go to market, they'll have the rint, and the tithe, and the taxes ; and when that's done, and they get a sack of seed potatoes for next year, I'd like to know where's the money that's to come to me ?" "Is this true, W^ylie ? — are they as poor as this ?" asked Sir Mar- mad uke. Wylie's answer was still a whispered one. "Well," said Andy, with a sigh, " there's the key anyway. I'd rather be tachin' the gaffers again, than be keeping the same shop." These complaints were followed by others, differing hi kind and com- plexion, but all, agreeing in the violence with which they were urged, and all, inveighing against " the improvements" Sir INIarmaduke was so interested in carrying forward. To hear them, you would suppose that the grievances suggested by poverty and want, were more in unison with comfort and enjoyment, than all the appliances wealth can bestow : and that the privations to which habit has inured us, are sources of greater happiness, than we often feel in the use of unre- stricted liberty. Far from finding any contented. Sir Marmaduke onlj^ saw a few among the number, willing to endure his bounties, as the means of ob- taining other concessions they desired more ardently. Tiiey would keep their cabins clean, if any thing was to be made by it : they'd weed 128 THE O DONOGHUE. their potatoes, if Sir Marmaduke would only ofter a price for the weeds. In fact, they were ready to engage in any arduous pursuit of cleanliness, decency, and propriety, but it must be for a consideration. Otherwise, they saw no reason for encountering labour, which brought no requital ; and the real benefits offered to them, came so often associated with new- fangled and absurd innovations, that, both became involved in the same disgrace, and both sunk in the same ridicule together. These were the refuse of the tenantry ; for we have seen that tbc independent feeling of the better class held them aloof from all the schemes of " improvement," which the others, by participating in, contaminated. Sir Marmaduke might, then, be pardoned, if he felt some sinking of the heart at his failure ; and, although encouraged by his daughter to persevere in his plan to the end, more than once he was on the brink of abandoning the field in discomfiture, and confessing that the game was above his skill. Had he but taken one-half the pains to learn something of national character, that he bestowed on his absurd efforts to fashion it to his liking, his success might have been different. He would, at least, have known how to distinguish between the really deserving, and the unworthy recipients of his bounty — between the honest and independent peasant, earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, and the miserable dependant, only seeking a life of indolence, at any sacrifice of truth or character ; and even this knowledge, small HS it may seem, will go far in appreciating the difficulties which attend all attempts at Irish social improvement, and explain much of the suc- cess or failure observable in different parts of the country. But Sir Marmaduke fell into the invariable error of his countrymen — he first suffered himself to be led captive, by "blarney," and when heartily sick of the deceitfulness and trickery of those who employed it, coolly sat down with the conviction, that there was no truth in the land. THE o'donogiiue. 129 CHAPTER XVI. "the foreign LETTEn." The arrival of a post-letter at the O'Donogliue house was an occur- rence of sufficient rarity to create some excitement in the household ; and many a surmise, as to what new misfortune hung over the family, was hazarded between Mrs. Branagan and Kerry O'Leary, as the latter poised and balanced the epistle in his hand, as though its weight and form might assist him in his divination. After having conned over all the different legal processes which he deemed might be conveyed in such a shape, and conjured up in his ima- gination a whole army of sheriffs, sub-sherifFs, bailiffs, and drivers, of which the ominous letter should prove the forerunner, he heaved a heavy sigh at the gloomy future his forebodings had created, and slowly ascended towards his master's bed-room. . " IIow is Herbert ?" said the O'Donoghue, as he heai'd the footsteps beside his bed, for he had been dreaming of the boy a few minutes previous. " Who is that ? Ah ! Kerry. AVell, how is he to-day ?" " Troth there's no great change to spake of," said Kerry, who, not having made any inquiry himself, and never expecting to have .been questioned on the subject, preferred this safe line of reply, as he deemed it, to a confession of his ignorance. " Did he sleep well, Kerr}?" " Oh ! for the matter of the sleep we won't boast of it. But here's a letter for your honour, come by the post." " Leave it on the bed, and tell me about the boy." "Faix there's nothing particular, then, to tell ycr honour — sometimes he'd be one way, sometimes another — and more times the same way again. That's the way he'd be all the night through." The O'Donoghue ])ondered for a second or two, endeavouring to frame some distinct notion from these scanty materials, and then said — " Send Master ]\Iark to me." \t the same instant he drew aside the curtain, and broke the seal of the letter. The first few lines, however, seemed to satisfy his curiosity, although the epistle was written in a close hand, and extended over three sides of the paper ; and he threw K 130 THE o'dOXOGHUE. it carelessly on the bed, and lay down again once more. During all this time, however, Kerry managed to remain in the room, and, while affecting to arrange clothes and furniture, keenly scrutinized the features of his master. It was of no use, however. The old man's looks were as apathetic as usual, and he seemed already to have forgotten the missive Kerry had endowed with so many terrors and misfortunes, " Herbert has passed a favourable night," said Mark, entering a few moments after. " The fever seems to have left him, and, except for debiUty, I suppose there is httle to ail him. What! — a letter! Who is this from V " From Kate," said the old man listlessly. " I got as far as ' My dear uncle ;' the remainder must await a better light, and, mayhap, sharper eyesight too — for the girl has picked up this new mode of scribbling, which is almost unintelligible to me." As the O'Donoghue was sjieaking, the young man had approached the window, and was busily perusing the letter. As he read, his face changed colour more than once. Breaking off, he said — "You don't know, then, what news we have here ? INIore embarrass- ment — ay, by Jove, and a heavier one than even it seems at first sight. The French armies, it appears, are successful all over the Low Countries, and city after city falling into their possession ; and so, the convents are breaking up, and the Sacre Cceur, where Kate is, has set free its inmates, v/ho are returning to their friends. She comes here." "What ! — here?" said the O'Donoghue, with some evidence of doubt at intelUgence so strange and unexpected. "Why, Mark, my boy, that's impossible — the house is a ruin ; we haven't a room ; Ave have no ser- vants, and have nothing like accommodation for the girl." " Listen to this, then," said Mark, as he read from the letter : — * You may then conceive, my dear old papa — for I must call you the old name again, now that we are to meet — how happy I am to visit Carri^-na-curra once more. I persuade myself I remember the old beech wood in the glen, and the steep path beside the waterfall, and the wooden railings to guard against the precipice. Am I not right ? And there's an ash tree over the pool, lower down. Cousin Mark climbed it to pluck the berries for me, and fell in, too. There's memory for you !" " She'll be puzzled to find the wood now," said the O'Donoghue, with a sad attempt at a smile. " Go on, Mark." " It's all the same kind of thing : she speaks of Molly Cooney's cabin, and the red boat-house, and fifty things that are gone many a THE o'dONOGHUE. 131 day ago. Strange enough, she remembers what I myself have long since forgotten. ' How I long for my own little blue bed-room, that looked out on Keim-an-eigh !' " " There, Mark — don't read any more, my lad. Poor dear Kate ! — what would she think of the place now ?" " The thing is impossible," said Mark, sternly ; " the girl has got a hundred fancies and tastes, inisuitcd to our rude life ; her French habits would ill agree with our barbarism. You must write to your cousin — that old Mrs. Bedingfield — if that's her name. She must take her for the present, at least ; she offered it once before." "Yes," said the old man, with an energy he had not used till now, " she did, and I refused. My poor brother detested that woman, and would never, had he lived, have entrusted his daughter to her care. If she likes it, the girl shall make this her home. My poor Harry's child shall not ask twice for a shelter, while I have one to offer her." " Have you thought, sir, how long you may be able to extend the hospitality you speak of? Is this house now your own, that you can make a proffer of it to any one ? — and if it were, is it here, within these damp, discoloured walls, with ruin without and within, that you'd de- sire a guest — and such a guest ?" " What do you mean, boy ?" " I mean what I say. The girl educated in the midst of luxury, pampered and flattered — we heard that from the Abbe — what a favourite she was there, and how naturally she assumed airs of command and superiority over the girls of her own age — truly, if penance were the object, the notion is not a bad one." " I say it again — this is her home. I grieve it should be so rude a one — but, I'll never refuse to let her share it." " Nor w^ould I," muttered Mark, gloomily, "if it suited either her habits, or her tastes. Let her come, however ; a week's experience will do more to undeceive her than if we wrote letters for a twelve- month." " You nuist write to her, Mark ; you must tell her, that matters have not gone so well with us latterly — that she'll see many changes here ; but mind, you say how happy we are to receive her." " She can have her choice of blue bed-rooms, too — shall I say that?" said Mark, almost savagely. " The damp has given them the proper tinge for her fancy ; and as to the view she speaks of, assuredly there is nothing to baulk it : the window has fallen out many a day ago, that looked on Keim-an-eigh." 132 THK o'donoghue. "How can a'Ou torture me this way, boy ?" said the old man, with a look of imploring, to which his white hairs and aged features gave a most painful expression. But Mark turned away, and made no answer. "My uncle," said he, after a pause, "must answer this epistle. Letter-writing is no burthen to him. In fact, I believe, he rather likes it ; so here goes to do him a favour. It is seldom the occasion pre- sents itself." It was not often that Mark O'Donoghue paid a visit to Sir Archibald in his chamber ; and the old man received him as he entered with all the show of courtesy he would have extended to a stranger — a piece of attention which was very far, indeed, from relieving Mark of any por- tion of his former embarrassment. " I have brought you a letter, sir," said he, almost ere he took his seat — " a letter which my father would thank you to reply to. It is from my cousin Kate, who is about to return to Ireland, and take up her abode here," "Ye dinna mean she's coming here, to Carrig-na-curra ?" "It is even so! though I don't wonder at your finding it hard of belief." " It's mair than that — it's far mair — it's downright incredible." " I thought so, too ; but my father cannot agree with me. He will not believe that this old barrack is not a baronial castle ; and persists in falling back on what is past, rather than look on the ])resent, not to speak of the future." "But she canna live here, Mark," said Sir Archy, his mind ever dwelling on the great question at issue. "There's no' a spot in the whole house she could inhabit. I ken something of these French damsels, and their ways ; and the strangers that go there for education are a' worse than the natives. I mind the time I was in Paris with his ■Royal " Sir Archy coughed, and reddened up, and let fall his snuff-box, spilling all the contents on the floor. " Gude save us, here's a calamity ! It was real macabaw, and cost twa shillings an ounce. I maun even see if I canna scrape it up wi' a piece of paper ;" and so, he set himself diligently to glean up the scattered dust, muttering, all the time, maledictions on his bad luck. Mark never moved nor spoke the entire time ; but sat with the open letter in his hand, patiently awaiting the resumption of the discussion. "Weel, weel," exclaimed Sir Archy, as he resumed his seat once more ; " let us see the epistle, and perhaps we may find some clue to put her off." " My father insists on her coming," said Mark, sternly. THE o'donoghue. 133 "So he may, lad," replied Sir Archy ; " but she may ha'e her ain reasons for declining — dinna ye see that ? This place is a ruin. Wha's to say it is no' undergoing a repair — that the roof is off, and will not be on for sax months to come. The country, too, is in a vara dis- turbed state. Folks are talking in a suspicious waj." Mark thought of the midnight march he had witnessed ; but said nothing. " There's a fever, besides, in the house, and wha can tell the next to tak' it. The Lord l)c mercifu' to us !" added he gravely, as if the lat- ter thought approached somewhat too close on a temptation of Provi- dence. "If she's like what I rememlier her as a child," replied Mark, "your plan would be a bad one for its object. Tell her the place is a ruin, and she'd give the world to see it for bare cariosity ; say, there was a likeli- hood of a rebellion, and she would risk her life to be near it ; and as for a fever, we never w^re able to keep her out of the cabins when there was sickness going. Faith, I believe it was the danger, and not the be- nevolence, of the act charmed her." " You are no' far wrang. I mind her weel — she was a saucy cutty ; and I canna forget the morning she gave me a bunch o' thistles on my birth day, and ca'ed it a ' Scotch bouqu'ey.' " "You had better read the letter in any case," said Mark, as he pre- sented the epistle. Sir Archy took it, and perused it from end to end without a word ; then laying it open on his knee, he said — " The lassie's heart is no' far wrang, INIark, depend upon it. Few call up the simple memories o' childish days, if they have no' retained some of the guileless spirit that animated them. I wad like to see her mysel'," said he, after a pause. " But what have we here in the post- script ?" — and he read aloud the following lines : — " I have too good a recollection of a Carrig-na-curra household, to make any ajiology for adding one to the number below stairs, in the person of my maid. Mademoiselle Hortcnse, from whose surprise and astonishment at our Irish mountains I anticipate a rich treat. She is a true Parisian, who cannot believe in any thing outside the Boulevards. What will she think of ^Irs. Branagan and Kerry O'Leary ? — and what will ihey think of her V " Lord save us, Mark, this is an awfu' business ; a French waiting woman here ! Why, she might as weel bring a Bengal tiger ! I protest I'd rather see the one than the other." "She'll not stay long ; make your mind easy about her; nor will Kate either, if she need such an attendant." 134 THE o'donoghue. " True enough, Mark, we maun let the malady cure itsel' ; and so, I suppose, the lassie must even see the nakedness o' the land wi' her ain eyes, though I'd just as soon Ave could ' put the cover on the par- ritch,' as the laird said, ' and make the fiiles think it brose.' It's no ower pleasant to expose one's poverty." " Then you'll write the letter," said Mark, rising, " and we must do what we can, in the way of preparation. The time is short enough too, for that letter was written almost a month ago — she might arrive this very week." As he spoke, the shuffling sounds of feet were heard in the corridor outside ; the young man sprung to the door, and looked out, and just caught sight of Kerry O'Leary, with a pair of boots under his arm, descending the stairs. " That fellow, Kerry — listening as usual," said jNIark. " I heard him at my door about a fortnight since, when I was talking to Herbert, and I sent a bullet through the pannel — I thought it might cure him." " I wonder it did na kill him !" exclaimed M'Nab in horror. " No, no, my hand is too steady for that. I aimed at least two inches above his head — it might have grazed his hair." " By my word, I'll no' play the eaves-dropper wi' you, Mark ; or, at least, I'd like to draw the charge o' your pistols first." " She can have my room," said Mark, not heeding the speech. " I'll take that old tower they call the guard-room ; I fancy I shall not be dispossessed for a considerable time," — and the youth left the cham- ber to look after the arrangements he spoke of. "'Tis what I tould you," said Kerry, as lie drew his stool beside the kitchen fire ; "I was right enough, she's coming back again to live here — I was listening at the door, and heerd it all." "And she's la^dng the blessed nunnery !" exclaimed Mrs. Branagan, with a holy horror in her countenance — " desartiug the elegant place, with the priests, and monks, and friars, to come here again, in the middle of every wickedness and divilment — ochone ! ochone ! " " What wickedness and what divilment are you spaking about ?" said Kerry, indignantly, at the aspersion thus cast on the habits of the house. jNIrs. Branagan actually started at the bare idea of a contradiction, and turned on him a look of fiery wrath, as she said : — " Be my conscience you're bould to talk that way to me ! — What wick- edness! Isn't horse-racing, card-playing, raffling, wickedness? Isn't drinking and swcarin' wickedness? Isn't it wickedness to kill three sheep a week, and a cow a fortnight, to feed a set of dirty spalpeens of grooms and stable chaps ? Isn't it wickedness — botheration to you — THE o'donoghue. 135 bat I wouldn't be losing my time talking to yon ! When was one of ye at his duties ? Answer me that. How much did one of ye pay at Ayster or Christmas, these ten years ? Signs on it, Father Luke hasn't a word for ye when he comes here — lie trates ye with continipt." Kerry was abashed and terrified. lie little knew when he pulled up the sluice-gate, the torrent that would flow down ; and now, would have made any "amende," to establish a truce again ; but Mrs. Branagan was a woman, and, having seen the subjugation of her adversary, her last thought was mercy. " Wickedness, indeed ! It's fifty years out of purgatory, sorra less, to live ten years here, and see what goes on." " Divil a lie in it," chimed in Kerry, meekly; "there's no denying a word you say." " I'd like to see who'd dare deny it — and, sign's on it, there's a curse on the place — nothing thrives in it." " Faix, then, ye mustn't say that, any how," said Keny, insinuatingly: " i/oK have no rayson to spake again it. 'Twas Tuesday week last I heerd Father Luke say — it was to myself he said it — ' IIow is Mrs. Branagan, Kerry?' says he. 'She's well and hearty your i*everence,' says L ' I'll tell you what she is, Kerry,' says he, ' she's looking just as I knew her live-and-thirty A'cars ago ; and a comelier, dacenter woman wasn't in the three baronies. I remember well,' says he, ' I seen her at the fair of Killarney, and she had a cap with red ribbons.' Hadn't ye a cap with red ribbons in it ?" A nod was the response. " True for him, ye see he didn't forget it ; and says he, ' She took the shine out of the fair ; she could give seven pounds, and half a distance, to ere a girl there, and beat her after by a neck.' " " What's that ye" re saying ?" said Mrs. Branagan, who didn't compre- hend the figurative language of the turf, particularly when coming from Father Luke's lips. " I'm saying ye were the purtiest woman that walked the fair-green," said Kerry, correcting his phraseology. " Father Luke was a smart little man then himself, and had a nate leg and foot." " Killarney was a fine place I'm tould," said Kerry, with a dex- terous shift to change the topic. " I wasn't often there myself, but I heerd it was the iligant fair entirely," " So it was," said Mrs. Branagan ; " there never was the kind of sport and divarsion wasn't there. It begun on a Mondav and went through the week ; and short enough the time was. There was dancing. 136 THE O'UONOGHUE. and fio'hting, and singing, and ' stations,' up to Agliadoe and down again on the bare knees, and a pilgrimage to the holy well — three times round that, maybe after a jig two hours long ; and there was a dwarf that tould fortunes, and a friar that sould gospels agin fever, and falliu' sickness, and ballad-singers, and play-actors. IMusha, there never was the like of it ;" and in this strain did she pour forth a flood of impas- sioned eloquence on the recollection of those carnal pleasures and enjoymeitts which, but a few minutes before, she had condemned so rigidly in others, nor was it till at the very close of her speech that she suddenly perceived how she had wandered from her text ; then with a heavy groan she muttered — "Ayeh ! we're sinful craytures, the best of us." Kerry responded to the sentiment with a fac-simile sigh, and the peace w-as ratified. " You wouldn't believe now what Miss Kate is bringing over with lier — faix, you wouldn't believe it." " Maybe a monkey," said Mrs. Branagan, who had a vague notion that France lay somewhere within the tropics. " "Worse nor that." " Is it a bear ?" asked she again. " No, but a French maid, to dress her hair, and powder her, and put patches on her face." " Whisht, I tell you," cried Mrs. Branagan, " and don't be talking that way. Miss Kate was never the ojie to turn to the likes of them things." " 'Tis truth I'm telling ye then ; I heerd it all between the master and Master Mark, and afterwards with ould Sir Archy, and the three of them is in a raal fright about the maid ; they say she'll be the divil for impidence." " Will she then !" said Mrs. Branagan, with an eye glistening in anticipation of battle. " The never a day's peace or ease we're to have again, when she's here — 'tis what the master says. ' I ])ity poor i\Irs. Branagan,' says he ; ' she's a quiet crayture that wont take her own part, and ' " " Won't I ? Be my conscience, we'll soon see that." "Them's his words — 'and if Kerry and she don't lay their heads together to make the place too hot for her, she'll bully the pair of them.' " " Lave it to myself — lave it to me alone, Kerry O'Leary." *' I was thinking that same, ma'am," said Kerry, with a droll leer as he spoke ; " I'd take the odds on you any day, and never ask the name of the other horse." TiiK e, in a low whisper, only audible to Frederick, who stood beside her, and he almost Started at the strange nie;uiin;>.' tb.e v.cids seemed f;) convev. THE o'DONOGHrr,. 193 CHAPTER XXn\ " A AV A I, K i; V M o o ^■ L I a H T . ' The visit alluded (o in the last chapter formed the first step to au acquaintance which speedily ripened into intimacy. Seldom a day passed without some interchange of civilities ; and as tliey progressed in knowledge of each other, they advanced in esteem, so that, ere long, they learned to regard themselves as members of a single family. The conventional usages of society are stronger barriers against friendship than the world deems them. The life of cities supplies a coinage of social intercourse which but very imperfectly represents the value of true feeling ; while in remoter and less cultivated regions, men are satisfied to disencumber themselves of this false currency, and deal frankly and openly with each other. How little now did Sir Marmaduke remember of all Sir Archy's peculiarities of manner and expression ! how seldom did Sybella think Kate's opinions wild and eccentric ! and how difficult would it have been to convince the fastidious Guardsman, that the society of St. James's possessed any superiority in tone or elegance over the evenings at " the Lodge." The real elements of mutual liking were present here : the dis- crepancy of character and taste — the great differences of age, and habit of thought — yet moulded into one common frame of esteem from the very appreciation of qualities in others, in which each felt himself deficient. If Kate admired the simple but high-minded English girl, whose thoughts werC' rarely faulty, save when attributing to others higher and purer motives than the world abounds in, Sybella looked up with enthusiastic delight to the glittering talents of her Irish friend — the warm and generous glow of her imagination — the brilliant flashes of her wit — the ready eloquence of her tongue, and, perhaps, not least of all, the intrepid fearlessness of her nature, inspired her with sentiments of almost awe, which seemed to deepen, and not diminish her afiection for Kate O'Donoghue. - It might appear an ungenerous theme to dwell on ; but how often are our I'riend&hips suggested by self-love '/ — how frequently are we led to 194 THE o'donoghue. think highly and speak praisingly of quaUties the opposite to our own, from the self-satisfaction our apparent impartiality yields us. Justice must, indeed, be a great virtue, when its very shadow can ennoble human nature. Not such, however, were the motives here. Kate's admiration for the unerring rectitude of Sybella's character was as free from taint as was Sybella's heartfelt enthusiasm for the Irish girl. As for Frederick Travcrs, the same dissimilarity in character which made him at first compare Kate with his sister disadvantageously, now induced him to be struck and fascinated by her qualities. The standard by which he had measured her, she had long since passed, in his estima- tion ; and any idea of a comparison between them would now have appeared ridiculous. It was true many of her opinions savoured of a nationality too strong for his admiration. She was intensely Irish — or at least what he deemed such. The traditions which, as a child, she had listened to with eager delight, had given a bias to her mind that grew more confirmed with years. The immediate circumstances of her own family added to this feeling, and her pride was tinctured with sorrow at the fallen condition of her house. All her affection for her cousins could not blind her to their great defects. In Mark she saw one whose spirit seemed crushed and stunned, and not awakened by the pressure of misfortune. Herbert, with all his kindliness of nature and open-heartedness, appeared more disposed to enjoy the sun- shine of life, than to prepare himself to buffet with its storms. How often she wished she had been a boy ; how many a day-dream floated before her of such a career as she might have struck out ! Ireland a nation — her "own sons her rulers" — had been the theme of many an oft-heard tale, and there was a poetry in the sentiment of a people recalled to a long-lost, long-sought-for nationahty, that excited and exalted her imagination. Her convent education had stored her mind with narratives of native suffering and Saxon tyranny, and she longed for the day of retribution on the " proud invaders." Great was her disappointment at finding her cousins so dead to every feeling of this kind ; and she preferred the chivalrous ardour of the English soldier to the sluggish apathy of Mark, or the happy indolence of Herbert O'Donoghue. Had Frederick Travers been an Irishman, would he have borne his country's wrongs so meekly? was a reflection that more than once occurred to her mind, and never more powerfully than on parting with him, the very evening we have mentioned. lie had accompanied them, on their re- turn to Carrig-na-curra, which, as the night was fine and the moon nearly at her full, they did on foot, Kate, who rarely accepted an arm TUE o'donoghue. 11)5 when walking, had, by some accident, taken liis on this occasion. Sir Arcliy leaning on that of Herbert. The young soldier listened with a high-beating heart, as she related an incident, of which the spot they were traversing had been the scene. It was a faithless massacre of a chieftain and his followers, seduced, under pretences of friendship and a pledge of amity. "They told him," said she, "that his young wife, who had been carried away by force, and imprisoned for two entire years, should on this spot be restored to him ; that he had but to come, with twelve of his retainers, unarmed, save with their swords, and that here, where we now stand, she should once more become his own. The hour was sunset, and he waited, with anxious impatience, beneath that tall cliff yonder, where you can see the deep cleft. Strange enough, they have added a legend to the true story, as if their wrongs could derive any force from fiction ! and they tell you still, that the great rock was never split until that night. Their name for it, in Irish, is " the rent," or " the ruptured pledge." Do I weary you with these old tales ?" " No, no ; go on, I entreat you. I cannot say how the scene increases its fascinations, from connection with your story." " He stood yonder, where the black shadow now crosses the road, and having dismounted, he gave his horse to one of his attendants, and walked, with an anxious heart, up and down, waiting for their approach. " There was less sympathy among his followers for their chieftain's sorrow than might be expected ; for she was not a native born, but the daughter of an English earl. He, perhaps, loved her the more — her very friendlessness was another tie between them." " Says the legend so, or is this a mere suspicion on your part ?" whispered Travers softly. " I scarcely know," continued Kate, with an accent less assured than before. " I believe I tell you the talc as I have heard it ; but why mav she not have been his own in every sentiment and thought — why not have imbibed-the right, from him she learned to love ?" The last words were scarcely uttered, when, with a sudden exclamation, less of fear than astonishment, Kate grasped Travers' arm, and exclaimed — " Did 3'ou see that !" " I thought some dark object moved by the road side." " I saw a man pass, as if from behind us, and gain the thicket yon- der : he was alone, however." "And I am armed," said Travers, coolly. "And if you were not," repUed she, proudly, "an O'Donoghue has nothing to fear in the valley of Glenflesk. Let us join my uncle, how- 196 THE o'donoghue. ever, for I see he has left iis some distance behind hiin ;" and while they hastened forward, she resumed her story with the same uncon- cern as before the interruption. Travers Ustened eagerly — less, it is true, in sympathy with the story, than in delight at the impassioned eloquence of her aa'Iio related it. " Such," said she, as they turned to bid him farewell at the old keep on the road side, " such are the traditions of our land ; they vary in time and place, and persons; but they have only one moral through all — what a terrible thing is slavery !" Travers endeavoured to turn the application of her speech, by some common-place compliment about her own powers of inflicting bondage ; but she stopped him suddenly, with "Nay, nay ; these are not jesting themes, although you may deem them unsuited for one as ignorant and inexperienced as I am ; nor will I speak of them again, if they serve but as matter for laughter." Amid his protestations of innocence against this charge, which, in his ardour, he pushed farther than calmer judgment might warrant, they shook hands cordially, and parted. " He's a fine-hearted fellow, too," thought Kate, as she slowly moved along in silence. " Saxon though he be, there's a chord in his bosom that responds to the touch of truth and honour." "Noble girl," said Frederick, half aloud, "it would be hard to rebuke treason, when spoken from such lips ;" then added, with a smile — " It's no fair temptation to expose even a Guardsman to." And thus, each speculated on the character of the other, and fancied how, by their own influence, it might be fashioned and moulded to a better form ; nor was their interest lessened in each other's fortune from the fact, that it seemed to involve so much of mutual interposition. "You should not walk this road so late," said jMark O'Donoghue, almost rudely, as he opened the door to admit them. " The smugglers are on the coast now, and frecpiently come up the glen at nightfall." "Why not have come to be our escort, then?" said Kale, smiling. "What? With the gay soldier for your guard," said he, bitterl3^ " How knew you that, my worthy cousin ?" said Kate, rapidly, and then, with a significant shake of the head, added, in a whisper — " I see there are marauders about." Mark blushed till his face became scarlet, and turning abruptly away, sought his own room in silence. THE o'donoghue. 197 CHAPTER XXV A DAY OF niFFICUtT NEOOCIATIONS. The time was now api)roaching when tlie Travers's were to remove to the capital, and, at Syhella's urgent entreaty, Sir Marmaduke was induced to request that Kate O'Donoghue might accompany them in their visit, and thus enjoy the ])k'asurcs of a winter in Dubhn, then, second to no city of Europe, in all that constituted social excellence. The note of invitation couched in terms the most Hattering and cordial, arrived when the O'Donoghues Avere seated at breakfiist, and, as was usual on all occasions of correspondence, was opened by Kate herself; scarcely had she thrown her eyes over its contents, when, with a heightened colour, and a slight tremor in her voice, she passed the letter across the table to her uncle, and said — " This is for your consideration, sir." " Then, you must read it for me, Kate," replied he ; " for my ears have outlived my eyes." " Shall I do it," interposed Sir Archy, who, having remarked some hesitation in Kate's manner, came thus good-naturedly to the rescue. "With all my heart. Arch}," said the O'Donoghue; "or rather, if you would do me a favour, just tell me what it is about — polite correspondence affects me pretty much as the ceremonies of bowing and salutation, when I have a fit of the gout. I become devilish impatient, and would give the world it was all over, and that I were back in my easy chair again." " The politeness in the present case, lies less in the style than in the substance," said Sir Archy. " This is a vara civil, though, I must say, to me a vara unwelcome proposal, to take our darling Kate away from us, for a season, and show her some of the life and gaieties of the capital." " Well, that is handsomely done, at least," said the O'Donoghue, whose first thought sprung from gratified pride, at the palpable 198 THE O DONOGHtlE. evidence of social consideration ; then suddenly changing his tone, he said in a low voice ; " but what says Kate herself?" Mark turned his eyes full upon her, as his father said these words, and as a deadly pallor came over his face, he sat steadfastly awaiting her reply, like one expecting the decree of a judge. " Kate feels too happy here, sir, to risk anything by a change," rephed she, avoiding, even for a second, to look towards where Mark was sitting. " But you must not lose such an opportunity, dearest Kate ;" whispered Herbert eagerly into her ear. " These are the scenes, and the places you are used to, and hest fitted to enjoy and to adorn, and besides " A stern frown from Mark, who, if he had not overheard the speech, seemed to have guessed its import, suddenly arrested the youth, who now looked overwhelmed with confusion. " We are a divided cabinet ; that I see plainly enough, Kate ;" said O'Donoghue ; "though, if our hearts were to speak out, I'd warrant they would be of one mind. Still, this would be a selfish verdict, my dear girl, and a poor requital for all the happiness you have brought back to these old walls;" and the words were spoken with a degree of feeling that made all indisposed to break the silence that followed. " I should like to see the capital, I own," said Kate, " if my absence were to be a short one." " And I wad hae nae objection the capital should see yersel," said Sir Archv ; " albeit, I may lose a sweetheart by my generosity." " Have no fears of my fidelity," said Kate, laughing, as she ex- tended her hand towards him, while, with antique gallantry, he pressed it to his lips. " The youth of this land are not, so far as my little experience goes, likely to supplant so true an admirer ; they who have so little devotion to their country, may well be suspected of having less for its daughters," Mark's brow grew dark with the fllush that covered his face and forehead in an instant ; he bent his head almost to the table to avoid observation, sind, as if in the distraction of the moment, he took up the note and seemed to pore over its contents ; then suddenly crushing it in his hand, he arose from the table and left the room. " My sweet Kate," said Sir Archy, as he led her within the deep recess of a window, " tak care ye dinna light up a flame of treason, where ye only hoj)ed to warm a glow of patriotism j such eyes and lips THE o'donoghue. 199 as yours are but too ready teachers ; be cautious, lassie. This country, however others may think, is ou the eve of some mighty struggle ; the people have abandoned many of their old grudges and seem disposed to unite." " And the gentry — where are they, who should stand at their head and share their fortune ?" cried Kate eagerly ; for the warning, so far from conveying the intended moral, only stimulated her ardour and excited her curiosity. " The gentry," replied Sir Archy, in a firm, decided 'tone, " are better satisfied to live under a government they dislike, than to be at the mercy of a rabble they despise. I ha'e lived langer than you in this dreary world, lassie, and trust me, the poetry of patriotism has little relation to the revengeful fury of rebellion. You wish freedom for those who cannot enjoy the portion of it they possess. It is time to outlive the evil memories of the past, we want here — time, to blunt the acuteness of former and long-past suft'eriugs — time, to make traditions so far forgotten as to be inapplicable to the present — time, to read the homely lesson, that one half the energy a people can expend in revolt, will raise them in the rank of civilized and cultivated beings." " Time, to make Irishmen forget that the land of their birth was ever other than an English province," added Kate, impetuously. " No, no, it was not thus your own brave countrymen understood their 'devoirs.' '* " They rallied round the standard of a prince they loved, lassie," said M'Nab, in a tone whose fervour contrasted with his former accent. " And will you tell me that the principle of freedom is not more sacred than the person of the sovereign?" said Kate, tauntingly. " There can be nae mistake about the one, but folks may have vara unsettled notions of the other," said he, drily ; " but we mauna quarrel, Kate dear ; our time is e'en too short already. Sit ye down and sing me a sang." " It shall be a rebel one, then, I promise you," replied she, with an air of defiance which it was impossible to pronounce more real or assumed. " But here comes a visitor to interrupt us, and so your loyalty is saved for this time." The observation was made in reference to a traveller, who, seated in a very antique looking dennet, was seen slowly labouring his wearied horse up the steep ascent to the castle. " It's Swaby, father," cried Herbert, who immediately recognized the equipage of the Cork attorney, and felt a certain uneasiness come over him at the unexpected appearance. ♦* What brings him down to these parts ?" said the O'Donoghue, 200 THE o'dONOGHUE. affecting an air of surprise — " on his way to Kilkrney, perhaps. Well, TV'ell, they may let him in." The announcement did not, to all appearance, afford much pleasure to the others, for scarcely had the door bell ceased its jingle, when each quitted the drawing-room, leaving O'Donoghue alone to receive his man of law. Although the O'Donoghue waited with some impatience for the entrance of his legal adviser, that worthy man did not make his appear- ance at once, his progress to the drawing-room being "arrested by Sir Archy, who, with a significant gesture, motioned him to follow him to his chamber. " I will no' detain you many minutes, Mr. Swaby,'' said he, as he made signs for him to be seated. " I hae a sma' matter of business in which you can serve me. I iieed scarcely observe, I reckon on your secrecy." Mr. Swaby closed one eye, and placed the tip of his finger on his nose — a pantomime intended to represent the most perfect fidehty. "I happen," resumed Sir Arch}', apparently satisfied with this pledge ; " I happen at this moment to need a certain sum of money, and would wish to receive it on these securities. They are title deeds of a property, which, for reasons I have no leisure at this moment to explain, is at present held by a distant relative in trust for my heir. You may perceive that the value is considerable" — and he pointed to a formidable array of figures which covered one of the margins. " The sum I re- quire is only a thousand pounds — five hundred at once — immediately — the remainder in a year hence. Can this be arranged ?" " Money was never so scarce," said Swaby, as he wiped his spectacles and unfolded one of the cumbrous parchments. "Devil take me, if I know where it's all gone to. It was only last week I was trying to raise five thousand for old Iloare on the Ballyrickan property, and I could not get an}^ one to advance me sixpence. The country is unsettled you see. There's a notion abroad that we'll have a rising soon, and who knows what's to become of landed property after." " This estate is in Perth," said M'Nab, tapping the deeds with his finger. "So I perceive," replied Swaby; "and they have no objection to a * shindy' there too, sometimes. The Pretender got some of your coun- trymen into a pretty scrape with his tricks. There are fools to be had for asking, every where." " We will no' discuss this question just noo," said Sir Archy, snap- THE o'dONOGIIUE. 201 pishly ; " and, to return to tlie main point, please to inform me, is this loan impracticable .'"' " I didn't say it was, all out," said Swaby. " In about a week or two " " I must know before three days," interrupted IM'Nab. " llis honour's waiting for Mr. Swaby," said Kerry, who now ap- peared in the room, without either of the others having noticed his entrance. Sir Archy rose with an angry brow, l)ut spoke not a syllable, while he motioned Kerry to leave the room. " You must join my brother-in-law, sir," said he at last; "and if our conversation is not alreadj' become the gossip of the house, I entreat of you to keep it a secret." "That, of course," said Swaby; "but I'm thinking I've hit on a way to meet your wishes, so we'll talk of the matter again this evening:" and thus saying, he withdrew, leaving Sir Archy in a frame of mind very far, indeed, from trancpiil or composed. Swaby' s surprise at his interview with Sir Archy, whom he never had the slightest suspicion of possessing any property whatever, was even surpassed by his astonishment on. hearing the favourable turn of O'Donoghue's affairs ; and, while he bestowed the requisite attention to follow the old man's statement, his shrewd mind was also engaged in speculating what probable results might accrue from this unexpected piece of fortune, and how they could best be turned to his own benefit. O'Donoghue was too deeply interested in his own schemes, to question Swaby respecting his business with M'Nab, of which Kerry O'Leary had already given him a hint. The attorney was, therefore, free to deliberate in his own mind how far he might most advantageously turn the prosperity of the one, to the aid of the other, for the sole benefit of himself. It is not necessary, nor would it conduce to the object of this story, to ask the reader's attention to this interview. It will be enough to say, that Swaby heard with pleasure O'Donoghue's disclosure, re- cognizing, with practised acuteness, how far he could turn such unlooked- for prosperity to his own purposes, and subsidize one brother-in-law, at the expense of both. While thus each within the limit of this narrow household was fol- lowing out the thread of his destiny, eagerly bent on their several objects, Kate O'Donoghue sat alone, at the window of her chamber, buried in deep thought. The prospect of her approaching visit to the capital presented itself in so many aspects, that, while oftering plea- sures and enjoyments none relished more highly tban herself, she vet 202 THE o'donoghue. saw difficulties which might render the step imadvisable, if not perilous. Of all considerations, money was the one which least had occupied any share in her calculations ; yet now she bethought herself, that 'expense must necessarily be incurred, which her vmcle's finances could but ill afford. No sooner had this thought occurred to her, than she was amazed it had not struck her before, and she felt actually startled, lest, in her eagerness for the promised pleasure, she had only listened to the suggestion of selfishness. In a moment more she determined to decline the invitation. She was not one to take half measures when she be- lieved a point of principle to be engaged ; and the only difficulty now lay, how and in what manner to refuse an offer proffered with so much kindness. The note itself must open the way, thought she, and at the instant she remembered how Mark had taken it from the breakfast- table. She heard his heavy step as he paced backwards and forwards in his chamber overhead, and without losing another moment, hastily ascended the stairs to his door ; her hand was already outstretched to knock, when suddenly she hesitated ; a strange confusion came over her faculties — how would Mark regard her request ? — would he attribute it to over- eagerness on the subject of the invitation. Such were the questions which occurred to her; and as quick came the answer — "And let him think so. I shall certainly not seek to undeceive him. He alone, of all here, has vouchsafed me neither any show of his affection nor his confidence." The flush mounted to her cheek, and her eyes darkened with the momentary excitement ; and at the same instant the door was suddenly thrown open, and Mark stood before her. Such was his astonishment, however, that for some seconds he could not speak ; when at last he uttered in a low, deep voice — " I thought I heard a hand upon the lock, and I am so suspicious of that fellow, Kerry, who frequently plays the eaves-dropper here " " Not when you are alone, Mark ?" said Kate, smiling. " Ay — even then. I have a foolish habit of thinking aloud, of which I strive in vain to break myself ; and he seems to know it, too." "There is another absent trick you have acquired also," said she, laughing. " Do you remember having carried off the note that came while we were at breakfast ?" " Did I ?" said he, reddening. " Did I take it off the table 1 Yes, yes ; I remember something of it now. You must forgive me, cousin, if these careless habits take the shape of rudeness." He seemed over- whelmed with confusion, as he added, " I know not why I put it into my pocket ; here it is." THE o'donoghue. 203 And so saying, he drew from the breast of his coat a crushed and crumpled paper, and gave it into Kate's liand. She wished to say- something in reply — something which would seem kind and good natured ; but, somehow, she faltered and hesitated. She twice got as far as, " I know, Mark — I am certain, Mark ;" then unable to say what, perhaps, her very indecision rendered more difficiUt, she merely- uttered a brief "thank you," and withdrew. " Poor fellow !" said she, as she re-entered her own chamber, " his is the hardest lot of all." She had often wished to persuade herself that Mark's morose, sullen humour was the discontent of one who felt the ignominy of an inglo- rious life — that habits of recklessness had covered, but not obliterated the traces of that bold and generous sj)irit for which his family had been long distinguished ; and now, for the first time, she believed she had fallen on the evidences of such a temper. She pondered long on this theme, and fancied how, under circumstances favourable to their development, Mark's good qualities and courageous temper, had won for him both fame and honour. " And here," exclaimed she, half aloud, " here, he may live and die a peasant !" With a deep sigh, she threw herself into a chair, and as if to turn her thoughts into some channel less suggestive of gloom, she opened the letter Mark had given her. Scarcely, however, had she cast her eyes over it, when she uttered a faint cry, too faint, indeed, to express any mere sense of fear, but in an accent in which terror and amazement were equally blended. The epistle was a brief one — not more than a few lines — and she had read it at a glance, before ever there was time to consider how far her doing so was a breach of confidence ; indeed, the intense inte- rest of the contents left little room for any self-examinings. It ran thus : — " Dear Brother — No precipitation — no haste — nothing can be done without France. T. has now good hopes from that quarter, and if not 30,000, 20,000, or at least 15,000 will be given, and arms for double the number. Youghal is talked of as a suitable spot ; and H. has sent charts, &c. over. Above all, be patient ; trust no rumours, and rely on us for the earliest and the safest intelligence. L. will hand you this. You must contrive to learn the cipher, as any correspon- dence discovered would ruin all. " Your's ever, and in the cause, "H. R.» Here, then, was the youth she had been commiserating for his ca- 204 THi: O DONOGHUE. reer of lowly aiifl unambitious hopes — here, the mere peasant ! the accomplice of some deep and desperate plot, in which the arms of France, should be employed against the government of England. Was this the secret of his pre-occupation and his gloom ? Was it to con- centrate his faculties on such a scheme, that he lived this lonely and secluded life ? " Oh, Mark, Mark, how have I misjudged you !'' she exclaimed, and as she uttered the words, came the thought, quick as a lightning flash, to her mind — what terrible hazards such a tempera- ment as his must incur in an enterprise like this — without experience of men or any knowledge of the world whatever — without habitual pru- dence, or cautiou of any kind. The very fact of his mistaking the letter — a palpable evidence of his unfitness for trust. Reckless by nature — more desperate still from the fallen fortunes of his house. What would become of him ? Others would wait the time and calculate their chances. He would listen to nothing but the call of danger. She knew him well, from boyhood upwards, and had seen him often more fasci- nated by peril, than others were by pleasure. As she reasoned thus, her thoughts insensibly turned to all the dangers of such an enterprise as she believed him engaged in. The fascinating visions of a speculative patriotism, soon gave way before the terrors she now conjured up. She knew he was the only tie that bound his father to existence, and that any misfortune to Mark, would be the old man's death-blow\ Nor were these the most poignant of her reflections, for she now remembered how often she had alluded tauntingly to those who lived a life of mean or inglorious ambition ; how frequently she had scoffed at the miserable part of such as, endowed with high names and ancient lineage, evinced no desire to emerge from an ignoble position, and assume a station of eminence and power ; could she, then, have contributed to this youth's rash step, had her idle words and random speeches driven him to embrace a cause, where his passions, and not his judgment were interested ? What misery was in this fear ? Each moment increased the agony of this reflection, while her doubts as to how she ought to act, thickened around her. Sir Archy, alone, was capable of advising her, his calm and i;nbiassed reason, would be now invaluable, but dare she — even to him, make i;se of a confidence thus accidentally obtained ? Would Mark — could he ever forgive her? and how many others might such a disclosure compromise! In this dilemma, she knew no course open to her, but one — to address herself at once to Mark, to explain how his secret had become known, to learn from him as much as lay in her power of the dangers and THK O DONOGHUE. 20.5 difficulties of the meditated revolt, and it* unable to dissuade him from participation, at least to mingle with his resolves all she could of prudence, or good counsel. The determination was scarcely formed, when she was once more at the door of his chamber ; she knocked twice, without any reply tbllowing, then gently opened the door. The room was vacant, he was gone. I will write to him, said she hurriedly, and with this new resolve, hastened to her chamber, and began a letter. The task she proposed to herself, was not so easy of acconi- ])lishment ; a dozen times, she endeavoured while explaining the accident that divulged his secret, to impress him with the hazard of an undertaking, so palpably depicted, and to the safe keeping of which, his own carelessness, might prove fatal ; but each effort dis- satisfied her. In one place, she seemed not to have suffieientiv apologized for her unauthorized cognizance of his note ; in another, the stress she laid upon this very point, struck her as too selfish, and too personal in a case, where another's interests were the real consideration at issue ; and even when presenting before him the vicissitudes of fortune to which his venturous career would expose him, she felt how every word contriidicted the tenor of her own assertions for many a day and week previous. In utter despair how to act, she ended by enclosing the letter with merely these {evr words : — " I have read the enclosed, but your secret is safe with me. " K. O'D." This done, she sealed the packet and had just written the address, when, with a tap at the door. Sir Archy entered, and. approached the table. With a tact and delicacy he well understood, Sir Archy explained the object of his visit — to press upon Kate's acceptance a sum of money sufficient for her outlay in the capital. The tone of half authority he assumed disarmed her at once, and made her doubt how far she could feel justified in opposing the wishes of her friends concerning her. " Then you really desire I should go to Dublin," said she. "I do, Kate, for many reasons — reasons which I shall have little difficulty in explaining to you hereafter." " I half regret I ever thought of it," said Kate, speaking her thoughts unconsciously aloud. "Not the less reason perhaps for going," said Sir Archy, drily j while at 206 THE o'donoghue. the same moment his eye caught the letter bearing Mark O'Donoghue's name. Kate saw on what his glance was fixed, and grew red with shame and confusion. " Be it so then, uncle," said she, resolutely. " I do not seek to know the reasons you speak of, for if you were to ask my own against the project, I should not be able to frame them ; it was mere caprice." " I hope so, dearest K.ite," said he, ' with a tone of deep affection — " I hope so with all my heart ;" and thus saying, he pressed her hand fervently between his own and left the room. CHAPTER XXVI. A LAST EVENING AT HOME. "With the experience of past events to guide us, it would appear now that a most unaccountable apathy existed in the English Cabinet of the period, with regard to the ])lan of invasion meditated against Ireland by France ; nor is it easy to determine whether this indifference pro- ceeded more from ignorance of the danger, or that amount of informa- tion concerning it, which disposed the Minister to regard it as little important. From whatever cause proceeding, one thing is sufficiently clear — the emissaries of France pervaded the country in every part without impe- diment or molestation ; statistical information the most minute was for- warded to Paris every week ; the state of popular opinion, the condition of parties, the amount of troops disposable by Government — even the spirit which animated them, were reported and commented on, and made the subject of discussion in tlie " bureau" of the War Minister of France. To such an extent was this system carried, that more than once the French authorities became suspicious regarding the veracity of statements, from the very facility with which their details were com- niunicated, and hinted, that such regularity in correspondence might be owing to the polite attentions of the English Cabinet; and to this distrust is in a great measure to be attributed the vacillating and hesitating policy which marked their own deliberations. THE o'donoghue. '207 Tone's letters show the wearisome toil of his negociation ; the assu- rances of aid obtained after months of painful, harrassing solicitation, deferred or made dependent on some almost impossible conditions ; gua- rantees demanded from him which he neither could nor would accord ; information sought, which, were they in actual possession of the countrj', would have been a matter of difficult acquisition ; and after all, when the promised assistance was granted, it came coupled with hints and acknowledgements that the independence of Ireland was nothing in their eyes, save as inflicting a death blow to the power and greatness of England. In fact, neith.er party was satisfied with the comi)act long before the time of putting it in operation arrived. Meanwhile the insurgents spared no efforts to organize a powerful body among the peasantry, and, at least numerically, to announce to France, a strong and effective co- operation. Such reports were necessary to enable Tone to press his demand more energetically ; and although he never could have deceived himself as to the inutility of such undisciplined and almost unarmed masses, still they looked plausible on paper, and vouched for the will- ingness of the people to throw off the yoke of England. It is now well known, that the French party in Ireland was really very small. The dreadful wrongs inflicted on the Roman Catholic church during the Revolution could not be forgotten or forgiven by that priesthood, who were their brethren ; nor could it be supposed that they would lend a wilhng aid to further a cause which began its march to freedom over the ashes of their church. Such as were best capable of pronouncing on the project — those educated in France — were naturally fearful of a repetition at home of the horrible scenes they had witnessed abroad, and thus the " patriots" lost the aid which, more than any other, could have stirred the heart of the nation. Abstract principles of liberty are not the most effective appeals to a people ; and although the French agents were profuse of promises, and the theme of English oppression could be chaunted with innumerable variations, the right chord of native sentiment was never touched, and few joined the cause, save those who, in every country and in every age, are patriots — because they are paupers. Some, indeed, like the young O'Donoghue, were sincere and determined. Drawn in at first by impulses more purely i)ersonal than patriotic, they soon learned to take a deep interest in the game, and grew fascinated with a scheme which exalted themselves into positions of trust and importance. The neces- sity of employing this lure, and giving the adherents of the cause their share of power and influence, was another great source of weakness. 208 THE o'nOXOGHUE. Diversity of opinion arose on every subject ; personal altercations of the bitterest kind ; reproaches and insinuations, passed continually between them, and it needed all the skill and management of the chiefs to reconcile, even temporarily, these discordant ingredients, and main- tain any semblance of agreement among these "United Irishmen." Among those who lived away from such scenes of conflict, the great complaint was the delay. " ^Vhat are we waiting for ?" " When arc we to strike the blow?" — were the questions ever arising; and their inability to answer such satisfactorily to the people, only increased their chagrin and disappointment. If the sanguine betrayed impatience, the despondent — and there are such in every cause — showed signs of vacil- lation, and threw out dark hints of treachery and betrayal; while between both were the great masses, moved by every passing rumour, and as difficult to restrain to-day, as impossible to muster to-morrow. Such, briefly, w>as the condition of the party into which Mark O'Donoghue threw his fortune in life, as reckless of his fate as he was ignorant of the precise objects in view, or the means proposed for their accomplishment. His influence among the people was considerable. Independently of all claims resulting from his name and family, he was individually a great favourite with them. Personal courage and daring — skill in every manly exercise, and undaunted resolution — are gifts which, when coupled with a rough, good nature, and a really kind heart, are certain of winning their way among a wild and uncultivated people ; and thus, Herbert, who scarcely ever uttered a harsh word — whose daily visits to the sick were a duty Sir Archy expected from him — whose readiness to oblige was the theme of every tongue, was less their favourite than his brother. This influence, which, through Lanty Lawler, was soon reported to the delegates in Dublin, was the means of Mark's being taken into special confidence, and of a command being conferred on him, for the duties and privileges of which, he was informed, a few days would suflioiently instruct him. Nearly a week had elapsed from the day on which Kate addressed her note to Mark, and he had not yet returned home. Such absences were common enough ; but now, she felt an impatience almost amount- ing to agony, at the thought of what treasonable and dangerous projects he might be engaged in, and the doubt became a torture, how far she ought to conceal her own discovery from others. At length came the evening before her own departure from Carrig- na-curra, and they were "seated around the tea-table, thoughtful and THE o'donogiiue. 209 silent by turns, .is are they wlio meet for the List time before separation. Althougli she heard with pleasure the announcement that Herbert would be her companion to tlie capital, where lie was aboiit to take up his residence as a student in Trinity College, her thoughts wandered away to the gloomier fortunes of Mark, darker as they now seemed, in comparison with the ])rospects oj)ening before his brother. Of all the party, Herbert alone was in good spirits. The career was about to begin which had engrossed all his boyish ambition — the great race of intellect his very dreams had dwelt upon. What visions did he conjure of emulative ardour to carry off the prize among his com- panions, and win fame that might reflect its lustre on all his after life. From his very childhood, Sir Archy had instilled into him this thirst for distinction, wisely substituting such an ambition for any other less ennobling. He had taught him to believe that there would be more true honour in the laurels there won, than in all the efforts, however suc- cessful, to bring back the lost glories of their once proud house. And now he was on the very threshold of that career his heart was centred in. No wonder is it, then, if his spirits were high, and his pulse throbbing. Sir Archy's eyes seldom wandered from him ; he seemed as if reading the accomplishment of all his long teaching ; and as he watched the flashing looks and the excited gestures of tlie boy, appeared as though calculating how far such a temperament might minister to, Dr mar his future fortune. The O'Donoghue was more thoughtful than usual. The idea of a])proaching solitude, so doubly sad to those advanced in life, depressed him. His evenings, of late, had been passed in a happy enjoyment he had not known for years before. Separation to the young is but the rupture of the ties of daily intercourse — to the old, it has all the solemn meaning of a warning, and tells of the approach of the last dreadful parting, Avhen adieux are said for ever. He could not helj) those gloomy forebodings, and he was silent and depressed. Kate's attention wandered from the theme of Herbert's anticipated pleasures, to think a2;ain of him, for whom none seemed now interested. She had listened long and anxiously for some sound to mark his coming, but all was still without, and on the road, for miles, the moonlight showed no object moving ; and, at last, a deeji reverie succeeded to this state of anxiety, and she sat lost to all around her. Meanwhile, Sir Archy, in a low, impressive voice, was warning Herbert of the dangers of involving himself in any way in the conflicts of party politics, then so high in Dublin. He cautioned him to reject those extreme opinions so fascinating to p 210 THE o'donoghue. young minds, and which either give an unwarrantahle bias to the judg- ment through Hfe, or which, when their fallacy is detected, lead to a reac- tion as violent, and notions as false. " Win character and reputation first, Herbert : gain the position from which your opinions will come with influ- ence, and then, my boy, with judgment not rashly formed, and a mind trained to examine great questions — then, you may fearlessly enter the lists, free to choose your place and party. Yon cannot be a patriot this way, in the newspaper sense of the term. — It is possible, too, our dear Kate may deem your ambition a poor one " " Kate, did you say ? — Kate, uncle," said she, raising her head, Avith a look of abstraction. " Yes, my dear, I was speaking o' some of the dangers that beset the first steps in political opinion, and telling Herbert that peril does not always bring honour." " True, sir — true : but ]\Iark " She stopped, and the blush that covered her face suffused her neck and shoulders. It was not till her lips pronounced the name, that she detected how inadvertently she had revealed the secret of her own musings. " Mark, my sweet Kate is, I trust, in no need of my warnings ; he lives apart from the struggle, and were it otherwise, he is older, and more able to form his opinions than Herbert, here." These words were spoken calmly, and with a studious desire to avoid increasing Kate's confusion. " What about Mark ?" cried the O'Donoghue, suddenly aroused by the mention of the name. " It's very strange he should not be here to say ' good-bye' to Kate. Did any one tell him of the time fixed for your departure ?" " I told him of it, and he has promised to be here," said Herbert ; " he was going to Bcerhaven for a day or two, for the shooting ; but, droll enough, he has left his gun behind him." " Tlie boy's not himself at all, latterly," muttered the old man. " Lanty brought up two horses here the other day, and he would not even go to the door to look at them. I don't know what he's thinking of." Kate never spoke, and tried with a great effort to maintain a look of calm unconcern ; when, with that strange instinct so indescribable and so inexplicable, she felt Sir Archy's eyes fixed uj)on her, her cheek became deadly pale. "There, there he comes, and at a slapping pace, too !" cried Herbert ; and, as he spoke, the clattering sound of a fast gallop was heard as- cending the causeway, and the next moment the bell sent forth a loud summons. THE o'donoghue. 211 " I knew he'd keep liis word," said the boy, proudly, as he walked to meet him. The door opened, and Frederick Travers appeared. So unexpected was the disajjpointment, it needed all Sir Archy's ])ractiscd politeness to conceal from the young Guardsman the discomfi- ture of the rest : nor did he entirely succeed, for Frederick was no com- mon observer, and failed not to detect in every countenance around, that his was not the coming looked for. " I owe a thousand apologies for the hour of my visit, not to speak of its abruptness," said he, graciously ; " but we only learned acci- dentally to-day that Herbert was going uj) to Dublin, and my father sent me to request he would join our j)arty." " He is about to enter college," said Sir Archy, half fearing to direct the youth's mind from the great object of his journey. "Beit so," said Fred, gaily; "we'll talk Yirgd and Homer on the road." " Fm afraid such pleasant companionship may put Greece and Rome in the background," said Sir Archy, drily. " Fll answer for it he'll be nothing the worse for the brief respite from study ; besides you'd not refuse me his comj)any, when I tell you that otherwise I must travel alone. My father in his wisdom having decided to despatch me half a day in advance, to make j)reparations for his arrival. Is that quite fair, ]Miss O'Donoghue?" " I protest I think not, as regards us. As for you," added she, archly, " I should say, so accomplished a traveller always finds sufficient to amuse him on the least interesting journey. I remember a little theory of yours on that subject ; you mentioned it the first time I had the pleasure to meet you." The allusion was with reference to the manner in which Travers made her acquaintance in the Bristol packet, and the cool assurance of which, she, with most womanly pertinacity, had nut yet forgiven. Tra\ers, who had often felt ashamed of the circumstance, and had hoped it Ion"- since forgotten, looked the Aery picture of confusion. " I perceive Sir Archibald has not taught you to respect his native proverb. Miss O'Donoghue, and let ' by-gones be by-gones.' " " I hae taught her nothing Scotch, sir," replied Sir Archy, smiling • "but to love a thistle, and that e'en, because it has sting." " Not from those that know how to take it, uncle," said she, arehlv, and with a fond expression that lit up the old man's face in smiles. The Guardsman was less at his ease than usual ; and, having arran"ed the matter of his visit satisfactorily, arose to take his leave. "Then you'll be ready for meat eight, Herbert. My father is a 212 THE o'donoghue. martinet in punctuality, and tlie phreton will not be a second behind time; remember that, ]\Iiss O'Donoglme, for he makes no exception, even for ladies." lie moved towards the door, then turning suddenly, said — " B3'-the-bye, have you heard any thing of a movement in the country lierc about us ? The Government \m\e apparently got some information on the sal)ject, but I suspect vdthout any foundation what- ever." "To what extent does this information go?" said Sir Archy, cau- tiously. "That I can't tell you ; all I know is, that my father has just received a letter from the Castle, stating that we are living in the very midst of an organised rebellion, only waiting the signal ibr open revolt. " That same rebellion has been going on, to my knowledge, something more than forty years" said the O'Donoglme, laughing ; "and I never knew of a Lord Lieutenant or Chief Secretary who didn't discover the plot, and save the kingdom : always leaving a nest egg of treason for his successor to make a character by." " I'm no' so sure it will not come to a hatching yet," said Sir Archy, with a dry shake of the head. " If it is to come, I wish with all my heart it might while I have a chance of being a spectator," said Travers ; then suddenly remembering that the levity of the remark might not please the others, he muttered a few words about a hope of better prospects, and withdrew. During tliis brief coUocpiy, Kate listened with breathless interest to learn some fact, or even some well-grounded suspicion which might serve to put Mark on his guard ; but nothing could be more vague and indecisive than Travcrs's information, and it was evident that he had not concealed any thing he knew. Was he in a position to learn more, was the next cpiestion to herself — might he not be able to ascertain where the suspicion of Government rested, and on whom ? Her deci- sions were seldom but the work of a second, and as soon as this thought struck her, she determined to act upon it. Slipping noiselessly from the room, she hastily threw a shawl around her, and hurried from the house by a small postern door, which, leading down to the high road, was considerably shorter than the causeway by which Travers must pass. It was im time for the indulgence of bashfulncss, and indeed her thoughts were far too highly excited by another's destiny to leave any room to think of herself; and short as the path was, it sufficed to let her arrange her plan of jirocedure, even to the very words she should employ. 4 ■» ^\V ^ THE o'donoghue. 213 "I must not tell liim it is for Mark," said she; "he must think it is a general desire to save any rash or misguided enthusiast from ruin. But, here he comes ;" and at the same instant the figure of a man was seen approaching, leading his horse hy the hridle. The dark shadow of the castle fell across the road at the spot, and served to make the form dim and indistinct. Kate waited not for his coming nearer, hut advancing hastily towards liim, cried out— "Captain Travers, I have a favour to ask of you — one, which mj coming thus to seek " " Say no more, Kate, lest I hear what was never intended for my ears," said a low, deep voice. "Mark — cousin Mark, is this you," cried she, with mingled plea- siu'c and shame. " Yes," replied he, in a tone of still deeper gravity ; " I grieve to disappoint you — it is me." " Oh, Mark, mistake me not — do not wrong me," said she, laying her hand affectionately on his arm. I have longed so much to see you — to speak to you, ere we went away," " To sec me — to speak to me," said he, stepping back, and letting the moonlight fall full upon his features, now ])ale as death ; " it was not me you expected to meet here." " No, Mark, but it was for you I came ; I wished to serve — perhaps to save you. I know your secret, Mark, but it is safe with me." " And I know yours, young lady," retorted he, bitterly. *' I cannot say how far my discretion will rival your own." As he spoke, a horseman darted rapidly past, and as he emerged from the shadow, turned round in his saddle, stared fixedly at the figures before him, and then taking off his hat, said — " Good-night, Miss O'Donoghue." "When Kate recovered the shock of this surprise, she found herself alone — Mark had disappeared ; and she now returned slowlv to the castle, her heart torn with ojjposing emotions, among which woimded j)ride was not the least poignant. 214 tHE o'donoghue. CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY. As we are about to withdraw our reader for a brief period from the scenes wherein he has so kindly hngercd with us hitherto, we may be permitted to throw on them a last look ere we part. On the evening which followed that recorded In our last chapter, the two old men were seated alone In the tower of Carrlg-na-curra, silent and thoughtful, each following out In his mind the fortunes of him for whom his Interest was deepest, and each sad with the sorrow that never spares those who are, or who deem themselves, forsaken. Unaided memory can conjure up no such memorials of past pleasure as come from the objects and scenes associated with days and nights of happiness ; they appeal with a force mere speculation never suggests, and bring back all the lesser, but more touching Incidents of hourly mtercourse, so little at the time — so much when remembered years afterwards. The brightest moments of life are the most diflicult to recall ; they are like the brilliant lights upon a landscape, which we may revisit a hun- dred times, yet never behold under the same favourable circumstances, nor gaze on with the same enthusiasm as at first. It was thus that both the O'Donoghue and Sir Archy now remembered her whose presence lightened so many hours of solitude, and even grafted hope upon the tree scathed and withered by evil fortune. Several efforts to start a topic of conversation were made by each, but all equally fruitless, and both relapsed Into a moody silence, from which they were suddenly aroused by a violent ringing at the gate, and the voices of many persons talking together, among which Mark O'Donoghue's could plainly be heard. " Yes, but I Insist upon it," cried he; " to refuse will offend me." Some words were then spoken in a tone of remonstrance, to which he again replied, but with even greater energy — "What care I for that? This is my father's house, and who shall say that his eldest son cannot introduce his friends ■ A violent jerk of the bell drowned the remainder of the speech. TIIK 0*DONOGHtJE. 215 *' We are about to line company, I perceive," said Sir Archy, looking cautiously about to secure bis book and bis spectacles before retreating to liis bed room. " Bedad, you just guessed it," said Kerry, wbo, baring reconnoitred tbe party tbrougb a small window beside tbe door, bad now prudently adjourned to take council wbetber be should admit tbcm. "There's eight or nine at laste, and it is'nt fresh and fasting either they are." "Why don't you open the door? — do you want your bones broken for you," said the O'Douoghue, harshly. "I'd let them gang tbe gate they cam," said Sir Archy, sagely; "if I may hazard a guess from their speech, they are no in a fit state to visit any respectable house. Hear till that ?" A fearful shout now was beard outside. " What's tbe rascal staring at ?" cried the O'Donogluie, with clenched teeth. " Open the door this instant." But the words were scarcely uttered, when a tremendous crash re- sounded through tbe whole building, and tlicn a heavy noise like the fall of some weighty object. " 'Tis the window he's bruk in — divil a lie," cried Kerry, in an accent of imfeigned terror ; and, without waiting a second, be rushed from tbe room to seek some j)lace of concealment from Mark's anger. The clash of the massive chain was next heard, as it banged heavily against tbe oak door ; bolt after bolt was quickly shot, and Mark, call- ing out — " Follow me — this vvay," rudely pushed wide the door and entered the tower. A mere passing glance was enough to show that his excitement was not merely tlie fruit of passion — bis eyes wild and blood- shot, his flushed cheek, his swollen and heavy lips, all betrayed that he had drank deeply. His cravat was loose and his vest open, while the fingers of his right hand were one mass of blood, from the violence with which he had forced his entrance. " Come along, Talbot — Holt, this way — come in boys," said he, calling to those behind. " I told them we should find you here, though they insisted it was too late." " Never too late to welcome a guest, ^lark, but always too early to part with one," cried the O'Douoghue, who, although shocked at the condition he beheld bis son in, resolved to betray for the time no appa- rent consciousness of it. " This is my friend, Harry Talbot, father — Sir Archy M'Nab, my uncle. Holt, where are you? I'll be banged if they're not slipped awav ; and with a fearful imprecation on their treachery, he rushed from the room, leaving Talbot to make bis own advances. The rapid tramp of 216 THE o'donoghxje. feet, {vnd the loud laughter of the fugitives without, did not for a second or two permit of his few words heing heard ; hut his manner and air had so far assured Sir Archy, that he stopped short as he was about to leave the room, and saluted him courteously. "It would be very ungracious in me," said Talbot, smiling, " to dis- parage my friend Mark's hospitable intentions, but in truth I feel so much ashamed for the manner of our entry here this evening, that I cannot express the pleasure such a visit would have given me under more becoming circumstances." Sir Archibald's surprise at the tone in which these words were deli- vered, did not prevent him making a suitable reply, while relinquishing his intention of retiring, he extinguished his candle, and took a seat opposite Talbot. Having in an early chapter of our tale presented this gentleman to our reader's "notice, we have scarcely any thing to add on the ])resent occasion. His dress indeed was somewhat different ; then, he wore a riding costume — now he was habited in a frock richly braided, and orna- mented with a deep border of black fur ; a caj) of the same skin, from which hung a hand of deep gold lace, he also carried in his hand — a costume which at the time would have been called foreign. While Sir Archy was interchanging courtesies with the newly-arrived guest, the O'Donoghue, by dint of reiterated pulling at the bell, had succeeded in inducing Kerry O'Leary to quit his sanctuary, and venture to the door of the apartment, which he did with a caution only to be acquired by long practice. " Is he here, sir ?" whispered he, as his eyes took a rapid but searching survey of the Apartment. " Blessed virgin, but he's in a dreadful temper to-night." " Bring some supper here directly," cried O'Donoghue, striking the ground angrily with his heavy cane ; " if I have to tell you again, I hope he'll break every bone in your skin." " I request you will not order any refreshment for me, sir," said Talbot, bowing ; " we partook of a very excellent supper at a little cabin in the glen, where, among other advantages, I had the pleasure of making your son's acquaintance." *' Ah, indeed, at Mary's," said the old man. "Tiiere are worse places than that little 'sheheen ;' but you must permit me to offer you a glass of claret, which never tastes the worse in company with a grouse pie. " You must hae found the travelling somewhat rude in these parts," said M'Nab, who thus endeavoured to draw from the stranger some hint cither as to the object or the road of his journey. THE o'DONOGIIUr. 217 "We wore not over particular nii tliat score," said Talliot, laughing. " A few young college men sc eking some days' amusement in the wild mountains of this picturesque district, could well aiford to rough it for the enjoyment of the ramble." " You should visit us in the autunm," said O'Uonoghue, " when our heaths and arbutus blossoms are in beauty; then, they who have tra- velled far, tell me that there is nothing to be seen in Switzerland finer than this valley. Draw your chair over here, and let me have the ])lea- sure of a glass of wine with you.'' The party had scarcely taken their j)laces at the table, when Mark re-entered the room, heated and excited with the chase of the fugi. tives. " They're off," muttered he, angrily, '' down the glen, and I only hope they may lose their way in it, and spend the night npon the heather." As he spoke, he turned his eyes to the corner of the room, where Kerry, in a state of the most abject fear, was endeavouring to extract on her manner. Not so with Kate : the instinct that made her feel at home in the vyorld, was but the consciousness of her own powers of pleasing. She loved society as the scene, where, however glossed over hy conventionalities, human passions and feelings were at work, and Avhere the power of influencing or directing others gave a stimulus to existence, far higher and uobler than all the pleasures of retirement. It was life, in fact. Each day had its own separate interests, drama- tizing, as it were, the real, and making of the ordinary events of the world a romance, of which she felt herself a character. As nmch an actor as spectator, she threw herself into the pleasures of society with a zest which need only have the accompaniments of youth, beauty, and talents, to make it contagious. Thus differing in character, as in appear- ance, these two young girls at once became the acknowledged beauties of the capital, and each was followed by a troop of admirers, whose enthusiasm exhibited itself in a hundred different ways. Their favourite colours at a ball became the fashionable emblems of the next day on the promenade, and even the ladies caught up the contagion, and enlisted themselves into parties, whose rivalry amused none, so much as those, in whom it had its origin. While the galling enmit}- of Celt to Saxon was then stirring in secret the hearts of thousands in the country, and fashioning itself into the elements of open insurrection, the city was divided by a more peacelul animosity, and the English and the Irish party were arrayed again&t each other in the cause of beaut}'. It would be impossible to conceive a rivalry from which every ungenerous or unworthy feeling was more perfectly excluded. So far from any jealousy obtruding, every little triumph of one was a source of nnalIo^•ed heartfelt pleasure to the other ; and while Sybella sympathized with all the delight of Kate's followers in an Irish success, so Kate, with cha- racteristic feeling, enjoyed nothing so much as the chagrin of her own party, when Sybella was unquestionably in the ascendant. Hapnilv Ibr us, we are not called u])on to explain a phenomenon so novel and so pleasing — enough if we record it. Certain it is, the absence of all envv enhanced the fascinations of each, and exalted the objects in the eyes of their admirers. On this point alone oj)inion was undivided — none claimed any superiority for their idol, by ascribing to her a greater share of this good gift ; nor could even malice impute a difference in their mittual affection. One alone among the circle of their acquaintances stood neutral — unable to divest himself enough of natural partiahty, to be a fair and 228 THK o'donoghuk. just judge. Sir Mannadukc Travels caudidly avowed that he felt him- self out of court. Tlie loaders of fashiou, the great arbiters of " bon ton," were happily divided, and if England could boast of a majority among the Castle party, Ireland tiu-ned the scale with those who, having enjoyed opportunities of studying foreign manner, pronounced Kate's the very perfection of French agreeability, united to native loveliness and attraction. So much for "the sensation," to \ise the ])hrasc appro])riated by the newspapers, their entrance into the fashionable life of Dublin excited. Let us now return to the parties themselves. In a large and splendidly furnished apartment of Sir ]Marmadid their path is steep. Who knows liow indolent you might have become, had you found the prize too easily won. Come, come, Herbert, enough for the past ; look forward now, and with good courage and hoj)e. The next struggle will end differently ; but, above all, wear a fair face before the world. 1 remember some French prisoners being brought into Courtray, who amused us so much by their gay and smiling air, and look of ease and satisfaction — their secret was, that defeat was never disgrace, save when it lowered the spirit, and made the heart droop. Theirs never failed, and I jjromise you we thought all the better of them." " But my uncle — who is to tell him " " Let me tell him. I see you have begun a letter already- " That was written last night," said the boy, as the tears gushed forth afresh — "last night, when hope was almost certainty." " Then I'll finish it," said Kate, taking up the half- written letter. " Say to him — I would wish him to know all — say that I had beaten my opponents down to one, and that he, too, almost gave up the con- test, when, somehow — I cannot now say exactly how or wherefore — I got into a dispute with the examiner about the meaning of a word in Terence ; he seemed to enjoy the eagerness with wliich I defended my opinion for a time, and actually encouraged my persistance, until at length, my temper excited, and my brain on fire, I said something — I know not what — but it was evidently an offence, for he closed the book, and merely replied — ' Enough, sir, I give your opponent the premium ; his temper more than compensates for any deficiency in his scholarship ;' and I was beaten." The last words evoked all his sorrow once more, and the youth burst into tears. "That, then, I call unfair," said Kate, passionately, "unless the gentleman were the arbiter of temperament, as well as talent. Come, Herbert, even this should reconcile you to your fortune : you have not failed unworthily." "But my imcle, Kate — my uncle will deem it far otherwise. To guard against this very error of my temper was almost the last pledge I made him, and here, in my first trial, see how I have kept my promise." " Leave the explanation to me, only promise one thing — and mind, Herbert, this is a pledge there must be no forgetting — do all in your power — spare nothing to win the next time. I care not whether you ever carry away another prize within these walls ; but one you must have. Is this agreed ? — give me your hand upon it. There, that's like your own self, and now don't waste another thought on what's bygone. The Travers invited you to dine mth them to-day." 23G THK o'DONor.Hur. " Oh, no— no." " No — I have not any intention to press you, only come soon to see us — to see meJ" She kissed his forehead tenderly as she spoke the last word, and glided rapidly from the room. CHAPTER XXIX. FIRST IMl'RKSMONS. Kate O'Donogiiue was more deeply affected hy Herbert's failure than she had let appear to the youth, or even confessed to herself. It was not that the character of his ambition enlisted her sympathies, or engaged her interest. Far from it : she thought too meanly of such triumphs, and knew not how far they shed an influence on a future career. The habits of her education, all her early jirejndices, disposed her to regard the life of a soldier as the only one becoming a gentleman. The passion for military glory, which the great victories of the Republic and the Consulate had spread throughout Europe, penetrated into every remote village of the continent, and even the prison-like walls of the convent did not keep out the spirit-stirring sounds of drum and trum- pet, the tramp of marching hosts, and the proud clangor of war. It was a time when the soldier was every thing. There was but one path in life by which to win honour, rank, fame, and fortune. Even the hum- ])lcst might strive, for the race was open to all ; or, in the phrase of the period, every conscript left a spare corner in his knapsack for his future "baton de marechal." All she had ever seen of foreign society, partook of this character. For, strangely enough, on the ruin of an aristocracy, anew and splendid chivalry was founded — a chivalry, whose fascinations covered many a v/rong, and made many a ])ad cause glorious by the heroism it evoked ! The peaceful path in life was, then, in her estimate, the inglorious one. Still, her proud nature could not brook defeat in any thing. It was not without its Influence upon the hearts and minds of her house, that the eagle figured as their crest. The soaring bird, with outstretched wing, careering high above his compeers, told of a race who once, at least, Tin: o'donoghuk. 237 Oiuiij^lit no aiiihitioii above tlit-ii- darintr ; and she was worthy of the haughtiest of her ancestors. Too proud to enter into any detail of Herbert's faihire, slie dismissed the subject as briefly as she could, and made her appearance in the drawing-room without any perceptible change of manner ; nor did she appear to take any notice of the announcement made l)y Sir iMarmaduke to his son, that Ilemsworth, who had just arrived from Scotland, w(juld join the family circle at dinner. Kate had never seen him, but bis name Avas long associated in her mind with anecdotes of oppression and cruelty to her uncle — of petty insults and annoyances which the letters from Carrig-na-curra used constantly to tell of, and of which her rela- tives abroad had often descanted in her hearing. The picture she had drawn of him in her own mind was not a flattering one — composed of features and ingredients which represented all that was base, low-minded, and treacherous — a vulgar sycophant, and a merciless tyrant. "What was her astonishment, almost her chagrin, to discover, that Hemswortli entered the room a gentleman-like person, of about five-and-forty, tall, and well-formed, with regvdar features, rather melancholy in their expres- sion than otherwise, and with a voice singularly low, soft, and pleasing, his manner a mixture of well-bred ease,. and that excessi\e deference so often seen in those who have passed a long portion of life about persons of rank superior to their own, but without the slightest trace, that she could discover, of any thing subservient. With all her disposition to be critical, she could find little fault with either his manner or his conver- sation, nor could she detect any appearance of affectation. On the contrary, he seemed affable, like one who felt himself among friends, and need set no limits to his natural frankness. On the several topics he talked, he spoke with good sense and fairness ; and even when the often agitated question of the state of Ireland was alluded to, he sur- prised Kate by the absence of any violent or exaggerated tone, speaking of the people in terms of kindliness and even affection — lauding the native virtues of their character, and dwelling with pleasure on the traits which advantageously distinguish them from the jjeasantry of other lands. She listened at first Avith suspicion and distrust, then, by degrees, with interested attention, and, at last, with actujil delight, to the nar- rative he gave of the social condition of Ireland ; in which he laboured to show that a mistaken estimate of the people by England — a miscon- ception of the national character, a contempt of it, perhaps — had per- petuated usages, which, by their injustice, had excited the hatred and animosity of the countiy, and led to that condition of insulting depre- 238 THE o'donoghue. ciation on one side, and proud defiance on the other, which the two peo- ple exhibited towards each other. So well and ahly did he sustain his part — so powerfully support each position by reference to some fact with which his ample memory supplied him — that Sir Marmaduke was eventually obliged to confess himself vanquished, though unconnnced — who ever was, when worsted ? — and Frederick, chagrined at the favour Kate bestowed on the speaker, merely remarked as he concluded — " Very conclusive and satisfactory, I have no doubt, it is ; but, in my mind, all you have said goes to prove, that we English are a very infe- rior nation, and very unworthily placed in rule and governance over a people so much our superiors." Kate's eyes flashed with an unwonted fire, and for an instant she felt almost unable to control the temptation to answer this taunt ; but a quiet smile of half acquiescence on Hcmsworth's face so adequately ex- pressed what she wished but dared not say, that she merely returned the smile, and was silent. Had Hemsworth's Avhole object been on that evening to disabuse Kate O'Donoghue of her dislike to him — to obliterate all memory of the wrongs with which she had heard him charged towards her family — he coidd not have chosen a more successful path. There was the very degree of firmness and decision she admired in the manner he gave his opinions, and yet all the courtesy of one who would not be supposed capable of advancing them as incontrovertible or irrefutable. They were merely his sentiments — his mode of seeing and estimating parti- cvdar events, of which another might judge differently. For all he ad- vanced he was ready to show his reasons— they might be shallow, they might be inconclusive — but they were his, and, fortunately for his chance of winning her favour, they were /ler opinions also. " So you think we shall have no outbreak, Ilemsworth," said Sir Marmaduke, as they sat at tea. " I scarcely go so far," said he, gravely. " There are too many rea- sons for an opposite fear, to say so much, even if the Secretary of Stale did not assure us that the danger is over. The youth of Ireland will always be dangerous, when left without a career, or a road to their ambi- tion ; and from them, any peril that may now be apprehended will cer- tainly come. Many young men of the best families of the country, whose[estatcs are deeply incumbered — heavy mortgages and large dowries weighing them down — are ready to join in any bold attempt which pro- mises a new order of tlungs. They see themselves forgotten in the dis- tribution of all patronage — excluded from every office — sometimes for THE o'donoghuk. 239 reasons of religion — sometimes for family, even for a mere name's sake. They are ready to play a bold game, where losing is only qnicker ruin, and to gain wonld ho a glorious victory." " But what could a few rash and desperate young men like these eflt ct against a power so great and so consolidated as England ?" " Little, perhaps, as regards the overthrow of a Government ; hut a world of injury to the prospect of future rpiiet. The rebellion of a week — ay, a day — in Ireland, will sow the seeds of fifty years of misery, and retard the settlement of peaceful relations at least another century. Had the Minister made the same concessions here he was glad to accord to Scotland — had he, Avithout insulting a nationality, converted it into a banner under which loyalty was only rendered more conspicuous — you might have, perchance, seen a different order of things in Ireland." " For the life of me, I cannot see the evils and wrongs these peo])le labour under. I have a very large Irish acquaintance in London, and ])leasanter, happier fellows cannot exist than they are." " All the young men of family in Ireland are not in the Guards," said Hemsworth, with a smile, which, with all its blandishment, very thinly covered over the sarcasm of his remark. Frederick's face flushed angrily, and he turned awjiy without speaking. "Should we not ask pardon of the ladies for this subject of our con- versation V said Hemsworth. " I am sure neither Miss Travers nor Miss O'Donoghue deem the topic interesting or amusing." " On the contrary, sir, I believe I may reply for both of us," said Kate, " whatever concerns the fortunes of a country we have so near at heart, has all our sympathy ; and, as an Irish girl, I feel grateful for your explanation of motives which, while I appreciate, I should still be unable so satisfactorily to account for." "How happy I am to meet my countrywoman's approval," said Hemsworth, bowing courteously, and with a marked emphasis directin"- his speech to Kate. The manner in which he spoke the words was so palpablv intended for herself, that she felt all the charm of a flattery to which the dispa- rity of their years imparted force. Soon after tea. Sir Marmaduke retired with Hemsworth to his study. Frederick took his leave at the same time, and Sybella and Kate were left alone together. " I have a long letter to write this evening, my dear Sybelln," said Kate, after they had talked some time. " Poor Herbert has failed in his examination, and I have promised to break the news to my uncle. 240 THi: o'donoghuk. Not so difKcnlt a task as the poor boy deems, but one to which he is himself unequal." " Docs he tlicn feel it so deeply ?" said Sybella, timidly. " Too much, as regards the object of the ambition ; but no more than he ought as a defeat. It is so bad to be beaten, Sybella," said she, with a sharp distinctness on each word. " I shall hate the sight of that University until he carries off the next prize ; and then — then I care not whether his taste incline him for another effort ;'' and so saying, she embraced her friend, and they parted for the night. The epistle which Kate had promised to conclude was in itself a lengthy one — written at different intervals during the week before the examination, and containing a minute account of his progress, his hopes and his fears, up to that very moment. There was little in it which could interest any but him to whom it Vas addressed, and to whom every allusion was familiar, and the reference to each book and subject thoroughly known — what difficulties he had found here, what obscurity there — how well he had mastered this, how much he feared he might have mistaken the other — until on the evening of the first day's exami- nation, when the following few lines, written Avith a trembling hand, a])peared : — " They say I shall gain it. II called my translation of Horace a brilliant one, and asked the Vice-Provost to listen to my repeating it. I heard I gave it in blank verse. Oh, my dearest uncle, am I deceiving myself, and deceiving you ? Shall I be able to write thus to-morrow night ?" Then came one tremulous line, dated, " Twelve o'clock :" — " Better and better — I might almost even now say, victory ; but my heart is too much excited to endure a chance." " And it remains for me, my dear micle," wrote Kate after these w^ords, " to fulfil the ungrateful task of bearing bad tidings ; and I, wlio have never had the good fortune to bring you happiness, must now speak to you of misfortune. — My dear cousin has failed." She followed these few lines by the brief narrative Herbert had gi\ en her — neither seeking to extenuate his errors, nor excuse his rashness — well knowing in her heart that Sir Archy would regard the lesson thus conveyed, an ample recompense for the honour of a victory so hardly lost. " It is to you he looks for comfort — to you, sir, whom his efforts were all made to please, and for whose praise his weary nights and toil- some days were offered. You, who know more of the human heart than I do, can tell how far so severe a discouragement may work for good or evil on his future life ; for ni} self, I feel the even current of prosperity THK o'doxoghue. 241 is but a sluggish stream, that calls fur no efforts to stem its tide ; and were his grief over, I'd rather rejoice that he has found a conflict, be- ause he may now discover he has courage to meet it. "Even I, to follow a theme as dispiriting, even I, grow weary of plea- sure, and tired of gaiety. The busy world of enjoyment leaves not a moment free for happiness, and already I am longing to be back in the still valley of Glenflesk. It is not that Dublin is not very brilliant, or that society has less of agrecability than I exj)ected — both have exceeded my anticipations ; nor is it, that I have not been what we should call iii France 'successful' in my 'debut' — far from that, I am the fashion, or, rather, half the fashion — Sybella dividing public favour with me ; — but, somehow, nobody contradicts me here — no one has courage to tell me I'm wrong — no one will venture to say, what you have often said, and even oftener looked, that ' I talked of what I knew nothing ;' and, in feet, my dear uncle, every one is so very much in love with me, that I am beginning to detest them, and would give the world to be once more at home, before I extend the hatred to myself, which I must inevi- tably end by doing, if nobody anticipates me in the sentiment. " You told me I should prove faithless to you. "Well, I have refused heaven knows how many ' brilliant offers,' for such even the proposers called them. Generals of fourscore, guardsmen of twenty, dignitaries in the church, sergeants learned in the law, country gentlemen in hordes, two baronets, and one luckless viscount, have asked lor the valueless hand that writes these lines ; and yet — and yet, my dear chevalier, I shall still write myself at the bottom of this page, Kate O'Donoghue. I have no doubt you are very vain of my constancy, and will be so when you read this ; and it is right you should be, for, I promise you, in my ' robe, couleur de cerise,' looped with white roses, and my ' chapeau de paysanne,' I am a very pretty person indeed — at least, it seems a point the twelve judges agree upon, and the Master of the Rolls tells me, 'that with such long eye-lashes I might lift my eyes very high indeed.' "And now, my dear, kind uncle, divide your sorrow between your niece who is dying of vanity, and your nephew who is sick of grief — continue your affection to both — and believe me, in all sincerity of heart, your own fond and faithful, "Kate O'Donoghue. • " I have met Hemsworth, and, strange to^say, found him both plea- sant and agreeable." Such were the concluding lines of an epistle, in which few, who did not possess Sir Archy's acuteness, could successfully trace any thing of the real character of the writer. 242 THE o'donoghue. CHAPTER XXX. OLD CHARACTERS WITH NEAV FACES. At the time we speak of, Cloutarf was the fashionable watering-place of the inhabitants of Dublin ; and although it boasted of little other accommodation than a number of small thatched cabins could afford,- and from which the fishermen removed to give place to their more opulent guests, yet, thither the great and the wealthy of the capital resorted in summer, to taste the pleasures of a sea side, and that not inferior one, the change of life and habit, entailed by altered circum- stances and more restricted spheres of enjoyment. If, with all the aid of sunshine and blue water, waving foliage and golden beach, this place had an aspect of modest poverty in its whitened walls and net-covered gardens in summer, in winter its dreariness and desolation were great indeed. The sea swept in long waves the narrow road, even to the doors of the cabins, the muddy foam settling on the window sills, and even drifting to the very roofs ; the thatch was fas- tened down with strong ropes, assisted by oars and spars, to resist the wild gale that generally blew from the south-east. The trim cottages of summer were now nothing but the miserable hovels of the poor, their gardens waste, their gay aspect departed ; even the stirring signs of life seemed vanished ; few, if any, of the inhabitants stirred abroad, and save some muffled figure that moved past, screening his face from the beating storm, all was silent and motionless. The little inn, which in the summer time was thronged from morning till night, and from whose open windows the merry laugh and the jocund sound of happy voices poured, was now fast shuttered up, and all the precautions of a voyage were taken against the dreaded winter ; even to the sign of a gigantic crab, rudely carved in wood and painted red, every thing was removed, and a single melancholy dip candle burned in the bar, as if keeping watch over the sleeping revelry of the place. If such were the gloomy features without, within doors matters wore a more thriving aspect. In a little parlour behind the bar a brisk fire was burning, before which stood a tabic neatly prepared for supper ; the covers were laid for two, but the provision of wine displayed seemed suited to a larger number. The flashy-looking prints upon the walls THK o'DONOCiHUK. 243 shone brightly in the ruddy blaze ; the brass fender and the glasses sparkled in its clear light, and even to the small, keen eyes of Billy Corcoran, the host, who kept eternally running in and out, to see all right, every thing presented a very cheering contrast to the bleak deso- lation of the night without. It was evident that Mr. Corcoran's guests were behind time ; his impatience was not to be mistaken. He walked from the kitcben to the parlour and back again without ceasing, now, adding a turf to the fire, now, removing the roasting chickens a little farther from the blaze, and anon, bending his ear to listen if perchance he could catch the sound of approaching wheels. lie had sat down on every chair of the parlour, he had taken a half glass out of each decanter on the table, he had sharpened every knife in turn, and in fact resorted to every device to cheat time, when suddenly the somid of a carriage was heard on the road, and the next moment he unbarred the door and admitted two per- sons, whose dripping hats and soaked great coats bore evidence to the downpour without. "AY ell, Billy," said the first who entered, "this rain will beat dov\n Ibe wind at last, and we shall be able to get some fish in the market." " Sorra bit, sir," said Billy, as he assisted the speaker to remove his wet garments, leaving the other stranger to his own devices. " The wind is coming more round to the east, and I know from the noise on the 15ull we'll have plenty of it. I was afcard something ha])pened you, sir ; you're an hour behind the time you said yourself." "Very true — sol am. I was detained at a dinner party, and my friend here also kept me waiting a few minutes for him." "It was not my fault," interposed the other; "I was ready when " " Never mind — it was of no consequence whatever ; the only misfor- tune was, we could find no coach, and were forced to put up with a car, and got wet for our pains ; but the supper. Bill — the supper." " Is smoking hot on the table," was the reply ; and as he opened the door into the parlour, the fact declared itself to their senses. The strangers were soon seated at the meal, and like men who could relish its enjoyment not the less for the merit of what they had quitted without doors. It is not necessary to consume much time in presenting them to our readers ; they are both already known to him. One was jNIr. Ilcmsworth ; the other no less a person than Lanty Lawler, tlie horse-dealer. One only remark is necessary. Familiar as tliese charac- ters already are, they here appeared in aspect somewhat different from what they have hitherto exhibited. Hemsworth, no longer the 244 THE o'donoghue. associate of laahionablc coiapauy, had exchanged his silken ilet'erential manner for an air of easy confidence that seemed to tit him even better ; Lanty, on the other hand, had lost all his habitual self-possession, looked abashed and sheepish, and seemed for all the \vorld, as though he were in the hands of one, who could dispose of his destiny as he willed it. All the got up readiness of his wit, all his acquired frank- ness vv-ere now gone, and in their place a timid hesitating manner that bespoke the most abject fear and terror ; it was evident, too, that he struggled hard to conceal these signs of trepidation. He ate voraciously of all before him, and endeavoured by the pre-occupation of the table to cover his real sentiments at the moment ; he drank, too, freely, filling a large goblet to the brim with sherry several times during the meal ; nor was this unnoticed by Ilemsworth, who at last interposed in a calm, but commanding tone, as he laid his hand on the decanter — " A pipe of it, if you please, Lauty ; you may have a whole bank of the Guadalquiver for your own drinking at another time; but now, if you please, let us have calm heads and cool judgments. It is some time shice we met, and it may be longer ere we have another op- portunity like the present." " Very true, sir," said Lant}', submissively, as he pushed his untastcd glass before him. "It was the wetting I was afeard of; my clothes were soaked through." Ilemsworth j^aid no attention to the excuse, but sat for some minutes deeply sunk in his reflections ; then lifting his head suddenly, he said — " And so these papers have never been found ?" " Never, sir. I did my best to get them. I spent days at the place, and had others looking besides. I said I'd give five guineas — and you know what a reward that is down there — to the man who would bring them to me ; but from that hour to this, I never set eyes on them." "While he was speaking these words, Ilemsworth's eyes never turned from him. They were fixed on him, not with any expression of seve- rity or harshness, neither did the glance indicate suspicion. It was a steady, passionless stare, rather like one seeking an explanation, than prejudging a motive. " You were quite certain that they were the ])apers we wanted V " Sure I opened them — sure I read the writing myself, when I took them out of the old man's desk." " They had better have remained there," said Ilemsworth to himself, but loud enough for the other to hear ; then rallying quickly, he added, "no matter, however, we have evidence enough of another kind. Where are the letters ]Mark wrote to the Delegates." THE o'doxoghue. 245 " I think ^Ir. Morrissy has most of them, sir," said Lanty, liesitat- ingly ; "he is the man that keeps all the writings." " So he may be, Lanty ; but you have some of them yourself : three or four are as good as thirty or forty, and you have as many as that — aye, and here in your pocket, too, this minute. Come, my worthy friend, you may cheat me in horse flesh, whenever I'm fool enough to deal with you ; but at this game I'm your master. Let me see these letters." " How would I have them. Captain, at all," said Lanty, imploringly; "sure you know as well as me, that Fm not in the scheme at all." " Save so far as having a contract to mount five hundred men of the French on their landing in L'eland, the money for which you have partly received, and for which 1 hold the check, countersigned by yourself. Master Lanty. Very pretty evidence in a Court of justice — more than enough to hang you, that's all." "There's many a one sould ahorse, and didn't know what use he was for," replied Lanty, half rudely. " Very true ; but a contract that stipulates for strong cattle, able to carry twelve stone men with full cavalry equipments, does not read like an engagement to furnish plough horses." Then altering his tone, he added, " No more of this, sir, I can't afford time for such fencing. Show me these letters — show me, that you have done something to earn your own indemnity, or by G — d, FU let them hang you, as Fd see them hang a dog," Lanty became lividly pale, as Hems worth was speaking ; a slight convulsive tremor shook his lip for a moment, and he seemed struggling to repress a burst of passion, as he held the chair with either hand ; but he uttered not a word. Hems worth leisurely drew forth his watch, and placed it on the table before him, saying — " It wants eleven minutes of one o'clock ; I'll give yoii to that hour to make up your mind, whether you prefer five hundred pounds in your hand, or take your place in the dock with the rest of them ; for, mark me, whether we have your evidence or not, they are equally in our hands. It is only an economy of testimony Fm studying here, and I reserve my other blackguards for occasions of more moment," The taunt would appear an ill-timed one at such a minute ; but Hemsworth knew well the temperament of him he addressed, and did not utter a syllable at i-andom. Lanty still preserved silence, and looked as though doggedly determined to let the minutes elapse without speak- ing ; his head slightly sunk on his chest, his eyes bent downwards, he sat perfectly motionless. Hemsworth meanwhile refilled his glass, crossed his arms before him, and seemed awaiting, without imjiatience. 246 THE o'donoghue. the result of the other's deliberation. At length the hand approached the figure ; it wanted but about half a minute of the time, and Hems- worth, taking up the watch from the table, held it before Lanty's eyes, as he said — " Time is nearly up. Master Lawler ; do )'ou refuse ?" " I only ask one condition," said Lanty, in a faint whisper. " You shall make no bargains : the letters, or . It is too late now ;" and with these words he replaced his watch in his pocket, and rose from the table. Lanty never moved a muscle, while Hemsworth approached the fire- place, and rang the bell. In doing so, he turned his back to the horse-dealer, but commanded a view of him through means of the little glass above the chimney. He stood thus for a few seconds, when Lanty — in whose flashing eyes, and darkened colour, inward rage was depicted — suddenly thrust his arm into the breast of his coat. Hems- worth turned round at once, and seizing the arm in his powerful grasp, said in a cool, determined voice — " No, no, Lanty ; I'm armed, too. " It was the pocket-book I was feeling for, sir," said Lanty, with a sickly effort at a smile, while he drew forth a black leather case, and handed it towards Hemsworth. " They are all there — seventeen letters — besides two French commissions, signed by young Mark, and a receipt for four hundred pounds in French gold." " You must find it hard to get bullets for those pistols I gave you, Lanty," said Hemsworth, in a tranquil voice. " I forgot to let you have the bullet-mould with them. Remind me of it to-morrow or next day." Lanty muttered a faint " I will," but looked tlie very picture of abject misery as he spoke, " Let me see them, Lanty," said Hemsworth, in a manner, as calm and unconcerned as could be. "If I don't mistake, they are nearly a quarter of an inch in the bore," " About that same, sir," replied Lawler, while he drew forth the two pistols from the same breast-pocket he had taken the letters, Hemsworth first examined one, and then the other, leisurely, passing the ramrod into each in turn, and then opening the pans, inspected the priming, adjusting the powder carefully with his finger. " You spoil such pistols as these, by loading with two bullets, Lant}^" said he, as he handed them back to him. " The bore is too perfect for such coarse usage. Now, this is a less delicate weapon, and will bear harder usage," and he drew forth a short pistol, containing four revolving barrels, each THK o'donoghue. 247 as wide as the bore of a musket. Lanty gazed in astonishmeut and terror at the murderous implement, into which the hand fitted by a handle like that of a saw. Ilenisworth played the spring by which the barrels moved, with a practised finger, and seemed to exult in the ex- pression of Lanty' s terror, as he watched them. Then quickly replacing the weapon, he resumed — " Well, I am glad, for your own sake, that you are more reasonable. You ought to know, that I never place dependence on only one man, for any single service. Such would be merely to play the part of slave, instead of master. But, first of all, how did you become possessed of these letters ?" " I was charged by Mark to deliver them to the Delegates, and as they never saw his hand-writing, I just copied the letters, and kept all the originals, so that he has received his answers regularly, and never suspects what has happened." " All right so far — and the younger brother — what of him ?" " Oh, he is too much under old M'Nab's influence to be caught. I wouldn't say but that he's a Protestant this minute." " You appear to be greatly shocked at your suspicion, Lanty," said Hemsworth, smiling. " Well, well ; we must hope for the best ; and now as to this other fellow — where and how can I see him — this Talbot I mean ?" "Ay, that's the puzzle," replied Lanty, with a greater appearance of ease in his manner than before. " You never can meet him Avhen you look for him ; but he's at your elbow every day, twenty times, if you don't want him." " Could you not manage a meeting for me with him, down here, Lanty? — I'll take care of the rest." " I don't think so ; he's a wary fellow ; he gave me a fright once or twice already, by a word he let drop. I am not easy in his company at all." "False or true, he would be an immense service to us," said Hems- worth, musingly. " If I only could see and speak with him, I'd soon convince him that he incurred no risk himself. It's a bad sportsman shoots his decoy duck, Lanty," and he pinched his cheek good- humouredly as he spoke. Lanty endeavoured to laugh, but the effort was a feeble one. ]Meanwhile, the host, now summoned for the second time, made his appearance, and by Ilemsworth's orders, the car was brought round to the door ; for, severe as the night was, he determined to return to the city. "You are coming back to to^Yu, too, Lanty ?" said he, in a tone of inquiry. 248 THE o'donoghue. " No, sir ; I'm going to stop here with Billy, if yo.ur horour has no objection?" " None whatever. Remember to let me see you on Tuesday, when I shall have every thing in readiness for your journey south — till then, good bye ;" so saying, and handing Corcoran two guineas in gold, for he paid liberally, Ilemsworth mounted the car, and drove off. Lanty looked after him, till the darkness shut out the view, and then buttoning his rough coat tightly around his throat, set out himself towards town, muttering as he Avent — " T wish it was the last I was ever to see of vou." CHAPTER XXXI. S03IE HINTS ABOUT HARRY TALBOT, We must beg of our reader to retrace his steps once more to the valley of Glenflesk, but only for a fleeting moment. When last we left Car- rig-na-curra it was at night, the party were at supper in the old tower, and Kerry stood outside, rehearsing to himself for the tenth time the manner in which he should open his communication. The sound of Mark's voice, raised above its ordinary pitch, warned him that his mission might not be without danger, if perchance any thing on his part might offend the youth. None knew better than Kerry the violent temper of the young O'Donoghue, and how little restraint he ever put upon any scheme he thought of to vent his humour on him who crossed him. It was an account of debtor and creditor then with hira, how he should act ; on the one side lay the penalties, on the other the rewards of his venture — how was he to escape the one and secure the other ? A moment's reflection suggested the plan. " I'll not go in, divil a step, but I'll tell I was convarsin' with them this half hour, and that the rope and the bit of lead is n new way they do have for catching mermaids and other faymale fishes in the Bay ; and sure if I oidy say that there's an act of Parlimint agin doin' it, she'll not only believe it all, but she'll keep the saycret to her dying bed ;" and THE O DOXOOHUE. 249 with this profound reflection on Mrs. Branagau's character, and a face of very well got up surprise, Kerry re-entered the kitchen to announce his discovery. It is not our intention to dwell on the scene that followed ; we have merely adverted to the fact inasmuch as that on the trivial circum- stance of Kerry's resolve depended the discovery of a plot, which, if once known to M'Nab, would immediately have been connnunicated to the Government. The fates willed it otherwise, and when the party separated in the old tower. Sir Archy Avas as little satisfied concerning Talbot's character as ever, and as eager to ascertain whence and wherefore he came, and with what intention he had made Mark's aoijuaintance. With many a wily scheme for the morrow, the old man went to rest, determining to spare no pains to unravel the mystery — a fruitless resolve after all, for when day broke, Talbot and Mark wevo already away, many miles on the road to Dublin. The O'Donoghue's first act on completing his arrangements with Swaby, was to place at Mark's disposal a sum of five hundred pounds, an amount far greater than ever the young man had at any time pos- sessed in his life. Talbot, to whom the circumstance was told Ijy Mark, readily persuaded him to visit Dublin, not merely for the pleasures and amusements of the capital, but that he might personally be made known to the Delegates, and see and confer with those who were the (Hrectors of the threatened rebellion, Talbot understood perfectly the kind of flattery which would succeed with the youth, and by allusion to his ancient lineage, his more than noble blood, the rights to which he was entitled, and to which he would unquestionably be restored, not only stimulated his ardour in the cause, but bound him in a debt of gratitude to all who encouraged him to engage in it. Mark's character, whatever its faults, was candid and frank in every thing ; he made no secret to his new friend of his present unhappiness, nor did he conceal that an vmpaid debt of vengeance with respect to young Travers weighed heavily on his spirits. It was the first time in his life he had tasted the bitterness of an insult, and it worked like a deadly poison within him, sapping the springs of his health and render- ing miserable the hours of his solitude ; the thought rarely left him day or night, how was he to wipe out this stain ? "When Talbot, therefore, spoke of a visit to the capital, Mark cheerfully acceded, but rather from a secret hope that some opportunity might arise to gratify this cherished passion, than from any desire of witnessing the splendour of the metropolis ; and while the one pictured the glittering scenes of festive enjoyment to which youth and money are the passports, the other darkly rumi- 250 THE o'donoghue. nated on the chances of meeting his enemy and provoking him to a duel. It was on the evening of the third day after they left Carrig-na-curva that they drew near the capital, and after a promise from Mark that in every thing he should be guided by his friend, nor take any step without his counsel and advice, they both entered the city. " You see, Mark," said Talbot, as after passing through some of the wider and better lighted thoroughfares, they approached a less frequented and more gloomy part of the town ; " you see, Mark, that the day is not come when we should occupy the place of honour, an humble and quiet hotel will best suit us for the present, but the hour is not very distant, my boy, when the proudest mansion of the capital will throw wide its doors to receive us. The Saxon has but a short tenure of it now." " I don't see any reason for secrecy," said Mark, half-doggedh'^, *' we have good names and a good purse, why then must we betake ourselves to this gloomy and desolate quarter." "Because I am the guide," said Talbot, laughing, "and if that's not reason enough, that's the only one I will give you just now, but come, here we are, and I do not think you vnW complain of your entertainment." And as he spoke, the carriage entered the spacious court-yard of an old fashioned inn, which, standing in Thomas-street, commanded a view of the river through one of the narrow streets leading down to the quay. " This was the fashionable house some fifty years back," said Talbot as he assisted his friend to alight ; " and though the heyday of its youth is over, there are many generous qualities in its good old age — not your father's cellar can boast a better bottle of Burgundy." Talbot's recommendation was far from being unmerited, the "Black Jack" as the inn was named, was a most comfortable house of the old school, with large, low-ceilinged rooms, wide stairs, and spacious corridors ; the whole, furnished in a style, which, though far from pretending to elegance or fashion, possessed strong claims for the tired traveller, seeking rest and repose. Here then our young travellers alighted. Talbot being received with all the courteous urbanity due to an old acquaintance ; the landlord himself appearing to do the honours of the house, and welcome a valued guest. " We must get our host, Billy Crossley, to sup with us, Mark. No one can tell us so much of how matters are doing here, for, how- ever it happens, Billy knows all the gossip of the day, fashionable, political, or sporting, he keeps himself up to what is going forward THK o'dONOGHUE. 251 everywhere." And so sa3'ing, Talbot at once hastened after the land- lord to secure his company for the evening. Billy was somewhat fastidious about bestowing his agreeability in general, but on the present occasion, he acceded at once, and in less than half-an-hour, the three were seated at a meal, which would not have disgraced an hotel of more pretensions exterior. Mr. Crossley doing the honours of the table, like a host entertaining his friends. "I scarcely had expected to see you so soon, Mr. Talbot," said he, when the servants had left the room, and the party drew round the fire. "They told me you would pass the winter in the country." "So I had intended. Bill}', but as good luck would have it, I made an acquaintance in the south, which changed my plans, my friend, Mr. O'Donoghue here, and as he had never seen the capital, and knew nothing of your gay doings, I thought I'd just take a run back, and show him at least, the map of the land." " My service to you, sir," said Billy, bowing to Mark; "it would be hard to have got a better guide than you have in Master Harry. I can assure you, so far as wickedness goes, he's a match for any thing here — from the Royal Barracks to Trinity College." " Flattery, gross flattery, Bill. I was your own pupil, and you can't help partiality." " You are a most favourable specimen of private tuition, there's no doubt of it," said Crossley, laughing, " and I have reason to be proud of you. Did Mr. O'Donoghue ever hear of your clearing out Hancey Hennessy at hazard — the fellow that carried the loaded dice ?" " Have done. Bill. None of these absurd stories now." " Nor what a trick you played Corny Mehan at the spring meeting with the roan cob that T^new how to limp when you wanted him ? — as great a devil as himself, Mr. O'Donoghue. You'd swear the beast had a bad blood spavin if you saw him move, and he all the time a three- quart or bred horse, without a stain or a blemish ahout him." Talbot seemed for a second or two somewhat uneasy at these familiar reminiscences of his friend Crossley, not knowing precisely how Mark might take them ; but when he saw that a hearty laugh was the recep- tion they met with, he joined in the mirth as freely as the others. " The best of all was the Wicklow steeple-chase ; sorrow doubt about it, that was good fun ;" and Crossley laughed till his eyes streamed again with the emotion. " You must tell me that," said Mark. " It was just this : — Mister Henry there had a wager with Captain Steevens of the staff, that he'd reach the course before him, each start- 252 THE o'donoghuk. ing at the same moment from Quin's door at Bray. Well, what does he do, but bribes one of the boys to let him ride postillion to Steevens' chaise, because that way he was sure to win his wager. All went right. The blue jacket and boots fitted him neatly — they were both new — got on purpose for the day ; and jMr. Talbot lay snug in the stable, waiting for the chaise to be ordered round, when down conies the word, ' Number four, two bays, you're wanted ;' and np he jumps into the saddle, and trots round to the door, afraid of his life to look round, and keeping his chin sunk down in his cravat to hide his face. He never once looked back, but let the boys harness the cattle without saying a word. " ' My lord says you're to drive slow,' said one of the boys. "He looked round, and what did he see, but an old man in the chaise with a horse-shoe wig, and in the full dress of a bishop. " ' Who is he at all ?' said Talbot. " ' The Bishop of Cloyne,' whispered the boy ; ' he's going up to the Levee.' " ' By my conscience, he is not,' said Talbot, for at that moment he spied Steevens starting from the door at a round trot, and with that he turned the bishop's horses sharp round, laid the whip heavily over them, and took the lead towards Wick low. "Never such cries were heard as the bishop's. Some say that he swore hard ; but it isn't true — he prayed, and begged, and shouted — but no nse. Talbot gave them the steel at every sti-ide ; and after a long slapping gallop, he drew up at the stand-house, with a cheer that shook the course ; and a fine sight it was, to see the little man in the lawn sleeves stepping out, his face red with shame and passion. " ' Twelve miles in forty-two minutes, my lord,' said Talbot, showing his watch ; 'hope your lordship won't forget the boy.'" If Mark O'Donoghue enjoyed heartily the story, he was not the less surprised that Harry Talbot was the hero of it — all his previous know- ledge of that gentleman leading him to a very different estimate of his taste and pursuits. Indeed, he only knew Talbot from his own lips, and from them he learned to regard him as the emissary despatched by the Irish party in France, to report on the condition of the insurgents in Ireland ; and, if necessary, to make preparations for the French land- ing on the Irish shores. jMark could not avcU understand how any one charged with such a mission, could have either wasted his time or endan- gered his safety by any ridiculous adventures, and did not scruple to show his astonishment at the circumstance. Talbot smiled significantly at the remark, and exchanged a glance with Crosslev, while he answered — r:,^-':? T»K (/donoghuk. 253 " Placed in such a i)()sinoii us 1 have bucii tor sonic years, Mark, many different parts have been forced upon nic ; and I have often found that there is no such safe mask against (U'tection, as following out the bent of one's humour in circumstances of diltieulty. An irresistible impulse to play the fool, even at a moment when high interests were at stake, has saved me more than once from detection ; and from habit I have acquired a kind of address at the jiractice, that with the world ])asses for cleverness. And so, in turn, I have been an actor, a smug- gler, a French officer, an Irish refugee, a sporting character, a man of pleasure, and a man of intrigue ; and however such features may have blended themsehes into my true character, my real part has remained undetected. Master Crossley here might furnish a hint or two towards it ; but — but, as Peachem says, ' we could hang one another ' — eh, Bill r ' A nod and a smile, more grave than ga}-, was Crossley's answer ; and a silence ensued on all sides. There was a tone of seriousness even through the levity of what Talbot said, very unlike his ordinary manner ; and Mark began, for the first time, to feel that he knew very little about his friend. The silence continued unbroken for some time ; for while Mark speculated on the various interpretations Talbot's words might bear, Talbot himself was reflecting on what he had just uttered. There is a very strange, but not wholly unaccountable tendency in men of subtle minds, to venture near enough to disclosures to awaken the suspi- cions, without satisfying the curiosity of others. The dexterity with which they can approach danger, yet not incur it, is an exercise they learn to pride themselves upon ; and as the Indian guides his canoe through the dangerous rapids of the St. Lawrence — now bending to this side and to that — each moment in j^eril, but ever calm and collected — so do they feel all the excitement of hazard in the game of address. Under an impulse of this kind was it that Talbot spoke, and the un- guarded freedom of his manner showed even to so poor an observer as Mark, that the words contained a hidden meaning. " And our gay city of Dublin — what of it, Billy ?" said he, at length rallying from his mood of thought, as he nodded his head, and drank to Crossley. " Pretty much as you have always known it. 'A short life and a merry one,' seems the adage in favour here. Every one spending his money and character " " Like gentlemen. Bill — that's the phrase," interrupted Talbot ; " and a very comprehensive term it is, after all. But what is the Parhament rant ; that the bishop, whose simple bearing and gentle quietude of manner were most winning, was in reality a crafty place-hunter and a subtle "intrigant" — such were the lessons Talbot poured into his ear, while amid the ranks of beauty still more deadly calumnies pointed all he said. " Society is rotten to the very core here, Mark," said he, Ijitterly. "There never was aland nor an age when profligacy stood so high in the market. It remains to be seen if our friends will do better — for a time, at least, they are almost certain to do so ; but now, that I have shown you something of the company, let us separate, lest we be remarked. This pillar can always be our rallyinc^ spot. AVlienever you want me, come here ;" and so saying, and with a slight pressure of his hand, Talbot mixed with the crowd, and soon was lost to Mark's view. Talbot's revelations served at first to impair the pleasure Mark experienced in the brilliant scene around him ; but when once more alone, the magnetic influence of a splendour so new, and of beauty so dazzling, appealed to his heart far more powerfully than the cold sarcasms of his companion. Glances which, directed to others, he caught in passing, and felt with a throb of ecstasy within his own bosom ; bright eyes, that beamed not for him, sent a glow of delight through his frame. The atmosphere of pleasure which he had never breathed before, now warmed the current of his blood, and his pulse beat high 266 THE o'dONOGHUE. and madly. All the bitter thoughts he had harboured against his country's enemies could not stand before his admiration of that gorgeous assemblage, and he felt ashamed to think that he, and such as he, should conspire the downfall of a system, whose very externals were so cap- tivating. He wandered thus from room to room in a dream of pleasure — now stopping to gaze at the dancers, then moving towards some of the refreshment-rooms, where parties were seated in famihar circles, all in the full enjoym_ent of the brilliant festivity. Like a child roaming at will through some beauteous garden, heightening enjoy- ment by the rapid variety of new pleasures, and making in the quick transition of sensations a source of more fervid delight, so did he pass from place to place, and in this way time stole by, and he utterly forgot the rendezvous he had arranged with Talbot. At last, suddenly re- membering this, he endeavoured to find out the place, and in doing so was forced to pass through a card-room, where several parties were now at play. Around one of the tables a greater crowd than usual was assembled. There, as he passed, Mark thought he overheard Talbot's voice.. He stopped and drew near, and, with some little difficulty, making his way through, perceived his friend seated at the table, deeply engaged in what, if he were to judge from the heap of gold before him, seemed very high play. His antagonist was an old, fine-looking man, in the uniform of a general officer ; but while Mark looked, he arose, and his place was taken by another — the etiquette being, that the wiimer should remain until he ceased to win. "He has passed eleven times," said a gentleman to his friend, in Mark's hearing ; " he must at least have won four hundred pounds." " Do you happen to know who he is ?" " No ; nor do I know any one that does. There ! — see ! — he has won again." •* He's a devilish cool player — that's certain. I never saw a man more collected." " He studies his adversary far more than his cards — I remark that." " Oh ! here's old Clangoff come to try his luck :" and an opening of the crowd was now made to permit a tall and very old man to approach the table. Very much stooped in the shoulders, and with snow-white hair, liord Clangoff still preserved" the remains of one who in his youth had been the handsomest man of his day. Although simply dressed in the Windsor uniform, the brilliant rings he wore upon his fingers, and the splendour of a gold snuff-box surrounded by enormous diamonds, evinced the taste for mamiificen.oe for which he was celebrated. There THE o'donoghue. ^2C)7 was an air of dignity with which he took his seat, saluting the acquaint- ances he recognised about him, very strikingly in contrast with the famihar manners then growing into vogue, while in the courteous urbanity of his bow to Talbot, his whole breeding was revealed. " It is a proud thing even to encounter such an adversary, sir," said he, smiling. " They have just told me that you have vanquished our best players." " The caprice of Fortune, my lord, that so often favours the unde- serving," said Talbot, with a gesture of extreme humility. " Your succe^is should be small at play, if the French adage have any truth in it," saiJ his lordshij), alluding to Talbot's handsome features, which seemed to indicate favour with the softer sex. "According to that theory, my lord, I have the advantage over you at present." This adroit flattery of the other's earlier reputation as a gallant, seemed to please him highly ; for, as he presented his box to one of his friends near, he whispered — "A very well-bred fellow, indeed." Then turning to Talbot, said, " Do you like a high stake ?" " I am completely at your service, my lord — whatever you please." " Shall we say fifty ? — or do you prefer a hundred ?" " If the same to you, I like the latter just twice as well." The old lord smiled at having found an adversary similarly disposed with himself, and drew out his pocket-book with an air of palpable satisfaction ; while in the looks of increased interest among the by- standers could be seen the anxiety they felt in the coming struggle. " You ha', e the deal, my lord," said Talbot, presenting the cards. " Still, if any gentlema.i cares for another fifty on the game " " I'll take it, sir," said a voice from behind Lord Clangoffs chair, and Mark, struck b_^ the accent, fixed his eyes on the speaker. The blood rushed to his face at once, for it was Hemsworth who stood before him — the ancient enemy of his house — the tyrant, whose petty oppressions and studied insults had been a theme he was familiar with from boyhood. All fear of his being recognised himself was merged in the savage plea- sure he felt in staring fixedly at the man he hated. He would have given much to be able to whisper the name into Tal- bot's ear ; but remembering how such an attempt might be attended by a discovery of himself, he desisted, and with a throbbing heart awaited the result of the game. Meanwhile Hemsworth, whose whole atten- tion was concentrated on Talbot, never turned his eyes towards any other quarter. The moment seemed favourable for Mark, and gently retiring through the crowd, he at last disengaged himself, and sat down 2G8 THE o'donoghue. on a bench near a door-way. His mind was full of its own teeming thoughts, thoughts that the hated presence of his enemy sent madly thronging upon him ; he lost all memory of where he was, nor did he remark that two persons had entered, and seated themselves near him, when a word, a single word, fell upon his ear. He turned round, and saw his cousin Kate sitting beside Frederick Travers. The start of surprise he couM not restrain attracted her notice. She turned also, and as a deadly pallor came over her features, she uttered the one word, "Mark." Travers immediately caught the name, and, leaning forward, the two young men's eyes met, and for some seconds never wandered from each other. " I should have gone to see you, cousin Kate," said Mark, after a momentary struggle to seem calm and collected, " but I feared — that is, I did not know " "But, Mark, dear Mark, why are j'ou here?" said she, in a tone of heartfelt terror. " Do you know that none save those presented at the Levees, and known to the Lord Lieutenant, dare to attend these balls ?" " I came with a friend," said Mark, in a voice where anger and self- reproach were mingled. "If he misled me, he must answer for it." " It was imprudent, Mr. O'Donoghue, and that's all," said Travers, in a tone of great gentleness ; " and your friend should not have misled you. I'll take care that nothing unpleasant shall arise in consequence. Just remain here for a moment." "Stay, sir," said Mark, as Travers arose from his seat; "I hate ac- cepting favours, even should they release me from a position as awkward as this is. Here comes my friend, Talbot, and he'll perhaps explain what I cannot." " I have lost my money, Mark," said T.-xlbot, coming forward, and perceiving with much anxiety that his young friend was engaged in a conversation. "Let us move about and see the dancers." " Wait a few seconds first," said Mark, sternly, "and satisfy this gentleman that I am not in fault in coming here, save so far as being induced by you to do so." " May I ask how the gentleman feels called on to require the expla- nation ?" said Talbot, proudly. "I wish him to know the circumstances," said ]Mark. "And I," said Travers, interrupting, " might claim a right to ask it, as first aide-de-camp to his Excellency." "So, then," whispered Talbot, witli a eiihIo, " it is the more imper- tinence of oflice." TJii: o'donoghue. 269 Travers' face flushed up, and his hps quivered, as in an equally low tone of voice he said — " ^Yhere and when, sir, will you dare to repeat these words ?" " To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, on the strand below Clontarf, and in this gentleman's presence," said Talbot into his ear. A nod from Travers completed the arrangement, and Talbot, placing his arm hurriedly within Mark's, said — " Let us get away from this, iSIark. It is all settled. We meet to- morrow." Mark turned one look towards Kate, who was just in the act of pc- cepting Travers' arm to return to the ball-room. Their glances met for a second, but with how different a meaning ! — in hers, a world of anxiety and interest — in his, the proud and scornful defiance of one who seemed to accept of no compromise with fortune. " So, then, it is your friend Travers, Mark, with whom I am to have the honour of a rencontre ! I'm sorry, for your sake, that it is so." " And why so ?" asked ]\Iark, sternly"; for in his present mood he was as little satisfied with Talbot as with Travers. " Because if I don't mistake much, you will not have the opportunity of wiping out your old score with him. I'll shoot him, Mark !" These last words were uttered between his almost closed teeth, and in a tone of scarce restrained anger. " Are either of us looking very bloody-minded or savage, Mark, I wonder ? for see how the people are staring and whispering as we pass !" The observation was not made without reason, for already the two young men were regarded on all sides as they passed — the different per- sons in their way retiring as they approached. "How do you do, my lord ? I hope I see you well," said Talbot, bowing familiarly to a venerable old man who stood near, and who as promptly returned his salute. " "Who is it you bowed to ?" said Mark, in a whisper. " The Chief-Justice, Mark. Not that I know him, or he me ; but at this critical moment such a recognition is a certificate of character, which will at least last long enough to see us down stairs. There, let me move on first, and follow me," and as he spoke, he edged his way through a crowded door, leaving INIark to follow how he could. This was, how- ever a task of more difficulty than it seemed, for already a numl)er of persons blocked up the doorway, eager to hear something which a gen- tleman was relating to those about him. " I can only tell you," continued he, " that none seems to know either of them. As Clangoff has lost the diamond snuff-box the Empe- 270 THE o'dONOGHUE. ror of Austria presented him with — he missed it after leaving the card- table — the presumption is, that we are favoured with somewhat doubtful company." " Cary'sford says," cried another, "that he knows one of them well, and has often seen him in Paris at the play-houses." A low whisper ran around after these words, and at the instant every eve was directed to Mark O'Donoghue. The young man sustained their ■looks with a frown of resolute daring, turning from one to the other to see if, perchance, by any gesture or expression, he could single out one to pay the penalty for the rest — liisblood boiled at the insulting glances that fell upon him, and he was in the very act of giving his temper vent, when an arm was slipped within his, and Frederick Travers whispered in his ear — "I hope your friend has got safely away. There are some fellows here to-night of notoriously bad character, and Mr. Talbot may get into trouble on that account." " He has just left this. I hope before now he has reached the street." " Let me be your convoy, then," said Travers, good-naturedly. "These talking fools will cease their scandal when they see us to- gether ;" and, aflFecting an air of easy intimacy, he led Mark through (he crowd, which even already bestowed very altered glances as they passed. " Good night, sir," said Mark, abruptly, as they arrived at the room by which he remembered to have entered, "I see my friend yon- der, awaiting me." Travers returned the greeting, and half extended his hand, but Mark coolly bowed and turned away. The moment after he was at Talbot's side. *' Thank heaven, we are breathing the free air again," he exclaimed, as they issued forth into the street, " a little longer would have suffo- cated me." " It was with Travers you parted at the head of the stair?" said Tal- bot, inquiringly. " Yes ; he was polite enough to come up when you left me, and the company and myself have reason to be thankful to him, for assuredly, we were, both of us, forgetting our good manners, very much at the moment. They were pleased to look at me in a fashion of very ques- tionable civility, and I, I greatly fear, was scarcely more polite. It would seem, Talbot, that sonic swindlers or pickpockets had introduced themselves at the assembly, and wc had the honor of being confounded with them — so much for the prndonce of our first step." ^ § //w4/.j Kk/y/'/u/// fi^y . C/yy..- THE o'dono(;hui::. 271 '• Come, come, Mark, don't lose temper about trifles.'' "Would it have proved a trifle, if I had thrown one of those gold- laced fops out of the window into the court ? I promise you the temp- tation was devilish strong in me to act so, at one moment. But what have we gained by all this — where were the friends you should have met — whom have you seen — what have you learned ?" Talbot made no reply, but walked on in silence. " Or have we exposed ourselves to the taunting insolence of these people, for the mock pleasure of mixing with them. Is that our gain here ?" Still Talbot made no reply, and Mark, as if his passion had ex- pended itself, now became silent also, and in this wise they reached the hotel, each sunk in his own personal reflections. *' Now, Mark," said Talbot, when they had gained their room, " now let us set ourselves to think over what is to be done, and not waste a thought on what is bygone. At seven, to-morrow, I am to meet Tra- vers ; before nine I must be on the way to France, that is if he do not issue a leaden ' ne exeat' against me. I shall certainly fire at him — your pretty cousin will never forgive me for it, that I know well" — here he stole a side look at Mark, across whose features a flash of passion was thrown — " still, I am sorry this should have occurred, because I had many things to settle here ; among others, some which more nearly concerned yourself." " Me! concerned me," said Mark, in surprise. " Yes ; I am deeper in your secrets than you are aware of — deeper than you are yourself, perhaps. What would you say, Mark, if I could insure you the possession of your property and estate, as it was left to you by your grandfather, without debt or incumbrance of any kind, free from mortgage ?" "Free from Hemsworth," cried Mark, passionately. "Even so — I was just coming to that.": " I know not what I should say, Talbot, but I know what I should do — throw every farthing of it into the scale where I have thrown life and hope — the cause of my country." Talbot shook his head, doubtfully, for a second or two, then said : *' It is not money is wanting to the enterprise, it is rather what no mo- ney can buy — the reckless courage of men willing to devote themselves to a cause wliich they must never hope to live to see successful, but whose graves must be the ramparts over which others will achieve liberty. No, my hopes for you point otherwise. I wish to see you as the head and representative of an ancient name and house, with the influ- 272 THE o'donocihue. ence property and position would confer, taking your place in the move- ment, not as a soldier of fortune, but as a man of rank and weight." Talbot paused for a moment to enjoy, as it were, the delight this bril- liant picture of coming greatness produced upon the youth, and then went on, " such a place I can offer you, Mark." " How, and on what terms ?" cried Mark, bursting with impa- tience. " I make no conditions — I am your friend, and ask nothing but your friendship — a lucky chance has given me the opportunity to serve you — all I bargain for is, that you do not inquire further how that chance arose." Mark stood in mute amazement, while Talbot, unlocking his writing desk, drew forth a dark leather pocket-book, tied with a string, and laid it leisurely on the table before him. " There is a condition I will bargain for, Mark," said Talbot, after a pause — " although I'm sure it is a weakness, I scarcely ever thought to feel. We shall soon be separated, who knows when we shall meet again, if ever. Now, if men should speak of me in terms un- worthy of one who has been your friend, laying to my charge acts of dishonour " " Who will dare to do so before me ?" said Mark, indignantly. "It will happen, nevertheless, Mark; and I ask not your defence of me when absent — as much as that you will yourself reject all belief in these calumnies. 1 have told you enough of my life to let you know in what circumstances of difficulty and danger different parts have been forced upon me, and it may be that, while I have personated others, they in revenge have masqueraded under my name. This is no mere suspi- cion. I know it has already happened ; bear it well in mind, and when your friend Henry Talbot is assailed, remember the explanation and your own promise." Mark grasped Talbot's hand firmly, and shook it with the warmth of true friendship. • Sit down beside me, Mark," said he, placing the chairs at the table, " and rea'd this," With these words, he unfastened the string of the pocket-book, and took forth a small paper from an envelope, of which the seal was already broken. " This is addressed to your father, INIark," said he, showing him the superscription. " I know that hand-writing," said Mark, gazing fixedly at it ; " that i& Father Rourke's." Tui: (>'i)ON(JGi!i;i:. 2/3 " Yes, that's the name," said Talbot, opening the letter. " Read this," and he handed the paper to Mark, while he himself read aloud — " Mark O'Donoghue, son of Miles O'Donoghue, and Mary his wile, born 25th December, 1774, and christened on the morning of the 27tli December, same year, by me Nicholas Roiirke, P.P., Ballyvourncy and Glengariff. "Witnessed by us, Simon Gaffney, steward, and Sam. Wylie, butler." "And what ofall that," said Mark, with a voice of evident disan- pointment. " Do you tliink I wanted this certificate of birth or baptism to claim my name or my kindred?" "No, but to claim your estate and fortune," said Talbot, hurriedly. "Do you not perceive the date of this document — 1/7-1 — and that you only attained your majority on last Christmas day " "That cannot be," interrupted Mark. " I joined my father in a loan upon the estate two years ago ; the sale to Llemsworth was made at the same time, and I must have been of age to do so." "That does not follow," said Talbot, smiling. " It suited the objects of others to make you think so ; but you were little move than nineteen at the time. Here's the certificate of your mother's marriage, and the date is February, 1773." Mark's countenance became jicrfectly bloodless, his lips grew livid, while his nostrils were alternately distended and contracted violently, as he breathed with a heaving eftbrt. " You have your choice, therefore," said Talbot, flippantly, " to be- lieve your father, a man of honour, or your mother " " Stop," cried INIark, as he seized his arm and shook it in his strong grasp ; " speak the word, and, by Heaven, you'll never leave this spot aUve." Talbot seemed to feel no auger at this savage threat, but calmly said — " It was not my wish to hurt your feelings, Mark. Very little reflection on your part might convince you, that I can have no object to serve here, save my regard for you. You seemed to doubt what I said about your age, and I wished to satisfy you at once that I was correct. You were not of age till last December, A false certificate of birth and baptism enabled your father to raise a considerable sum of moiuy with your concurrence, and also permitted him to make a sale to Hemsworth of a property strictly entailed on you and yours. Both these acts were illegal and unjust. If llemsworth be tlic rightful owner of that estate, T 2/4 THE O DONOGHUE. your birth is illegitimate — nay, nay — I am but putting the alternative, which you cannot, dare not accept. You must hear me with temper, Mark — calmly and patiently. It is a sad lesson when one must learn to think disparagingly of those they have ever looked up to and revered. But remember, that when your father did this act, he v/as surrounded with difficulties on every hand. There seemed no escape from the dangers around him ; inevitable ruin was his lot : he doubtless intended to apply a considerable portion of this inoney to the repair of his shat- tered fortunes — of his affection for you there can be no question " " There, there," said Mark, interrupting him rudely ; " there is no need to defend a father to his son. Tell me, rather, why you have revealed this secret to me at all, and to what end have you added this to the other calamities of my fortune?" He stood up as he said these words, and paced the room with slow steps, his head sunk upon his bosom, and his arms dropped listlessly at his side. Talbot looked upon the figure, marked with every trait of despondency, and for some moments he seemed really to sorrow over the part he had taken ; then rallying with his accustomed energy, he said — " If I had thought, Mark, that 3'ou had neither ambition for yourself, nor hatred for an enemy, I would never have told you these things. I did fancy, however, that you were one who struggled indignantly against an inglorious fortune, and, still more, believed that you were not of a race to repay injury with forgetfuluess. Hemsworth, you have often told me, has been the insulting enemy of your family. Not content with despoiling you of fortune, he has done his utmost to rob you of fair fame — to reduce an honoured house to the ignoble condition of peasants, and to break down the high and haughty spirit of a noble family by the humiliating ills of poverty. If you can forgive his injuries, can you forget his insults and his taunts ?" "Would you have me repay either by arraigning my father as a criminal V " Not so, Mark ; many other courses are open to you. The know- ledge of this fact by you, places you in a position to make your own terms with Hemsworth. He who has spent thirty thousand pounds on a purchase without a title, must needs yield to any conditions you think fit to impose — you have but to threaten " " That I will expose my father in a court of justice," said Mark, between his teeth ; " that I will put money in one scale, and the honour of my house in the other ; that I will truck the name and credit of my race, against the acres that were theirs. No, no ; you mistake me THK o'donoghue. 275 much ; you know little of the kind of vengeance rny heart yearns for, or you would never have tempted me with such a bait as this." "Be it so," said Talbot, coolly ; " Hemsworth is only the luckier man that has met such a temperament as yours to deal with ; a vulgar spirit like mine would have turned the tables upon lum. But 1 have done ; keep the paper, Mark, there might come a time when it should y)rove useful to you. Hark I — what's that noise below? Don't you hear that fellow Lawler's voice in the court-yard ?" — and as he spoke, the voice of the host, Billy Crossley, raised very high above its usual pitcb, called out — "I tell you, gentlemen, Mr. Talbot is not in the house; he dined out to-day, aiul has not returned since dinner." A confused murmur followed this announcement ; and again Crossley said, but in a still louder tone — " You have perfect liberty to look for him wherever you please ; don't say that I gave you any impediment or hindrance ; follow me — I'll show you the way." Talbot knew in a moment the intention of the speaker, and recognized in Crossley' s vehemence an urgent warning to himself. " I'm tracked, Mark," cried he ; " there, take that key — burn the papers in that desk — all of them. At seven to-morrow, meet me on the strand; if all be safe, I'll be true to time ; if not " The remainder of his sentence was cut short by the hurrying sounds of feet upon the stairs, and Crossley's voice, which in its loudest key continued to protest that Talbot was not in the house, nor had he seen him since dinner. Mark hastily unlocked the desk and took out the papers, but when he turned round, Talbot was gone ; a tremulous motion of the tapestry on the wall seemed to indicate that his escape had been made through some secret door behind it. He had no time, however, to think further of the circumstance, for scarcely had he applied the lighted candle to the papers, when the door was burst violently open, and three strange men, followed by Lanty Lawlor, entered the room, while Crossley, whom they had pushed roughly aside, stood without, on the lobby, still talkir.^ as loudly as before. " Is that him?" said one of the fellows, who seemed like a constable in plain clothes. " No," whispered Lanty, as he skulked behind the shoulder of the speaker ; " that's another gentleman." " Were you alone in this apartment ?" said the same man who spoke first, as he addressed Mark in the tone of authority. *' It is rather for me to ask what business you have to come here ?" 276 THE o'doxuguik, replied Mark, as he continued to feed the flames with the letters and papers before him. " You shall see my warrant when j-ou have answered my question. Meanwhile these may be of some consequence," s^id the other, as, ap- proaching the hearth, he stooped down to seize the burning papers. " They do not concern you," said Mark, as he placed his foot in the very middle of the blaze. " Stand back, sir," cried the constable, half raising his arm to enforce the command. " Lay but a finger on me," said Mark, scornfully, " and I'll dash your head against the wall." The insolence of this threat might have been followed by ill conse- quences, had not Lanty sprung hastily forward, and, catching the constable by the arm, cried out — " It is the O'Donoghue of Glenflesk, a yoiing gentleman of rank and fortune," "What do we care for his rank or fortune," said the other, passion- ately. "If he obstructs the King's warrant for the arrest of a traitor or a felon, I value him no more than the meanest beggar in the street. Those papers there, for all I know, might throw light on the whole plot." " They are at your service now," said Mark, as, with a kick of his foot, he dashed the blackened embers from him, and sent them in floating fragments through the room. Unwilhng as he seemed to continue a contest in which his authority had met only defiance, the constable gave the order to his underlings to make a strict search of the apartment and the bed-room which opened into it, during which Mark seated himself carelessly in an arm-chair, and taking a newspaper from the table, affected to read it. Lanty stood for a few seconds, irresolute what to do ; then stealing softly behind Mark's chair, he muttered, in a broken voice — " If I thought he was a friend of yours, Master Mark But it's no matter — I know he's oflF. I heard the gallop of a beast on the stones since we came in. Well, well, I never expected to see you here," Mark made no other reply to this speech than a steady frown, whose contemptuous expression Lanty cowered under, as he said once more — "It wasn't my fault at all, if I was obliged to come with the constables. There's more charges nor mine against him, the chap with the black ■whiskers says " " It's quite clear," said the chief of the party, as he re-entered the room, "it's quite clear this nuui was here a few minutes since, and TIIR o'liONOCnilK. 911 equally so that you know of his j)hice of conceahncnt. I tell you jilainly, sir, if you contiuue to refuse information concerning him, I'll take you as my prisoner. I have two warrants against him — one for highway robbery, the other for treason.'' " M'hy the devil have you no informations sworn against him for murder ?" said .Mark, insolently, for the language of the bailiff had completely aroused his passion. " "Whoever he is, you are looking for, seems to have a clear conscience." •" Master Mark knows nothing at all about him, I'll go bail to any amount." "We don't want your bail, my good friend ; we want the man who calls himself Harvey Middleton in Herts, Godfrey INIiddleton in Surrey, the Chevalier Duchatel in France, Ilarry Talbot in Ireland, but who is better known in the police sheet ;" and here he opened a printed paper, and pointing to the words, — "full description of John Barrington, convicted at the Maidstone assizes, and sentenced to fifteen years trans- portation." The smile of insolent incredulity with which Mark listened to these imputations on the honour of his friend, if it did not assuage the anger of the constable, served to satisfy him that he was at least no practised colleague in crime, and tiu-ning to Lanty, ho talked to him in a low whisper for several minutes. " I tell ye," said Lanty, eagerly, iu reply to some remark of the other, " liis worship will never forgive you if you arrest him ; his time is not yet come, and you'll get little thanks for interfering where ye had no business." Whether convinced by these arguments, or deterred from making Mark his prisoner, by the conscious illegality of the act, the man col- lected his party, and having given them his orders in a low voice, left the room, followed by the others. A gesture from Mark arrested Lanty, as he was in the act of passing out. " A word with you Lanty," said he, firmly. " What is the in- formation against Talbot? — what is he accused of?" " Sure didn't you hear yourself," replied Lanty, in a simpering, mock bashful voice. " They say he's Barrington the robber, and faith, they've strong evidence that they're not far out. 'Tis about a horse I sold him that I came here. I didn't want to harm or hurt any body, and if I thought he was a friend of yours " " He is a friend of mine," said Mark, " and therefore these stories are but one tissue of falsehoods. Are you aware, Lanty" — and here as the youth spoke his voice became low and whis})ering — " are you aware 278 THE o'donoghuk. that Talbot is an agent of the French Government — that he is over here to report on the condition of our party, and arrange for the rising?" "Is it in earnest you are?" cried Lanty, with an expression of admi- rably dissembled astonishment. "Are you telling me truth, Master Mark." " Yes, and more still — the day is not far distant now, when we shall strike the blow." " I want you here, my worthy friend," said the constable, putting his head into the room, and touching Lanty's shoulder. The horsedealer looked confused, and for a second seemed undetermined how to act ; but suddenly recovering his composure, he smiled significantly at Mark, wished him a good night, and departed. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE " DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND." It was with an impatience almost amounting to madness that Mark O'Donoghue awaited the dawn of day ; long before that hour had arrived he had made every preparation for joining his friend, A horse stood ready saddled awaiting him in the stable, and his pistols — the weapons Talbot knew so well how to handle — were carefully packed in the heavy holsters. The time settled for the meeting was seven o'clock, but he was certain that Talbot would be near the place before that hour, if not already there. The scene which followed Talbot's escape also stimulated his anxiety to meet with him ; not that any, even the faintest suspicion of his friend's honour ever crossed Mark's mind, but he wished to warn him of the dangers that were gathering around him, for were he arrested on a suspicion, who was to say what material evidence might not arise against him in his real character of a French spy. Mark's was not a character long to brood over doubtful circum- stances, and seek an ex])lanation for difficulties which only assumed the guise of suspicions. Too prone always to be led by first impressions of every body and every thing, he hated and avoided whatever should THE o'donoghue. 279 disturb the opinions he thus hastily formed. When matters too com- ph'cated and knotty for his immediate comprehension crossed liim, he turned from them without an effort, and rather satisfied himscU' that it was a point of honour to " go on beheving," than harbour a doubt even where the circumstances were calculated to suggest it. Tiiis frame of mind saved him from all uneasiness on the score of Talbot's honour; he had often heard how many disguises and masks his friend had worn in the events of his wild and dangerous career, and if he felt how in- capable he himself would have been to play so many different parts, the same reason prevented his questioning the necessity of such sub- terfuges. That Harry Talbot had personated any or all of the persons mentioned by the constable, he little doubted, and therefore he regarded their warrant after him as only another evidence of his skill and clever- ness, but that his character were in the least involved, was a supposition that never once occurred to him. Amid all his anxieties of that weary night, not one arose from this cause; no secret distrust of his friend lurked in any corner of his heart ; his fear was solely for Talbot's safety, and for what he probably ranked as highly — the certainty of his keeping his appointment with Frederick Travers ; and what a world of con- flicting feelings were here ! At one moment a sense of savage, unre- lenting hatred to the man who had grossly insulted himself, at the next a dreadful thrill of agony that this same Travers might be the object of his cousin's love, and that on his fate, her whole happiness in life depended. Had the meeting been between himself and Travers — had the time come round to settle that old score of insult that lay between them, he thought that such feelings as these would have been merged in the gratified sense of vengeance, but now, how should he look on, and see him fall by another's pistol ? — how see another expose his life in the place he felt to be his own ? He could not forgive Talbot for this, and every painful thought the whole event suggested, embit- tered him against his friend as the cause of his suffering. And yet, was it possible for him ever himself to have challenged Travers ? Did not the discovery of Kate's secret, as he called it to her, on the road below the cliff, at once and for ever, prevent such a catastrophe ? Such were some of the harassing reflections which distracted Mark's mind, and to which his own wayward temper and natural excitability gave additional poignancy ; while jealousy, a passion that fed and ministered to his hate, lived through every sentiment and tinctured everv thought. Such had been his waking and sleeping thoughts for many a day — thoughts which, though lurking, like a slow poison, within him, had never become so palpable to his mind before ; his very patriotism, the 280 I'HE o'donoghuk. attachment he thought he felt to his native country, his ardent desire for hberty, his aspirations for national greatness, all sprung from this one sentiment of hate to the Saxon, and jealousy of the man who was his rival. Frederick Travers was the embodiment of all those feelings he himself believed were enlisted in the cause of his country. As these reflections crowded on him, they suggested new sources of suffering, and in the bewildered frame of mind to Avhich he was now reduced, there seemed no possible issue to his difficulties. Mark was not, however, one of those who chalk out their line in life in moments of quiet reflection, and then pursue the career they have fixed upon. His course was rather to tlirow passion and impulse into the same scale with circumstances, and take his chance of the result. He had little power of anticipation, nor was his a mind that could calmly array facts before it, and draw the inferences from them. No, he met the dangers of life, as he would have done those of battle, with a heart undaunted, and a spirit resolved never to turn back. The sullen courage of his nature, if it did not suggest hope, at least supplied resolution — and how many go through life with no other star to guide them ! At last the grey dawn of breaking day appeared above the house-tops, and the low distant sounds that prelude the movement of life in great cities, stirred faintly without. " Thank heaven, the night is over at last," was Mark's exclamation, as he gazed upon the leaden streak of cloud that told of morning. All his preparations for departure were made, so that he had only to descend to the stable, and mount his horse. The animal, he was told, had formerly belonged to Talbot, and nothing save the especial fovour of Billy Crossley could have procured him so admirable a mount. " He has never left the stable, sir," said Billy, as he held the stirrup ■iiimself — " he has never left the stable for ten days, but he has wind enough to carry you two and twenty miles within the hour, if 3'ou were put to it." "And if I were, Billy," said Mark, for a sudden thought just flashed across him — " if I were, and if I should not bring hlni back to you, his price is — " I wouldn't take a hundred guineas for him from any man living, save Mr. Talbot himself; but if it were a question of saving him from danger, or any man he deems his friend, then, then, sir, I tell you fairly, Billy Crossley isn't so poor a man, but he can afford to do a generous thino". Take him. I see vou know how to sit on him : use him well and tenderly, keep him until you find the time to give him back, and now a good journey to you wherever you go ; and go quickly, whispered THK o'uoxofJHir. 281 Billy, for I sec two follows at the gate who appear listening attentively to our conversatioji. " Take that in any case as a pledge," said Mark, as he pitched a purse, containing ahove a luuidred pounds in gold, towards Oossley, and before the other could interpose to restore it, Mark had dashed his spurs into the beast's flanks, and in another minute was hastening down Thonias-strect. Mark had not proceeded far when he slackened his pace to a walk — he remembered that it was yet two hours before the time, and with the old spirit of a horseman, he Imsbanded the qualities of the noble ani- mal he bestrode. Whether it was, that as the moment approached which should solve some of the many ditticulties that beset him, or that the free air of the morning, and the pleasure he felt on being once more in the saddle, had rallied his mind and raised his courage, I know not, but so it was ; Mark's spirits grew each instant lighter, and he rode along revolving other ones, if not hapj)ior thoughts, such as were at least in a frame more befitting his youth and the bold heart that beat within his bosom. The streets were deserted, the great city was sleeping, the thoroughfares he had seen crowded with brilliant equipages and hurrying masses of foot passengers, were still and vacant ; and • as ^lark turned from side to side to gaze on the stately public edifices now sleeping in their own sha- dows, he thought of the dreadful conflict which, ])crchance, it might be his own lot to lead in that same city — he thought of the wild shout of the insurgent masses, as with long-})eut-up, but now loosened fury they poured into the devoted streets — he fancied the swelling clangour which denoted the approach of troops, ringing through the various approaches, and the clattering sounds of distant musketry as post after post in dif- ferent parts of the town was assailed. He halted before the Castle gate, where a single dragoon sat motionless in his saddle, his carbine at rest beneath his long cloak, the very emblem of peaceful security, and as Mark gazed on him, his lip curled with an insolent sneer as he thought over the false security of those within ; and that proud banner whose lazy folds scarce moved with the breath of morning, " How soon may we see a national flag replace it ?" — were the words he mut- tered, as he resumed his^way as slowly as before. A few minutes after brought him in front of the College. All was still silent in that vast area, along which at noon-day the wealth and the life of the city poured. A single figure here appeared, a poor miserable object in tat- tered black> who was occupied in affixing a placard on the front of the Post-oftice. ^lark stopped to watch him — there seemed something sad and miserable in the lot of this one poor creature, singled out as it 282 '^HE o'donoghue. were to labour while others were sunk in sleep. He drew near, and as the paper was unfolded before him, read, in large letters, the words " Capital Felony — ^500 Reward" — and then followed a description of John Barrington, which in every particular of height, age, look, and gesture, seemed perfectly applicable to Talbot. " Then, sorra one of me but would rather be tearing you down than putting you up," said the bill-sticker, as with his arms folded leisurely on his breast, and his ragged hat set sideways on his head, he apostro- phized his handiwork. " And why so, my good fellow," said Mark, replying to the words. He turned round rapidly, and pulling off his hat, exclaimed, in an ac- cent of unfeigned delight — •" Tear-an-ages, captain, is it yourself? Och ! och ! no," added he, in a tone of as great despondency — *' it is the black horse that deceived me. I beg your honor's pardon." " And you know this horse," said Mark, with some anxiety of man- ner. The bill-sticker made no answer, but carefully surveyed Mark, for a few moments from head to foot, and then, as if not perfectly satisfied •with the result of his scrutiny, he slowly resumed the implements of his trade, and prepared to move on. " Stop a moment," said Mark, " I know what you mean, this horse belonged to " and he pointed with his whip to the name on the placard. Don't be afraid of me, then, for I am his friend, perhaps the nearest friend he has in the world." "Av you were his brother, you don't like him better than I do myself. I'll never forget the night he got his head laid open for me on the bridge thei'e beyant. The polls wanted to take me vip for a bit of a ballad I was singing about IMajor Sirr, and they were hauling me along through the gutter, and kicking me at every step, when up comes the captain, and he sent one flying here, and the other flying there, and he tripped up the chief, calling out to me the whole time, ' Run for it, Dinny — run for it like a man ; I'll give you five minutes fair start of them any way.' And he kept his word, though one of them cut his forehead clean down to the bone ; and here I am now sticking up a reward to take him, God pardon me" — and the poor fellow uttered the last words in a voice of self-reproach, that actually brought the tears into his eyes. Mark threw him a crown, and pressed on once more ; but somehow the convictions which resisted, before, were now shaken by this chance meeting. The recognition of the horse at once identified Talbot with Barrington, and although Mark rejected altogether any thought which THE o'donogbue. 283 impugned the honour of his friend, he felt obliged to believe that, for some object of intrigue, Talbot had assumed the name and character of this celebrated personage. The very fact of his rescuing the bill- sticker strengthened this impression. Such an act seemed to Mark far more in unison with the veayward recklessness of Talbot's character, than with the bearing of a man who might thus expose himself to capture. With the subtlety which the will supphes to furnish argu- ments for its own conviction, Mark fancied how readily Talbot might have made this personation of Barrington a master-stroke of policy, and while thus he rumniatcd, he reached the sea shore, and could see before him that long bleak track of sand, which, uncovered save at high tide, is called " the Bull." This was the spot appointed for the meeting, and, although now within half an hour of the time, no figure was seen upon its bleak surface. Mark rode on, and crossing the narrow channel of water which separates *' the Bull" from the main-land, reached the place over which, for above two miles in extent, his eye could range freely. Still no one was to be seen ; the light ripple of the ebbing tide was the only sound in the stillness of the morning ; there was a calmness over the surface of the sea, on which the morning sunbeams were slanting faintly, and glitte.ring like freckled gold, wherever some passing breeze or shore-current stirred the waters. One solitary vessel could be seen, and she, a small schooner, with all her canvas bent, seemed scarcely to move. Mark watched her, as one watches any object which relieves the dreariness of waiting, he gazed on her tall spars and white sails reflected in the sea, when suddenly a bright flash burst from her side, a light- blue smoke, followed by a booming sound, rolled forth, and a shot was seen skimming the surface of the water, for above a mile in her wake ; the next moment a flag was run up to her peak, when it fluttered for a moment and was then lowered again. Mark's experience of a smug- gling life taught him at once to recognize these signs as signals, and he turned his gaze towards the land to discover to whom they were made ; but although for miles long the coast lay beneath his view, he could see nothing that corresponded with this suspicion. A single figure on horseback was all that he could detect, and he was too far off to observe minutely. Once more Mark turned towards the ship, which now was feeling a fresher breeze and beginning to bend beneath it. The white curl that broke from her bow, and rushed foaming along her sides, showed that she was making way through the water, not as it seemed without the will of those on board, for as the wind freshened they shook out their mainsail more fully, and continued at every moment to 284 THE o'donoghxj]:. spread sail after sail. The hollow tramp of a horse's feet galloping on the strand made Mark turn quickly round, and he saw the rider, whom he had observed before, bending his course directly towards him. Supposing it must be Talbot, Mark turned to meet him, and the horse- man, who never slackened his speed, came quickly within view, and discovered the features of Frederick Travers. He was unaccompanied by friend or senaut, and seemed, from the condition of his horse, to have ridden at the top of his speed. Before Mark could think of what apology he should make for, or how explain Talbot's absence, Travers addressed him " I half feared that it might not be you, Mr. O'Donoghue," said he, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, for he seemed no less exhausted than his horse. " I'm alone, sir," said Mark ; " and were you not unaccompanied by a friend, I should feel the difficulty of my present position more severely." " I know — I am aware," said Travers, hurriedly, " your friend is gone. I heard it but an hour since ; you, in all likelihood, were not aware of the fact, till you saw the signal yonder." " What !— Talbot's signal I Was that his ?" " Talbot, or Barrington," said Travers, smiUng ; "perhaps we should better call him by the name he is best known by." " And do you concur in the sUly notion that confounds Harry Talbot with a highwayman ?" said Mark, sternly. " I fear," said Travers, " that in doing so I but follow the impression of all the world. It was not the least clever thing he has ever done, his deception of you. Be assured, Mr. O'Donoghue, that the matter admits of no doubt. The warrant for his apprehension, the informa- tions sworn against him, are not only plain and precise, but I have myself read certain facts of his intimacy with you, the places you have frequented, the objects for which, it is alleged, you were con- federated — all these are at this moment in the hands of the Secretary of State. Forgive me, sir, if I tell you that you appear to have trusted too implicitly to men who were not guided by your own principles of honour. This very day a warrant for your own arrest will be issued from the Privy Council, on the information of a man whom, I believe, you never suspected. He is a horsedealer named Lawler — Lanty Lawler." " And he has sworn informations against me ?" ** lie has done more ; he has produced letters written by your hand, lui; o'donoghuk. 285 and addressed to different leaders of the United Irish party, letters whose treasonable contents do not admit of a donht. "And the scoundrel has my letters?" said Mark, as liis face grew purple with passion. " lie has them no longer," said Travcrs. " Here they are, sir. They were shown in confidence to my father, by one, who certainly is not your friend. Sir Marmaduke asked permission to let nie see them, and I have taken on myself, without permission, to give them Ijack to you." " At whose suggestion," said Mark, proudly, " comes this act of grace ? Is it your father, who extends his protection to a tenant, or is it yourself, whose wish is to humble me by an obligation ?" " There is none," said Travers, frankly. " I believe, that scoundrels without heart or courage have laid a trap for a man who has both one and the other. I do not desire you should accept my conduct as a favour, still less as offering any bar to such a reckoning between us as two gentleman of equal place and standing may demand or expect from one another." " Say you so, indeed !" cried Mark, as his eyes flashed with joy : " is that your meaning?" "There's my hand on it," said Travers, "as fiiend or foe !" Mark grasped his hand, and wrung it with a convulsive pressure. " Then you are aware that you owe me such a reparation," said he, in a voice tremulous with emotion. "You do not forget the day at Carrig-na-curra — beside the hearth — before my brother ?" " I remember it well," said Travers. " I ask your pardon for the insult. It was unworthy of me to have made the spceeb, nor have I been on good terms with myself since I uttered it." Mark dropped his head, and uttered not a word. He could better have looked on Travers wounded and bleeding than have seen him thus elevated above himself by temper and manly candour. The vengeance he had yearned after so long was not only snatched from his grasp, but in the bitterness of disappointment its sting was turned against himself. "This would be an unworthy cause of quarrel," said Travers ; "one of which I could not but feel ashamed, and wherein you could have no pride. If we are not to be friends — and I seek no man's friendship who is not as willing to accept of mine — if we are not to be friends, let our enmity be ratified on some better cause — we surely can have little difficulty in finding one." Mark nodded assentingly, and Travers resumed — " There is something still more pressing tliau this. iMy father will 286 THE O DONOGIIXJE, be able to defer the issue of the warrant against you for three days, when the Privy Council will again be summoned together. Until that time you are safe. Make good use of it, therefore. Leave the capital — reach some place of security ; and, after some time, when the excite- ment of the affair has passed away -" " By a due expression of sorrow and penitence, I might be fortunate enough to obtain the King's pardon. You were about to say so much. Is't not so ?" "Not exactly," said Frederick, smiling; "but now that the Govern- ment are in possession of the secret details of this plot, and thoroughly aware of the men engaged in it, and what their objects are, to persist in it, would be hopeless folly. Beheve me, the chances were never in your favour, and at present you have not a single one left. For your sake, Mr. O'Donoghue, this is most fortunate. The courage that would seem madness in a hopeless cause, will win you fame and honour where the prospects are fairer. There is a new world beyond the seas, where men of hardy minds and enterprising spirits achieve rank and fortune — in India, where war has all the features of chivalry, where personal daring and heroism are surer roads to distinction than influence and patronage ; no prize will be too high for your aspirations." Mark was silent, and Travers conjecturing that his words were sink- ing into his heart with a persuasive power, went on to repicture the ad- venturous life which should open to him, if he would consent to leave his country, and seek fortune beyond the seas. As he continued to speak, they rode along side by side, and at last came to that part of the shore, where a road branched off. Here Mark suddenly drew up, and said — " I must say good-bye here, Mr. Travers. My path will lie this way for the present. Do not suspect me of want of feeling because I have not thanked you for the part you have taken ; but in truth you have averted the evil from one whose life has nothing worth living for. You have saved me from a danger, but I am without a hope. Betrayed and cheated by those I trusted, I have little care for the future, because I have no confidence in any thing. Nay, nay — don't speak of that again. I will not go to India — I will not accept of favours from a country that has been the enemy of my own. The epaulette which i/ou wear with honour, would be a badge of disgrace upon my shoulder. Good-bye, I can afford to thank you, because you have not made a service take the form of an ' amende.' " Travers forbore to press him further. He wisely judged that enough had been done for the present, and that his safety being provided for, THE O DONOCnUE. 287 time and oppoTrunity would both present themselves for the remainder. He shook his proffered hand with cordiality, and they separated, Fre- derick to return to Dublin, Mark to wander wherever cliance might incline him. " He said truly," exclaimed Mark, as soon as he once more found him- self separated from his companion — " he said truly, the chances were never in our favour, and at presentwe have not a single one left. The cause which depends on such elements as these is worse than hopeless." Such were the words that broke from him, as, in sorrow and humiliation, he remembered the character of his associates, and felt, in deep shame, the companionship he had fallen into. " Had there been but one true (o me !" exclaimed he, in accents of misery, " I could have stood against the shock, stout hearted ; but to find all false — all !" Seeking out some of the least frequented lanes, he rode on for several miles, caring little which way, so long as he turned from the capital ; — for although as yet no personal danger threatened him, a nervous sense of shame made him dread the sight of his former acquaintances. Again and again did the thought recur to him : " How will Kate hear me spoken of? In what light will my actions be displayed to her ? Is it as the miserable dupe of such a wretch as Lawler, or is it as the friend and chosen companion of Barrington, I would be known ? And yet, what have I to fear, to whom no hope is left !" Among the many sources of his sorrow, one recurred at every mo- ment, and mingled itself with every other thought : " What would their noble-hearted friends in France say of them ? — how would they speak of a land whose struggle for freedom is stained with treachery, or which cannot number in the ranks of its defenders but the felon or the outlaw .'" For the deceit practised on the people he felt bitterly. He knew with what devotedness they followed the cause — the privations . they had borne in silence, awaiting the time of retribution — how they had for- borne all ebullitions of momentary passion, in expectation of the day of a greater reckoning — with what trust they obeyed their leaders — how im- plicitly they confided in every direction given for their guidance. Can patriotism like this survive such a trial ? Will they ever believe in the words of their chief again ? — were questions which his heart answered despondingly. The day wore over in these sad musings, and by evening, Mark, who had made a wide circuit of the country, arrived at the village of Lucan, where he passed the night. As day was breaking, he was again on the road, directing his steps towards Wicklow, where in the wild district near Blessington, he had acquaintance with several farmers, all sincerely 288 TiiK o'donoghue. devoted to the " United party." It was as much to rescue his own cha- racter from any false imputations that might be cast on it, as from any hope of learning favourable tidings, that he turned hither. The moun- tain country, too, promised security for the present, and left him time to think what course he should follow. Mark did. not miscalculate the good feeling of the people in this quarter. No success, however triumphant, would have made him one half so popular as his disasters had done. That he had been betrayed, was an appeal stronger than all others to their best affections ; and had the deliverance of Ireland depended on his safety, there could not have been greater efforts to provide for it, nor more heartfelt solicitude for his own comfort. He found, too, that the treachery of individuals did not shake general confidence in the success of the plot, so much hope had they of French assistance and co-operation. These expectations were often exaggerated, because the victories of the French armies had been represented as triumphs against which no opposition availed ; but they served to keep up national courage ; and the theme of all their discourses and their ballads was the same : " The French will do us right." If Mark did not fully concur in the expectations so confidently formed, he was equally far from feeling disposed to throw any damper on them ; and at length, as by daily intercourse these hopes became familiarized to his mind, he ended by a partial belief in that future to which all still looked, undismayed by past reverses : and in this way time rolled on, and the embers of rebelUon died not out, but smouldered. THE o'dondghue. 289 CUAPTER XXXV T II i: \v A N I) F. n i: R s R i: r u r n- It was about two months aftLM* the events detailed in the hist chapter, oa the evening of a bright day m midsummer, that a sohtary traveller was seen descending one of the mountain-passes which lead from ^lacroom to Glengariff, and wliich were only known to those well acquainted with the place. lie led his horse by the bridle, for the ground did not admit of riding ; but were it otherwise, the beast showed too many signs of a hard journey not to make the course advisable, and in this respect both horse and rider well agreed. The man, though young and ath- letic, was emaciated and weary-looking. His clothes, once good, seemed neglected ; and his beard, unshaven and uncared for, gave an air of sa- vage ferocity to a face pale and care-worn, Avhile his horse, with as many evidences of better days, exhibited unquestionable signs of fatigue and bad-feeding. The path by which he descended was the cleft worn by a mountain-torrent, a rough and rugged road, with many spots of diffi- culty and danger, but neither these nor the scene which unfolded itself in the glen beneath, attracted any share of his attention ; and yet few scenes were fairer to look upon. The sun was just setting, and its last glories were lighting up the purple tints upon the mountains, and shed- ding a flood of golden hue over lake and river. The bright yellow of the furze, and the gay colours of the foxglove contrasted with the stern grandeur of the dark rocks, while in the abundance of wild holly and arbutus which grew from even the most precipitous places, the scene had a character of seeming cultivation to an eye unpractised to the fo- liage of this lovely valley. The traveller, who, for above an hour, had pursued his way, treading with the skill of a mountaineer over places where a false step might have perilled life, and guiding his horse with a caution that seemed an instinct, so little of his attention did it exact, at last halted, and, leaning his arm over his saddle, stood for some time in contemplation of the picture. Trom the sjjot on which he stood, one solitary cabin was discernible on the side of the road that wound through the valley, and from whose chimney a thin blue smoke slowly curled, and floated along the mountain side. On this little haljita- tion the traveller's eyes were flxcdly bent, until their gaze was dimmed by a passing emotion. He drew his hand roughly over his face, as if angry u 290 ■ THE o'donoghue. at bis own weakness, and was about to proceed on bis way, wben a sbrill wbistle from a cliff above bis bead arrested his step. It was a mountain recognition be well knew, and was about to reply to, wben suddenly, witb a bounding speed tbat seemed perilous in sucb a place, a creature clad in tbe most tattered rags, but witb naked legs and bare bead, came springing towards bim. " I knew you from tbe top of Goorbaun dbub — T knew you well. Master INIark. Tbere's not manj^ Avitb a good coat on tbeir back could venture over tbe way you came, and I said to myself it was you," cried Terry tbe "Woods, as with his pale features lit up in smiles, he wel- comed tbe young O'Donoghue to bis native bills. " How are they all yonder ?" asked ]\Iark, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, pointing witb his finger up tbe glen in the direction of Carr rig-na-curra, but which was not visible from where they tvere. " I saw^ the master yesterday," replied Terry, who applied to the O'Donoghue the respected title by which he was known in bis own household. " He Avas sitting on a big chair at the window, and tbe young girl wath the black e3'es was reading to him out of a book — but sorra much he was mindin' it, for wben be seen me be beckoned this way, and says he, 'Terry, you villain, why don't you ever come up here now and talk to me V * Faix,' says I, ' I haven't the heart to do it. Since Master Mark was gone, I didn't like the place,' and the master wiped his eyes, and tbe young girl made a sign to me not to speak about that any more." "And who is at 'the Lodge' now ?" asked Mark, endeavouring tore- strain any semblance of emotion, even before Terry. "Tbere's nobody but the agent. The family is over in England till the bouse is ready for them. Ob, then, but you'll wonder to see the illigant place it is now, wid towers and spires all over it — the ground all gardens, witb grass walks as fine as a carpet, and tbe beautifullest flowers growin' against tbe walls and up against the windows, and a fountain, as they call it, of cool water spouting up in tbe air, and com- ing down like rain." " And my brother — where is be ?" " He's over in England witb the family from ' the Lodge ;' the black- eyed girl, Miss Kate, wouldn't go. They say — but there's no knowing if it's true — they say she likes Hemsworth better than the Captain — and troth, if she does, its a dbroll choice." " Like Hemsworth ! Do they say that my cousin likes Hems- worth?" said Mark, whose anger was only kept down by gazing on the tranquil features of the poor witless object before him. THi: o'donoghttk. 2^)1 "They do," said Terry quietly, "and it's razoiiiible, too, scein' tliat he's never out of the house from morning till night." " What house ? — where do you mean '!" " What house hut Carrig-na-curra — your father's liouse." Mark passed his hand across liis forehead, and over his closed eyelids, and for a second or two seemed trying to dispel some horrible vision, for deep-rooted as was his jealousy of Frederick Travers, his most gloomy forebodings had never conjured up the thought of such a rival .is Ilemsworth, nor did he now credit it. His indignation was, however, scarcely less to think that this man should now be received on terms of intimacy, perhaps of friendship, by those he so long pursued with insult and oppression. He paid no attention to Terry, as he continued to narrate the changes cfiFectcd in his absence, and the various surmises current among the people to account for his long absence, when at length they approached the high road that led up tlie valley. Here Terry halted, and, pointing in the direction of Mary's cabin, about half a mile distant, said — " I can't go any further with you. I dar'n't go there." " And why not, my poor fellow?" said Mark, compassionately, for the terror depicted in his face too plainly indicated the return of some hallucination. " They're tliere, now," said Terry, in a faint whisper, "watchhig for me. They're five weeks waiting to catch me, but if I keep in the mountains I needn't care." "And who are they, Terry?" " The soldiers," said Terry, trembling all over. " I ran away from them, and they want to shoot me for desarting." "And there are soldiers quartered at Mary's now ?" " Ay, and at Macroom, and at Bantry, and Kinsale — they have them all round us ; but devil a one o' me cares ; so long as they keep to the towns, I'll never trouble them.'" " And how does poor Mary bear it ?" said Mark. " Bad enough, I hear, for nobody ever goes into the house at all, since she had the red-coats, and there she's pining away every dav ; but I must be going. I'll come down and see you soon, ]Master Mark, and I hope you won't lave us in a hurry again." Terry did not wait for any rejoinder to this speech, but with the agility of his wild lit'e, sprung lightly up the mountain, from whence his voice was heard gailv carol- hng as he went, long afterwards. Mark looked after him for a few moments, and probably amid the compas.sionate feelings with which he regarded the poor creature, there 292 THK o'donoghue. were mingled others of actual envy, so light-hearted and happy did be seem amidst all his poverty. " I could even change with him," said Mark, aloud, and then, as if he had unburdened his heart of its weary load, he resumed his ■way. The grey twilight was fast merging into night, as he approached the little inn, nor was it without emotion that he watched the light that streamed from the windows across the road. Many an evening of his hapjiy boyhood had been passed beside that humble hearth — many a thrilling tale and many a merry story had he listened to, there. Beneath that roof it was he first imbibed the j)roud thoughts of his house and family, and learned to know the estimation in which men held his name. It was there he first felt the spirit of chieftahiship, and there, too, he had first devoted himself to the cause of his country. Alas ! these were but sad memories, how he had lived to find himself deceived, by every one he had trusted ; falsehood and treachery in so many shapes surrounded him, that it needed only the extinction of hope to make him feel his life a weary and unprofitable load. He stood for a few seconds before the door, and listened with an indignant spirit to the coarse re- velry of the soldiers who caroused within. Their very laughter smote upon his ear like derision, and he turned away from the spot, angry and impatient. Some vague resolve to return home and take a last farewell of his father, was the only plan he could fix on ; whither, afterwards, or how, he knew not, nor did he care. Like most men who attribute their failures in life to evil destinies that sway them, and not to their own faults and follies, his fatalism urged him to a recklessness of the future, and in place of hope there sprung up in his heart a strange feeling of wonder to think, what trials and straits fortune might yet have in store for him. He often deliberated with himself how he should meet, and how part with his father — whether acknowledge that he knew the secret of the deceit that had been practised upon him, or whether ho should conceal that knowledge within his own bosom. To do the latter was his final resolve. To spare the old man the added misery of know- ing that his son had detected his criminality, was the suggestion of his better and purer feeling, and even though his leaving him should thus be wanting in the only excuse he could proffer, he preferred this to the misery another course would entail. At last he reached the old gatewa}', and often as it had been his lot to bring beneath its shadow a heavy and sorrow-struck heart, never had he passed it so deeply depressed as now. "Come on, good beast," he said, patting the wearied horse, "you -^: &^^^i^ /t3^/fM<' ♦ THH o'doxoghic. 293 shall have rest here, and that," said he, with a sigh, " tliat, is more than I can promise to myself." A\'ith these sad words he toiled up the steep ascent, and gained the terrace in front of the Castle. There were lights burning in the old tower and in the hall, but all the rest of the building was in darkness. The door lay open, and as Mark stood within it, he could hear the mel- low sounds of a harp which came floating softly through the long-vaulted corridor, blended with a voice that stirred the fibres of his strong heart, and made him tremble like a child. " Why should I not linger here.'"' thought he ; "why not stay and listen to these sweet sounds ? I shall never hear them more I"' and he stood and bent his ear to drink them in, and stirred not until they ceased. The last chord had died away in silence — then liastily fasten- ing his horse to the door-ring, he entered the long passage unnoticed by any, and reached the door. The sound of voices, as of persons talking pleasantly together, struck harshly on his ear, and the loud laughter that burst forth grated strangely on his senses. " Thev have little sorrow for the outcast — that is certain," said he, as, with a swelling heart and proud step, he opened the door and entered. This part of the room lay in deep shadow, and while Mark could dis- tinctly perceive the others, they could but dimly discern the outline of his figure, without being able to recognize him. His father and Sir Archv were seated, as of old, on either side of the chimney ; Kate was leaning over her harp, which she had just ceased to play ; while seated near her, and bending forward in an attitude of eager attention, was Hemsworth himself, the man of all others he least wished to see at such a moment. " Who is that ?" cried the O'Douoghue, "v.ho is standing yonder?" and they all turned their eyes towards the door. "Why don't you speak?" continued the old man. "Have you any tidings from my son ? — is it news of Mark you bring me ?" " Even so sir," responded the other, as he slowly advanced into the strong light, his arms folded upon his breast, and his brow stern and contracted. '• ^lark ! — my boy! my child!"' cried the old man, springing from his chair, and, with a strength that seemed at once to defv age and in- firmity, rushed towards him, and threw his arms about him. " He's here — he's with us once more !" said he, in accents half choked by sobs — " my son ! my hope ! my pride !" — and while the old man poured forth these words of happiness, the young one stood pale, cold, and 294 THK o'donoghuk. seemingly apathetic. His eyes bent ou vacancy, and his features devoid of all expression of passion, he turned from Sir Archy, who grasped one hand, and looked at Kate, who held the other between hers, but in his gaze there was rather the look of one suddenly recalled to conscious- ness out of some long-fevered sleep, than the healthful aspect of waking life. "You are not ill, Mark — you're only fatigued," said Kate, as a tear slowly trickled down her cheek, and fell upon his hand. INIark started as he f^lt the drop, and looked at her with a searching glance, then turned his eyes towards Hemsworth, and back again to her, and for the first time a stern and scornful smile curled upon his lip. Kate seemed to read the glance, and returned it with a look, proud and haughty as his own, while dropping his hand, she walked towards her chair without speaking. " "We maun let him hae a bit supper as soon as may be," said Sir Archy, whose practical good sense saw how much bodily fatigue in- fluenced the youth's demeanour. " Supper !" said the O'Donoghue ; " ay, faith, every bottle in the cellar would be too little to celebrate the boy's return. Ring that bell, Archy. Where is Kerry ? What are the people doing not to know that their young master is here ?" " At another moment, I should beg that Mr. O'Donoghue might re- member me," said Hemsworth, with a deferential bow. " And I hope the time is coming when I maj' be permitted to renew my acquaintance ; — for the present, I feel how unsuited the presence of a stranger is, on an occasion like this, and cannot better show how deeply I appreciate your feeling than by taking my leave." So saying, he courteously saluted the O'Donoghue, Sir Archy, and Kate ; while, turning to Mark, he proffered his hand, as he said — *' Pray, sir, let the occasion excuse the liberty, and permit me to add my welcome also.". " You do the honours of this house too early, sir," was Mark's sa- vage reply, while he folded his arms upon his breast, and measured Hemsworth with a glance of withering scorn. " I'm beneath my father's roof. It is not for a stranger to bid me welcome here." Hemsworth smiled, and nuittered some words in mild acquiescence, their tone and accent were apologetic, and the manner in which he spoke them humble even to humility. When they were uttered, he bowed deeply, and with a look towards the others that seemed to indi- cate the absence of any feeling of offence, withdrew. THE o'DONOUUfE. 21»6 "You are unco severe ou Maister lleuisworth, Mark," said Sir Archy, gravely. " If his politeness wasna altogether correct, it was weel intended." " Mark was all right, whatever he said," cried the old man, exult- ingly. "Egad, I'll not dispute with the hoy to-night, if he thought proper to throw the fellow out of the window." " I am sorry my rudeness should have offended others," said Mark, with a sidelong glance at Kate. " As for Mr. llemsworth, we under- stand each other. He neither thinksbetter nor worse of me than he did before." "D n Hemsworth !" said the O'Donoghue ; "why are we talk- ing of him at all ? Sit down beside me, j\Iark. Let me see you again, my boy, in your old place. Give me your hand, and let me think that my three months of fretting have only been a dream." " Would it had been a dream to me," said Mark, with a deep sigh, as he seated himself beside the old man. " Come, come, Mark," said Sir Archy, " Ye hae often laughed at my Scotch adage about ' byganes,' let me have my revenge now by applying it to your own fortunes." " So, you have come at last," cried the O'Donoghue, as Kerry O'Leary at length made his appearance at the duor. " Is Master Mark to go supperless to bed " " Master Mark," shouted Kerry, '* Oh, murther alive, and is it him- self that's in it. Oh, blessed hour, but I'm glad to see you home again, and your honor looking so well and hearty. Maybe we wont have bon- fires over the hills, when the boys hear it." " The supper, the supper. Confound the fellow, the boy is famished, and the rascal stands prating there about bonfires." " My horse is far more in need of care than I am," said Mark, sud- denly, remembering the wearied animal he left fastened to the door. **I must look to the poor beast before I take anything myself;" and so saying he left the room, none wishing to gainsay anything he desired to do. " Poor fellow," said the O'Donoghue, " how pale and careworn he looks — he appears to have sufi'ered heavily." "Depend upon it," said Sir Archy, gravely, "the lad has learned much since we saw him last. I'diuna niislike the look his features have, although it be one of sorrow. What says Kate ?" No answer followed this appeal, but the young girl turned away her head, and afi^ected to assist in arranging the table. " Mind, Archy," said the O'Donoghue, eagerly, "remember, not a 296 THE o'DONOGHtJE. word about his absence, no questioning whatever — the boy has gone through too many troubles already to bear the penal tj' of relating them. Take care, too, that there be no allusion to Hcmsworth, Mark does not yet know the friendly part he has taken, and only knows him as we used to think and speak of him of old — but hush, here he comes." When Mark re-entered the room, he seemed at least easier, if not happier, than before. The cloud that Hemsworth's presence threw over him had passed away, and he felt anxious to show himself in more favourable colours than his first appearance had displayed. "While, therefore, he did his utmost to repay to his father and uncle, the kind and affectionate greetings by which they met him — to his cousin Kate he was either sternly distant, or totally indifferent in manner ; and when at last, repulsed in many efforts to attract his notice, she arose to retire for the night, he took a formal leave of her, and seemed relieved by her departure. This was not remarked by the O'Donoghue ; but Sir Archy vvas a shrewd observer, and noted the circumstance with displeasure ; still, too careful of consequences to show that he had observed it, he reserved his interference for another and more favourable moment, and soon, afterwards, wished them good night, and left the room. " It is time for me to go also," said Mark, as, after a silence of some moments, he arose, and lighted a candle. " I have not been accustomed to a good bed latterly, and I feel that one sound night's sleep is due to me. " But for that, Mark, I could not part with you just yet. I have so much to say, so much to hear from you. There have been many things during your absence I must tell you of," "And first of all," said Mark, rapidly, "How comes that man, Hemsworth, so intimate here ? What claim has he to darken our door with his presence ?" " The strong claim of true friendship," said the old man, firmly, "a claim I have not met so much of in life, that I can afford to undervalue it when it does present itself. But for him, the ejectment would have been sued out last assizes — he saved us also from a foreclosure of Drake's mortgage — advanced me five thousand jjounds upon my own bond, Archy being a co-surety, which you well know was a matter of form. This, besides saving us from any proceedings the Travers' might have taken, in revenge for their own disappointment about Kate " " Speak more plainly, I beg you, sir, and above all, please to remem- ber that I am ignorant of everything you allude to. What of Kate ?" " Oh, I forgot you were not with us then. It was a proposal of mar- riage. Young Travers made your cousin a brilliant offer, as far as THE o'donoghue, 297 money was concerned, which Kate refused. There was some nego- ciation about leaving the thing open. Something aljout tlie future — I forget exactly what — but I only know she was ]HMeinj)tory and decided, as she always is, and wrote to me to take her home. Archy went up for her to Dublin, and the Travers' soon after left Ireland in high indignation with us, and determined, as we soon found, to let us feel their enmity. Then it was that we learned to appreciate Ilenisworth, whom all along we had so completely mistaken, and indeed, but for him, we should never have heard of you." " Of me. What did he know of me V *' Everything, Mark — all" — said the old man, in a low whisper, as he stole a prying glance through the room to satisfy himself that they were not overheard. " Once more, sir, speak out, and intelligibly — say what this man seemed to know of me?" " He knew Talbot — Barrington rather" — said the O'Donoghue, in a low voice — " knew of your intercourse with him — knew of the plot that fellow laid to entangle you in his schemes — knew all about the robbery at the Curragh, and saved you, without your knowing it, from being there. But for him, Mark, your name would have figured in the " Ilue-and-Cry." A reward for your apprehension was actually deli- berated at the Privy Couucil. Hemsworth rescued you from this " " The scoundrel — the base, black-hearted villain," exclaimed Mark, " did he dare to speak thus of me ?" " You mistake, Mark, he never said you were culpable — he only de- plored the fatal accident of your intimacy witii Barrington — a man twice convicted and sentenced — that in company with this man you frequented certain houses of high play, where more than one large robbery was effected. Then came the Castle ball — was it not true that vou went there ? "Well, the diamond snuff-box stolen from Lord Clan- goft", at the card table " " Hell and confusion, you will drive me mad," cried Mark, stamping his foot with passion. " This infernal mixture of truth and falsehood ^— this half fact and all lying statement is more than my brain can bear. What does this scoundrel mean — is it that I am guilty of a robbery ?" ''Heaven forbid, boy, but thjxt you lived on terms of closest friend- ship with one branded as a felon, and that information of your inti- macy with him was obtained by the police, who, for political reasons — you are aware of what I mean — would strain a point to have caught you within their grasp. There were letters too, Mark, written by you, 298 THE o'donoghue. and of such a character as would, if proved against you, have cost your life ; these, Hemsworth, by some means, obtained and destroyed." " Ah, did he so," cried Mark, eagerly, for now a sudden light broke in upon him of the game that Hemsworth had played, "and so, he burned my letters ?" " You know now, then, something of the services he rendered you," said the old man, who began at last to be satisfied that his conviction was coming home to Mark's mind. " I do," repUed he, calmly, " I belike that I can appreciate his kindness, and I believe also I may promise that I shall not prove un- grateful — and Kate, sir, what said she to those revelations concerning me ?" " What we all said, Mark, that nothing dishonourable would ever lie at your door — there might be rashness, imprudence, and folly, but guilt or dishonour never." " And my uncle, he is generally a shrewd and cautious judge — what was his opinion ?" " Faith it is hard to say, Mark, but I think with all his affected freedom from prejudice, he nourishes his old notions about Hemsworth as strong as ever, and persists in thinking the Travers' family every- thing amiable and high-minded , indeed, he forced me to let Herbert accompany them to England, for 1 let . him take the boy into his own hands, and so, as the invitation had been made and accepted before Kate had refused the Captain's offer, I thought it would look better even to suffer matters to take their course quietly, as if nothing had happened." " It was well done," said Mark, assentingly, " and now I have heard enough to dream over for one night at least, and so I'll to bed." "Remember, Mark," said the ODonoghue, grasping his son's arm, "remember I am solemnly pledged to Hemsworth never to tell you anything of these matters — it was a promise he exacted from me — I rely upon you, Mark, not to betray me." " My discretion is above price, sir," said Mark, smiUng dubiously, and left the room. THK o'dONOGHUE. -fV CHAPTER XXXVI. '■'suspicions on K V E R V SIDE." Early on the following morning Mark O'Donoughue was on his way to " the Lodge." To see Hemsworth, and dare him to a jji-oof of his assertions regarding him, or provoke him, if possible, to a quarrel, were his waking thoughts throughout the night, and not even all his weari- ness and exhaustion could induce sleep. He did not, indeed, know tlie full depth of the treachery practised against him ; but in what he had discovered there were circumstances that portended a well-planned and systematic scheme of villainy. The more Mark reflected on these things, the more he saw the importance of proceeding with a certain caution. Hemsworth's position at Carrig-na-curra, the advances he had made in his father's esteem, the place he seemed to occupy in Kate's good graces, were such that any altercation which should not succeed in unmasking the infamy of his conduct, would oidy be regarded as a burst of boyish intemperance and passioa ; and although Mark was still but too much under the influence of such motives, he was yet far less so than formerly ; besides, to fix a duel on Hemsworth might be taken as the consequences of a sense of rivalry on his part, and anger that his cousin had preferred him to himself. This thought was intolerable ; the great effort he proposed to his heart, was to eradicate every senti- ment of affection for his cousin, and every feeling of interest. To be able to regard her as one whose destiny had never crossed with his own — to do this, was now become a question of self-esteem and pride. To return her indifference as haughtily as she bestowed it, was a duty he thought he owed to himself, and therefore he shrunk from anything which should have the faintest semblance of avenging his own defeat. Such were some of the difficulties of his present position, and he thought over them long and patiently, weighing well the consequences each mode of acting might entail, and deliberating with himself as to what course he should follow. His first resolve, then, which was to fasten a hostile meeting upon Hemsworth, was changed for what seemed a better line of procedure — which was simply to sec that gentleman, to demand an explanation of the statements he had made concerning him, calling upon him to retract whenever anything unfounded occurred, and re- quiring him to acknowledge that he had given a colouring and semblance to his conduct at total variance with fact. By this means, Mark calcu- 300 THE o'donoghue. lated on the low position to which Hemsworth would be reduced in Kate's estimation, the subterfuges and excuses he would be forced to adopt, — all the miserable expedients to gloss over his falsehood, and all the cchitemptible straits to conceal his true motives. To exhibit him in this light before Kate's eyes, she whose high sense of honour never brooked the slightest act that savoured of mere expediency, would be a far more ample revenge than any which should follow a personal rencontre. " She shall see him in his true colours," muttered he to himself, as he went along ; " she shall know something of the man to whom she would pledge honour and affection ; and then, when his treachery is open as the noon-day, and the blackness of his heart revealed, she shall be free to take him, unscathed and uninjured. I'll never touch a hair of his head." Mark had a certain pride in thus conducting himself on this occasion, to show that he possessed other qualities than those of rash and impe- tuous courage — that he could reoson calmly and act deliberately, was now the great object he had at heart. Nor was the least motive that prompted him the desire he felt to exhibit himself to Kate in circum- stances more favourable tlian any mere outbreak of indignant rage would display him. The more he meditated on these things, the more firm and resolute were his determinations not to suffer Hemsworth to escape his difficul- ties, by converting the demand for explanation into an immediate cause of quarrel. Such a tactique he thought it most probable Hemsworth would at once adopt, as the readiest expedient in his power. "No," said Mark to himself, "he shall find that he has mistaken me; my patience and endurance will stand the proof; he must and shall avow his own baseness, and then, if he wish for fighting " The clenched lip and flashing eye the words were accompanied by, plainly confessed that, if JNIark had adopted a more pacific line of con- duct, it certainly was not in obedience to any temptations of his will. Immersed in his reveries, he found himself in front of "the Lodge" before he was aware of it ; and, although his thoughts were of a nature that left him little room for other considerations, he could not help standing in surprise and admiration at the changes effected in his ab- sence. The neat but unpretending cottage had now been converted into a building of Elizabeth can style ; the front extended along the lake side, to which it descended in two terraced gardens. The ample windows, thrown open to the ground, displayed a suite of apartments furnished with all that taste and luxury could suggest — the walls ornamented by- pictures, and the panels of both doors and window-shutters formed of THE o'donoc;iii K. 301 plate glass, reflecting the mountain scenery in every variety of light and shadow. The rarest flowers, the most costly shrubs, brought from long distances, at great risk and price, were here assemijled to add their beauties to a scene where nature had already been so lavish. "While Mark was yet looking about in quest of the entrance to the building, he saw a man aj)j)roach, with whose features he was well ac- quainted. This was no other than Sam. ^Vylie, the sub-agent, the same he had treated so roughly when last they met. The fellow seemed to know that, though in certain respects the tables were now turned, yet, that Avith such a foe as Mark O'Donoghue, any exhibition of triumph might be an unsafe game ; so he touched his hat, and was about to move past in silence, when Mark cried out — " I want to speak with your master — can I sec him ?" "Master!" said Wylie, and his sallow face grew sallower and sick- lier. "If ye mean Mr. Hemsworth, sir " "Of course I do. If I spoke of Sir Marmaduke Travers, I should mean his master. Is he at home ?" " No, sir ; he has left 'the Lodge.'" " Left it ! — since when ? I saw him last night at ten o'clock." " He left here before eleven," was "NVylie's answer. " When is he expected back ?" " Not for a week, at soonest, sir. It may be even longer, if, as he said, it were necessary for him to go to England." , " To England I" exclaimed Mark, in bitter disappointment, for in the distance the hope of speedy vengeance seemed all but annihilated. " What is his address in Dublin ?" said he, recovering himself. "To the otHce of the Upper Secretary, sir, I am to address all his letters," said Wylie, for the first time venturing on a slight approach to a smile. " His hotel, I mean. Where does he stop in the city ?" " He usually stays in the Lower Castle-yard, sir, when in town, and probably will be there now, as the Privy Council is sitting, and they may want to examine him." The slow measured tone in which these few words were uttered gave them a direct application to Mark himself, which made him flush deeply. He stood for a few seconds, seemingly in doubt, and then turned his steps towards home. " Did you hear what the young O'Donoghue said, there, as he passed ?" said Wylie to a labouring man who stood gazing after the youth. " I did, faix," replied the other ; "I heerd it plain enough^" 302 THE o'donoghue, "Tell me the words, Pat — I'd like to hear them." "Tis what he said — ' He's escaped me this time ; bvxt, by G — , he'll not have the same luck always.' " " It was Mr. Hemsworth he was after," said "Wylie. " It was him he meant." *' To be sure it was ; didn't I hear him asking after him." " All right — so you did," added Wylie, nodding. " Take care you don't forget the words, that's all, and here's the price of a glass to keep your memory fresh." And he chucked a sixpence to the man, who, as he caught it, gave a look of shrewd intelligence, that showed he felt there was a compact between them. jMark moved homewards in deep thought. There was a time when disappointment would have irritated him rather than have suggested any new expedient for success. Now he was changed in this respect. If baffled, he did not feel defeated. His first anger over, he began to think how best he should obtain a meeting with Hemsworth, and a re- tractation of his calumnies against himself. To venture back to Dublin would have been unsafe on every account. The informations sworn against him by Lanty Lawler might be at any moment used for his capture. In Glenflesk alone was he safe ; so long as he remained there, no force Government would think of sending against him could avail ; nor was it likely, for the sake of so humble an individual as himself, that they would take measures which would have the effect of disclosing their knowledge of the plot, and thus warn other and more important persons of the approaching danger. Mark's first determination to leave home at once, was thus altered by these casual circumstances. He must await Hemsworth's return, since, without the explanation he looked for, he never could bring himself to take leave of his friends. As he pondered thus, a servant in Hemsworth's livery rode rapidly past him. Mark looked suddenly up, and perceived, with some surprise, from the train of dust upon the road, that the man was coming from Carrig-na-curra. Shght as the incident was, he turned his thoughts from his own fortunes to fix them on those of his cousin Kate. By what magic this man Hemsworth had won favour in her eyes he could not conceive. That he should have overcome all the prejudices of his father was strange enough ; but that Kate, whose opinions of people seldom or ever underwent a change, and who of all others professed to dislike that very plausibility of manner which Hemsworth possessed, that she could forgive and forget the tyrannies wdth which his name was_ associated — she whose spirit no sordid bait could tempt, nor any mean THK ()'dono(;hi'k. 303 object of personal ambition bias — tbis was, indeed, inexplicable. Twice or thrice a thought flashed across him, it" it should not be true, — if it were merely one of those rumours which the world builds on circum- stances, — that Hemsworth's intimacy was the sole foundation for the report, and the friendly interchange of visits the only reason for the story. " I must know this," said ^iark ; "it may not be too late to save her. I may have come back in the very nick of time, and if so, I shall deem this piece of fortune more than enough to requite all the mis- chances of my life." . As he spoke thus he hud reached the little flower-garden, which, in front of the tower, was the only spot of cidtivation around the old build- ing. His eye wandered over the evidences of care, few and slight as they were, with pleasant thoughts of her who suggested the culture, when at the turn of a walk he beheld his cousin coming slowly towards him. " Good morrow, Mark," said she, extending her hand, and with a smile that betokened no angry memory of the preceding night ; " you took but little sleep for one so much fatigued as you were." " And you, cousin, if I mistake not,, even as little. I saw a light burning in your room when day was breaking." " An old convent habit," said she, smiling; "our matins used to be as early." A low, soft sigh followed this speech. "Yes," said Mark, "you have reason to regret it; your life was happier there ; you had the pleasure of thinking, that many a mile away in this remote land, there were relatives and friends to whom you were dear, and of whom you might feel proud ; sad experience has told you how unworthy we are of your affection, how much beneath your esteem. The cold realities that strip life of its ideal happiness are only endurable when age has blunted our affections and chilled our hearts. In youth their poignancy is agony itself. Yes, Kate, I can dare to say it, even to you, would that you had never come amongst us." "I will not misunderstand you, Mark ; I will not affect to think that, in your speech, there is any want of afl^ection for me ; I will take it as you mean it, that it had been better for me ; and, even on your own showing, I tell you, nay. If I have shed some tears within these old walls, yet have my brightest hours been passed within them. Never, until I came here, did I know what it was to minister to another's hap- piness ; never did I feel before the ecstacy of being able to make joy more pleasurable, and sorrow less aflilicting. The daughter feeling has 304 THE o'donoghve, filled up what was once a void ia my poor heart ; and when you pity me for this life of loneliness, my pulse has throbbed with delight to think how a duty, rendered by one as humble and insignificant as I am, can ennoble life, and make of this quiet vaUey a scene of active enjoy- ment." " So you are happy here, Kate," said he, taking her hand, " and would not wish to leave it ?" " No, Mark, never ; there would be no end to my ambition were the great world open to me, and the prizes all glittering before me — ambi- tions which should take the shape not of personal aggrandizement, but high hope for objects that come not within a woman's sphere. Here, aifection sways me ; there, it might be prejudice or passion." " Ambition !" muttered Mark, catching at the word ; " ambition, the penalty you pay for it is far too high ; and were the gain certain, it is dearly bought by a heart dead to all purer emotions, cold to every affec- tion of family and kindred, and a spirit made suspecting by treachery. No, Kate, no, the humblest peasant on that mountain, whose toil is for his daily bread, whose last hope at night is for the health that on the morrow shall sustain more labour, he, has a nobler life than those who nourish high desires by trading on the crimes and faults of others. I had ambition once ; God knows, it grew not in me from any unworthy hope of personal advantage. I thought of myself then as meanly as I now do ; but I dreamt, that, by means, humble and unworthy as mine, great events have been sometimes set in motion. The spark that ignites the train is insignificant enough in itself, though the explosion may rend the solid masonry that has endured for ages. Well, well, the dream is over now ; let us speak of something else. Tell me of Herbert, Kate. What success has he met with in the University V " He failed the first time, but the second trial made ample amends for that defeat. He carried away both prizes from his competitors, Mark, and stands now, confessedly, the most distinguished youth of his day ; disappointment only nerved his courage. There was a failure to avenge, as well as a goal to win, and he has accomplished both." " Happy fellow, that his career in life could depend on efforts of his own making — who needed but to trust his own firm resolve, and his own steady pursuit of success, and cared not how others might plot, and plan, and intrigue around him." " Very true, Mark ; the prizes of intellectual ambition have this ad- vantage, that they are self won ; but, bethink you, are not other objects ^(jually noble — are not the efforts we make for others more worthy of THE O DONOfJlIUi:. 'M).'i fame than those uliicli {irc dictated l)y purely personal desire of dis- tinction ?" Mark almost started at the Avords, whoso direct application to him- self could not be doubted, and his cheek flushed, partly with pride, partly with shame. "Yes," said he, after a brief pause, "these are noble themes, and can stir a heart as sorrow-struck as mine — but the paths that lead up- wards, Kate, are dark and crooked — the guides that traverse them are false and treacherous." " You have, indeed, found them so," said Kate, with a deep sigh. " How do you mean, I hare fomid them so ?" cried Mark, in amaze- ment at the words. " I mean what I have said, Mark, that betrayal and treachery have tracked you for many a day. Y'ou would not trust me with your secret, Mark, nor yet confide in me, when an accident left it in my posses- sion. Chance has revealed to me many circumstances of your fortune, and even now, Mark, I am only fearful lest your own jjrejudices should hazard your safety. Shall I go on ? May I speak still more plainlv?" Mark nodded, and she resumed — " One who never favoured the cause you adopted, probably from the very confederates it necessitated — yet saw' with sympathy^ how nuich truth and honour were involved in the struggle, has long watched over you — stretching out, unseen, the hand to help, and the shield to pro- tect you. He saw in you the generous boldness of one whose courao-e supplies the nerve, that mere plotters trade u])on, but never possess. He saw, that once in the current, you would be swept along, while they would watch you from the shore. He, I say, saw this, and with a generosity the greater, because no feehngs of friendship swayed him, he came forward to save you." " And this unseen benefactor," said Mark, with a proud look of scornful meaning, " his name is " " I will not speak it, if you ask me thus," said Kate, blushing, for she read in his glance the imputation his heart was full of. "Could you so far divest yourself of prejudice as to hear calmly, and speak dispassionately, I could tell you anything — everything, Mark." "No, Kate, no," said he, smiling dubiously ; "I have no rio-ht fo ask, perhaps not to accept of such a confidence." "Be it so, then," said she, jiroudly, "we will speak of this no more ; and with a slight bow, and a motion of her band, she turned into another alloy of the garden, and left Mark silently musing over the scene. Scarcely, however, had she screened herself from his view by X 306 THE o'donoghue. the intervening trees, than she hastened her steps, and soon gained the house. "Without stopping to take breath, she ascended the stairs, and tapped at Sir Archy's door. "Come in, my sweet Kate," said he, in his blandest voice, " I should know that gentle tap amid a thousand ; but, my dear child, why so pale ? — what has agitated you ? — sit down and tell me," " Read this, sir," said she, taking a letter from the folds of her liandkerchief — " this well tell you all, shorter and more collectedly than I can. I want your advice and counsel, and quickly too, for no time is to be lost. "This is Mr. Hemsworth's writing," said Sir Archy, as he ad- justed his spectacles to read. " When did you receive it V " About an hour ago," answered Kate, half impatient at the unhur- ried coolness of the old man's manner, who at last proceeded to exa- mine the epistle, but without the slightest show of anxiety or eagerness. His apathy was, however, short-lived — short expressions of surprise Ijroke from him, followed by exclamations of terror and dismay, till at length, laying down the letter, he said, " Leave me, sweet Kate, leave me to read and reflect on this alone ; be assured I'll lose no time in making up my mind about it, for I see that hours are precious here." And as she glided from the room. Sir Archy placed the open letter on a table before him, and sat down diligently to re-consider its contents. CHAPTEE XXXVII. " hemsworth's letter." The letter, over which Sir Archy bent in deep thought, was from Ilemsworth. It was dated from the night before, and addressed to Kate O'Donoghuc, and, although professing to have been hurriedly written, an observer, as acute as Sir Archy, could detect ample evidence of great care and consideration in its composition. Statements seemingly clear and open, were in reality confused and vague ; assertions were qualified, and, in lieu of direct and positive information, there were scattered THE O DOXOGTITJK. 307 throughout, hopes, and fears, wishes, and expectations, all capable of being sustained, whatever the issue of the affair they referred to. The letter opened with a respectful apology for addressing Miss O'Donoghue ; but pleading that the urgency of the case, and the motives of the writer, might be deceived as a sufficient excuse. After stating, in sufficiently vague terms, to make the explanation capable of a double meaning, the reasons for selecting her, and not either of her uncles, for the correspondence, it entered at once upon the matter of the communication, in these words : — " I have hesitated and doubted. Miss O'Donoghue, how far my interference in the affairs of your family may be misconstrued, and whether the prejudices which were once entertained to my disadvantage might not now be evoked to give a false colouring to my actions. These doubts I have resolved, by reflecting that they are for the most part personal, and that if I succeed in rendering real service, the question is comparatively indifferent what light or shadow it may seem to throw on my conduct. A candid and impartial judgment I certainly look to from you, and I confess myself at liberty to lay less store by the opi- nions of others." Continuing for a brief space in this -strain, the letter went on to mention that the sudden return of !Mark had left the writer no alterna- tive but to venture on this correspondence, whatever the consequences consequences which, the writer palpably inferred, might prove of the last moment to himself. The explanation — and, for the reader's sake, it is better to spare him Ilemsworth's involved narrative, and merely give its substance — was chiefly, that information of ^lark O'Donoghue's comjdicity in the plot of the United Irish party had been tendered to Government, and supported by such evidence that a Judge's warrant was issued for his apprehension and the seizure of all his papers ; partly from friendly interference — this was dubiously and delicately put by Hemsworth — and partly from the fact that his extreme youth and igno- rance of the real views of the insurgents were pleaded in his favour, the execution of this warrant was delayed, and the young man suffered to go at large. So long as he withdrew himself from the company of the other conspirators, and avoided publicity, the Government was willing to wink at the past. It had been, however, determined on, that should he either be found mixed up with any of the leaders of the movement in future, or should he venture to return to Glenflesk, where his influence amongst the peasantry was well known to, and apprehended by the Government, then there should no longer be any hesitation in the hue to be followed. He was immediately to be 308 THE O DONOGHUE. apprehended and sent up under a sufficient escort to Dublin, to take his trial, with five others, for high treason. The proofs of his guilt were unquestionable, consisting of letters written and received, conversations to which witnesses could depose, as w^ell as an intimacy for months long with Barrington, whose active participation in the schemes of rebellion was as well known, as the notorious fact of his being a con- victed felon. To found a hope upon his innocence was thus shown to be perfectly impossible. His most trusted associates were the evi- dence against him ; documents in his hand-writing were also in the hands of the law-officers of the Crown, and, in fact, far more than enough to bring him to the scaffold. Hemsworth, who gently hinted all through, how far his interference had been beneficial, was one of those entrusted with Mark's arrest, should he ever dare to re-appear in his native country. The orders of the Privy Council on this score were positive and clear, and admitted of no possible misconception. " You may judge, then," continued he, "what were my feelings on seeing him suddenly enter the house last night — to think that, while I was enjoying the pleasure of your society, and the hospitable attentions of your home, I had actually in my pocket at the moment the official order to apprehend the eldest son of my entertainer — the friend and companion of your childhood — to bring grief and mourning beneath the roof where I had passed so many happy hours — to dispel all the dreams I had begun to nourish of a neighbourhood connected by ties of kind- ness and good will. I had to choose between the alternative of this, or else, by a palpable avoidance of my duty, criminate myself, and leave my conduct open to the most dangerous comments of my enemies. The latter involved only myself. I have adopted it, and before this letter reaches your hands, I shall be on my way up to Dublin, nomi- nally to attend the Council, but in reality to escape the necessity my onerous position would impose. None save those beneath your roof know that I have met Mr. IMark O'Donoghue, and I shall be half-way to Dublin before his arrival in the country is suspected. So much, in brief, for the past and the present. Now for the future. There are two courses open to this young gentleman, or to those who would serve and befriend him. One is, by a free and unlimited confession to the Government of all the circumstances of the plot, so far as they have come to his knowledge, the parties interested, their several shares in the undertaking, with every detail of date and time, to sue for a pardon for himself — a grace which, I need scarcely say, I will use all my influence to obtain. The other mode is, by a teni])orary exile ; to Tin: ()'DO\()(aiii:. 30'J withdraw himself from the notice of the Government, until the danger havnig perfectly passed over, ])olitical acrimony will have abated, and the necessity for making severe examples of guilt he no longer mgcnt. This latter course 1 opine to be preferable, on many grounds. It demands no sacrifice of private feeling — no surrender of honour. It merely provides for safety, reserving the future untrammelled by any pledge. Neither need tlie absence be long; a year or two at farthest ; the probabilities are, that with their present knowledge of the schemes of the insurgents, the Government can either precipitate events, or retard and protract them at will. Their policy, in this respect, depending on the rank and importance of those who, by either line of procedure, would be delivered into their hands. Arguing from what they have already done, I should pronounce it likely that their game will be to wait, to weaken the hopes and break the spirit of the United party, by frequent defections ; to sow distrust and suspicion amongst them, and thus, while avoiding the necessity of bloodshed, to wear out rebellion by a long and lingering fear. If, then, others, whose age and position involved a greater prominence in these schemes, would require a longer banish- ment to erase the memory of the acts, your young relative, who has both youth and its rashness to plead for him, need not reckon on so length- ened an absence from his native land. "Above all things, however, remember that not an hour is to he lost. Any moment may disclose to the Crown some new fea- ture of the j)lot, and may call forth measures of stringent severity. The proclamation oflcring a reward for the apprehension of four per- sons, of whom your cousin is one, is already printed, and in the office of the SecretaiT. An hour would see it all over the walls of the capital, iu a day or two more, it would reach every remote corner^ of the land. Then, all efforts on my part would be ineffectual, were they even possible. Keflect on this. It is not a inere question of fine or even imprisonment. It is life itself is on the issue, and life which, in surrendering, will blast a great name "with dishonour, and a great house with obloquy and shame ; for there has been no struggle, no effort, no bold and generous exposure to danger, to palliate treason, and gloss over its faults. All has been plotting and contriving for alien assistance and Ibreign help ; no self- reliance, no patriotism, which, if mistaken, was still sincere and manly. Eeflect on all this, and think that a life offered up in sulIi a cause has no martyrdom to throw lustre on the grave shared with the felon and the highwayman. Forgive me if, in the warmth of my zeal, I have said one word which may offend. If I had not spoken thus forcibly, I should be a traitor to my own hcait. 310 THE o'dONOGHUK. " I have written hurriedly, and I doubt not, in some respects, unad- visedly ; but the sincerity of my purpose will plead for me, should the indiscretion of my zeal require apology. You will, perhaps, ask why I should have imposed a task difficult as this upon you — why I should have loaded you with a responsibility so weighty ? My answer is simply, I dared not write to the O'Donoghue on the subject of his son's indis- cretion — to impugn the acts of the young man, would be to forfeit all influence with the old one. You will then say, why not address Sir Archibald ? For the simple reason, that the prejudices of his country are too strong in him to make due allowances for those who err from excitable or impetuous natures ; not only would he judge too harshly of Mark, but he would be anxious to record that judgment as a warning to Herbert, for whom alone he is interested. I therefore make it a strenuous request — nay, more, I esteem it as the term of a compact between us, that you do not show this letter either to the O'Donoghue or to his brother. I have expressed myself openly and candidly to you, but with a tacit assurance that my confidence is not to be extended to others. In the part I have taken, I already incur considerable risk. This is a period when loyalty cannot afford to be even suspected ; yet have I jeoparded mine in befriending this youth. I now conclude, dear madam, assuring you that any danger I incur, or any anxiety I feel, will be amply repaid if I only know that you think not unwor- thily of "William Hemsworth." Sir Archy studied this letter with the patient care a lawyer bestows upon a brief. He thought over each sentence, and weighed the ex- pressions in his mind with deep thought. It had been his fortune, in early life, to have been thrown into situations of no common dilHculty, and his mind had, in consequence, acquired a habit of shrewd and piercing investigation, which, though long disused, was not altogether forgotten ; by the aid of this faculty, Ilemsworth's letter appeared to him in a very different light from that in which Kate viewed it. The knowledge of every circumstance concerning Mark evinced an anxiety which he was very far from attributing to motives of friendship. Sir Archy well knew the feelings of dislike which subsisted between these two men — how then account for this sudden change on Herasworth's part ? — to what attribute this wonderful interest concerning him ? "Let us see," said the old man to himself, "let us see the fruit, and then we may pronounce upon the tree. Where and to what does Hemsworth's benevolence point, |_dishonour or banishment ? Such are THic o'donoghue. 311 the terms he offers ; such are the alternatives his kindness suggests. Might these have no other motive than friendship ? — might they not he the offspring of feelings very diU'creut indeed ! What benefit might he derive from Mark's expatriation — that is the question ? Does he anti- cipate easier terms with the old man for the little remnant of property that still pertains to him — or is it merely the leaven of the old hate that still rises in his nature? — or" and here his eye flashed with bril- liancy as a new thought crossed his brain " or does he suspect Mark of occupying a place in his cousin's affection, and is rivalry the source of this mysterious good nature ?" This suspicion no sooner occurred to him than Sir Archy recalled to mind all the circumstances of llemsworth's recent behaviour — the en- deavours he had made to recommend himself to their favourable notice — all his acts to ingratiate himself with Kate — the ample views he affected in politics — the wide-spread generosity of his plans for the amelioration of the people. That his conduct was unreal, that his principles were but assumed for the occasion, the shrewd Scotchman had long suspected ; and this letter, so far from dispelling the doubts, increased them tenfold. Besides this, there seemed some reason to fear that Kate was not quite indifferent to him. The disparity of years w^as so far in his favour, as she could not but feel flattered by the notice of one so conversant with the world and its ways, who had travelled and seen so much, and might in every respect be deemed a competent judge in matters of taste. Any comparison of him with Mark must redound with great advantage to the former. The accomplished scholar, the agreeable and well-bred man of society, was a severe competitor for the half-educated and slovenly youth, whose awkward and bashful manner seemed rather ill-temper than mere diffidence. Mark was himself conscious of the disadvantages he laboured under, and although Sir Archy had few fears that such an admirer was likely to win favour with the gay and capricious girl, whose foreign habits had taught her to value social qualities at the highest price, still, there was a chance that Hemsworth might have thought differently, and that jealousy was the secret of the whole scheme. Kate, with her ten thousand pounds of a rent-charge, might be a very reasonable object of llemsworth's ambition ; and when already he had absorbed so large a portion of the family estates, tliis additional lien would nearly make him master of the entire. It was, then, per- fectly possible that this was his game, and that in withdrawing Mark from the scene, he both calculated on the gratitude his generosity would evoke, and more securely provided for his own success. While Sir- Archy thus pondered over Hemsworth' s motives, he did 312 THE o'DONOGHUr:. not neglect the more pressing consideratioa of Mark's danger. It was evident that he had taken an acti^'e part in the insurrectionary move- ment, and without the shghtest precautions for his personal safety. The first care, therefore, was to see and learn from him the full extent of his danger, what proofs there existed against him, and what evidence, either in writing or otherwise, might be adduced to his disadvantage. "Tell me, frankly and freely, Mark," said he, aloud, as he arose and paced the room ; " tell me, openly, how you stand, who are your betrayers, what your dangers, and I'll answer for it the peril may be averted." " I have come to do so, sir," said a voice behind him — and Mark O'Donoghue was standing at the door. CHAPTER XXXVIII. TAXtPKEINO AND PLOTTING. While they who meditated the invasion of Ireland were thoroughly informed on the state of parties, and the condition of public opinion ia that kingdom, the English Government were satisfied with vague and insuflicicnt rumours of those intentions, derived from sources of ques- tionable accuracy, or communicated by persons in the pay of their opponents. Certain it is, neither the magnitude of the peril was appre- ciated, nor its nearness suspected. Many, in England, regarded the whole in the light of a menace, and believed that the embarrassments of the French Directory were quite sufficient to withdraw their thoughts from foreign aggression, to troubles nearer home. Their great want of money, arms, and all the munitions of war, was well known and trusted to as a guarantee of security. Others supposed that a rash attempt might be made, but were equally sure of its being defeated by our naval forces before a landing could be effected ; and many more believed that the pretence of foreign aid was but a threat of the malcontents at home, to enforce compliance with their demands. The event itself was to show how unfounded were all these calculations, and how little rea- son we had to regard our security as derived from our own measures of foresight and precaution. Constituted as the French Ciovcimment of the davwas, nothing would THi: o'donoghuk. 313 have been easier tlian to liave jmi|»le kiiowletlgc of all tlie projects. The men in high situations were newly elevated to power, from posi- tions of very humble pretension, with no habits of public business, no experience of the mode of conducting difficult aftairs, and many of them of very questionable character for integrity ; and yet, with these opportunities at our disj)osal, a few scattered facts, ill-authenticated and vague, were all that our Government attained to ; and even these were unattended to, save when they implicated the conduct of some suspected character nearer home ; then, indeed, party violence assumed an appearance of statesmanlike vigilance, and crown prosecutions and ex-officio informations, seemed the safeguard of the empire. On occasions of this kind, the activity of the Government was most remarkable, and while the great question of national security was over- looked, no pains were spared to track out the narrow path Vthere some insignificant treason was plodding, and bring the plotter to the scaffold. Large sums of money were spent in obtaining secret information, and the whole science of government was reduced to a system of " esj)ioiiage." This little-minded and narrow policy was, in a great measure, the con- sequence of entrusting so much of the Government to the influence of the lawyers, who, regarding everything through the light of their own profession, placed the safety of the empire on the success of a crown prosecution. It was at a moment when this favourite policy was in the ascendant, that Hemsworth reached Dublin, little aware, indeed, how far events there, were hastening forward the catastrophe for which he was inte- rested. Lanty Lawler, who for a long time had never communicated, save to Hemsworth, his knowledge of the United Irish movement, had, at length, become alarmed for his own safety ; and putting but slight trust in Hemsworth's good faith, should any calamity befall him, had come forward and revealed to Major Sirr all that he knew of the plot, the names of several parties implicated, and in particular the whole his- tory of Mark O'Donoghue's complicity. The information came well- timed. The crown lawjers were desirous of exhibiting the parade of a state prosecution, and all the ordinary measures were taken to secure its success. Lanty, now a prisoner in Newgate, but, with the promise of a free pardon and a reward, had been repeatedly examined by the Attor- ney and Solicitor-general, and his statement found perfectly accurate and consistent. He narrated the various interviews he had been present at among the Delegates in Dublin — the messages he had conveyed from them to different individuals through the country — the depots where pikes and muskets were stored, and the several ])laces of rendezvous 314 THE o'donoghue. agreed upon, whenever the rising should take place. He also revealed many facts of the feeling prevalent annong the people, and exemplified the conflicting state of opinion then in the country — how, that many were worn out and discouraged by delay, and believed themselves betrayed by France — while others were full of hope and confidence, eager for the time to come, and ready to incur any peril. While, in all these dis- closures he was most candid and explicit, he never once betrayed the name of Mary ]\I 'Kelly, nor even alluded, in any way, to her cabin, as the resort of the French spies, and the secret depot of arms and ammu- nition. It might have been that in the blackness of his treachery to others, this one spark of better feeling survived towards her — that some lurking affection lingered in a heart dead to every other noble sentiment, or perhaps the lesser motive swayed him, that in excepting her from the general ruin, he was securing to himself one, who as a wife, would bring him no small share of worldly wealth. Either may be the ex- planation of his conduct, for strange as it may seem, the Ailest actions are sometimes conceived with a reserve of conscience, that shows what casuistry guilt requires, and how much the spirit of evil lacks of cou- rage, when it has to borrow the energy to act from even the semblance of something good. It was not without reluctance, at first, that Lauty ventured on the betrayal of Mark O'Donoghue ; nor did he even consent to do so, until his own safety had been threatened by Hemsworth, and also a solemn promise given, that he should never be brought forward to give evi- dence against him, nor exhibited before the world as an informer. This was the character he most dreaded — it was the only reproach that had any terror for his mind. Gradually, however, and by the frequency of his revelations to Hemsworth, this dread diminished, and in proportion, the fears for his own safety increased. Hemsworth's game was to make him believe that such depended solely on him — that at any moment he could give information of a character sufficient to convict him — and by this tie was he bound to a man he detested with all his hatred. After much vacillation and doubt it was, that Lanty determined, whatever the consequences to his fame, to make a full disclosure to Government, and only bargain for his own life. Hemsworth's absence from Dublin afforded the opj)ortunity, and he seized it at once. Such, then, was the position of affairs when Hemsworth reached the capital, and learned that his agent, Lanty, was no longer at his disposition, but at that very moment a prisoner in the gaol of Newgate, strict orders being given that nobody was to be admitted to converse with him without the spe- cial leave of the law officers of the crown. Now, although Hemsworth THE o'donoghue. 315 had, personally, little to fear from any disclosure Lauty might make, yet his information might thwart all the plans he had so artfully de- vised regarding the O'Donoghues ; the events impending that I'amily being, up to that moment, perfectly at his own direction and disposal, to delay or precipitate which, constituted the essence of his policy. Mark could not be brought to trial, he well knew, without exhibiting himself in the light of an enemy and an accuser, he being the ])ersou to whom Lanty originally comnmnicated his informations. This hos- tile part would form an impassible obstacle to any success with Kate, and consequently to his great plan of obtaining the Glcnflesk estate. Hemsworth lost not a moment, after his arrival in town, in his en- deavours to have an interview with Lanty ; and, being ou terms of old intimacy with the sheriff, at length persuaded him to grant him a brief opportunity of speaking to him ; a permission, under the circumstances, most reluctantly acceded. It was near nine o'clock — the latest hour at which a visit to the gacfl was practicable — when Hemsworth presented himself, with the sheriff's order at the gate. A brief delay ensued, for even on such an authority, the goaler scrupled to deviate from the directions given him, and he was admitted. Following the turnkey for some minutes, through passages and across courts, they reached an angle of the building dedicated to the reception of those who were held over by the crown as " approvers" against their former friends and associates. Many of these had been in confinement several months, the time not having arrived when the evidence, which they were to corroborate, was perfected ; and not a few preferring the security of a prison, to the dangers the character of an informer would expose them, to without doors. A confused noise of voices and coarse laughter was heard as they came near, and the turnkey, striking his bunch of keys against a heavy door, called, " Be silent there, b 1 ye, there's more trouble with six of ye than we have with the whole condemned ward," then turning to Hemsworth, he added, in a lower voice, " them chaps is awaitin' a passage over seas — they've given their evidence long ago, and they're not wanted now. That one with the cracked voice is Cope, the fellow that tracked Parson Jackson — but here, this is your man's cell — we cannot give you more than a quarter of an hour, and so, don't lose anymore time." Hemsworth laid his hand on the gaoler's arm as he extended it with the key. " One second — just wait one second," said he, " as he pressed liis fingers across his brow, and seemed to reflect, then added, " Yes, that will do — open it now, and I shall be ready to retire whenever you please." Whether the sound without had drowned the noise, or that liis at- 316 THE o'donoghuk. tention was too much engaged to notice it, Lanty never stirred nor looked round, as the heavy door was unbarred, and fastened again be- hind Hemsworth. Seated in a recess of the window, and with his face pressed against the iron bars, he was watching, with interest, the move- ment in the street below, where a considerable number of people went past, their eyes directed upwards, to the front of the building, but all view of which was impossible to hira. Hemsworth stood and looked at him for some minutes without speaking — he was as if calculating the very thoughts of the other's brain — then advancing gently, he laid his hand on Lawler's shoulder, as he said — " Ay, Lanty, that's the reward they get. Two of them arc to be turned off to-morrow." " Two of whom, sir ?" asked Lanty, as, starting at the voice, his face became the colour of death. " I thought you knew !" said he, affecting astonishment; " they are the approvers against Bond. The Government has no use for the rascals now, and it saves expense to hang them ; and so, they tried them for a murder at Sallins, in March last. I hear they were not there ; but no matter, they've enough to answer for, without that." " But, sure, jMr. Hemsworth, they'll never treat their own friends that way ?" "Wouldn't they, Lanty! You don't know them as well as I do. They keep little faith with scoundrels, and more fools the scoundrels for being caught ; but I mustn't lose time ; it was that very thing brought me here. I heard this evening the scrape you were in." " Me, in a scrape !" exclaimed Lanty, his eyes growing wider with terror. " To be sure' it is, and a devilish ugly scrape, too, my friend : havn't you given information to the Attorney-general against the young O'Donoghue?" Lanty nodded, and he went on — " Havn't you confessed the whole of the plot, and told them every- thing ?" " Very nearly, faix I" said Lanty, dropping his head, and sighing. •' And what do you expect to gain by that, Master Lanty '! Is it by showing that you are of no use to them — that you've nothing more left in you — that you hope for a reward. Is it for the sake of your family and friends, or on account of your remarkable honesty, they're so fond of you?" Then checking this sneering tone, he added, in a slow and solemn voice, " Are you a fool, man ? — or don't you see what you're bringing yourself to? What will be your claim when the trial 1 « \ yyv .r ''Z ■f j^/^i yy^/ y/y// / // /■/'/' TJu: o'donomiuk. 317 of the young O'Donoghue is over ? The cwwn lawyers will have you up in the witness-box till they've drained you dry. Devil a drop they'll leave in you; and when they say ' Go down,' take my word for it, it's down you'll go in earnest ; and all the world wouldn't lift you up afterwards." Ilemsworth permitted the words to sink into his heart for a fow se- conds in silence, and then went on — • *' So long as you trusted me, you were safe. I'd never expose you in open court." " No, sir, nor the Attorney-general neither. lie said that all they wanted was my information on oath." " And you gave it 1" exclaimed Ilemsworth, in a voice of ill-dissembled anxiety. " Not all out, sir," said Lanty, with a shrewd glance of malicious in- telligence. "I asked them for a copy, to read it over before I signed it, and they gave me one" — here he produced a roll of paper froin his breast pocket, and showed it to Ilemsworth — "and I'm to give it back to-morrow, with my name to it." "They've played you off well, Lanty," said Hemsworth, while, care- lessly opening the paper, he affected not to pay it any attention. " The lawyers have got round you nicely ; and, faith, I always thought you a clever fellow before. Your e\idencc, so long as it was your own, was worth five thousand ])ouuds, and I wouldn't give five for your chance of escape, now, that they know your secret." " "What would you say if they didn't know it ?" said Lanty, with a look of impudent familiarity, he had never ventured on before. " What would you say, now, if the best of my evidence was to come out yet .' — that I never told one word about the French clipper that landed the muskets in Glengariff-bay, and left two pipes of wine at your own house the same night .'" " Ah ! you'd try that game, would you ?" said Ilemsworth, with a smile of deadly malice ; " but I've thought of that part, my honest Lanty. I've already given information on that very matter. You don't suppose that I afforded those fellows my protection for the sake of the bribe. No, faith ! — but I made them pay for the very evidence that can any day convict them ; — ay, f/icm and j/ou ; you, a paid spy of France, a sworn L'nitcd Irishman, who have administered the oaths to eighteen soldiers of the Koscommon militia, and are at this moment under a signed and witnessed contract, bound to furnish horses for a French cavalry force on their landing here in Ireland. Are these truths, Mr. Lanty, or are they mere matters of fancy ?" 318 THE o'donoghxje. " I'm a crown witness," said Lawler, sturdily, " and if I speak out all I know, they're bound to protect me." "Who is to bind them ?" said Hemsworth, jeeringly: "is it your friends, the United Irishmen, that you betrayed ? — is it they are to watch over your precious life ? — or do you think your claims are stronger with the other party, that you only swore to massacre ? Where's the sympathy and protection to come from ? Tell me 'that, for I'm curious on the point." Lanty turned a fierce look upon him — his eyeballs glared, and his nether lip shook convulsively, while his hands were firmly clenched to- gether. Hemsworth watched these evidences of growing anger, but without seeming to regard them, when the key grated roughly in the lock, the door opened, and the gaoler called out, with a savage attempt at laughter — " Time's up. I must turn you off, sir." " A short reprieve," said Hemsworth, humouring the ruffian jest, and he pitched his purse into the fellow's hand. " To settle family matters, I suppose," said the turnkey, with a grin, as he retired, and closed the door once more. The interruption seemed to offer a favourable opportunity to Hems- worth of giving an amicable turn to the interview, for with a changed voice, and a look of well-assumed friendship, he said — " I have misspent my moments here sadly, Lanty. I came to be- friend you, and not to interchange words of angry meaning. If I had been in Dublin, I'm certain you would never have fallen into this peril- ous position. Let us see how best to escape from it. This information — I see it is all confined to young O'Donoghue's business — is of no value whatever, until signed by you. It is just as if it were never spoken. So that, if you steadily determine not to sign it, you need give no reason whatever, but simply refuse when asked. Do this, and all's safe." " Couldn't they transport me ?" said Lanty, in a feeble voice, but whose very accent betrayed the implicit trust he reposed in Hemsworth's answer. " They'll threaten that, and worse, too ; but never flinch ; they've no- thing against you save, your own evidence. When the time comes — mark me, I say, when the time comes — your evidence is worth five thousand pounds ; but, now, all it will do is convict young O'Donoghue, and warn all the others not to go forward. I don't suppose you want that ; the young fellow never did you any harm." "Never," said Lanty, dropping his head with shame, for even in such a presence his conscience smote him. THE O DONOr.HrE. 310 " Very well— there's no use in bringing him to trouble. Keep your own counsel, and all will be well." " I'm just thinking of a plan I've a notion in my head will do well," said Lanty, musingly. " I'm to see Father Kearney, the priest of Luke's Chapel, to-morrow morning — he's coming over to confess me. Well, when the Attorney-general and the others come for me to write my name, I'll just say that I dar'n't do it. I'll not tell why nor wherefore sorra word more, but this, ' I dar'n't do it.' Tliey'U think at once it's the priest set me against it. I know well what they'll say. That Father Kearney put me under a vow, and so they may. They'll scarcely get him to say much about it, and I'll take care thev won't make me." " That thought was worthy of you, Lanty," said Hemsworth, laugh- ing, "but take care that you don't swerve from your determination. Remember that there is no accusation against you — not a word nor a syllable of testimony. Of course they'll threaten you with the worst consequences. You'll be told of prosecutions for perjury, and all that. Never mind — wait patiently your time. When the hour arrives, I'll make your bargain for you, and it will not be merelv the evidence against an individual, but the disclosure of a great plot of rebellion, they must pay you for. Cockayne got four thousand pounds and a free pardon. Your services will rank far higher." "If they won't bring me up in open court," said Lanty, timidly, " I'll do whatever they please." " For that very reason you must adhere to my adnce. There, now, I perceive the fellow is about to lock up for the night, and I must leave this. You may want some money from time to time. I'll take means of sending whatever you stand in need of. For the present, ten pounds will, I suppose, be sufficient." Lanty took the money with a mixture of humility and sullenness. He felt it as a bribe rather than a gift, and he measured the services ex- pected of him by the consideration they were costing. The turnkey's presence did not admit of further colloquy, and they parted in mutual suspicion and distrust, each speculating how far self-interest might be worked upon as the guiding principle to sway the other's actions. " I'm scarcely sure of him yet," said Hemsworth, as he slowly re- turned to his hotel. " They'll stop at nothing to terrify him into signing the informations, and if the prosecution goes on, and the youu"- O'Donoghue is convicted, the plot is blown up. The others will escape, and all my long-projected disclosures to the Government become useless. Besides, I fail where failure is of more consequence. It was to little 320 Tni': o'DONOGiiuji:. moment that I prevented a marriage between Travers and the gal, if I cannot make her my own ; but yet, that alhance should have been thwarted on every ground of pohcy. It would have been to plant the Travers here on the very spot I destine for myself. No, no. I must take care that they never see Ireland more. Indeed this breaking off the marriage Avill prove a strong obstacle to their returning." Thus did he review his plans, sometimes congratulating himself on the success of the past,'sometimes fearing for the future, but always relying with confidence on the skill of his own negociations — an ingenuity that never yet had failed him in his difficulties. The next day was the time appointed for Lanty's final examination, and on which he was to affix his name to the informations, and Hems- worth loitered in one of the offices of the Castle, where the gossip of the morning was discussed, in no common anxiety to hear how his " protege" had acquitted himself. As the clerks and underlings conversed among themselves on the dress or equipage of the officials who at intervals drove off towards the Park, Hemsworth, who affected to be engaged in reading a morning paper, overheard one remark^to another — " There's the devil to pay at the Council. That fellow they have in Newgate against Coyle and M'Nevin, and the rest of them, it seems, now refuses to confirm his informations. They have good reason to believe all he said was true, but they can't go on without him." " What's the meaning of that? He was willing enough yesterday." " They say a priest from Luke's Chapel was with him this morning, and forbid him, under any number of curses and anathemas in case of disobedience, to reveal a syllable against the ' United party.' " " They can compel him, however. Don't you remember Cockayne did the very same thing about Jackson's business, and they brought him over to Lord Clonmel's house, and made him sign there ?" " That they did, but they'll not try the same game twice. Currau brought it out in the cross-examination, and made it appear that the witness was terrified by the crown by a threat of consequences to him- self as an accomplice, and the point went very far with the jury in Jackson's favour." Hemsworth did not wait to hear more. The great fact that Lanty was firm, was all that he cared for, and, after a few casual remarks on the morning news, he strolled forth, with all the lazy indifference of an idle man. THE O DONOGHUE, 321 CHAPTER XXXIX. TIIF. nROTnEBS. Among the unexplained phenomena of the period is one very remark- able and, doubtless, pregnant circumstance — the species of lull or calm in the movements of the United Irish party, which was conspicuous throughout the entire of the summer and autumn of 1796. The spring opened on them with hopes liigh, and expectations confident. Tone's letters from Peris breathed encouragement ; the embarrassments of England promised favourably for their cause ; and many who wavered before, were found now willing to embrace the entcrprize. To this state of ardent feehng succeeled an interval of doubt and uneasiness; conflicting statements were circulated, and mens' minds were shaken, without any apparent cause. A vague fear of betrayal and treachery gained ground ; yet no one was able to tr.ace this dread to any definite source. The result, however, was evident in the greater caution of all concerned in the scheme — a reserve, which seemed to threaten a total nbandomnent of the undertaking ; such, at least, it appeared to those who, like Mark O'Donoghue, having few or no opportunities of inter- course with the leaders, were disposed to take their impressions from the surface of events. As for him, his correspondence had ceased with Lanty's treachery. He neither knew the real names nor addresses of those to whom he had formerly written, and had not a single acquaint- ance to whom he could look for advice and assistance. Ail Sir Archy's endeavours to mn his confidence had failed, not from any distrust either in his judgment or his good faith, but because Mark regarded his secret as a sacred depository, in which the honour of others was concerned ; and however disposed to seek advice for himself, he would not compromise their safety for the sake of his own advantage. I'uable to extort a confidence by entreat}', and well aware how little efticicncy there lay in menace. Sir Archy abandoned the attempt, and satisfied himself by placing in Mark's hands Ilemsworth's letter, significantly hintinu; liis own doubts of the writer's integrity. Mark sat himself down in the garden, to study the epistle ; and how- ever artfully conceived, the experience his own career opened, displaved the dishonesty of the writer at every line. Y 322 THE o'dono(;huk. " I am the obstacle to his plans — my presence here is somehow a thwarting influence against him," said he, as he folded up the paper. " I must remain at every hazard ; nor is there much, so long as I bound my wanderings by these great mountains — he will be a bolder than Hemsworth who captures me here." Guided by this one determination, and trusting tiiat time might clear up some of the mysteries that surrounded him, Mark waited, as men wait for an event that shall call upon their faculties or their courage for some unusual effort. The same reverses of fortune that had taught him distrust, had also inculcated the lesson of patience ; but it was the patience of the Indian warrior, who will lie crouching in concealment for days long, till the moment of his vengeance has arrived. And thus, while to others he seemed an altered character, less swayed by rash impulses, and less carried away by anger, the curbed up passions became only more concentrated by repression. He mixed little with the others, rarely appearing save at meal times, and then, seldom taking any part in the conversation around. He did not absent himself from home, as before, for whole days or weeks long, but spent his time mostly iu his own chamber, where he read and wrote for hours — strange and unusual habits for one who had never sought or found amusement save in the fatigues of the hunting-field. His manner, too, was no longer the same. Calmer and more self-possessed than before, he neither seemed to feel momentary bursts of high spirits or depression. The tone of his mind was indeed sad, but it was the sadness that indicated strength and con- stancy to endure, fully as much as it betrayed the pain of suffering. The altered features of his character impressed themselves on every thing he did ; and there was an air of quiet gentleness in his demeanour, quite foreign to his former rough and abrupt manner. Upon none did these things make so great an impression as on Kate : her woman's tact enabled her to see them differently, and more correctly than the rest. She saw that a mighty change had come over him : that no mere check of disappointment, no baffled ambition, could have done this : neither could she attribute it to any feeling towards herself, for he was never more coolly distant than now. She guessed, then, rightly, that it was the first step towards freedom, of a mind enthralled by its own strong passions. It was the struggling energy to be free, of a bold and daring spirit, that learned at length to feel the . lowering [influences of ill- directed ambition. How ardently she wished that some career wfere open to him, uoav — some great path in life : she did not fear its dangers or its trials — his nature suggested any thing save fear ! How sad to think, that energy like his should be suffered to Avanc, and flicker, and Tiir; o uono<;hui:. 323 die out, for want of the occasion to display its blaze. She could not avoid commuuicating these thoughts to Sir Archv, who for some time past had watched the gro^^•ing chaii2;e in the youth's manner. The old man listened attentively as she spoke, and his glistening eye and hei'dit- cned colour showed how her girlish enthusiasm moved him ; and wliile some reminiscence of the past seemed to float before him, his voice trem- bled as he said — " Alas ! my sweet child, the world offers few opportunities like those you speak of, and our political condition rejects them totally. The country that would be safe, must give little encouragement to the darings of youthful energy. His rewards are higher here, who seeks out some path well trod and beaten, and tries by industry and superior skill to pass by those who follow it also. The talents men prize are those available for some purpose of every-day life. Gifts that make mankind wiser and happier, these, bring fame and honour ; while the meteor brilliancy of mere heroism can attract but passing wonder and astonishment." "You mistake Mark, my dear uncle — you undervalue the change that is worked in his character. He is not deficient in abilitv, if he but suffer himself to rely upon it, rather than -on the casual accidents of for- tune. If Herbert were but here " " Herbert comes home to-night. I had thought to keep my secret for a surprise, but you have wrested it from me." " Herbert coming home ! Oh, how ha]ipy you have made me ! The brothers once more together, how much each may benefit the other. Nay, uncle, you must not smile thus. Superior as Herbert is in the advantages that training and study impart, Mark has gifts of determi- nation and resolve, as certain to win success. But, here he comes — may I not tell him of Herbert's coming ?" Sir Archy smiled and nodded, and the happy girl was the next moment at Mark's side, relating with delight her pleasant news. Mark listened with pleasure to the intelligence. Any little jealousy he once felt for acquirements and attainments above his own, had long since given way to a better and more brotherly feeling ; and he ardently desired to meet and converse with him again. " And yet, Kate, how altered may he be from what we knew him. Who is to say the changes time may not have wrought in him .'" " Such are not always for the worse, Mark," said Kate, timidly, for she felt how the allusion might be taken. A sUght tinge of red coloured ]Mark's check, and his eye was lighted 324 THE O DONOGHXJE. with a look of pleasure. He felt the flattery In all its force, but did not dare to trust himself with a reply. " I wonder," said he, after a lengthened pause — " I wonder how Herbert may feel on seeing, once more, our wild glen. Will these giant rocks and bold ravines appeal to his heart with the same sympathies as erer ; or will the habits of the life he has left, cling to him still, and make him think this grandeur only desolation ?" ' " You did not feel so, surely, Mark ?" said Kate, as she turned upon him a look of affectionate interest. " Me ? — I think so ? No ! This valley was to me a place of rest — a long sough t-for haven. I came not here from the gay and brilliant world, rich in fascinations and pleasures. I had not lived among the great and learned, to hear the humble estimate they have of our poor land. I came back here like the mariner whose bark puts back shat- tered by the storm, and baffled by the winds, unable to stem the tide that leads to fortune. Yes, shipwrecked in every thing." " Herbert, Herbert," cried Kate. At the same moment a chaise, advancing at full gallop, turned from the road into the avenue towards the house. The boy caught sight of the figures in the'garden, flung open the door, and springing out, rushed towards them. " My dear, dear Kate," was his first exclamation, as he kissed her aff'ectionately ; his next, in a tone of unqualified surprise, Avas — " What a fine fellow you have grown, Mark !" and the tAvo brothers were locked in each other's arms. The sentiment which thus burst from him in the first moment of sur- prise, was the very counterpart of Mark's own feeling on beholding Herbert. Time had worked favourably for both. On the elder brother, the stamp of manhood more firmly impressed, had given an elevation to the expression of his features, and a character of com])osure to his air; while with Herbert, his career of study alternating with a life passed among cultivated and polished circles, had converted the unformed strip- ling into a youth of graceful and elegant demeanour. The change was even greater in him than in his brother. In the one case it was, as it were, but the growth and development of original traits of character ; in the other, new and very difl'erent features were distinguishable. His thoughts, his expressions, his very accent was changed ; yet through this his old nature beamed forth, bright, joyous, and aff"ectionate as ever. It was the same s{)irit, although its flights were bolder and more daring —the same mind, but its workings more powerful and more free. The THE o'donoghtje. 325 one had placed his ambition so high, he scarcely dared to hope ; the other had already tasted some of the enjoyments of success — life had even already shed around him some of its fascinations, and quickened the ardour of his temper. A winner in the race of intellect, he experi- enced that thrilling ecstasy which acknowledged superiority confers ; he knew what it was to feel the mastery over others, and, even now, the flame of ambition was lighted in his heart, and its warm glow tingled in his veins and throbbed in every pulse. In vain should they who knew him once, seek for the timid, basliful boy, that scarcely dared to make an effort from very dread of failure. His Hashing eye and haughty brow told of victory ; still around his handsome mouth the laughing smile of happy youth showed that no ungenerous feeling, no unworthy pride, had yet mingled with his nature. "They tell me you have swept the University of its prizes, Herbert — is not this so ?" said Mark, as he leaned his arm affectionately on his shoulder. " You would think but poorly of my triumphs, Mark," replied Her- bert, with a smile. "The lists I fight in, peril not life or limb." " Still, there is honour in the game," said Mark. " "Wherever there is success on one side, and failure on the other — wherever there is hope to win, and dread to lose — there, the ambition is never unworthy." " But what of you, Mark ? Tell me of yourself. Have you left a buck in the glen, or is there a stray grouse on the mountain ? "What have you been doing since we met ?" IMark coloured and looked confused, when Kate, coming to the rescue, replied — "How can ^-ou ask such a question, Herbert? What variety does life afford in this quiet valley ? Is it not the very test of our happiness, that we can take no note of time ? But here comes my uncle." Herbert turned at the words, and rushed to meet the old man. " Have you won baith, Herbert," cried he — " baith premiums ? Then I must gic you twa hands, my dear boy," said he, pressing him in a fond embrace. "Were the competitors able ones? Was the victory a hard one? Tell me all, every thing about it." And the youth, with bent down head and rapid utterance, related, ia a low voice, the event of his examination. " Go on, go on," said Sir Archy M'Nab, aloud — " tell me what fol- lowed." And Herbert resumed in the same tone as before. " Ha '."cried Sir Archy, in an accent of irrejiressible delight, " so they said your Latin smacked of Scotland, They scented Aberdeen iu it. 32G THE o'donoghue. Well, boy, we beat them — they canna deny that. The prize is ours— the better that it was hardly fought for." And thus they continued for some time to talk, as they walked side by side through the garden ; the old man's firm step and joyous look telling of the pride that filled his heart, vihile Herbert poured forth in happy confidence the long-treasured thoughts that crowded his brain ; nor did they cease their converse, till Kerry came to summon the youth to his father's room. "He's awake now," said Kerry, gazing with undisguised rapture on the tall and handsome youth ; and it's a proud man he ought to be this day, that has the pair like ye." The young men smiled at the flattery, and arm in arm took their way towards the house. CHAPTER XL. THE LULL BEFORE THE STORM. Once again assembled beneath that old roof, the various members of the family seemed more than ever disposed to make present happiness atone for any troubles of the past. Never was the old O'Donoghue so contented ; — never did Sir Archy feel a lighter heart. Herbert's spirits were buoyant and high as present success and hope could make them ; and Kate, whatever doubts might secretly have weighed upon her mind, did her ntmost to contribute to the general joy ; — while Mark, over whose temperament a calmer and less variable habit of thought prevailed, seemed at least more reconciled to his fortunes. The influences of tranquillity that prevailed over the land appeared to have breathed their soothing sway over that humble dwelling, where life rolled on like an unruflSed stream, each day happy with that monotony of enjoyment, so delicious to all whose minds have ever been tortured by the conflicting cares of the world. For many a year long the O'Donoghue had not been so free from troubles. The loan he had contracted on Kate's fortune had relieved him from THE o'donoghub. 327 his most pressing embarrassments, and left him money enough to kccji other creditors at bay. Sir Archy felt already he had received the ear- nest of that success he so ardently desired for Herbert, and in tbe cahn of political life, hoped that the rash scheme in wliich Marlc'had em- barked was even now becoming forgotten ; and that the time was not far remote when no memory of it would be treasured against him. His own experience taught him, that sage lessons may be gathered from tlic failures and checks of youthful ambition, and in tlie changed features of Mark's character he augured most favourably Tor the future. But of all those on whom happier prospects shone, none revelled in the enjoy- ment so much as Herbert. Tbe I'ascinatioiis of that new world, of which he had only ^caught a glimpse, hung over him like a dream. Life opened for him at a moment when he himself had won distinction, while a new passion stirred his heart, and stimulated hope to the utmost. Kate, his companion throughout every day, was not slow to perceive the hirking secret of his thoughts, and soon led him to contlde them to her. Herbert had never heard of Frederick Travers's attachment to his cousin, still less, suspected he had made a proposal of marriage to her. The studied avoidance of their names among his own family was a mystery he could not solve, and he referred to Kate for the explanation. " How strange, Kate," said he, one day, as they wandered along the glen somewhat further than usual, " how singular is this silence respect- ing tbe Travers's ! I can make nothing of it. If I speak of them, no one speaks again — if I allude to them, the conversation suddenly stops. Tell me, if you know it, the secret of all this." Kate blushed deeply, and muttered something about old and half- remembered grudges, but he interrupted her quickly, saying — " This can scarcely be the reasou ; — at least their feelings show no- thing of the kind towards us. Sybella talks of you as a sister nearest to her heart. Sir Marmaduke never spoke of you, but with the warmest terms of affection, and if the gay Guardsman did not express himself on the subject, perhajis it was because he felt the more deeply." Kate's cheek grew deeper scarlet, and her breathing more hurried, but she made no reply. [. " My explanation," continued Herbert, more occupied with his own thoughts than attentive to his companion, " is this ; — and, to be sure, it is a very sorry explanation which elucidates nothing ; — that Hems- worth is somehow at the bottom of it all. Sybella told me what per- suasions he employed to prevent her father returning to Glenflesk ; and 328 THE o'donoghxje. when every thing hke argument failed, that he actually, under pre- tence of enlarging the house, rendered the existing part uninhabitable." "But what object could he have in this?" said Kate, M'ho felt that Herbert was merely nourishing the old prejudices of his family against Hemsworth. " He is anxious for the peace and welfare of this coun- try — he grieves for the poverty and privations of the people, and whe- ther he be correct or not, deems the remedy, the residence amongst them of a cultivated and wealthy proprietary, with intelligence to perceive, and ability to redress their grievances." "Very true, Kate," replied Herbert ; " but don't you see that in these rerv requisites of a resident gentry, he does not point at the Travers family, whose ignorance of Ireland he often exposed when affecting to eulogise their knowledge. The qualities he recommends he believes to be his own." -- " No, Herbert, you wrong him there," said she, warmly ; " he told me himself the unceasing regret he suffered, that, in his humble sphere, all efforts for the people's good were ineffectual — that, wanting the in- fluence which property confers, benefits from his hands became sus- pected, and measures of mere justice were regarded as acts of cruelty and oppression." " "Well, I only know that such is Frederick Travers' s opinion of him,'* said Herbert, not a little piqued at Kate's unexpected defence of their ancient enemy. " Frederick told me himself that he would never cease until his father promised to withdraw the agency from him. Indeed, he is only prevented from pressing the point, because Hemsworth has got a long lease of part of the estate, which they desire to have back again on any terms. The laud was let at a nominal rent, as being al- most valueless. The best part of the valley it turns out to be ! — the very approach to " the Lodge" passes through it — so that, as Frederick says, they could not reach their hall-door without a trespass, if Hems- worth pleased to turn sulky." Kate felt there might be another and more correct explanation of Frederick's dislike, but she did not dare to hint at it. "You are too favourable in your opinion of Hemsworth, Kate. Sy- tella said as much to me herself." " Sybella said so?" said Kate, as a flush, half of shame, half of dis- pleasure, mantled her cheek. " Yes," cried Herbert, for he felt that he was in a difficulty, and there was no way out save the bold one, of right through it; "yes, she saw what you did not, that Hemsworth had dared to lift his eyes to you — that all his displays of patriotic sentiment were got up to attract your favourable THE o'donogiiue. 32§ notice, and that in his arguments with Frederick about Ireland, his whole aim was to expose the Guardsman's ignorance, and throw ridicule upon it, neither seeking to convey sound notions, nor combat erroneous im- pressions." " Captain Travers was but too easy a mark for such weapons," said Kate, angrily. *' It was his pleasure to make Ireland the object of his sarcasm." " So Ilemsworth contrived it !" cried Herbert; eagerly, for it was a subject of which he had long been anxious to ^eak, and one he had heard much of from Sybella. *' I know well the game he played, and how successfully too," Kate blushed deeply ; for a moment she believed that her own secret was known to Herbert, but the next instant she was reassured that all was safe. " Sybella told me how he actually lay in wait for opportunities to en- tice Frederick into discussion before you, well knowing the themes that would irritate him, and calculating how far petty refutations, and half- suppressed sneers would embarrass and annoy him — the more, because Frederick saw how much more favourably you regarded Ilemsworth's sentiments than his own ; and, indeed, sometimes I fancied, Kate, it was a point the Guardsman was very tender about ; — nay, sweet cousin, I would not say a word to oftend you." " Then, do not speak of this again, Herbert," said she, in a low voice. " It is a luckless land," said Herbert, sighing. *' They who know it well are satisfied with the cheap patriotism of declaiming on its wrongs. They who feel most acutely for its sorrows, arc, for the most part, too ignorant to alleviate them. I begin to think my uncle is quite right — that the best thing we could do would be to make a truce — to draw the game — for some twenty or thirty years, and try if the new generation might not prove wiser in expedients than their fathers." "A luckless land, indeed!" said Mark, who, coming up at the mo- ment, had overheard the last words. " You Avcre right to call it so — where the son of an O'Houoghue sees no more glorious path to follow than that of a hollow compromise !" Kate and Herbert started as he spoke, and while her face flashed with an emotion of mingled pride and shame, Herbert looked abashed, and almost angry at the reproach. ti Forgive me, Herbert," said Mark, in a voice of deep mclancholv. *' Not even this theme should sow a difterence between us. I came to bid you good-bye." " Good-bye, !Mark'/" cried Kate, starting with terrified surprise. 330 THE o'donoghue. ■ " Going to leave us, Mark !" exclaimed Herbert, in an accent of true sorrow. " It is but for a few days — at least I hope that it will be no more," said Mark. But I have received intelligence that makes it necessary for me to remain in concealment for a short time. You see, Herbert," said he, laughing, " that your theory has the advantage on the score of pru- dence. Had I followed it, the chances are, I should not have occupied the attention of his Majesty's Privy Council." "The Privy Council ! I don't understand this, Mark." " Perhaps this is the easiest mode of explaining it," said Mark, as he unfolded a printed paper, headed " Treason — Reward for the appre- hension of Mark O'Donoghue, Esq., or such information as may lead to his capture." " Is that enough ? Come, come — I have no time for long stories just now. If you want to hear mine about the matter, you must visit me at my retreat — the low shealing at the west of Hungry Mountain. At least, for the present I shall remain there.", " But is this necessary, Mark ? Are you certain that any thing more is meant than to threaten?" said Kate. "I believe that Carrig-na-curra will be searched by a military force to-night, or to-morrow at farthest — that the bribe has tempted three or four — none of our people — don't mistake me — to set on my track. If my remaining would spare my father's house the indignity of a search — or if the country had any better cause at heart than that of one so valueless as I am, I would stay, Kate ■ " "No, no, Mark. This were but madness, unworthy of you, unjust to all who love you." The last few words were uttered so faintly, as only to be heard by him alone ; and as she spoke them a heavy tear rolled down her cheek, now pale as marble. " But surely, Mark," said Herbert, who never suspected any thing of his brother's intrigues, " this must proceed on mere falsehood. There is no charge against you — you, whose Hfe of quiet retirement here can defy any calumny." " But not deny the truth," said ]\Iark, with a sorrowful smile. " Once for all, I cannot speak of these things now. My time is run- ning fast ; and already my guide, yonder, looks impatient at my delay. Remember the shealing at the foot of the mountain. If there be any mist about, you have but to whistle." " Is poor Terry your guide, then ?" said Kate, affecting to smile with some semblance of tranquillity. " My guide and my host both," said Mark, gaily. " It's the^only THE o'donoghue. 331 invitation I have received for Christmas, and 1 accept it most will- ingly, I assure you." An impatient gesture of Terry's Imml, as lie stood on a small pinnacle of rock, about fifty feet above the road, attracted Mark's attention, and he called out — "Well!— what is it?" "The dragoons!" shouted Terry, in a terrified voice. "They're crossing the ford at Caher-mohill, two miles off — eight, nine, ten — ay, there's twelve now, over ; and the fellow in the dark coat, he's anotlier. Wait ! they're asking the way : that's it, I"^! sure. "Well done ! — my blessing be an ye this day, whoever ye are. May I never I if he's not sending them wrong ! They're down the glen towards Killarney ;" and as he finished speaking he sprang from the height, and hastened down the precipice at a rate that seemed to threaten destruction at every step. " Even so, Terry. We have not more time than we need. It's a long journey to the west of the mountain ; and so, good-bye, my dear cousin. Good-bye, Herbert. A short absence it will be, I trust ;" and, tearing himself away hurriedly, lest any evidence of emotion might be seen, the young man ascended the steep pathway after Terry ; nor did he turn his head round, until distance enabled him to look down unno- ticed, when again he cried out " Farewell ! llemember the west side of Hungry 1" and waving his cap, disappeared, while Herbert and his cousin wended their sorrowful way homeward. CHAPTER XLI. " A DISCOVEKY. ' When Kate arrived at home, she found a note awaiting her, in Hems- worth's hand-writing, and marked "haste." Guessing at once to what it must refer, she broke the seal, with an anxious heart, and read : — "My dear Madam, " I have been unable to retard any longer the course of i)rocecdings against your cousin. It ^would seem that the charges against him are 332 THE o'donoghue. far more grave and menacing than either of us anticipated, at least so far as I can collect from the information before me. The Privy Council has determined on arresting him at once. Orders to support the war- rant by a military force have been transmitted to officers commanding parties in different towns of the south, and there is no longer a question of the intentions of the crown regarding him. But one, of two, chances is now open to him — to surrender and take his trial — or, should he, as he may, without any imputation on his courage, dread this, to make his escape to the coast, near Kenmare, where a lugger will lie off, on Wednesday night. By this means he will be able to reach some port in France or Flanders ; or, probably, should the wind change, obtain protection from some of the American vessels, which are reported as cruising to the westward. " In making this communication to you, I need scarcel}'' observe the implicit foith I repose in the use you make of it. It is intended to be the means of providing for yovir cousin's safety — but should it, by any accident, fall under other eyes than yours, it would prove the inevitable ruin of your very devoted servant, *'\Vm. IIemsworth." " And they will not believe this man's integrity ?" exclaimed Kate, as she finished reading the note. " lie who jeopardies his own station and character for the sake of one actually his enemy ! Well, their in- justice shall not involve my honor. " Was it you brought this letter ?" said she to Wylie, who stood, hat in hand, at the door. *' Yes, my lady, and I was told there might, perhaps, be an answer." "No — there is none ; say ' very well' — that I have read it. Where is Mr. Heiusworth ?" " At Macroom. There was a meeting of magistrates there, which de- layed him, and he wrote this note, and sent me on, instead of coming himself." " Say, that I shall be happy to see him — that's enough," said Kate, hurriedly, and turned back again into the house. Through all the difficulties that beset her path hitherto, she had found Sir Archy an able and a willing adviser ; but now, the time was come, when not only m\ist she act independently of his aid, but, per- haps, in actual opposition to his views — taking for her guidance one distrusted by almost every member of her family. Yet what alterna- tive remained — how betray Ilcmsworth's conduct in a case which, if known, must exhibit him as fiilse to the Government, and acting secretly against the very orders that were given to him ? This, she could not THE o'DONOGnuE. 333 think of, and thus by tlie force of circumstances, was constrained to accept of Hemsworth as an ally. Her anxious dtlibcrations on this score were suddenly interrupted by the sound of horses galloj)ing on the road, and as she looked out, the individual in ipiestiun rode up the causeway, followed by his groom. The O'Donoghue was alone in the drawing-room, nnising over the sad events which necessitated Mark's concealment, vhon llemswortli entered, heated by a long and fast ride. " Is your son at home, sir — your eldest son ?" said lie, as soon as a very brief greeting was over. "If you'll kindly ring that bell, which my gout won't permit me to reach, we'll inquire," said the old man, with a well-afFected indiffe- rence. " I must not create any suspicion among the servants," said Hems- worth, c.iutiously, " I have reason to believe that some danger is im- pending over him, and that he had better leave this house for a day or two." The apparent frankness of the tone in which he spoke, threw the O'Donoghue completely ofi' his guard, and taking Ilemsworth's hand, he said — " Thank you sincerely for this, the poor boy got wind of it this morn- ing, and I trust before now, has reached some place of safetj- for the present — but what steps can we take ? — is there anything you can ad- vise us to do? — I'm really so bewildered by all I lieai-, and so doubtful of what is true and what false, that I'm incapable of an opinion. Here comes the only clear head amongst us. Kate, my sweet child, Mr. Hemsworth, like a kind friend, has come over about this aftair of Mark's — will you and Sir Archy talk it over with him 1" "I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir, but I must recall to your memory that I am a magistrate, charged with your son's arrest, and if by an unguarded expression," here he smiled signiticantly, "I have betrayed my instructions — I rely on your honour not to exj)osc me to the consequences." The O'Donoghue listened, without thoroughly comprehentling the distinction the other aimed at, and then, as if disliking the trouble of a thought that puzzled him — he shook his head and nuittered, " Aye, very well — be it so — my niece knows these matters better than I do." " 1 agree with that opinion, ])crfectly," said Hemsworth, in an under- tone, " and if ]\Iiss O'Donoghue will favor me with her company for a few minutes in the garden, 1 may be able to assist her to a clear under- standing of the case." Kat« smiled asseutingly, and Hemsworth 334 THE o'donoghuk. moved towards the door and opened it ; and then, as if after a momen- tary struggle with his own diffidence, he offered her his arm ; this Kate declined, and they walked along, side by side. They had nearly reached the middle of the garden before Hemsworth broke silence. At last he said, with a deep sigh — " I fear we are too late Miss O'Donoghue. The zeal, real or affected, of the country ma- gistrates, has stimulated them to the utmost. There are spies over the whole country — he will inevitably be taken." Kate re-echoed the last words in an accent of deep anguish, and was silent. " Yes," resumed he, " escape is all but impossible — for even if he should get to sea, there are two cruisers on the look-out for any suspi- cious sail. " And what if he were to surrender and stand his trial," said Kate, boldly. ■ Hemsworth shook his head sorrowfully, but never spoke. " What object can it be with any Government to hunt down a rash, inexperienced youth, whose unguarded boldness has led him to ruin ? On whom would such an example tell, or where would the lesson spread terror, save beneath that old roof yonder, where sorrows are rife enough already ?" " The correspondence with France — that's his danger. The inter- course with the disturbed party at home might be palliated by his youth — the foreign conspiracy admits of little apology." " And what evidence have they of this ?" "Alas ! but too much — the table of the Privy Council was actually covered with copies of letters and documents — some, written by himself — almost all, referring to him as a confidential and trusty agent of the cause. This cannot be forgiven him ! When I heard a member of the Council say, ' Jackson's blood is dried up already,' I guessed the dread- ful result of this young man's capture. Kate shuddered at these words, which were uttered in a faint tone, tremulous through emotion. "Oh, God," she cried, " do not let this calamity fall upon us. Poverty, destitution, banishment, anything, save the death of a felon !" Hemsworth pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, and looked aAvay, as the young girl, with upturned face, muttered a brief but fervent prayer to heaven. " But you, so gifted and experienced in the world's ways," cried she, turning on him a glance of imploring meaning — " can you not think of anything ? Is there no means, however difficult and dangerous, by Tin: o'donoghue. 335 which he might he saved ? Could not the honor of an ancient lioiisc plead for him ? Is there no pledge for the future could avail him." " There is hut one such pledge— and that" — lierc he stopped and blushed deeply, and then, as if by an cflfort, resumed — " Do not, I beseech you, tempt me to utter what, if once s]>oken, decides the des- tiny of my life ?" He ceased, and she bent on him a look of wondering astonish- ment. She thought she had not heard him aright, and amid her fears of some vague kind, a faint hope struggled, that a chance of saving Mark yet remained. Perhaps, the mere expression of doubt her fea- tures assumed, was more chiUing than even a look of displeasure, for Hemsvvorth's self possession, for several minutes, seemed to have de- serted him ; when, at last recovering himself, he said — " Pray, think no more of my words, I spoke them rashly. I know of no means of befriending this young man. He rejected my counsels when they might have served him. I find how impossible it is to win confidence from those whose prejudices have been fostered in adverse circumstances. Now, I am too late — my humble task is merely to offer you some advice, which the day of calamity may recall to your memory. The Government intends to make a severe example of his case. I heard so much, by accident, from the Under Secretary. They will proceed, in the event of his conviction — of which there cannot be a doubt — to measures of confiscation regarding his property — timely intervention might be of service here." This additional threat of misfortune did not seem to present so many terrors to Kate's mind as he calculated on its producing. She stood silent and motionless, and appeared scarcely to notice his words. " I feel how barbarous such cruelty is to an old and inoffensive pa- rent," said Hemsworth, " whose heart is rent by the recent loss of a son." " He must not die," said Kate, with a hollow voice, and her pale cheek trembled with a convulsive motion. 'Olark must be saved. What was the pledge you hinted at ?" Hemsworth's eyes flashed, and his lip curled with an expression of triumph. The moment, long sought, long hoped for, had at length arrived, which should gratify both his vengeance and his ambition. The emotion passed rapidly away, and his features assumed a look of subdued sorrow. *' I fear, Miss O'Douoghue," said he, " that my hope was but hke the straw which the drowning hand will grasp at ; but, tortured as my mind has been by expedients, which more mature thought has ever 336 THE o'donoghue, discovered to be Impracticable, I suffered, myself to believe that possi- ble, which my own heart forbids me to hope for." He waited a few seconds to give her an opportunity of speaking, but she was silent, and he went on — " The guarantee I alluded to would be the pledge of one, whose loyalty to the Government stands above suspicion ; one, whose services have met no requital, but whose reward only awaits the moment of deiuanding it ; such a one as this might make his own character and fortune the recognizance for this young man's conduct, and truck the payment of his own services for a free pardon." " And who is there thus highly placed, and willing to befriend us." Hemsworth laid his hand upon his heart, and bowing with deep humility, uttered, in a low, faint voice — " He who now stands before you !" " You," cried Kate, as clasping her hands in an ccstacj', she fixed her tearful eyes upon him. "You Avould do this?" Then growing sud- denly pale, as a sick shudder came over her, she saitl, in a deep and broken voice, "At what price, sir 1" The steady gaze she fixed upon him seemed to awe and abash him, and it was with unfeigned agitation that he now spoke. " A price which the devotion of a life long could not repay. Alas ! a price I dare no more aspire to, than hope for." "Speak plainly, sir," said Kate, in a firm, collected tone, "this is not a moment for misconception. What part have I to play in this compact, for by your manner I suppose you include me in it ?" " Forgive me, young lady, I have not courage to place the whole for- tunes of my life upon one cast ; already I feel the heaviness of heart that heralds in misfortune. I would rather live on with even this faint gliinmer of hope than with the darkness of despair for ever." His hands dropped powerless at his side, his head fell forward on his bosom, and as if without an oflfort of his will, almost iiuconsciously his lips muttered the words, " I love you." Had the accents been the sting of an adder they could not have called up an expression of more painful meaning than flashed over Kate's features. "And this, then, is the price you hinted at — this was to be the com- pact." The proud look of scorn she threw upon him evoked no angry feel- ing in his breast, he seemed overwhelmed by sorrow, and did not dare even to look up. "You judge me hardly, unfairly too ; I never meant my intercession THE o'donoghue. 337 should be purchased— humble as I am, I should be still more unworthy, had I harboured such a thought ; my hope was this, to make my in- tervention available, I should show myself linked with the fortunes of that house I tried to save — it should be a case, where, ])ersonally, my own interest was at stake, and where my fortmie, all I ])0ssessed in the world was in the scale, if you consented" — here he* hesitated, faltered, and finally became silent, then passing his hands across his eyes, re- sumed more rapidly — " but I must not speak of this ; alas ! that my tongue should have ever betrayed it ; you have forced my secret from me, and with it my happiness for ever — forget this, I beseech you for- get that, even ui a moment so unguarded, I dared to lift my eyes to the shrine my heart has worship])ed. I ask no pledge, no compact, I will do my utmost to save this youth ; I will spare no exertion or influ- ence I possess with the Government ; I will make his pardon the re- compense due to myself, but if that be impossible, I will endeavour to obtain connivance at his escape, and all the price I ask for this is, your forgiveness of my presumption." Kate held out her hand towards him, while a smile of bewitching loveliness played over her features ; " this is to be a friend indeed," said she. Hemsworth bent down his head till his lips rested on her fingers, and as he did so, the hot tears trickled on her hand, then suddenly starting up, he said, " I must lose no time ; where shall I find your cousin ? — in what part of the country has he sought shelter ?" " The sheaUng at the foot of Hungry mountain, he mentioned to Herbert as the rendezvous for the present." " Is he alone — has he no companion ?" " None, save, perhaps, the idiot boy who acts as his guide in the mountains." " Farewell then," said Hemsworth, "you shall soon hear what suc- cess attends my efforts ; farewell" — and, without waiting for more, he hastened from the spot, and was soon heard descending the causeway at a rapid pace. Kate stood for a few moments lost in thought, and as the sound of the retreating hoofs aroused her, she looked up, and muttering to her- self, " It was nobly done," returned with slow steps to the house. As Hemsworth spurred his horse, and urged him to his tastest speed, expressions of mingled triumph and vengeance burst from him at intervals — " Mine at last," cried he — " mine in spite of every obstacle, —Fortune is seldom so kind as this — vengeance and ambition both gratified together — me, whom they dispised for my poverty, and my 338 THE O DONOGHUE. low birth — that it should be my destiny to crush them to the dust!" These words were scarcely uttered, when his horse, pressed beyond his strength, stumbled over a rut in the road, and fell heavily to the ground, throwing his rider under him. For a long time no semblance of consciousness returned, and the groom, fearing to leave him, had to wait for hours until a country car should pass, in which his wounded master might be laid. There came one by at last, and on this Hemsworth was laid, and brought back to " the Lodge." Before he reached home, however, sense had so far returned, as, that he felt his accident was attended with no serious injury ; the shock of the fall was the only circumstance of any gravity. The medical man of Macroom was soon with him, and partly confirmed his own first impressions, but strictly enjoining rest and quiet, as in the event of any mmsual excitement, the worst consequences might ensue. Hemsworth bore up under the injunction with all the seeming fortitude he could muster, but in his heart he cursed the misfortune that thus delayed the hour of his long-sought vengeance. '* This may continue a week, then V cried he, impatiently. The doctor nodded an assent. ** Two — three weeks, perhaps ?" •' It will be a month, at least, before I can pronounce you out of danger," said the physician, gravely. " A month ! Great Heaven ! — a month ! And what are the dan- gers you apprehend, in the event of my not submitting V " There are several, and very serious ones — inflammation of the brain, fever, derangement even." " Yes, and are you sure this confinement will not drive me mad ?" cried he, passionately; "will you engage that my brain will hold out against the agonizing thoughts that will not cease to torture me all this while ? — or can you promise that events shall stand still for the moment when I can resume my place once more among men 1" The hurried and excited tone in Avhich he spoke was only a more certain evidence of the truth of the medical fears ; and, without ven- turing on any direct reply, the doctor gave some directions for his treat- ment, and withdrew. The physician's apprehensions were well founded. The first few liours after the accident seemed to threaten nothing serious, but as night fell, violent headache and fever set in, and before day-break, he was quite delirious. No sooner did the news reach Carrig-na-ciirra, than Kerry was dis- patched to bring back tidings of his state ; for, however different the TUE o'donoghue. 339 estimation in which he was held by each, one universal feeUnp; per- vaded all — of sorrow for his disaster. Day after day, Sir Archy or Herbert went over to inquire after him ; but some clironic feature of his malady seemed to have succeeded, and he lay in one unvarviny con- dition of lethargic unconsciousness. In this way, week after week glided over, and the condition of the country seemed like that of the sick man — one of slumbering ajjathy. The pursuit of ^lark, so eagerly begun, had, as it were, died out. Tlie proclamations of reward, torn down by the country ])eo})le on their first appearance, were never renewed, and the military party, after an ineffectual search through Killarney, directed their steps northwards towards Tralee, and soon after returned to head-quarters. Still, with all these signs of security, Mark, whose short experience of life, had taught him caution, rarely ventured near Carrig-na-curra, and never passed more than a few moments beneath his father's roof. "While each had a foreboding that this calm was but the lull that preludes a storm, their apprehensions took very different and opposing courses. Kate's anxieties increased with each day of Hemsworth's ill- ness ; she saw the time gliding past in which escape seemed practicable, and yet knew not how to profit by the- opportunity. Sir Archy, coup- ling the activity with which Mark's pursuit was first undertaken, with the sudden visit of Hemsworth to the country, and the abandonment of all endeavours to capture him, which followed on Hemsworth's ac- cident, felt strong suspicion that the agent was the ])rime mover in the whole affair, and that his former doubts were well founded regard- ing him ; while Herbert, less informed than cither on the true state of matters, formed opinions which changed and vacillated with each day's experience. In this condition of events. Sir Archy had gone over one morning alone, to inquire after Hemsworth, whose case, for some days preceding, was more than usually threatening — symptoms of violent delirium having succeeded to the dead lethargy in which he was sunk. Buried deeply in his conjectures as to the real nature of the part he was acting, and how far his motives tallied with honourable intentions, the old man plodded wearily on, weighing every word lie could remember that bore upon events, and carefully endeavouring to divest his mind of every thing like a prejudice. jNIusing thus, he accidentally diverged from the rcfular approach, and turned off into a narrow path, which led to the back of "the Lodge ;" nor was he aware of his mistake, till he saw, at tlic end of the walk, the large window of a room he remembered as be- longing to the former building. The sash was o])en; but the curtains 340 THE o'donoghue. were drawn closely, so as to intercept any view from within or without. He observed these things, as fatigued by au unaccustomed exertion, he seated himself, for some moments' rest, on a bench beneath the trees. A continuous, low, moaning sound soon caught his ear ; he listened, and could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of a sick man, accom- panied as it was by long-drawn sighs. There were voices, also, of per- sons speaking cautiously together, and the words, " He is asleep at last," were plainly audible, after which the door closed, and all was still. The solemn awe which great illness inspires was felt in all its force by the old man, as he sat like one spell-bound, and unable to depart. The labouring respiration that seemed to bode the ebb of life, made his own strong heart tremble, for he thought how, in his last hours, he might have wronged him. "Oh! if I have been unjust — if I have followed him to the last with ungenerous doubt — forgive me, Heaven ; even now my ow^n heart is half my accuser ;" and his lips murmured a deep and fervent prayer, for that merciful benevolence, which, in his frail natvu-e, he denied to another. He arose from his knees with a spirit calmed, and a courage stronger, and was about to retire, when a sud- den cry from the sick room arrested his steps. It was followed by another more shrill and piercing still, and then a horrid burst of frantic laughter : dreadful as the anguish-wrung notes of suifering — how little do they seem in comparison with the sounds of mirth from the lips of madness ! "There — there," cried a voice, he at once knew as Hemsworth's — "that's him, that's your prisoner — make sure of him now; remember your orders, men ! — do you hear ; if they attempt a rescue, load with ball, and fire low — mind that, fire low. Ah ! you are pale enough now j" and again the savage laughter rung out. " Yes, madam," continued he, in a tone of insolent sarcasm, " every respect shall be shown him — a chair in the dock — a carpet on the gallows. You shall wear mourning for him — all the honeymoon, if you fancy it. Yes," screamed he, in a wild and frantic voice, " this is like revenge ! You struck me once — you called me coarse plebeian, too ! We shall be able to see the blood you are proud of — aye, the blood ! the blood !"^ — and then, as if worn out by exhaustion, he heaved a heavy sigh, and fell into deep moaning as before. Sir Archy, who felt in the scene a direct acknowledgment of his appeal to Heaven, drew closer to the window, and listened. Gradually, and like one awaking from a heavy slumber, the sick man stretched his limbs, and drew a long sigh, whose groaning accent spoke of great debility ; and then, starting up in his bed, shouted — ■-t<^ ■ ^///./ (V/// y/^/i^y J Tin; o noNOGiiuE. .^11 "It is, it is the King's warrant — who dares to oppose it. Ride in faster, men — faster; keep together here, tlie west sideof tlic mountain. There — there, yonder, near the beaeh. "Who was that spoke of pardon ! Never ; if he resists, cut liim down. Ride for it, men, ride ;" and in his mad excitement, he arose from liis bed, and piined the floor. "There — that's him yonder; he has taken to the mountains ; five hun- dred guineas to the hand that grasps him tirst," and he tottered to tlie window, and tearing aside the curtain, looked out. Worn and wasted, with beard unshaven for weeks long, and eves glistening with the lustre of insanity, the expression of his features ac- tually chilled the heart's blood of the old man, as he stood almost at his side, and unable to move away. For a second or two Hemsworth gazed on the other, as if some struggling effort of recognition was labouring in his brain ; and then, with a mad struggle he exclaimed — " They were too late ; the Council gave but eight days. I suppressed the proclamation in the south. Eight days — after that, no pardon — in this world at least" — and a fearful grin of malice convulsed his features ; then with an altered accent, and a faint smile, from which sickness tore its oft-assumed dissimulation, he said, " I did every thing to persuade him to surrender — to accept the gracious favour of the crown ; but he would not — no, he would not !" — and, with another burst of laughter, he staggered back into the room, and fell helpless on the floor. Sir Archy was in no compassionate mood at the moment, and without be- stomng a thought on the sufferer, he hastened down the path, and with all the speed of which he was capable, returned to Carrig-ua-curra. CHAPTER XLII. THE S II EALING. Sir Akch\'s manner, so precise and measured in every occasion of life, had undergone a very marked change before he arrived at Carrig- ua-curra ; exclamations broke from him at every moment, mingled with fervently expressed hopes, that he might not be yet too late to rescue Mark from his peril. The agitation of his mind and the fatigue of his 342 THE o'donoghue. exertions completely overcame him ; and when he reached the house, he threw himself down upon a seat, utterly exhausted. "Are you, unwell, my dear uncle ?" broke from Kate and Herbert together, as they stood at either side of his chair. " Tired, wearied, heated, my dear children ; nothing more. Send me Kerry here ; I want to speak to him." Kerry soon entered, and Sir Archy, beckoning him to his side, whispered a few words rapidly into his ear. Kerry made no reply, but hastened from the room, and was soon after seen hurrying down the causeway. " I see, my dear uncle," whispered Kate, with a tremulous accent — ■ *' I see you have bad tidings for us this moruing — he is worse." " Waur he canna be," muttered Sir Arclw, with a significance that gave the words a very equivocal meaning. " But there is still hope. They told us yesterday that to-morrow would be the crisis of the malady — the twentieth day since his relapse." " Yes, yes !" said the old man, who, not noticing her remark, pur- sued aloud the track of his own reflections. " Entrapped — ensnared — • I see it all now. And only eight days given ! — and even of these to be kept in ignorance. Poor fellow, how you have been duped." " But this delirium may pass away, uncle," said Kate, who, puzzled at his vague expressions, sought to bring him again to the theme of Ilemsworth's illness. " Then comes the penalty, lassie," cried he, energetically. " The Go- vernment canna forgie a rebel, as parents do naughty children, by the promise of doing better next time. When a daring scheme — but wait a bit, here's Kerry. Come to the window, man ; come over here," and he called him towards him. Whatever were the tidings Kerry brought. Sir Archy seemed over- joyed by them ; and taking Herbert's arm, he hurried from the room, leaving the O'Donoghue and Kate in a state of utter bewilderment. "I'm afraid, my sweet niece, that Hemsworth's disease is a catching one. Archy has a devilish wild, queer look about him to-day," said the O'Donoghue, laughing. " I hope he has heard no bad news, sir. He is seldom so agitated as this. But what can this mean ? Here comes a chaise up the road. See, it has stop])ed* at the gate,' and there is Kerry hastening down with a portmautua." Sir Archy entered as she spoke, dressed for the road, and apju'oach- ing his brothcr-iu-law's chair, whispered a few words in his car. "Great heaven ])rotcct us !" exclaimed the O'Donoghue, falhngback. THE O DONOGHUE. .'{J.i half unconscious, into his seat. While, turning to Kate, Sir Archy. took her hand in both of his, and said — " My ain dear bairn, I have no secrets from yon ; but time is too short to say much now. Enough, if I tell you Mark is in danger — the greatest and most imminent. I must hasten up to Dublin and see the Secretary, and, if possible, the Lord Lieutenant. It may be necessary, perhaps, for me to proceed to London. Herbert is already off to the mountains, to warn Mark of his peril. If he can escape till I return, all may go well yet. Above all things, however, let no rumour of my journey escape. I'm only going to INIacroom, or Cork, mhid that, and to be l)ack to-morrow evening, or next day." A gesture from Kerry, who stood on the rock above the road, warned hiin that all was ready ; and, with an affectionate but hurried adieu, he left the room, and gaining the high road, was soon proceeding towards Dublin, at the fastest speed of the posters. " Them's the bastes can do it," said Kerry, as he watched them, with the admiration of a connoisseur ; " and the little one wid the rat- tail isn't the worst either," "Where did that chaise come from, Kerry?" cried the O'Donoghue, who could not account for the promptitude of Sir Archy's move- ments. "'Twas with Doctor Dillon from IMacroom it came, sir; and it was to bring him back there again ; but Sir Archibald told me to give the boy a pound note, to make a mistake, and come over here for himself. That's the way of it." While we leave the O'Donoghue and his niece to the interchange of their fears and conjectures regarding the danger which they both con- curred in believing had been communicated to Sir Archy by Ilems- worth, we must follow Herbert, who was now on his way to the mountains, to apprize Mark that his place of concealment was already discovered, and that measures for his capture were taken in a spirit that indicated a purpose of personal animosity. Herbert knew little more than this, for it was no part of Sir Archy's plan to impart to any one his discovery of Ilemsworth's treachcrv, lest, in the event of his recovery, their manner towards him would lead him to a change of tactiquc. Ilcmsworth was too cunning an adversary to concede any advantage to. Indeed, the only chance of success against him lay in taking the opportunity of his present illness, to anti- cipate his movements. Sir Archy, therefore, left the family at C'arrig- na-curra in ignorance of this man's villainy, as a means of lulling him into security. The expressions tliat fell from hiu), half imconsciously^ 344 THE o'donoghue. in the drawing-room, fortunately contributed to this end, and induced both the O'Donoghue and Kate to beheve that, whatever the nature of the tidings Sir Archy had learned, their source was no other than Hemsworth himself, of whose good intentions towards Mark no suspicion existed. Herbert's part was limited to the mere warning of Mark, that he should seek some more secure resting-place ; but what kind the danger was, from whom or whence it came, the youth knew nothing. He was not, indeed, unaware of Mark's political feelings, nor did he undervalue the effect his principles might produce upon his actions. He knew him to be intrepid, fearless, and determ.ined ; and he also knew how the want of some regular pursuit or object in life had served farther to un- settle his notions and increase the discontent he felt with his condition. If Herbert did not look up to Mark with respect for the superior quali- ties of mind, there were traits in his nature that inspired the senti- ment fully as strongly. The bold rapidity with which he anticipated and met a danger, the fertile resources he evinced at moments when most men stand appalled and terror-struck, the calmness of his spirit when great peril was at hand, showed that the passionate and wayward nature was the struggle which petty events create, and not the real germ of his disposition. Herbert foresaw that such a character had but to find the fitting sphere for its exercise, to win an upward way ; but he was well aware of the risks to which it exposed its possessor. On this theme his thoughts dwelt the entire day, as he trod the solitaiy path among the mountains ; nor did he meet with one human thing along that lonely road. At last, as evening was falling, he drew near the glen which wound along the hase of the mountain, and as he was endeavouring to decide on the path, alow whistle attracted him. This, remembering it was the signal, he replied to, and the moment after Terry crept from a thick cover of brushwood, and came towards him. " I thought I'd make sure of you before I let you pass. Master Her- bert," cried he, " for I couldn't see your face, the way your head was hanging down. Take the little path to the left, and never turn till you come to the white-thorn tree — then straight up the mountain for a quarter of a mile or so, till you reach three stones, one over another. From that spot you'll see the shealing down beneath you." "My brother is there now?" said Herbert, enquiringly. " Yes ; he never leaves it long now ; and he got a bit of a fright the other evening, when the French schooner came into the bay." "A French schooner here, in the bay?" "Ay, just SO; but with an English flag flying. She landed teu i i i ■i THK O DONOGnUK. 345 men at the point, and then got out to sea as fast as she could. She was out of sight before dark." "And the men — what became of them?" "They staid an hour or more with Master Mark, One of them was an old friend, I think ; for I never saw such delight as he was in to see your brother. He gave him two books, and some paper, and a bundle — 1 don't know what was in it — and then they struck off towanis Kcumare Bay, by a road very few know in these parts." All these particulars surprised and interested Herbert not a little ; — for although far from implicitly believing the correctness of Terry's tidings, as to the vessel being a French one, yet the event seemed not insignificant, as showing that Mark had friends, who were aware of his present place of concealment. Without wasting further time, how- ever, he bade Terry good-bye, aud started along the path down the glen. Following Terry's directions, Herbert found the path, which, in many places was concealed by loose furze bushes, evidently to j)rcvent detection by strangers, and at last, having gained the ridge of the moun- tain, perceived the little shealing at a distance of some hundred feet beneath him. It was merely a few young trees, covered over with loose sods, which, abutting against the slope of- the hill, opened towards the sea, from whence the view extended along thirty miles of coast on either hand. At any other moment, the glorious landscape before him would have engrossed Herbert's entire attention. The calm sea, over which night was slowly stealing — the jutting promontories of rock, over whose sides the white foam was splashing — the tall dark cliffs, pierced by many a cave, through which the sea roared like thunder — all these caught his thoughts but for a second, and already with bouudiug steps he hurried down the steep, where the next moment a scene revealed itself, of far deeper interest to his heart. Through the roof of the shealing, from vhich, in many places, the dry sods had fallen, he discovered his brother, stretched uj)on the earthen floor of the hut, intently gazing on a large ma]), which lay wide- spread before him. The figure was indeed Mark's. The massive head, on either side of which, in flovN-iug waves, the long and locky hair de- scended, there was no mistaking. But the costume was one Herbert saw for the first time. It was a simple uniform of blue aud white, with a single silver epaulette, and a sword, hiked with the same metal. The shako was of dark fur, and ornamented with a large bouquet of tri-co- lored ribbons, whose gay and flauutmg colours streamed with a strange 346 THE o'nONOGHUE. contrast along tlie dark earthen floor. Amid all his terror for what these emblems might portend, his heart bounded with pride at the martial and handsome figure, as, leaning on one elbow, he traced with the other hand the lines upon the map. Unable to control his impatience longer, he cried out — " Mark, my brother !" and the next moment they were in each other's arms. " You passed Terry on the mountain ? He was at his post, I trust ?" said Mark, anxiously. "Yes, but for his directions I could never have discovered the path." " All's well, then. Until I hetir a certain signal from him, I fear nothing. The fellow seems neither to eat nor sleep. At least since I've been here, he has kept watch night and day in the mountains." " He always loved j'ou, Mark." " He did so ; but now it is not me he thinks of. His whole heart Is in the cause — higher and nobler than a mere worthless life like mine." ' " Poor fellow ! he is but half-witted at best," said Herbert. "The more reason for his fidelity now," said IMark, bitterly. " The men of sense are traitors to their oaths, and false to their friends. The enterprise cannot reckon, save on the fool or the madman. I know the taunt you hint at, as " " My dearest brother," cried Herbert, with streaming eyes. " My own dear Herbert, forgive me," said Mark, as he flung his arm round his neck. " These bursts of passion come over me after long and weary thoughts. I am tired to-day. Tell me, how are they all at Carrig-na-curra ?" " Well, and, I would say, happy, Mark, were it not for their anxi- eties about you. My uncle heard some news to-day so threatening in its nature, that he has set out for Dublin post haste, and merely wrote these few lines, which he gave me for you before he started." Mark read the paper twice over, and then tearing it, threw the frag ments at his feet, while he muttered — "I cannot, I must not leave this." " But your safety depends on it, Mark — so, my uncle pressed upon me. The danger is imminent, and, he said, fatal." " So would it be, were I to leave my post. I cannot tell you, Herbert — I dare not reveal to you what our oatli forbids me : — but here I must remain," THE o'donoghue. 347 " And this dress, Mark — why increase tlie risk 3'on run I)y a uniform which actually designates treason ?" " Who will dare to tell me so ?" cried ^lark, impetuously. " The luiifbrm is that of a French grenadier — the service whose toil is glorv, and whose cause is liberty. It is enough that I do not wear it without authority. You can satisfy yourself on that head soon. Head this," and he unfolded a paper, which, bearing the arms and seal of the French Repuljlic, purported to be a commission as Lieutenant in llochc's own regiment of grenadiers, conferred on Mark O'Donoghue in testimony of esteem for his fidelity to the cause of Irish independence. " You are surprised that I can read the language, Herbert," said he, smiling ; *' but I have laboured hard this summer, and, with Kate's good aid, have made some progress." "And is your dream of Irish independence brought so lowas this, Mark ' — that the freedom you speak of must be won by an alien's valour?" "They are no aliens, whose hearts beat alike for liberty. Language, country, seas may divide us, but we are brothers in the glorious cause of humanity. Their swords are with us now, as would be ours for them, did the occasion demand them. Besides, we must teach the traitors, boy, that we can do without them — that if her own sons are i'alse, Ireland has friends as true ; and then, woe to them who have betrayed her. Oh, my brother, the brother of my heart, how would I kneel in thankfulness to heaven, if the same hopes that stirred within me were yours also. If the genius you possess were enlisted in the dear cause of your own country — if we could go forth together, hand in hand, and meet danger side by side, as now we stand." " My love for you would make tlie sacrifice, i\Iark," said Herbert, as the tears rolled heavily along his cheek ; but my convictions, my reason, my religion, alike forbid it." " Your religion, Herbert? — did I hear you aright?'' " You did. I am a Protestant." jNIark fell back as his brother spoke ; a cold leaden tinge spread over his features, and he seemed like one labouring against the sickness of an ague. " Oh, is it not time !" cried he, as he clasped his hands above his head, and shook them in an agony of emotion — "is it not time to strike the blow, ere every tie that bound us to tlie land should be rent asiuKU-r ; rank, place, wealth, and ])owcr they have despoiled us of ; our faith degraded, our lineage scoffed, and now the very links of blood divided — we have not brothers left us !" Herbert bent down his head upon his knees, and wept bitterly. 348 THE o'donoghue. " Who will tell me I have not been tried, now?" continued Mark, in a strain of impassioned sorrow — "deceived on every hand — robbed of my heritage — my friends all false — my father" — he stopped short, for at the moment Herbert looked up, and their eyes met. " What of our father, Mark ?" "My brain was wandering then," said Mark, in a broken voice. " Once more I ask forgiveness : we are brothers still ; if we be but true of heart to Him who knows all hearts, He will not suifer us to be divided. Can you remain a while with me, Herbert ? — I knovv^ you don't mind a rough bivouac." "Yes, IMark, I'll not leave you. All is well at home, and they will guess what cause detained me." So saying, the two brothers sat down side by side, and w-ith hands clasped firmly in each other, remained sunk in silent thought. The whole night through they talked together. It was the first moment, for many a long year, since they had unburdened their hearts like brothers, and in the fulness of their affection the most secret thoughts were revealed, save one topic only, of which neither dared to speak, and while each incident of the past was recalled, and friends were men- tioned, Mark never once alluded to Kate, nor did Herbert utter the name of Sybella Travers. Of his plans for the future, Mark made no secret ; he had accepted a commission in the French armj^ on the understanding that an invasion of Ireland w^as determined on, in the event of which, his services would be of some value. He hoped to reach France by the schooner, which, after lauding her cargo near the mouth of the Shannon, was to return at once to Cherbourg ; once there, he was to enter the service, and learn its discipline. "I have made my bargain with them ; my face is never to turn from England, till Ireland be free ; after that I am theirs, to march on the Rhine or the Danube — where they will. Personal ambition I have none! — to serve as a simple grenadier in the ranks of that army, that shall first plant the standard of liberty here ; such is my only compact. Speak to me of defeat or disaster, if you will ; but do not endeavour to per- suade me against an enterprise I have resolved to go through with, nor try to argue with me, where my impulses are stronger than my reason." In this strain Mark spoke, and while Herbert listened iu sorrow, he knew too well his l)rother's nature, to offer a word of remonstrance in opposition to his determination. Mark, on his side, led his brother to talk of many of his own plaus for the future, where another and a very different ambition was displayed. THE o'donoghue. 349 Herbert had entered the Usts where intellect and genius are the weapons, and in his early triumphs had conceived that passion for success, wliich once indulged, only dies with lite itself. The day broke upon them, tlius conversing, and already the sunlight was streaming over the western ocean, as they lay down side by side, and slejit. CHAPTER XLIII. 'THE CONFEDERATES. The paroxysm which Sir Archibald had witnessed, formed the crisis of Hemsworth's malady ; and on the evening of the same day, his disease had so far abated of its violence, that his delirium had left him, and ex- cessive debility was now the only symptom of great danger remaining. With the return of his faculties, came back his memory, clear and unclouded, of every incident up to the very moment of his accident ; and as he lay, weak and wasted on his bed, his mind reverted to the plans and projects of which his illness had interrupted the accomplishment. The excitement of the theme seemed rather to serve than he hurtful to him ; and the consciousness of returning health gave a spring to his recovery ; fatigue of thought induced deep sleep, and he awoke on the following day refreshed and recruited. The lapse of time in illness is, probabl}-, one of the most painful thoughts that await upon recovery. The lethargy in wliich we have been steeped simulates death ; while the march of events around us show how insignificant our existence is, and how independently of us the work of life goes on. When Wylic was summoned to bis master's bed-side, the first ques- tion put to him was, what day of the month it was ? and his astonish- ment was, indeed, great, as he heard it was the iGth of December, and that he had been above two months on a sick bed. " Two months here !" cried he ; " and what has happened since ?" " Scarcely anything, sir," said Wylic, well knowing the meaning of the question. " The country is quiet — the people tranquil. Too much so, perhaps, to last. The young O'Donoghue has not been seen up the gleu for several weeks past; but his brother passes frequently from 350 THE o'donoghue. Carrig-na-curra to the coast, and back again, so tliat there is Uttle doubt of his still being in his old hiding-place. Talbot — Barrington I mean — has been here again, too." "Barrington! — \\'hat brings him back? I thought he was in France." " The story goes that he landed at Bantry with a French agent. One thing is certain, the fellow had the impudence to call here and leave his card for you, one day I was at Macroom." " That piece of boldness bodes us no good," said Hemsworth. •' What of the others ? Who has called here from Carrig-na-curra ?" " A messenger every day ; sometimes twice in the same day." " A messenger ! — not one of the family ?" " For several weeks they have had no one to come. Sir Archy and the younger brother are both from home." " Where, then, is Sir Archy 1" said Hemsworth, anxiously. " That would seem a secret to every one. He left this one morning at a moment's notice, taking the chaise that brought the doctor here. The post-boy pretended he was discharged ; but I say that the excuse was made up, and that the fellow was bribed. On reaching Macroom, the old man got fresh horses, and started for Cork." " And what's the report in the country, Wylie ?" "There are two stories. One, that he heard some rumours of an accusation against himself, for intriguing with the United people, and thought best to get over to Scotland for a while." " That's folly ; what is the other rumour 1" " A more likely one," said Wylie, as he threw a shrewd glance beneath liis half-closed eye-lids. "They say that he determined to go up to Dublin, and see the Lord Lieutenant, and ask him for a free pardon for Mark." Hemsworth sprung up in the bed at these words, as if he had beeu stung. " And who says this, Wylie ?'* " I believe I was the first that saia so myself," said Wylie, affecting modesty ; " when Kerry told me, that the old man packed up a court dress and a sword." "You're right, Sam; there's not a doubt of it. How long is this ago?" " Five weeks on Tuesday last." " Five weeks ! — five weeks lost already ! And have you heard what has been done by him ? — what success he's met with ?" "No, sir; but you can soon know something about it yourself." THE ODONOGHUE. 351 ** How do you mean ?— I don't understand you." "These are the only two letters he has written as yet. This one came on Saturday. I always went down in the mornings to Mary M 'Kelly's, hefore the hag came in, and as she could not read over well, I sorted the letters for her myself, and shppcd in these among your own." Hemsworth and his companion exchanged looks. Prohahly never did glances more rajiidly reveal the sentinifnts of two hearts. Each, well knew the villainy of the other ; hut Hemsworth for the first time saw himself in another's power, and hesitated how far the advantage of the discovery was worth the heavy price he should pay for it ; hesides that the habits of his life made him regard the breach of confidence, incurred in reading another man's letter, in a very different light from his under- bred associate, and he made no gesture to take them from his hand. "This has an English post-mark," said Wylie, purposely occupying himself with the letter, to avoid noticing Hemsworth's hesitation. " You have not broken the seals, I hope," said Hemsworth, faintly. " No, sir ; I knew better than that," replied "Wylie, with well- assumed caution. " I knew your honour had a right to it, if you sus- pected the correspondence was treasonable,, because you're in the Com- mission, and it's your duty ; but I could'nt venture it, of myself." "I'm afraid your law is not very correct. Master Wylie," said Hems- worth, who felt by no means certain as to the sincerity of the opinion. " It's good enough for Glenflesk, anyhow," said the fellow, boldly ; lor he saw that in Hemsworth's present nervous condition, audacity might succeed where subserviency would not. " By which you mean that we have the case in our own hands, Wylie ; well, you're not far wrong in that ; still, I cannot break open a letter. " Well, then, I'm not so scrupulous when ni}' master's interests are concerned ;" and so saying, he tore open each in turn, and threw them on the bed. " There, sir, you can transport me for the offence when- ever you like." " You are a strange fellow, Sam," said Hemsworth, whose nerves were too much shaken by illness, to enable him to act with his ordinary decision, and he took up one of the letters, and penised it slowly. "This is merely an announcement of his arrival in Dublin; he has •waited upon, but not seen the Secretary — finds it difficult to obtain an audience — press of parliamentary business for the new session — no ex- citement about the United party. What tidings has the other .' Ha I — what's this ?"■ — and his thin and haggard face Hushed scarlet, " Leave 352 THE o'donoghue. me, Sam ; I must have a little time to consider this. Come back to me in an hour." Wylie said not a word, but moved towards the door ; while in his sallow features a savage smile of malicious triumph shone. As Hemsworth flattened out the letter before him on the bed, his eyes glistened and sparkled with the fire of aroused intelligence : the faculties which, during his long illness, had lain in abeyance, as if refreshed and invigorated by rest, were once more excited to their accustomed exercise ; and over that face, pale and haggard by sickness, a flush of conscious power stole, lighting up every lineament and feature, aud displaying the ascendancy of mental effort over mere bodily infirmity. " And so this Scotchman dares to enter the list with j«e," said he, with a smile of contemptuous meaning ; "let him try it." THi: {)"('{ NU'. II 'E. 353 CHAPTER \I,1V TIIK MOUNTAIN AT S tj N K I s i; A LiTTLK lowi-r down the valley tlian the post occupied hy Terry as his look-out, was a small streaui, passable by stepping-stones ; this was the usual parting place of the two brothers, whenever Herbert returned home tor a day or so, and this limit Mark rarely or never transgressed, regard- ing it as the frontier of his little dominion. Beside this rivulet, as night was falling, Mark sat, awaiting with some impatience his brother's com- ing, for already the third evening hsid passed in which Herbert pro- mised to be back, and yet he had not come. Alternately stoo])iug to listen, or straining his eyes to sec, he waited anxiously ; and while canvassing in his mind every possible casualty he could think of to account for his absence, he half resolved on pushing forward down the glen, and, if necessary, venturing even the whole way to Carrig-na-curra. Just then a sound caught his ear— he listened, and at once recognized Terry's voice, as, singing some rude verse, he came hastening down the glen at his full speed. " Ha! I thought you'd be here," cried he, with delight in his coiui- tenance ; " I knew you'd be just sitting there on that rock." "What has happened, then, Terry, that you wanted me ?" " It was a message a man in sailor's clothes gave me for your honour this morning, and, somehow, I forgot to tell you of it when you passed, though he charged me not to forget it." "What is it, Terry?" "Ah, then, that's what I misremember, and I had it all right this morning. Let me think a bit." Mark repelled every symptom of impatience, for he well knew how the slightest evidences of dissatisfaction on his part would destroy every chance of the poor fellow regaining his memory, and he waited silently for several minutes. At last, thinking to aid his recollection, lie said — " The man was a snmggler, Terry ?" "He was, but 1 never saw him before. He came across from Kinsale, over the mountains. Botheration to him, why didn't he say more, and I wouldn't forget it now." "Have patience, you'll think of it all by-and-by." 2a 354 THE o'nONOGHUE. " ]Maybe so. He was a clroli-looking fellow, with a short cutlash at his side, aud a hairy cap on his head ; and he seemed to know yer honour well, for he said — " ' How is the O'Donoghues — don't they live hereabouts V " ' Yes,' says T, ' a few miles down that way.' " ' Is the eldest boy at home?' says he. " 'Maybe he is, and maybe he isn't,' says I, for I wouldn't tell him where 3^ou were. " ' Could you give him a message,' says he, ' from a friend?' " ' Av it was a friend,' says I. " ' A real friend,' says he. * Tell him — ^just tell him ' " There it is now — divil a one o' me knows what he said." i\iark suffered no sign of anger to escape him, but sat without speak- ing a word, while Terry recapitulated every sentence in a muttering voice, to assist him in remembering what followed. " I have it now," said he at last ; and clapping his hands with glee, he cried out, "them's the very words he said — " ' Tell Mr. Mark, it's a fine sight to see the sun rising from the top of Hungry Mountain ; and if the wind last, it will be worth seeing to- morrow.' " " Were those his words ?" asked Mark eagerly. " Them, and no other — I have it all in my head now." "Which way did he take when he left you?" " He turned up the glen, towards Googawn Barra, and I seen him crossing the mountain afterwards ; but here comes Master Herbert ;" and at the same instant he was seen coming up the valley at a fast pace. When the first greetings were over, Herbert informed Mark that a certain stir and movement in the glen and its neighbourhood for the last few days had obliged him to greater caution ; that several strangers had been seen lurking about Carrig-na-curra ; and that in addition to the military posted at Mary's, a sergeant's guard had that morning arrived at " the Lodge," and taken up their quarters there. All these signs of vigilance combined to make Herbert more guarded, and induced him to delay for a day or two his return to the shealing. " Hemsworth has been twice over at our house," continued Herbert, "and seems most anxious about you; he cannot understand why we have not heard from my uncle. It ap])ears to me, Mark, as if difiicul- ties were thickening aromid us ; and yet this fear ma}^ only be the appre- hension which springs from mystery. I cannot see my way through this dark and clouded atmosphere." " Never fret about the dangers that come like shadows, Herbert. THi; () i)ON()(;iilii':. 'M)5 Come up the mountain witli me to-morrow at sunrise, and let us take counsel from tlie free and bracing air of the peak of old Iliuigr}'." Herbert was but too happy to find his own gloomy thoughts so well combatted, and in mutaal converse they each grew lighter in heart ; and when at last, wearied out, they lay down upon the heather of the shcal- ing, they slept without a dream. It was still dark as midnight when Mark awoke and loith its leaders. How then should he satisfv the French that his position was such as entitled him to their confidence .' The only possible escape to this difficulty was by marshalling around him a considerable body of the peasantry, ready and willing to join the arms and follow the fortunes of the invaders. " They cannot long distrust me with a force of three hundretl men at my back," exclaimed Mark aloud, as he descended the mountain with rapid strides. " I know every road through these valleys — everv place where a stand could be made, or an escape effected. We will surprise tlie party of soldiers at Mary M'Kelly's, and there, there are arms enough for all the peasantry of the country." Thus saying, and repeating to himself the names of the (litferent farmers whom he remembered as true to the cause, and on whose cou- rage and readiness he depended at this moment, he hastened on. "Holt at the cross-roads promised eighteen, all armed with fire-locks. M'Sweeny has six sons, and stout fellows they are, every man of them ready. Then, there are the O'Learys, but there's a split amongst them — confound their petty feuds, this is no time to indulge them. They shall cnme out, and they must — ah I hand in baud, too, though they have been enemies this twelvemonth. Black O'Sullivan numbers nigh eiirhtv 362 THE o'donoghue. — pike-men every one of them. Our French friends may smile at their ragged garments, but our enemies will scarce join in the laugh. Carrig- na-curra must be occupied, it is the key of the glen. 'The Lodge' we'll burn to the ground : but no, we must not visit the sin of the ser- vant on the master. Young Travers behaved nobly to me — there is a wild time coming, and let us, at least, begin our work in a better spirit, for bloodshed soon teaches cruelty." Now, muttering these short and broken sentences, now, wondering what strength the French force might be — how armed — how disposed for the enterprize — what spirit prevailed among the officers, and what hopes of success animated the chiefs — Mark moved along, eager for the hour to come when the green flag should be displayed, and the war-cry of Ireland ring in her native valleys. CHAPTER XLV. "the pkoguess of tkeachery." Leaving, for the present, Mark O'Donoghue to the duties he imposed on himself of rallying the people around the French standard, we shall turn to the old castle of Carrig-na-curra, where life seemed to move on in the same unbroken tranquillity. For several days past, Hemsworth, still weak from his recent illness, had been a frequent visitor, and al- though professing that the great object of his solicitude was the safety of young O'Donoghue, he found time and opportunity to suggest to Kate, that a more tender feeling influenced him : so artfully had he played his part, and so blended were his attentions with ti'aits of de- ference and iTspect, that however little she might be disposed to en- courage his addresses, the difficulty of repelling them without offence was great indeed. This delicacy on her part was either mistaken by Hemsworth, or taken as a ground of advantage. All his experiences in life pointed to the fact, that success is ever attainable by him who plays well his game ; that the accidents of fortune, instead of being obstacles and interruptions, are in reality, to one of quick intelligence, but so THE O DONOGHDE. 3G3 many aids and allies. His illness alone had disconcerted his plans ; but now once more well, and able to condnct his schemes, he had no fears for the resnlt. Uj) to this moment, every thinj^ promised success. It was more than doubtful that the Travers' would ever return to Ire- land. Frederick would be unwilling to visit the neighbourhood where his affections had met so severe a shock. The disturbed state of the country, and the events which llemsworth well knew must soon occur, would in all likelihood deter Sir Marmaduke from any wish to revisit his Irish property. This was one step gained : already he was in pos- session of a large portion of the Glcntlesk estate, of which he was well aware the title was defective, for he had made it a ground of consider- able abatement in the purchase money to the O'Donoghue, that his son was in reality under age at the time of sale. Mark's fate was, however, in his hands, and he had little fear that the secret was known by any other. Nothing, then, remained incomplete to the accomplishment of his wishes, except his views regarding Kate. Were she to become his wife, the small remnant of the property that pertained to them would fall into his hands, and he become the lord of the soil. His ambitions were higher than this. Through the instrumentahty of Lanty Lawlcr, he had made himself master of the conspiracy in all its details. He knew the names of the several chiefs, the parts assigned them, the places of rendezvous, their hopes, their fears, and their difficulties. He was aware of the views of France, and had in his possession copies of several letters which passed between members of the French execu- tive and the leaders of the United party in Ireland. Far from commu- nicating this information to the Government, he treasured it as the source of his own future elevation. From time to time, it is true, he made kno\\Ti certain facts regarding individuals whom he either dreaded for their power, or suspected that they might themselves prove false to their party and betray the plot ; but, save in these few instances, he revealed nothing of what he knew, determining, at the proper moment, to make this knowledge the ground-work of his fortune. " Twenty-four hours of rebellion," said he, "one day and night of massacre aiid bloodshed will make me a Peer of the realm. I know well what terror will pervade the land, when the first rumour of a French landing gains currency. I can picture to myself the affrighted looks of the Council ; the alarm depicted in every face, when the post brings the intelligence, that a force is on its nnirch towards the capital ; and then — then, when I can lay my hand on each rebel of them all, and say, this man is a traitor, and that, a rebel — when I can show where arms are collected and ammunition stored — when I can tell the plan of their 364 THE o'donoghue. operation, their numbers, their organization, and their means — I have but to name the price of my reward." Such were the speculations that occupied the slow hours of his reco- very, and such the thoughts which engrossed the first days of his returning health. The latest letters he had seen from France announced that the expe- dition would not sail till January, and then, in the event of escaping the English force in the Channel, would proceed to land fifteen thousand men on the banks of the Shannon. The causes which accelerated the sailing of the French fleet before the time originally determined on were unknown to Hemsworth, and on the very morning when the vessels anchored in Bantry Bay, he was himself a visitor beneath the roof of Carrig-na-curra, where he had passed the preceding night, the severity of the weather having detained him there. He, therefore, knew nothing of what had happened, and was calmly deliberating on the progress of his own plans, when events were occurring which were destined to dis- concert and destroy them. The family was seated at breakfast, and Hemsworth, whose letters had been brought over from "the Lodge," was reading aloixd such por- tions of news as could interest or amuse the O'Donoghue and Kate, when he was informed that Wylie was without, and most anxious to see him for a few minutes. There was no communication which, at the moment, he deemed could be of much importance, and he desired him to wait. Wylie again requested a brief interview — one minute would be enough — that his tidings were of the deejiest consequence. " This is his way ever," said Hemsworth, rising from the table ; " if a tenant has broken down a neighboui''s ditch, or a heifer is impounded, he always comes with this same pressing urgency ;" and, angry at the inteiTuption, he left the room to hear the intelligence. " Still, no letter from Archy, Kate," said the O'Donoghue, when they were alone ; " once more the post is come, and nothing for us. I am growing more and more uneasy about INIark ; these delays will harass the poor boy, and drive him perhaps to some rash step." "Mr. Hemsworth is doing everything, however, in his power," said Kate, far more desirous of offering consolation to her uncle, than satis- fied in her own mind as to the state of matters. " He is in constant correspondence with Government ; the only difHculty is, they demand disclosures my cousin neither can, nor ought to make. A pardon is no grace, when it commutes death for dishonour. This Avill, I hope, be got over soon." While she was yet speaking, the door softly opened, and Kerry, with Tin; o i)o.\(M.inK, .l(i.') a noiseless stoj), .slipijod in, and ajiproncliiii!^ tlio tabic uiisccu and un- heard, was beside the O'Donoghue's chair before he was perceived. "AVhisht, master dear — whisht, Miss Kate," said he, with a gesture of warning towards tlu- door. "There's great news without. The French is landed — twenty-eight ships is down in Bantry Bay. Bony himself is with them. I heard it all, as Sam Wylic was tolling licnis- worth ; I was inside the pantry door." " The Freneli landed I" cried the O'Donoghue, in whom ania/omcnt overcame all sensation of joy or sorrow. "The French here in Ireland!" cried Kati', her eyes sparkling with enthusiastic delight ; but before she could add a word, llemsworth re- entered. ^Vhether his efforts to seem calm and unmoved were in rtalitv well devised, or that, as is more probable, Ilemsworth's own pre-occu- pation prevented his strict observance of the others, he never remarked that the O'Donoghue and his niece exhibited any traits of anxiety or impatience ; while Kerry, after performing a variety of very unnecessary acts and attentions about the table, at last left the room, with a si()N(J<.m K. 3fj() interposition he asfrihe'il his prcsoiit excursion, Kerry i)lo(hled along, tiirninq, as he went, a despairing look at tlio barren and Ideak i>rosppi-i around him. To seek tor shelter in the •,den, he knew was out of the question, and so he at once determined to gain the priest's cottage, where a comfbrtahle turf tire and a rasher of hacou were eertain to welcome him. Dreadful as the weather was, Kerry wondered that he met no one on the road, lie expected to have seen groups of people, and all the signs of that excitement the arrival of the French might be supposed to call forth ; but, on the contrary, everything was desolate as usual, not a liuman being appeared, nor could he hear a signal nor a sound, that betokened a gathering. "I wouldn't wonder now if it was a lie of Sam Wylie's, and the French wasn't here at all," said he to himself; 'tis often I heerd that Ilemsworth could have the rebellion brake out whenever he liked it, and sorra bit but that may be it now, just to pretend the French was here, to get the boys out, and let the army at thein." This reflection of Kerry's was scarcely conceived, when it was strengthened by a boy who was coming from Glengariff with a turf-car, ud who told him that the ships that came in with the morning's tide had all weighed anchor, and sailed out of the Bay before twelve o'clock, and that nobody knew anything about them, what they were, and whence from. "We thought they were the French," said the boy, " till we seen them sailing away ; but then we knew it wasn't them, and some said it was the King's ships coming in to guard Bantry." "And they are not there now?" said Kerry. " Not one of them ; they're out to say, and out of sight, this hour back." Kerry hesitated for a second or two, whether this intelligence might not entitle him to turn homeward ; but a second thought — the priest's kitchen — seemed to have the advantage, and thither he bent his steps accordingly. 370 THE o'donoghuk. CHAPTER XLVI. THE PRIEST'S COTTAGE. When Mark and Herbert separated on the mountain, each took a different path downward. Mark, bent on assembhng the people at once, and proclaiming the arrival of their friends, held his course towards Glengariff and the coast, where the fishermen were, to a man, encaged in the plot. Herbert, uncertain how to proceed, was yet equally anxious to lose no time, but could form no definite resolve what course to adopt amid his difficulties To give notice of the French landing, to apprise the magistrates of the ajjproaching outbreak, was, of course, his duty ; but in doing this, might he not be the means of Mark's ruin ; — while, on the other hand, to conceal his knowledge would be an act of disloyalty to his sovereign, a forfeiture of the principles he held dear, and the source, perhaps, of the most dreadful evils to his country. Where, too, should he seek for counsel or. advice — his father, he well knew, would only regard the means of his brother's safety, reckless of all other consequences ; Kate's opinions, vague and unde- fined as they were, would be in direct opposition to his own. Hems- worth he dared not confide in — what then remained ! There was but one for miles round, in whose.judgment and honour together he had trust ; but from him latterly he had kept studiously aloof. This was his old tutor. Father Rourke. Unwilling to inflict ])ain upon the old man, and still unable to reconcile himself to anything like duplicity in the matter, Herbert had avoided the occasion of meeting him, and of avowing that change in his religious belief, which, although secretly working for many a year, had only reached its accomplishment when absent from home. He was aware how such a disclosure would afflict his old friend — how impossible would be the effort to persuade him that such a change had its origin in conviction, and not in schemes of worldly ambition ; and to save himself the indignity of defence from such an accusation, and the pain of an interview, where the matter should be discussed, he had preferred leaving to time and accident, the disclosure, which from his own lips would have been a painful sacrifice to both })arties. These con- siderations, important enough as they regarded his o^tn bappiness, had little weight with him now. The graver questions had swallowed up all THE O DONOfJlIlK. ,^71 othcrs^tlio safety of tlio country — his brother's fate. It was true the priest's sympathies would be exclusively with one party ; he would not view with Herbert's eye the coming struggle ; but still might he not regard with him the results ?— might he not, and with i)resciencc stronger from his age, anticipate the dreadful miseries of a land devas- tated by civil war? — was it not possible that he might judge unfavour- ably of success, and prefer to endure what he regarded as evils, rather than incur the horrors of a rebellion, and the re-enactment of penalties it would call down ? The hopes such calculations suggested were higher, because Mark had himself often avowed, that the French would only consent to the cnterprize, on the strict understanding of being seconded bv the almost unanimous voice of the nation. Their expression was, " We are ready and willing to meet England in arms, provided not one Irishman be in the ranks." Should Father Kourke, then, cither from motives of policy or prudence, think unfavourably of the scheme, his influence, unbounded over the people, would throw a damper on the rising, and either deter the French from any forward movement, or at least delay it, and afford time for the Government to take measures of defence. This alone might have its effect on Mark, and j)erhaps be the means of saving him. "Whether because he caught at this one chance of succour, when all around seemed hopeless, or that the mind fertilizes the fields of its own discovery, Herbert grew more confident each moment that this plan would prove successful, and turned with an eager heart towards the valley where the priest lived. In his eagerness to press forward, however, he diverged from the path, and at last reached a part of the mountain where a tremendous precipice intervened, and stopped all further progress. The storm increasing every minute made the way slow and perilous, for around the difforcnt peaks the wind swept with a force that carried all before it. Vexed at his mistake, he resolved, if possible, to discover some new w.iy down the mountain ; but in the endeavour he only wandered still further from his course, and finally found himself in front of the sea once more. The heavy rain and the dcusc drift shut out for some minutes the view; but when at last he saw the Bay, what was his surprise to per- ceive that the French fleet was no longer there ; he turned his eyes on every side, hut the storm-lashed wafer bore no vessel on its surface, and save some fishing craft at anchor in the little nooks and bays of the coast, not a mast could be seen. Scarcely able to credit the evidence of his senses, he knelt down on 372 THE o'donoghue. the cliff, and bent his gaze steadily on the Bay ; and when at length re-assured and certain that no deception existed, he began to doubt whether the whole had not been unreal, and that the excitement of his interview with Mark had conjured the images his wishes suggested. The faint flickering embers of an almost extinguished fire on the Smug- gler's Rock decided the question, and he knew at once that all had actually happened. He did not wait long to speculate on the reasons of this sudden flight — enough for him that the most pressing danger was past, and time afforded to rescue ]Mark from peril ; and without a thought upon that armament, whose menace had already filled him with apprehension, lie sped down the mountain in reckless haste, and never halted till he reached the glen beneath. The violence of the storm — the beating rain, seemed to excite him to higher etibrts of strength and endurance, and his courage appeared to rise as difficulties thickened around him. It was late in the da}^ however, before he came in sight of the priest's cottage, and where, as the gloom was falling, a twinkling light now- shone. It was with a last effort of strength, almost exhausted by fatigue and hunger, that Herbert gained the door ; this lay, as usual, wide open, and entering, he fell overcome upon a seat. The energy that had sustained him hitherto seemed suddenly to have given way, and he lay back scarcely conscious, and unable to stir. The confusion of sense, so general after severe fatigue, prevented him for some time from hearing voices in the little parlour beside him ; but after a brief space he tecame av/are of this vicinity, when suddenly the well-known accents of Mark struck npon Ins ear ; he was sjjcaking louder than was his w^ont, and evidently with an effort to control liis rising temper, while the priest, in a low, calm voice, seemed endeavouring to dissuade and turn him from some purpose. A brief silence ensued, during which Mark paced the room with slow and heavy steps, then ceasing suddenly he said — " Why was it, then, that we never heard of these scruples before, sir? — why were we not told that unbelieving France was no fitting ally for saintly Ireland ? But why do I ask : had the whole fleet arrived in .safety — were there not thirteen missing vessels, Ave should hear less of such Christian doubts." " You are inijust, Mark," said the priest, calmly ; "you know me too well and too long, to put any faith in your re[)roacb.es. I refuse to address the people, because I would not see them fall, or even conquer, in an miiust cause, liaise the banner of the Church " T»ii: (> i)ON(j<-MLt;. 37 J "The banner oi' tlie (.'Imrcli I" saiJ Mark, with a mucking laugli. "What docs he say .'" \vhisj)ere(l a third voice, in Trench, as a new speaker mingled in the dialogue. "lie talks of the bamier of the Chnrch !" said Mark, scofiinglv. " *Oui, parhlen,' if he likes it," replied the Frencliinan, laughing; " it smacks somewhat of the middle ages; hut the uUl pro\erlj is ri"ht, 'a bad etiquette never spoiled good wine.' "* " Is it then in full canonicals, and with the smoke of censers, we are to march against the Saxon .'" said Mark, with a taunting sneer. " Hear me out, ^lark," interrupted the priest; " I didn't say that we were yet prepared even for tliis ; there is much to he done, far more indeed than you wot of. Every expedition insufficiently planned and biidly suj)[)orted, must be a failure ; every failure retards the accom- plishment of our hopes ; such must this enterj)rise he, if now ' " Now or never," interposed Mark, as he struck the table violently with his clenched hand — " no»v, or never, for me at least. You have shown me to these Frenchman, as a fool or worse. One witli iniiuence, and yet without a man to back me — with courage, and you tell me to desert them — with the contideiice of my countrymen, and I come alone, unaccompanied, miaccredited, to tell my own tale amongst them. \Vl;at other indignities have you in store for me, or in what other light am I next to Hgure .' But for that, and ])erhaps you would dare to g) further, and say I am not an O'Donoghue ;" and in his passion Maik tore open a pocket-book, and held before the old man's eyes the certi- ficate of his baptism, written in the priest's hand. " Yes, yon have forced mc to sjicak, of what I ever meant to have buried in my own heart. There it is, read it, and bethink you, how it becomes him wh ) helped to rob me of my inheritance, to despoil mc of my honour also." "Y''ou must unsay these words, sir," said the priest in an accent as stern and connnanding as ^^lark's own ; " I was never a party to any fraud, nor was I in this country when your father sold his estates." " I care not how it happened," cried Mark, passionately. '• M'hen mv own father could do this thing, it matters little to mc who were his accomplices ;" and he tore the i)apcr in fragments, and scattered the:n over the tloor. " Another and a very diflVrent caiise brouLdit uie here. The French fleet has arrived." Tlie priest here muttered something in a low tone, towhicli Mark quietly replied — " And if they have, it is because their anchors were dragging ; yoa would not have the vessels go ashore on the rocks ; the next tide they'd stand up the Bay again. The people that should have been ready to 374 THE o'donoghue. welcome them, hold back. The wliole country round is become suddenly craven ; of the hundreds that rallied round me a month since, seventeen appeared this morning, and they were wretches more eager for pillage than the field of honourable warfare. It is come then to this, you either come forth, at once, to harangue the people, and recall them to their sworn allegiance, or the expedition goes on without you — go on it shall." Here he turned sharply round, and said a few words in French, to which the person addressed replied — " Certainly ; the French Republic does not send a force like this for the benefit of a sea voyage." "Desert the cause, then," continued Mark, in a tone of denunciation ; " desert us, and by G — d, your fate will be worse than that of our more open enemies. To-night the force will land ; to-morrow we march all day, aye and all night too : the blazing chapels shall light the way." "Take care, rash boy, take care; the vengeance of outraged heaven is more terrible than you think of. Whatever be the crime and guilt of others, remember that you are an Irishman ; that what the alien may do in recklessness, is sacrilege in him who is the son of the soil." " Save me, then, from this guilt — save me from myself," cried Mark> in an accent of tender emotion. " I cannot desert this cause, and oh, do not make it one of dishonour to me." The old man seemed overcome by this sudden appeal to his affections, and made no reply, and the deep breathing of Mark, as his chest heaved in strong emotion, was the only sound in the stillness. Herbert, who had hitherto listened with that vague half consciousness of reality excessive fatigue inflicts, became suddenly aware that the eventful mo- ment was come, when, should the priest falter or hesitate, INIark might succeed in his request, and all hope of rescuing him be lost for ever. With the energy of a desperate resolve he sprang forward, and entered the room just as the priest was about to reply. "No, Father, no," cried he, wildly; "be firm, be resolute ; if this unhappy land is to be the scene of bloodshed, let not her sons be found in opposing ranks." " This from you, Herbert !" said Mark, reproachfull}^, as he fixed a cold, stern gaze upon his brother. " And why not from him," said the priest, hastily. " Is he not an Irishman in heart and spirit ? Is not the land as dear to him as to us ?" " I give you joy upon the alliance, Father," said Mark, with a scorn- ful laugh, "Herbert is a Protestant." VUK ODONOCntK. 376- " What ! — did I hear aright .'" said the old man, as with a face pale as death, he tottered forwards, aud caught the youth hy cither arm. " Is this true, Herbert '. Tell me, boy, this instant, that it is not so." "It is true, sir, most true; aud if 1 have hitherto spared you the pain it might occasion you, believe me it was uot from any shame the avowal might cost 7ne." The priest staggered back, and fell heavily into a chair ; a livid hue spread itself over his features, and his eyes grew glassy and lustre- less. " We may well be wretched and miserable," exclaimed he with a faint sigh, "when false to heaven, who is to wonder that we are traitors to each other." The French officer — for such he was — nmttered some words into Mark's ear, who replied — " I cannot blame you for feeling impatient ; this is no time for fool- ing. Now for the glen. Farewell, Father. Herbert, we'll meet again soon ;" and without waiting to hear more, he hastened from the room with his companion. Herbert stood for a second or two undecided. He wished to say something, yet knew not what, or how. At last approaching the old man's chair, he said — , "There is yet time to avert the danger ; the people are irresolute — many actually averse to the rising ; my brother will fall by his rashness." " Better to do so tlian survive in dishonour," said the priest, snatch- ing rudely away his hand from Herbert's grasp. "Leave me, young man — go ; this is a poor and an humble roof; but never till now has it sheltered the apostate." " I never thought I should hear these words, here," said Herbert, mildly ; " but I cannot part from you in anger." " There was a time when you never left me without my blessing, Herbert," said the priest, his eyes swimming in tears as he spoke ; " kneel now, my child." Herbert knelt at the priest's feet, when placing his hand on the young man's head, he muttered a fervent prayer over him, saying, as he concluded — " And may He who knows all hearts, direct and guide yours, and bring you back from your wanderings, if you have strayed from truth." He kissed the young man's forehead, and then covering his eyes with his hands, sat lost in his own sorrow-ful thoughts. At this moment Herbert heard his name whispered by a voice without ; he stole silently from the room, aud on reaching the little 3/6 THK o'donoghue. porch, found Kerry O'Leary, who, wet through and wearied, had reached the cottage, after several hours' endeavour to cross the water- courses, swollen into torrents by the rain. " A letter from Carrig-na-curra, sir," said Kerry ; for heartily sick of his excursion, he adopted the expedient of pretending to mistake to which brother the letter was addressed, and thus at once terminate his unpleasant mission. The note began, " My dear son ;" and, without the mention of a name, simply entreated his immediate return home. Thither Herbert felt both duty and inclination called him, and without a moment's delay left the cottage, and, accompanied by Kerry, set out for Carrig-na-curra. The night was dark and starless, as they plodded onward, and as the rain ceased, the wind grew stronger, while for miles inland the roaring of the sea could be heard like deep continuous thunder. Herbert, too much occupied with his own thoughts, seldom spoke, nor did Kerry, exhausted as he felt himself, often break silence as they went. As they drew near the castle, however, a figure crossed the road, and advancing towards them said — " Good night." " Who could that be, Kerry ?" said Herbert, as the stranger passed on. " I know the voice well," said Kerry, " though he thought to dis- guise it. That's Sam Wylie, and it's not for any thing good he's here." Scarcely were the words spoken, when four fellows sprang down upon and seized them. " This is our man," said one of the party, as he held Herbert by the collar, with a grasp there was no resisting ; " but secure the other also." Herbert's resistance was vain, although sj)iritedly made, and stilling his cries for aid, they carried him along for some little distance to a spot, where a chaise was standing with four mounted dragoons on either side. Into this he was forced, and seated between two men in plain clothes, the word was given to start. " You know your orders if a rescue be attempted," said a voice, Herbert at once knew to be Hemsworth's. The answer was lost in the noise of the wheels ; for already the horses were away at the top of their speed, giving the escort all they could do to keep up beside them. TUE o'donoghuk. 377 CHAPTER XI.M!. THE D A ¥ OF 11 E C K CI N I N O. Never had tlie O'Donoglmc ami Kate passed a day of more painful anxiety, walking from window to window, whenever a view of tlic glen might be obtained, or listening to catch among the sounds of the storm for something that shouUl announce Mark's return ; tlieir fears in- creased as the hours stole by, and yet no sign of his coming aj)peared. The old castle shook to its very foundations, as the terrific gale tore along the glen, and the occasional crash of some old fragment of ma- sonry, would be heard high above the roaring wind — while in the road beneath were scattered branches of trees, slates, and tiles, all evidencing the violence of the hurricane. Under shelter of the great rock, a shiver- ing ilock of mountain sheep were gathered, with here and there amidst them a heifer or a wild pony, all diflferenct's of habit merged in the common instinct of safety. Within doors cviry thing looked sad and gloomy ; the kitchen, where several country people, returning from the market, had assembled, waiting in the vain hope of a favourable mo- ment to proceed homeward, did not })resent any of its ordinary signs of gaiety. There was no pleasant sound of happy voices ; no laughter, no indulgence in the hundred little narratives of personfil adventure by which the peasant can beguile the weary time. They all sat around the turf rire, either silent, or conversing in low cautious whispers, while Mrs. Branagan herself smoked her pipe in a state of moody dignity, that added its shade of awe to the solenmity of the scene. It was a strange feature of the converse, nor would it be worth to mention here, save as ty])ifying the wonderful caution and reser\e of the people in times of difficulty ; but no one spoke of the " rising," nor did any allude, except distantly, to the important military j)rcpa- rations going forward at Macrooni. The fear of treachery was at the moment universal ; the dread that informers were scattered widely through the land, prevailed everywhere, and the appearance of a stran- ger, or of a man from a distant part of the country, was always enough to silence all free and contidcntial intercourse. So it was now — none spoke of anything but the dreadful storm — the injury it might do the countrv — how the floods would carr\' awav a bridge here, or a mill there, 378 THE o'donoghxje, what roads would be impassable — what rivers would no longer be ford- able — some had not yet drawn home their turf from the bog, and were now in despair of ever reaching it — another had left his hay in a low cal- low, and never expected to see it again — while a few, whose speculations took a wider field ventured to expatiate on the terrible consequences of the gale at sea, a topic which when suggested led to many a sorrowful tale of shipwreck on the coast. It was while they were thus, in low and muttering voices, talking over these sad themes, that Kate, unable any longer to endure the sus- pense of silent watching, descended the stairs, and entered the kitchen, to try and learn there some tidings of events. The people stood up respectfully as she came forward, and while each made his or her hum- ble obeisance, a muttered sound ran through them, in Irish, of wonder and astonishment at her grace and beauty ; for, whatever be the priva- tions of the Irish peasant, however poor and humble his lot in life, two faculties pertain to him like instincts — a relish for drollery, and an admiration for beauty — these are claims that ever find acknowledg- ment from him, and in his enjoyment of either, he can forget himself, and all the miseries of his condition. The men gazed on her as some- thing more than mortal, the character of her features heightened by costume strange to their eyes, seemed to astonish almost as much as it captivated them — while the women, with more critical discernment, examined her more composedly, but, perhaps, with not less admiration; Mrs. Branagan, at the same time throwing a proud glance around, as thouo-h to say, " You didn't think to see the likes of that, in these parts." Kate happened on this occasion to look more than usually handsome. With a coquetry it is not necessary to explain, she had dressed herself most becomingly, and in that style which distinctly marks a French woman — the only time in his life Mark had ever remarked her costume was when she wore this dress, and she had not forgotten the criticism. '*■ I didn't mean to disturb you," said Kate, with her slightly foreign accent ; " pray sit down agani — well, then, I must leave you, if you ^von't — every one let's me have my own way — is it not true, Mrs. Branagan?" Mrs. Branagan's reply was quite lost in the general chorus of the others, as she said — " And why wouldn't you, God bless you for a raal beauty !" while a powerful looking fellow, with dark beard and whiskers, struck his stick violently against the grouiul, and cried out in his enthusiasm — "Let me see the man that would say agin it — that's all." THE o'donoghue. 379 Kate smiled at the speaker, not all ungrateful for' such rude ehivalrv, and went on — "I wanted to hear if you have any news from the town — was there any stir among the troops, or anytiiing extraordinary going forward there ?" Each looked at the other as if unwilling to take the reply upon him- self, when at last an old man, with a head as white as snow, an- swered — "Yes, my lady, the soldiers is all under arms since nine o'clock, then came news that the French was in the Bay, and the army was sent for to Cork." " No, 'tis Limerick I heerd say," cried another. " Limerick indeed ! sorra bit, 'tis from Dublin they're comin wij cannons ; but it's no use, for the French is sailed off again as quick as they come." " The French fleet gone ! — left the Bay — surely you must mistake," said Kate, eagerly. " Faix, I won't be sure, my lady ; but here's Tom M'Carthy seea them going away, a little after twelve o'clock." The matt thus appealed to, seemed in nowise satisfied with the allu- sions to him, and threw a quick distrustful look around, as though far from feeling content with the party before whom he should ex- plain, a feeling that increased considerably as every eye was now turned towards him. Kate, with a ready tact that never failed her, saw his difhculty, and approaching close to where he stood, said, in a voice only audible by him- self *' Tell me what you saw in the Bay, do not have any fear of me." M'Carthy, who was dressed in the coarse blue jacket of a fisherman, possessed that sharp intelligence so often found among those of his call- ino-, and seemed at once to have his mind relieved by this mark of con- fidence. " I was in the boat, my lady," said he, " that rowed Master Mark out to the French frigate, and waited for him alongside to bring liim back. He was more than an hour on board talking with the olHcers, sometimes down in the cabin, and moretimes up on the quarter-deck, where there was a fierce-looking man, with a blue uniform, lying on a white skin— a white bear, Master Mark tould me it was. The officer was wounded in the leg before he left France, and the sea voy- age made it bad again, but, for all that, he laughed and joked away like the others." "And they were laugliing then, aud iu good spirits.'" said Kate, 380 THK o'DONOGHUli:. " 'Tis that you may call it. I never beerd such pleasant gentle- men before, and tbe sailors too was just the same — sorra bit would sarve tbeni, but making us drink a bottle of rum apiece, for luck, I suppose — devil a one had a sorrowful face on him but Master Mark, whatever was the matter with him, he wouldn't eat anything either, and the only glass of wine he drank, you'd think it was poison, the face he made at it — more bytoken he flung the glass overboard when he finished it. iVnd to be sure the Frenchmen weren't in fault, they treated him like a brother — one would be shaking hands wid him — another wid his arm round his shoulders, and" — here Tom blushed and stammered, and at last stopped dead short. " Well, go on, what were you going to say ?" " Faix, I'm ashamed then — but 'tis true enough — saving your })re- sence, I saw two of them kiss him." Kate could not help laughing at Tom's astonishment at this specimen of French greeting — while for the first time, perhaps, did the feeling of the peasant occur to herself, and the practice she had often witnessed abroad, without remark, became suddenly repugnant to her delicacy. "And did Master Mark come back alone," asked she, after a minute's hesitation. " No, my lady, there was a little dark man wid gould epaulettes, and a sword on him, that came too. I heerd them call him, Mr. Morris, but sorra word of English or Irish he had." " And where did they land, and which way did they take after- wards V " I put them ashore at Glengariff, and they had horses there to take them u]) the country. I heerd they were going first to Father Rourke's in the glen." "And then, after that?" " Sorra a one of me knows. I never set eyes on them since — I was trying to get a warp out for one of tlie French ships, for the anchors was dragging — they came to the wrong side of the island, and got into the north channel, and that was the reason they had to cut their cables and stand out to sea till the gale is over, but there's not much chance of that for some time." Kate did not speak for several minutes, ami at length said — " The people, tell me of them, were they in great numbers along the coast, were there a great many of them with Mr. Mark when he came down to the shore ?" " I'll tell you no lie, my lady ; there was not — there was some boys Crom (-'astletown, and down thereabouts, but the O'Learys and the Sul- THi: o'noNOGHui:. .381 livans, the M'Cartliys — my own people — ami the Neals wasn't there ; and sure enough it was no wonder if Master Mark was angry, when he looked about and saw the fellows was following him. ' Be off,' savs he, 'away wid ye, 'tis for pillage and robbery the likes of ye comes down here — if the men that should have heart and courage in the cause won't romc forward, I'll never head ruffians like you to replace them.' Them's the words he said, and hard words they were." "Poor fellow," said Kate, as she wiped away a tear from her eve, " none stand by him, not one, "And why is this the case," asked she, eagerly, " have the people grown faint -hearted — are there cowards amongst them ?" "There's as bad," said i\['Carthy, in a low, cautious whisper — " there's traitors, that would rather earn blood money, than live ho- nestly — there's many a one among them scheming to catch Master Mark himself, and he is lucky if he escapes at last." "There's horses noAv, coming up the road, and fast they're coming too," said one of the country people, and the (piick clattering of a gal- lop could be heard along the plashy road. Kate's heart beat almost audil)ly, and she bounded from the spot^ and up the stairs. The noise of the apiiroaching horses came nearer, and at last stopped before the door. "It is him — it is Mark," said she to herself, in an ecstasy of tlelight, and with trembling fingers withdrew the heavy bolt, and undid the chain, while, with an effort of strength the emergency alone conferred, she threw wide the massive door, clasped and framed with iron. " Oh, how I have watched for you," exclaimed she, as a figure, dismounting hastily, advanced towards her, and the same instant the voice revealed Ilemsworth, as he said — " If I could think this greeting were indeed meant for me. Miss O'Donoghue, I should call this moment the happiest of my life." " I thought it was my cousin," said Kate, as almost fainting, she fell back into a seat, " but you may have tidings of him, can you tell if li e is safe ?" " I expected to have heard this intelligence from you," said he, as recovering from the chagrin of his disappointment, he resumed his habitual deference of tone ; "has he not returned ?" " No, we have not seen him, nor has the messenger yet come back. Herbert also is awav, and we are here alone." As Hemsworth offered her his arm to return to the drawing-room, he endeavoured to reassure her on the score of Mark's safety, while he hinted that the French, who that morning had entered Bantry IJav with 382 THE o'donoghuii:. eleven vessels, imprepared for the active reception his measures had provided, had set sail again, either to await the remainder of the fleet, or perhaps return to France ; " I would not wish to throw blame on those whose misfortune is ahead}'- heavy, but I must tell you, INIiss O'Donoghue, that every step of this business has been marked by duplicity and cowardice. I, of course, need not say, that in either of these, your friends stand guiltless, but your cousin has been a dupe throughout ; the dupe of every one who thought it w'orth his while to trick and deceive him — he believed himself in the con- fidence of the leaders of the expedition — they actually never heard of his name. He thought himself in a position of trust and influence — he is not recognized by an}- — unnoticed by his own party, and unac- knowledged by the French, his only notoriety will be the equivocal one of martyrdom." Every word of this speech, uttered in a voice of sad, regretful mean- ing, as though the sj^eaker w"ere sorrov\ing over the mistaken opinions of a dear friend, cut deeply into Kate's heart — she knew not well at the instant, whether she should not better have faced actual danger for her cousin, than have seen him thus deceived and played upon. Ilemsworth saw the effect his words created, and went on — "Would that the danger rested here, and that the fate of one rash, but high-spirited boy, was all that hung on the crisis" — as he spoke he threw a cautious look around the roomy apartment to see that they were, indeed, alone. " Great Heaven ! there is not surely worse than this in store for us," cried Kate, in a voice of heartrending affliction. "There is far worse. Miss O'Donoghue ; the ruin that threatens is that of a whole house — a noble and honoured name — your uncle is unhappily no stranger to these mischievous intentions — I was slow to put faith in the assertion." " It is false — I know it is false," said Kate, passionately — " My poor dear uncle, overwhelmed with many calamities, has borne up patiently and nobly, but of any participation in schemes of danger or enterprize he is incapable — think of his age — his infirmity." "I am aware of both, young lady, but I am also aware that for years past, his pecuniary difficulties have been such that he would hesitate at nothing which should promise the chance of extrication. i\Iany have imagined like him, that even a temporary trium})h over England would lead to some new settlement between the two coun- tries, concessions of one kind or other, laws revoked and repealed, and confiscations withdrawn ; nor were the expectations, perhaps, alto- Tiiii o i)c>n(k;hii;. 383 gcthcr unfounded. Little lias cvir been accorded to Ireland as a grace — much has l)e('n obtained by her by menace." "lie never calculated on such an issue to the struggle, sir; depend u])on it, no unworthy ])rospect of personal gain ever induced an O'Donoghue to adopt a cause like this. You have convinced me, now, that he is unconnected with this plot." " I sincerely wish my own convictions could follow yours, madam, but it is an ungrateful office I have undertaken. Would to heaven I knew how to discharge it more fittingly. To be plain, IMiss O'Donoghue, the statute of high treason, which will involve the confiscation of vour uncle's estate, will, if measures be not sj)ecdily taken, rob you of your fortune ; to prevent this — " Stay, sir, I may save you some trouble on my account. I have no fortune, nor any claim upon my mick's estate." " Pardon me, young lady, but the circumstance of my position has made me acquainted with matters connected with vour family ; your claim extends to a very considerable, and a very valuable pro- perty." " Once more, sir, I must interrupt you — I have none." " If I dare contradict you I would say " "Nay, nay, sir," cried she, blushing, partly from shame, and partly from anger— "this must cease, I know not what right you have to press the avowal from me. The property you speak of is no longer mine ; my uncle did me the honour to accept it from me, would that the gift could express the thousandth part of the love I bear him." " You gave over your claim to your uncle !" said Hemsworth, leav- ing a pause between every Mord of the sentence, while a look of malignant anger settled on his brow. ""Who dares to question me on such a subject," said Kate, for the insulting expression so suddenly assumed by Hemsworth, roused all her indignation. " Is this, then, really so," said Hemsworth, who, so unaccustomed as he ever was to be overreached, felt all the j)oignancy of a deception in his disappointment. Kate made no answer, but moved towards the door, while Hems- worth sprang forward before her, and placed his back against it. " "What means this, or how comes it, that you dare to treat me thus beneath my uncle's roof?" " One word only. Miss O'Donoghue," said Hemsworth, with an effort to assume his habitual tone of deference ; " ]Mav I ask was this transfer of }) roper ty made legally and formally." 384 THi: o'doxoghi'e. " Sir," eaid Kate, as drawing herself up, she stared full at liim, a\ ith- out another word of re])ly. "I see it all," said Hemsworth, rapidly, and as if thinking, aloud. "This was the money that ))aid off Hiekson — in this way the mortgage was redeemed, and the hond for two thousand also recovered — du])ed and cheated at every step. And so, madam," — here he turned a look of insulting menace towards her — " I have been the fool in your hands all this time ; and not content Avith thwarting my views, you have endeavoured to sap the source of my fortune. Yes, you need not affect ignorance; 1 know of Sir Archibald's kind interference in my behalf: Sir jSIarmaduke Travers has withdrawn his agency from me ; he might have paused to inquire AA'hcrc was the property from which he has removed me — how much of it owns him the master, or me. This was your uncle's doing. I have it under his own hand, and the letter addressed to yourself." " And you dared, sir, to break the seal of my letter !" " I did more, madam — I sent a copy of it to the Secretary of State, whose Avarrant I possess : the young officials of the Home Office will, doubtless, thank me for the amusement I have afforded them in its contents. The matcli-making talents of Sir Archy and his niece's fascinations have, however, failed for once. The Guardsman seems to have got over his short-lived passion." " Stand back, sir, and let me pass." "One moment more, madam; if I have suffered some injuries from your farriily, I have at least one debt of gratitude to acknowledge — but for your note, written by your own hand, I should scarcely have suc- ceeded in capturing a rebel, whose treason will not long await its penalty — but for your able assistance, your cousin might have escaped — indeed, it may be worth while to inform you that Sir Archibald had f^ood hopes of obtaining his pardon, a circumstance which will, doubt- less, be satisfactory to the surviving members of the family." "My cousin Mark taken!" cried Kate, as she clasped her hands to cither side of her head in a paroxysm of agony. " Taken, and on his way to Dublin, under a military escort ; ou Wednesday he will be tried by court-martial : I hope and trust on Thursday — but perhaps it would be cruel to tell you of Thursday's proceedings.'' Kate reeled, and endeavoured to sup])ort herself by a chair ; but a sickness like death cre])t over her, and with a faint low sigh she sank lifeless on the floor; at the same instant the door was burst open by & trenjcudous effort, and llemsvvorth sent forward into the room. It THE () "()N()(;HVJ. 0>.1 was Mark, s[)laslied and (lri])|)ini;, his face llnslu'd with violent exertion, that entered. With one glance at Ilemsworth, and another at the fainting form before him, he seemed to divine all. " Our day of reckoning is come at last, sir," said he, in a low distinct voice; " it has been somewhat tardy, however." "If you have any claim on me, Mr. O'Donoghue," said Hemswortb, with a forced calmness, " I am read}', at the proper time and place, to oftcr you every satisfaction." "That time and i)lace is here, sir," said IMark, as without th'3 slightest sign of passion he bolted the door, and drew a heavy table across it. "Here, in this room, from which both of us shall never walk forth alive." "Take care, sir, what you do ; lam armed," said Hemsworth, as he threw a quick glance around, to see if any hope of esca])e should present itself. "And so am I," said Mark, coolly, who still busied himself in removing every object from the middle of the room, while gently lifting Kate, he laid her, still unconscious as she was, uj)on a sofa. " We have neither of us much time to throw away, I fancy," said he, with a bitter laugh ; "choose your place now, sir, and fire when you please — mine is yonder;" and as he spoke he turned half round to walk towards the spot indicated. With the quickness of lightning. Hems- worth seized the moment, and drawing a pistol from his bosom, aimed and fired ; the ball grazed Mark's shoulder, and made him stagger for- wards ; but in a second he recovered himself : the casualty saved him ; for while falling, a second bullet whizzed after the first. With a cry of vengeance that made the old walls ring again, Mark sprang at him ; it was the deadly leap of a tiger on his prey ; the impulse was such, that as he caught him in his arms, both rolled over together on the floor. The struggle was but brief ; ^lark, superior in youth, strength, and acti- vity, soon got him under, and with his knee upon his chest, pinioned him down to the ground. There was a pause, the only sounds being the quick- drawn breathings of both, as with looks of hate they gazed at each other ; — while with one hand he grasped Hemsworth by the throat, with the other he felt for his pistol : slowly he drew forth the weapon, and cocked it ; then laying the cold muzzle upon the other's forehead, he pressed the trigger ; the cock snajiped, but the ])riming burned. He flung the weapon from him in jiassion, and drew another ; but ere he could adjust it, Hemsworth ceased to breathe ; a cold livid colour spread over his features, and a clammy sweat bedewed his forc- liead — he had fainted. 2 c 3S6 THE o'donoghue. Mark dropped tlie rqiliftcd weapon, us he muttered — " It was a fit- ting fjite — the death of a coward." Tiien standing up, he approaclied the window that overlooked the road, and threw it wide open. The storm still hlew with all its force, and in a second extinguished the lights in the room, leaving all in darkness. With cautious steps, ]\Iark moved towards where the hody laj% and lifting it in his powerful arms, carried it towards the window ; with one vigorous effort he hurled the lifeless form from him, and the heavy mass was heard as it fell crashing among the hrushwood that covered the precipice. i\Iark gazed for a few seconds into the hlack abyss beneath, and then withdrawing, he closed the window, and barred it. By the aid of his pistol he struck a light, and relighted the candles, and then approached the sofa where Kate lay. "Have I been ill, Mark?" said she, as she touched his hand — " have I been ill, and dreaming a horrid dream ? I thought Hems- worth was here, and that — that — but he was here — I know it now — you met him here. Oh, Mark, dearest Mark, v/hat has happened — where is he ?" Mark pointed to the window, but never spoke. " Is he killed — did you kill him ?" cried she, as her eyes grew wild with the expression of terror. " Oh, merciful heaven, who has visited us so heavily, why will reason remain when madness would be mercy ! You have killed him !" " He did not die by my hand, though he well deserved to have done so," said Mark, sternly ; but are our hours to be so many now, that we can waste them on such a tlieme. The French are in the Bay — at least a portion of the fleet — sixteen vessels, nine of which are ships of the line, are holding by their anchors beneath our cliffs ; twenty more are at sea, or wrecked or captured by the English, for who can tell the extent of our disasters. All is against us ; but against all we might succeed, if we had not traitors amongst us." " The Government is aware of the plot, jMark — knows every man engaged in it, and is fully prepared to meet your advance." " Such is the rumour ; but there's no truth in it : the people hold back, and give this as the excuse for their cowardice. The priests will not harangue them, and the panic spreads every moment wider, of treachery and betrayal. Lanty Lawler, the fellow who should have supplied horses for the artillery, is an informer ; so are half the others. There's nothing for it but a bold ])lunge — something to put every neck in the halter, and then will come the spirit to meet all diiTiculties — so thinks Tone, and he's a noble-hearted fellow, and ready for any peril." TiiK o'DoxoranTt:. 3Sr A loud kiiockiii;;- at the door oi" tlie tower now Ijroke in upon the con- verse, and Kerry O'Leary called aloud — " Open the door, Master Mark ; be quick, the soldiers is comiu'. " Mark speedily withdrew the heavy table from its place across the door, and opened it. Kerry, his clothes reduced to rags, and his face and hands bleeding, stood before him, terror in every feature. " They took me prisoner at the gate there, but I contrived to slip away, and took to the mountain, and a fiue chase they gave me for the last hour " " But the soldiers — where are they, and in what place?" "There's two troops of horse about a mile below Mary's in the glen, waiting for Hemsworth's orders to advance." "Go on," said Mark, with a stern smile ; "they're not likely to move for some time." "I do not know that, then," said Kerry, "for I saw Hemsworth pass up the road, with two men holding him on his horse ; he seemed to have got a bad fall, for the blood was running down his face, and his cheeks was as pale as a corpse." " You saw Hemsworth, and he was living !" " Faix he was, and no doubt of it ; there never was the man in these parts could curse and swear the way he does, barrin' himself, and I heerd him blasphaming away as he went along what he wouldn't do down here." "Oh, fly, Mark ; don't lose a second, for heaven's sake " " And leave you here to the mercy of this scoundrel and his blood- hounds." " No, no ; we are safe here ; he dare not wreak his vengeance on us ; but you are his greatest enemy." " 'Tis thrue she's sayin'," cried Kerry, eagerly ; " I heerd Hems- worth say to Sam Wylie, that Captain Travers is up at INIacroom with his regiment, and was coming down to guard the castle here ; but that there was plenty of time to take you before he came, and there was a tree standing to hang you, besides." " I leave you, then, in safe keeping," said ^Fark, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice ; " one word of good-bye to my father, and I am gone." It was some moments before the O'Donoghue could rally from the deep stupor grief and anxiety induced, and recognize Mark as he leaned over his chair ; and then as he felt his hands and clutched his arms, he seemed endeavouring to persuade himself that it was not some passing dream he laboured under. "The pursuit is too hot, father," said Mark, after two or three 388 THic o'dononhuk. efforts to arouse his mind to what was going forward, "and I must be oft". lienisworth has a strong })arty in the glen ; but fear nothing ; he cannot molest you ; and, besides, his time is brief now." "And will you leave nie, Mark; will you desert me now?" said the old man, Avith all the selfishness of age, forgetting every thing, save his own feelings. " Not if vou wish me to remain; if you think there is more honour in my being taken prisoner under your own roof, I'm just as willing." " Oh, no, uncle," cried Kate, rushing forward ; " do not keep him ; say good-bye, and speedily ; the dragoons are advancing already." "There goes a shot ! that was a cannon," cried Mark, in ecstasy, as he lifted his hand to catch the sound — "another! another I they're landing — they're coming — you'll see me again before day-break, father," said he, embracing the old man tenderly, while he turned to bid Kate adieu. She stood with her hands before her eyes, her bosom heaving violently. INIark gazed at her for a moment, and pressing his lips to her cheek, merely whispered one word, and Avas gone. Hemsworth's horse, which Kerry had found in the stable, stood ready awaiting Mark, and without a moment's loss of time, he sprung on the animal's back, and dashed down the road at full speed. Mean- while the loud firing of cannon continued at intervals towards the Bay, and more than one rocket was seen to throw its bright glare through the blackness of the night. " They're landing at last," cried Mark, as every report set his heart bounding with eager hope, and forvvard he rode through the storm. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE (ii.KN ANU riir, n.w. Keury O'Licary's intelligence was correct in every particular. Hems- worth was not only living, but, save some bruises, and a cut upon his forehead, was little the worse for his adventure. The brushwood had ciiught him in his descent, and broken the fall ; find although tbe hciglit was considerable, when he reached the ground he waa merclv stiitniedj TUF, o'DONonnur. 3S9 and not seriously i'ljuiel. Al'te:- a litt'e time l.e was able to walk, and had sucoeodcd in advancing about half a mile up the glen, when he was met by "NVylie and a jiarty of his followers, returning after escorting the chaise some miles on the road. Neither our space nor our inclination i)eruiit ns to dwell on the scene that followed, where Hemsworth, outwitted and duped as he believed himself, gave way to the most violent passion, accusing every one in turn of treachery, and vowing a deep and bloody vengeance on the wliole House of O'Donoghue. Seated on Wy lie's horse, and supported on each side by two men — for at first his weakness increased, as he found himself in the saddle — he went along at a foot's pace, lie would not listen to "Wylie's proposal of returning to the "Lodge," but constantly called out — "To Keini- an-eigh as fast as possible — to the dragoons I" and at last j)assion had so far sn])plicd energy, that he was able to press on faster, when sud- denly a twinkling light through the gloom aj)prised him that he was near the little way-side inn. " Get me some wine, "Wylie, and be quick I" cried he, as they roaelud the door. " You had Ijctter get off, and rest a few nioments, sir," said the other. "Rest! — I'll never rest," shouted Ire, with an infamous oath, '' till I see that fellow waving from the gallows I Some wine this instant I" To the loud summons of Wylie no answer was returned, and the light that shone so brightly a moment before was now extinguished. "Break open the door I B — t you I what do you delay about?" shouted Hemsworth. "There are some rebel tricks at work here." At the same instant the light re-a])pcared, and Mary's voice was heard from within — "Who's that, at this hour of the night, making such a noise?" " Open the door, aud be d d to you !" cried Hemsworth, v.ho, ha\- ing got off his horse, was now endeavouring with his foot to force the strong door. " It will take a better man than you to stave that pamiel in," saiil Mary, who, although recognizing the voice, affected not to know the speaker. And she said truly, the door once made part of the rudder of an Tndiaman, and was strong oak belted with iron. "Put a light in tlie tiiatch I Snaj) your pistol, Wylie, and set lire to it I" cried Hemsworth, savagely; for any opposition to him at this moment calK d forth all the malignity of his nature. 390 THE o'donoghue. "Oh, is it you, captain?" said Mary, with a voice of well-affected respect ; " the Lord pardon me for keeping you out in the cold !" and with that she opened the door, and with many a low curtsey saluted her guest. Rudely pushing her aside, and muttering an oath, Hemsworth entered the cabin, followed by the others. "Why was the light put out," said he, " when you heard us knock- ing at the door ?" "I did not hear the knocking," said Mary. " I was in the little room there, and goin' to bed. The saints be good to me ! — since the soldiers were here, the hearing is knocked out of me — the noise and the ballyragging they went on with, from mornin' till night ! — and now that they are gone — thanks to your honour, that ordered them away two days ago up to 'the Lodge' — I do be thinking, they are here still." "Bring us some wine," said Hemsworth, "and the best in your house. You need not spare the tap to-night, for it's the last you will ever draw beneath this roof. There ; — don't look surprised and inno- cent ; — you know well what I mean. This is a rebel den, but I will leave it a heap of ashes before I quit the spot." " You'll not burn my little place down, captain ?" said Mary, with a look, in which a shrewd observer might have read a very different ex- pression than that of fear. "You'll not take away the means I have of earning my bread ?" " Bring the wine, woman ; and if you don't wish to wait for the bon- fire, be off with you up the glen. I'll leave a mark on this spot as a good warning to traitors. People shall talk of it hereafter, and point to it as the place where rebellion met its first lesson." " And who dares to say that there was any treason in this house ?" " If my oath," said Wylie, " won't satisfy you, Mrs. M'Kelly " "Yours!" interrupted Mary; — "yours! — a transported felon's oath !" " What do you think of your old sweetheart, Lanty Lawler?" said Hemsworth, as he drank off goblet after goblet of the strong wine. "Wouldn't you think twice about refusing him now, if you knew the price it was to cost you ?" '* I would rather see my bones as black as his own traitor's heart," cried Mary, with flashing eyes, "than I would take a villain like that! There, captain, there's the best of the cellar, and there's the house for you, and there," said she, throwhig herself on her knees, "and there's THE o'donoghue. 391 the curse of the lone woman that yuu turn out tliis night upon tlie road, without a roof to shelter her, and may it light on you now, and follow you hereafter !" " Clear your throat, and cool it, after your hot wishes," said Ilems- worth, with a hrutal laugh ; for in this ebullition of the woman's pas- sion was the first moment of his enjoyment. With a gesture of menace, and a denunciation uttered in Irish, with all the energy the native language possesses, Mary turned into the road, and left her home for ever. "What was that she said .'" said Hemsworth, turning to one of the men that stood behind the chair. " It was a saying they do have in Irish, sir," said the fellow, with a simper, "and the meaning of it is, that it isn't them that lights a bon- fire, that waits to dance round the ashes." " Ila ! that was a threat, then ! She will bring the rebels on us ; — l)ut I have taken good care for that. I have sent a strong party by the other road, to cut off their advance from the Bay, and we'll hear the firing time enough to warn us ; and that party," said Hemsworth, muttering to himself, "should be at their post by this time;" here he looked at his watch : " it is now eleven o'clock ; you took the order, Wylie, for Captain Travers to go round by Googawn Barra, and occupy the pass between Carrig-na-curra and Bantry Bay ?" " I did, sir, and he set off the moment I gave the letter." " Then the fellow, Mark, cannot escape me," said Hemsworth. " If he leave the castle before I come, he falls into the hands of the others. Still, I would rather be judge and jury myself, and you shall be the hangman, Sam. There's little love between you: it is an office you'll like well." " If I don't do it nate," said WyHe, " the young gentleman must forgive me, as it is my first time ;" and they both laughed heartily at the ruffian jest. " But what are we staying for ?" said Hemsworth, while he drained his glass. " Let us get up the dragoons, and make sure of him at once. I am strong now, and ready for any exertion." "'Tis a pity to burn the little place, captain," said one of the fellows of the party. "There's many a dacent boy would think himself well ofP, to get the likes of it for his reward." " Make yourself at home," said Hemsworth, " for I'll give you a lease for three lives of it — yours, Wylie's, and mine own — will that satisfv vou V 352 THE o'DONOGHrK. The fellow stared at the speaker, ami then looked at \yylie, as if not knowing whether to place any faith in the words he heard. "I didn't say you were to get the premises in good repair, how- ever," said Hemsworth, with a bitter laugh, "I didn't boast nuich about the roof," and at the same moment he took a lightecj turf from the hearth, and thrust it into the thatch, while Wylie, to curry favour with his patron, imitated his example." "Where does that door lead to?" said Hemsworth, pointing to the small portal, which led into the rock towards the stable. " That's the way to the stable," said Wylie, as he opened it, and looked down the passage ; "and here's another door, that I never saw before." "That's where she do keep the spirits, sir," said one of the men; " 'tis there she do have all the liquor." " There's nothing like whiskey for a blaze," said Hemsworth, with a half drunken laugh. "Burst open that door!" — but all their efforts were vain : it was made with every precaution of strength, and studded over with strong nails. " Stop !" said Hemsworth, as he pushed the others rudely away, " there's a readier plan than yours to force it. I'll blow the lock to pieces !" and, so saying, he took the pistol from Wylie's hand, and, having leisurely examined the priming and the flint, placed the muzzle in the lock. "Be quick, sir, be quick!" said Wylie ; "the place is filling with smoke !" And so it was : the crackling of the thatch, and the dense masses of black smoke that filled the cabin, showed that the work of destruction was begun. " Here, then : this is to put the seal to your lease, Peter," said Hemsworth, as he pulled the trigger. A quick report followed, and then a crashing sound, as of splintered timber, and, sudden as the lightning flash itself, a noise burst forth louder than thunder, and at the same moment the house, and all that were in it, were blown into the air, while the massive rock was shattered irom its base, full fifty feet up above the road. Report after report followed, each accompanied by some new and fearful explosion, until at length a great portion of the clift" was rent asunder, and scattered in huge fragments across the road, where, amid tlie crumbling masonry and tlie charred rafters, lay four black and lifeless bodies, without a trait which should distinguish one from the other. THE o'donoghue. 393 All was silent on the spot, but through every jilen in the mountains the echoing sounds sent bark iu rodouljlcnl peals the thunder of that dreadful explosion, and through many a far-off valley rung out that last requiem over the dead. For some time the timbers and the that(;h continued to burn, emit- ting at intervals lurid bursts of tlame, as more combustible matter met the fire, while now and tliin a great report, and a sudden explosion, would announce that some liitherto untouched store of powder became ignited, until, as day was breaking, the flames waned and died out, leaving the rent rocks and the ruined cabin the sad memorials of the event. Nor were these the only occurrences of which the glen was that night the witness. Mark, his brain burning for the moment when the fray should commence, rode on amid the storm, the crashing branches and the loud brawling torrents seeming to arouse the wild spirit within him, and lash his enthusiasm even to madness. The deafening clamour of the hurricane increased, as he came nearer the Bay, where the sea, storm-lashed and swollen, beat on the rocks with a din like artillery. But louder far than all other sounds were the minute peals of cannon from the Bay, making the deep valleys ring with their clangour, and sending their solemn din into many a far-off glen. " They are coming! they are coming !" cried !Mark, as he bounded madly in his saddle. " ^yhat glorious music have they for their march !" "Stop! — pull in! — hould hard. Master Mark!" screamed a voice from the side of the road, as a fellow' jumped from a cliff, and made towards the rider. "Don't delay me now, Terry; I cannot stay," said Mark, as he re- cognised the youth, "the French are landing !" " They are not!" cried Terry, with a yell of despair; "they are going off, leaving us for ever, and the glen is full of soldiers. The dra- goons is there; ay, not half a mile from you," as he pointed through the gloom in the direction of the glen. "The dragoons there! — what treachery is this ?" " I saw them coming round the head of the lake this evening, and I thought it was after me they were coming ; but they never turned oft' the road, but went on to the gap of the glen, and there they are now, waiting, I suj)pose, for the French to go." " The French are not going, fool! — they are landing ! Don't you hear the guns — there ! and there again ! There is but one way now, but a bold heart needs no more. Let 2:0 the bridle, Terrv." 394 THE o'donoghuk. " I can't, I won't let go. 'Tis cut to pieces you'll be. I seen them looking at their swords a while ago. Och, don't twist my hand that way !" " Leave me free ! There is no such armour of proof as reck- lessness !" As he spake, he reined in his horse, and, dashing the spurs into his flanks, sprang beyond Terry, and the next moment was out of sight. A very few minutes showed that Terry was but too accurate. Around a blazing fire, beneath the rock, a party^ of dragoons were dismounted, vainly seeking to dry their soaked clothes, while in front two mounted men could be seen with their carbines unslung, ready for action. A bold dash to force his way through was the only chance remaining. To depend on his horse's speed, and his own dexterous hand to guide him, was all his hope. He resolved, therefore, neither to draw sword nor pistol, but attempt to pass by sheer horsemanship. Few men were either better suited for a venture so daring, or better equipped at the moment. The animal he rode was a powerful thoroughbred, trained and managed to perfection. Without the slightest noise Mark dismounted, and, ungirthing his saddle, re-adjusted and fastened it further back. He then looked care- fully to his bridle, to see all was safe there, and loosened the curb, to give the horse free play of his head. This done, and with his cap pressed firmly down upon his brow, he sprang into his saddle once more. The bright blaze enabled him to see the party in front, and, while he himself escaped all observation, to devise his plans at leisure. He ad- vanced, therefore, at a slow walk, keeping the horse's feet in the deep ground, where no noise was made. He counted seven figures around the fire, and two as sentinels, and suspected at once that the whole party was not there. Still there was no other chance. To attempt the moun- tain would delay him a day at least, and a day now was a life-time. Creeping noiselessly forward, he came within a few yards of the out- posts, and could distinctly hear the voices as they talked together. He halted for a second or two, and looked back down the glen. It Mas an involuntary action, for even had all not been dark around him, his home, to which he wished to bid a last adieu, was out of sight. A cannon-shot rung out at the instant, and, taking it for a signal, Mark reined in his horse sharply, and then, dashing the sj)urs to his sides, made him plunge madly forward, and, with the bound, shot through the space between the two sentinels, each of whom ])resented, but feared to fire, lest he should injure his comrade. e:^ --1% -^ 4 THE o'donogiiue. 39;") " Come on — follow me !" crietl Mark, waving his hand as if encou- raging others on, and the action turned every look doun the glen, in the direction from whence he came, and whence now came a \\ild, shrill yell, the most savage and appalling. " Fire ! — down with him ! — fire !" shouted the soldiers to one an- other, as Mark, leaning flat on his horse's main, rode on ; and the halls whistled quick, above and around, but not one struck him. " After him, Jack — after him !" cried one of the sentinels, who, perceiving that jNIark was not followed, turned his horse to the pursuit ; but another yell, wilder than the first, arrested him, and he heard a voice screaming, " This way, boys, this way — we have them here 1" and Terry, waving his cap, bounded forward, and called out unceasingly for others to come on. In an instant the whole attention was turned to the front, while with the stroke of a sabre poor Terry was stretched upon the ground, bleeding and senseless. " It is only that cursed fool we used to see at Macroom, about the barrack gates," said one of the dragoons, as he held a piece of lighted wood beside his face, ■" and the other fellow cannot have had much more sense, or he would never have tried to ride through a squadron of horse. But there ! — he's down now I Did you hear that crash? — that was a horse that fell !" So it was ; Mark had but passed the first party to fall on a much more formidable body further on, and his horse, twice wounded, was at last struck in the shoulder, and fell headlong to the ground pinioning the rider beneath him. AVith a dexterity that seemed magical, Mark disengaged himself from the wounded animal, and drawing his pistols, prepared to sell his life dearly. " You are a ])risoner, sir," called out the sergeant, as with fearless step he marched towards him. "Another pace nearer, and I'll send a bullet through you," said Mark ; you may have my corpse for your booty, but you'll never lay hands on me living." " Don't fire, don't fire, men," cried a voice, as the officer rode up at the speed of his horse, and thexa throwing himself from the saddle, commanded the men to fall back. With looks of astonishment and even of anger, the dragoons retired, while the captain sheathing his sword, a})proached Mark. " Thank heaven, Mr. O'Donoghue, you have not fired at my men." " Am I your prisoner. Captain Travers," said ^lark , replacing his weapon. " No, far from it ; it was to serve you I accepted the command of 396 THE o'donoghue. this party. I know of the plot by wliich you were threatened — Ilems- worth " " He is gone to his reckoning now," said I\Iark, who never gave credit to Kerry's story. " Not dead — you do not mean that ?" " Even so, sir, biit not as I see you suspect." "No matter now," cried Travers, wildly, for a thousand dreadful fears came crowding on his mind ; "you must escape at once; this will be -worse than the chai'ge of treason itself. Was there any witness to his death ?" " None," said Mark, for he remembered that Kate was still fainting daring the struggle he believed fatal. " You must escape at once," repeated Travers, for without directly attributing guilt to INIark, he feared the consequence of this dreadful event. " Keep in the mountain for some little time, and when this mad enterprise has blown over " "The country then will be in other hands," interrupted Mark ; — " aye, sir, vou may look and feel incredulous, ])ut the time is perhaps not distant when I may be able to return your present courtesy. The French are landing " " They are })utting out to sea — ilying — not advancing," said Travers, proudly. " No, no, you mistake them," said Mark, with a smile of incredulity. " I heard the guns not a quarter of an hour since — would I had never left them." " There, take my horse, mount quickly, and make for the Bay, and turn him loose on the shore — reach the fleet if you can — in any case, escape ; there is no time to lose." " And you — how are you to account for this ?" said Mark. " Will your loyalty stand so severe a trial as that of having assisted a rebel's escape ?" " Leave me to meet my difhculties my own way ; turn your thoughts to your own — heaven knows, they are enough." The tone he spoke in appealed to Mark's feelings more strongly than all he said before, and grasping Travers' hand, he said — q "Oh, if I had but had your friendship once, how difl'erent I might be this day ; and my father too — what is to become of him?" " Spare him at least the sorrow of seeing his son arraigned on a charge of treason, if not of worse." Fortunately Mark heard not the last few words, which rather fell from I'lavcrtj inadvertently, and were ullered in a low voice. r ^.: XHi: () ru)N()(;in;r . 'y'JJ "There," cried Mark, as the loud rej)ort of several cuiis ])e:iled forth — "they have landed — they will soon be here."' As he spoke, a mounted dragoon rode up to Travcrs, and whispered a few words in his ear. Frederick motioned the man to fall l)ack, and then approaching Mark, said — " I was correct, sir — the French fleet is under weigh — the expedition is abandoned ; away then l)eforo your chance is lost — down to the Bay and get on board ; you will at least find a j)ath where there is glorv as well as peril ; there — away." " They cannot have done this," cried INIark, in an agony of passion ; " they would not desert the cause they have fostered, and leave us to our fate here." Mark vaulted on Travers' horse as he said this, all feeling for his own safety merged in his anxiety for the issue of the j)lot. " Treachery we have had enough of — we may be well spared the curse of cowardice. Good-bye, farewell — few, either friends or foes, have done me the services that you have. If we are to meet again, Travcrs " " Farewell, farewell," cried Travers ; " we shall never meet as enemies," and he hastened froin the spot, while Mark bending forward in the saddle, pressed the spurs to his horse, and started. With the speed of one who cared for nothing less than his own safetv, Mark urged his horse onward, and deserting the ordinary road, he directed his course to the shore along the base of the mountain — a rough and dangerous path beset with obstacles, and frerpiently on the very edge of the clift' ; at last he reached the Bay, over which the dark storm was raging in all its violence ; the wind blowing with short and sudden gusts sent the great waves thundering against the rocks, and A^ith fearful roar throush the caves and crevices of the coast. Ridin"- madly on till the white foam dashed over him, he turned on every side, expecting to see the boats of the fleet making for the land, but all was dreary and desolate ; he shouted aloud, but his voice was drowned in the uproar of the elements ; and then, but not till then, came over him the aflfticting dread of desertion. The vivid lightning shot to and fro over the bleak expanse of sea, but not a sail was there — all, all were gone. There was a projecting promontory of rock which, numing out to a considerable distance in the Bay, shut out all view beyond it ; the last hope he cherished was, that they might have sought shelter in tiie bay beneath this, and })lunging into the boiling surf, he urged his horse forward — now madly rearing as the strong sea struck iiim — now bufi'ct- ingthe white waves with vigorous chest — the noble beast braM'd the 398 THE o'konoghue. storm-laslied water, and bore liim alternately bounding and swimming, as the tide advanced or receded. The struggle, with all its peril to Vite, brought back the failing courage to j\Iark's heart, and he cheered his horse with a cry of triumphant delight, as each great wave passed over them, and still they went on undaunted. It was a short but desperate achievement to round the point of the promontory, where the sea beat with redoubled fury ; but the same daring intrepidity seemed to animate both horse and rider, and after a moment of extreme danger, both gained the beach in safety. x\t the very same instant that the animal touched the strand, a quick flash broke over the sea, and then came the thundering report of a cannon. This was answered by another further out to sea, and then a blue light burst forth on high, and threw its lurid glare over the spars and canvas of a large ship — every rope and block, every man and every gun were displayed in the spectral light. It was a grand, but still an appalling sight, to see the huge mass labouring in the sea, and then the next moment to strain the eyes through the black canopy of cloud that closed around her ; for so it was, as the light went out, no trace of the vessel remained, nov was there aught to mark the spot she had occupied. From time to time the flash and the report of a gmi would show where some ship struggled with the raging sea ; but to Mark all was mystery. He knew not what it might portend, and hesitated between hope and despair, whether these might prove the preparations for dis- embarking, or the last signal before sailing. In the low hut of a fisherman, not far from where he v/as, a light still twinkled, and thither he hastened : it belonged to the man who had rowed him on board of the frigate, and with whom Kate had spoken in the kitchen, xls Mark reached the door, he heard the sound of several voices talking in a low, half-suppressed tone ; pushing open the door, he entered, and found about a dozen fishermen standing over the lifeless body of a man in a French uniform. " \V\\o is this ? AVhat has happened 1" said Mark, hurriedly. " It's one of the French officers, sir," said Tom McCarthy ; " he came ashore with us this morning, and to-night, when it came on to blow, and he saw the signals to sail, he insisted on going on board aj-ain, and we did our best for him ; we twice put out, and twice were sent back again ; but the last time we tried, the craft was upset, and the poor fellow could not swim, and we never saw him more, till wc found his body on the strand about an hour ago." Mark helh the light beside the pale features, and saw that he was a Tiiic (J DONo(airK. ;j!)9 youth of not more than eighteen years; there was nu distortion what- ever, and tlic features were calm and tranquil, as if in sleep. "Let us lay him in the earth, boys," said Mark, as his voice trem- bled with emotion ; it is the least we can do to let him sleep in the land he came to save." The men lifted the body without a word, and, preceded by Mark, who earned a lantern, issued from the hut. A few paces brought them to a little grassy mound, where the cliff, descending between the rocks, preserved its rich verdure untrodden and untouched. " Here, this will do, boys," said Mark ; " this rock will mark the spot." The work was soon over, and as the last turf was laid over him, a deafening peal of artillery tliundered over the sea, and suddenly, lights shone here and there, through the dark atmosphere. "He has had a soldier's burial," said Mark; "may his rest be tranquil. And now" — and his voice assumed a firm and determined tone at the moment — " and now, who will ])ut me on hoard of any ship in that fleet ? I have neither gold to ofFer, nor silver to bribe you. I am poor and powerless, but if the broad lands that were once our own, were mine now, I'd give them ail for that one service." "No boat could live ten minutes in that surf; there's a sea running there v.'ould swamp a schooner," said an. old man, with white hair. "TtVd never get outside the breakers yonder," said another. " I think we've had enough of it for one night," muttered a third, with a side-long glance towards the recent grave. "And you," said j\Iark, turning fixedly round to Tom M'Carthy, " what words of comfort have you for me ?" " Faix, that I'm' ready and willin' to go with you, divil may care who the other is," said the stout-hearted fellow. " I seen the day you jumped into a boat yourself to take the crew off a wreck below the point there, and I took an oath that night I'd never see you wanting for two hands at an oar as long as I could pull one. The waves that isn't too high for you is not a bit too big for nie either." "Well done, Tom," said a powerful looking young fellow beside him, " and I'll be the bow oar for you, au' you'll take me." " And here's two more of us," said another, as he held a comrade by the hand, " that will never see his honour at a loss, no matter hov. it blows." The doubt and hesitation w liicli prevailed but a moment before, were at once changed for confidence and resolution, and eight men now hur- ried to the beach to launch the boat, and make ready for the enterprize. 400 TJfK o'DONocairK. " If we could only see a flash, or hear a shot now, we'd know whicli wav to bear down," said Tom, as he stood on the shore, with his eyes turned seaward. "There — there goes one!" cried Mark, as a red flame shot forth and glittered for a second over the dark water. " That's the frigate ; she's; holding on still by her anchors." " I knew they would not desert us, boys," cried Mark, with wild enthusiasm, for hope gained on him every moment as peril increased. " Now for it, and all together," said Tom, as he bent forward against the whistling storm, and the craft, as if instinct with life, bounded over the wave, and cleft her way through the boiling surf, while the hardy fishermen strained every nerve, and toiled with all their energy. Mark kneeling in the bow, his eyes strained to catch any signal, seemed per- fectly delirious in the transport of his joy. " Luff her, luff her — here comes a large wave — nobly done, lads — how she mounts the sea — here's another;" but the warning was this time too late, for the wave broke over the boat, and fell in torrents over the crew. With redoubled vigour the stout fellows bent to their work, and once more the boat sped on her course ; while Mark cheered them with a shout heard even above the storm, and with a deep, mellow voice chanted out the rude verses of a song — • " The fisherman loves the rippled stream, And the lover the moon-lit sea. But the darkening: squall And the sea birds call Are dearer far to me. " To see on the white and crest'd wave The stormy petrel float, And then to look back On the stormy track That glitters behind our boat." " Avast there. Master Mark, there's wind enough without singing for more," cried one of the fishermen, who, with the superstition of his craft, felt by no means pleased at Mark's ditty ; " and there comes a sea to poop a line of battle-ship," and as he said the words, a wave mountains high rolled past, and left them labouring in the deep trough of the sea ; while the lurid glare of sheet lightning showed all the ships of the fleet, as, with top-sails bent, they stood out to sea. " Tliere they go," said one of the fisliernien, " and that's all the good they've done us." THE O'dONOGHUE. 401 " Pull hard, boys," cried Mark, passionately, " it may not be yet too late , strain every arm — the fate of our country may rest upon those bending spars — together, men, together ; it is not for life now, it is Ireland is on the struggle :" thus cheering the drooping courage of the men, and eagerly bending his glance towards the sea, his own heart glowed with enthusiasm that made every danger forgotten ; and at last, after an hour of desperate exertion, with strength all but exhausted, and nearly overcome by fatigue, they beheld the dark hull of a large ship looming above them. By firing his pistol, Mark attracted the notice of the watch on deck ; his signal was replied to, and the next moment the boat was alongside, and Mark clambering up the steep side, stood on the quarter-deck. " Will the troops not land," said JIark, as the officers crowded eagerly around him — "is the expedition abandoned?" " Don't you think the hurricane might answer the question, young man V said a weather-beaten officei', who appeared in command — " or are you so ignorant in naval matters as to suppose that a force could disembark in a gale like this ?" " It might scare a pleasure party," said Mark, rudely, " but for men who have come to give and get hard knocks, methinks this need not disconcert them." "And who is to aid us if we land?" said the first speaker — "what forces are in arms to join us ? — what preparations for ourselves ? — have you a musket, have you a horse, or do you yourself, in your own per- son, represent the alliance wo seek for ?'' Mark hung down his head abashed and ashamed : too well he knew how treachery had sapped the foundation of the plot ; that, betrayed and abandoned by their chiefs, the people had become either apathetic or terror-stricken, and that, if a blow were to be struck for Irish inde- pendence, it must be by the arm of the stranger. " It is needless to waste words, sir," said the French captain, for such he was ; "the admiral has twice made the signal to stand out to sea. The French Republic will have suffered loss enough in some of the finest ships of her navy, without hazarding fifteen thousand brave fellows upon an exploit so hopeless." "The Captain says truly," interposed another ; " Ireland is not ripe for such an enterprize ; there may be courage enough among your countrymen, but they know not how to act together. There's no slavery like dissension." " That boat will be swamped," said the officer of the watch, as he pointed to the fishing-craft, which still held on to the leeward of the 2 D 402 THE o'donoghue. ship ; " if you are going back to sliore, sir, let me advise you, for your own sake, and your comrades', too, to lose no time about it." " Far better to come with us," said a powerful looking man in the uniform of an infantry regiment ; " the young gentleman seems inclined to see service. ' Ma foi,' we seldom lack an o])])ortunity of showing it." "I'll never go back," said Mark ; " I have looked at my country for the last time." " "With many a welcome speech the officers pressed round and grasped his hands, and for a moment all their misfortunes were forgotten in the joy with which they received their new comrade. "Who will be my banker for some gold," said Mark ; " those brave fellows have risked their lives for me, and I have nothing but thanks to give them." " Let this go to the expenses of the expedition," said the captain, laughing, as he threw his purse to Mark. The young man leaned over the bulwark, and hailed the boat, and, after a moment of great diffi- culty, one of the fishermen reached the deck. " I wish to bid you good-bye, Tom," said Mark, as he grasped the rough hand in his ; " you are the last thing I shall see of my country ; farewell, then ; but remember, that however deeply wrongs may gall, and injuries oppress you, the glory of resistance is too dearly bought at the cost of companionship with the traitor and the coward — good- bye for ever. He pressed the purse into the poor fellow's hand ; nor was it without a struggle he could compel him to accept it. A few minutes after the boat was cleaving her way through the dark water, her prow turned to the land which Mark had left for ever. Seated on the deck, silent and thoughtful, Mark seemed indifferent to the terrible storm, whose violence increased with every moment, and as the vessel tacked beneath the tall cliffs, when every heart beat anxiously, and every eye was fixed on the stern rocks above them, his glance was calm, and his pulse was tranquil ; he felt as though fate had done her worst, and that the future had no heavier blow in store for him. THE o'donochue. 403 CHAPTER XLIX. THE r.\n. The storm of that eveutfid night is treasured among the memories of the peasantry of the south. None living had ever witnessed a gale of such violence — none since have seen a hurricane so dreadful and enduring : for miles along the coast the scattered spars and massive timbers told of shipwreck and disasters, while inland, uptorn trees and fallen rocks attested its ])o\ver. The old castle of Carrig-na-curra did not escape the general calamity; the massive walls that had resisted for centuries the assaults of war and time, were shaken to their foundations, and one strong, square tower, the ancient keep, was rent by lightning from the battlements to the base, while far and near might be seen fragments of timber, and even of masonry, hurled from their places by the storm. For whole days after the gale abated, the air resounded with an unceasing din — the sound of the distant sea, and the roar of the mountain torrents, as swollen and impetuous they tore along. The devastation thus wide spread, socniod not to have been limited to the mere material world, but to have extended its traces over man : the hurricane was recognized as the interposition of heaven, and the dis- aster of the French fleet looked on as the vengeance of the Almighty, It did not need the superstitious character of the southern peasants' mind to induce this belief: the circumstances in all their detail were to .t strongly corroborative, not to enforce conviction on sterner imaginations ; and the very escape of the French ships from every portion of our channel lleet, whicli at first was deemed a favour of fortune, was now regarded as pointing out the more signal vengeance of Heaven. Dismay and terror were depicted in every face ; the awful signs of the gale which were seen on every side suggested gloom and dread, and each speculated how far the anger of God might fall upon a guilty nation. There is no reason to doubt the fact, that whatever the ultimate issue of the struggle, the immediate fate of the country was decided cu that night. Had the French fleet arrived in full force, and landed the troops, there was neither preparation for resistance, nor means of defence, undertaken bv the Government. 404 THE o'donoghue. How far the peasantry might or might not have associated themselves with a cause to which the Romish clergy were then manifestly averse, may be a matter of micertainty ; but there are a sufficient number in every land, and every age, who will join the ranks of battle with no other prospect than the day of pillage and rapine. Such would have flocked around the tricolor in thousands, and meet companions such v/ould have been to that portion of the invading army called the "Legion des Francs" — a battalion consisting of liberated felons and galley slaves — the murderers and robbers of France, drilled, armed, and disciplined to carry liberty to Ireland! With this force, and a company of the " Artillerie Legere," Wolfe Tone proposed to land; and as the expedition had manifestly failed, any further loss would be inconsiderable; and as for the "Legion," he naively remai-ked, " the Republic would be well rid of them." Let us, however, turn from this theme, to the characters of our tale, of which a few words only remain to be told. By Terry, who made his escape after being wounded by the dragoons, was the first news brought to Carrig-na-curra of Mark's rencontre with the dragoons ; and while the' O'Donoghue and Kate were yet speculating in terror as to the result, a small party of cavalry was seen coming up the causeway at a brisk trot, among whom rode a person in coloured clothes. " It is Mark — my boy is taken!" cried the old man in a burst of agony, and he buried his head in his hands, and sobhdd aloud. Kate never spoke, but a sick, cold faintness crept over her, and she stood almost breathless with anxiety. She heard the horses as they drew up at the door, but had not strength to reach the window and look out. The bell was rung violently — every clank sent a pang through her bosom. The door v.as opened, and now she heard Kerry's voice, but could not distinguish the words. Then there was a noise as of some one dismounting, and the clatter of a sabre was heard along the flagged hall. This ceased, and she could recognize Kerry's step as he came up the corridor to the door of the tower. " Come in," cried she to his summons, but her utmost effort could not make the words audible. " Come in," said she .igain. Kerry heard it not, but opening the door cautiously, he entered. "'Tisthe Captain, Miss Kate, wants to know if he could seethe master." "Yes," said she, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. " Who is with him ? Is there a prisoner there ?" " Faix, there is then ; but Captain Travers will tell you all himself." " Captain Travers I" cried Kate, a deep flush covering her face. " Yes, madam," said Frederick, as he entered at the same moment, TIIK (ynONOGHUE. 405 "I am but too Iiappy to bc;\r pleasixnt tidings, to tliink of my want of courtesy in iiitnuling miannounced." "Leave the room — shut the door, Kerry," said Kate, as with eyes fixed on Travers she waited for him to continue. " Your cousin is safe, Miss O'Donoghue — he has reached the fleet, and is ah-cady on his way to France.'' "Thank God!" cried Kate fervently, as slie fell upon her uncle's shoulders, and whispered the tidings into his ear. The old man looked up and stared wildly around him. " Where's Mark, my love — where did you say he was ?" " He's safe, uncle — he's on board of a French ship, and bound for France, beyond the reach of danger." " For France ! And has he left me — has he deserted his old father ?" " His life was in peril, sir," whispered Kate, who, stung by the old man's selfishness, spoke almost angrily. " ]\Iy boy has abandoned me," muttered the O'Donoghue, the one idea, absorbing all others, occupied his mind, and left him deaf to every explanation or remonstrance. "You are right, Miss O'Donoghue," said Travers, gently, "his dan- ger was most imminent — the evidence against him was conclusive and complete ; and although one of the principal witnesses could not have appeared, Lanty Lawler " "And was he an informer?" " He was, madam ; but amid the mass of treachery he has met a just fate. Barrington, determined to punish the fellow, has come forward, and given himself up ; but with such evidence of the horse-dealer's guilt, that his conviction is certain ; the suras he received from France are all proved under his own hand, and now that Hemsworth is no more, and Lawler's treachery has no patron, his case has little hope. He is at this moment my prisoner ; we took him on the mountain where he had gone with a party to secure Mr. ]\iark O'Donoghue, for whose capture a large reward was offered." As Kate listened to this recital, delivered in a tone which showed the contempt the speaker entertained for an enterprise undertaken by such actors, her own indignant pride revolted at the baseness of those with whom her couisin was associated. "Yes," said she at length, and speaking unconsciously aloud, "no cause could prosper with supporters like these ; there must be rotten- ness in the confederacy that links such agencies as these together. And had my cousin not one friend ? — was there not one to wring his hand at parting?" said she hurriedly, changing the theme of her thoughts. 40ii THE O I>ONOGHXIK. "There was one," said Travers, modestly; Mr. O'Donoghue was noble-hearted enough, even m the hour of calamity, to forget an ancient grudge, and to call me his friend. He did more — he wished we had been friends for many a day before." "Would that you had," said Kate, as the tears burst forth, and ran down her cheeks. "And we might have been such," continued Travers, "had not deceit and malevolence sowed discord been our families. You know not, Miss O'Donoghue, how deeply this treachery worked, and how artfully its plans were conceived. The very hopes whose disappointment lias darkened my life, were fed and fostered by him, who knew how little reason I had to indulge them ; forgive me, I pray, if I allude to a sub- ject I ought never to recall. It was Hemsworth persuaded me that my suit would not prove unsuccessful ; it was by his advice and counsel I risked the avowal which has cost me the happiness of my future life. I will speak of this no more," said Travers, who saw in the deep blush that covered Kate's features, the distress the theme occasioned her. "It was a selfish thought that prompted me to excuse my hardihood at the cost of your feelings." " I will not let you speak thus, sir," said Kate, in a voice faint from excessive emotion, " there was no such hardihood in one favoured by every gift of fortune stooping to one humble as I am ; but there were disparities wider than those of rank between us, and if I can now see how greatly these were exaggerated by the falsehood and treachery of others, yet I know that our opinions are too wide apart, to make agree- ment aught else than a compromise between us." " Might not time soften, if not obliterate such differences," whis- pered Travers, timidly. " It could not with me," said Kate, resolutely ; " this is the losing side ever, and my nature is a stubborn one — it has no sympathies save with those in misfortune ; but we can be friends," said she, extending her hand frankly towards him — " friends firm and true, not the less strong in regard, because our affections have not overcome our convic- tions." " Do not sjjcak so decisively," Miss O'Donoghue, said Travers, as his lip trembled with strong emotion ; " even at this moment how much has misrepresentation clouded our knowledge of each other ; let time, I entreat of you, dissipate these false impressions, or give me, at least, the opportunity of becoming more worthy of your esteem." "While I should become less so," interrupted Kate, rapidly; "no> no ; my duties are here," and she pointed to the old man, who, with THK <}"jL)ONOtiU\jK. -107 an expression of stupid fatuiiy, sat witii liis liauds clasped, and his eyes fixed on vacancy. " Do not not make me less equal to my task, by calling on me for such a pledge. Besides," added she, with a smile, "you are too truly English, to suggest a divided allegiance; we are friends ; but we can never be more." Travers pressed the white hand to his lips without a word, and tlif> moment after his horse was heard descending the causeway, as with desperate speed he hurried from the spot so fatal to all his hopes. Scarcely had Frederick left the castle, when a chaise and four, urged to the utmost speed, dashed up to the door, and Sir Archy, followed by Herbert, jumped out. The old man, travel-stained and splashed, held an open paper in his hand, and cried aloud, as he entered the drawing- room — " He's ))ardoned, he's pardoned — a free pardon to Mark I" " He's gone, he's away to France," said Kate, as fearing to awaken the O'Donoghue to any exertion of intelligence, she pointed cautiously towards him. "All the better, my sweet lassie," cried M'Nab, folding her in his arms ; " his arm will not be t\\2 less bold in battle, l)ecause no untbrgiven treason weighs upon his heart. But my brother, what ails him? — he does not seem to notice me." "He is ill — my father is ill," said Herbert, with a terrified accent. "He is worse," whispered ]\I'Xab to himself, as passing his hand within the waistcoat, he laid it on his heart. It was so — the courage that withstood every assault of evil fortune — every calamity which poverty and distress can bring down — failed at last ; — the strong heart was broken — the O'Donoghue was dead. We will once more ask our readers to accompany us to the glen, the scene of our story. It was of an evening, calm and tranquil as that on which our tale opened, on a day in August, in the year 1815, that two travellers, leaving the postillion of their carriage to refresh his horses, advanced alone and on foot for above a mile into this tranquil valley ; the air had all that deathlike stillness so charac- teristic of autumn, while over the mountains and the lake the same rich mellow light was shed. As the travellers proceeded slowly, they stopped from time to time, and gazed on the scene ; and, although their looks met, and glance seemed to answer glance, they neither of them spoke : from their appearance, it might have been conjv-etured 408 THE O DONOGHUE. that they v.ere foreigners. The itkiii, bronzed b}'- weather and expo- sure, possessed features which, in all their stenmess, were yet eminently handsome : he wore a short thick moustache, but the armless sleeve of his coat, fastened on the bosom, was a sign still more indisputable than even his port and bearing, that he was a soldier. His companion was a lady in the very pride and bloom of beauty, but her dress, more remarkably than his, betrayed the foreigner ; in the rapid look she turned from the bold scenery around them to the face of him at whose side she walked, one might read either a direct appeal to memory, or the expression of wonder and admiration of the spot. Too much engrossed by his own thoughts, or too deeply occupied by the scene before him, the man moved on, until at last he came in front of a low ruined wall, beneath a tall and overhanging cliff. He stopped for some seconds, and gazed at this with such intentness as prevented him from noticing the figure of a beggar, who, in all the semblance of extreme poverty, sat crouching among the ruins. She was an old, or at least seemed a very old woman — her hair, un- covered by cap or hood, was white as snow, but her features still preserved an expression of quick intelligence, as, lifting her head from the attitude of moping thought, she fixed her eyes stedfastly on the travellers. " Give her something, ' mon cher,'" said the lady to her companion in French ; but the request was twice made before he seemed conscious of it. The woman, meanwhile, sat still, and neither made any demand for charity, or any appeal to their compassion. " This is Glenflesk, my good woman," said he at length, with the intonation of a foreign accent on the words. The woman nodded assentingly, but made no reply. "Whose estate is all this here?" said he, pointing with his hand to either side of the valley. " Sorra one o' me knows whose it is," said the woman, in a voice of evident displeasure. " When I was a child it was the O'Donoghues', but they are dead and gone now — I don't know whose it is." "And the O'Donoghues are dead and gone, you say ? What became of the last of them ? — what was his fote ?" " Is it the one that turned Protestant you mean ?" said the woman, as an expression of fiendish malignity shot beneath her dark brows : " he was the only one that ever prospered, because he was a heretic, maybe." " But how did he prosper?" said the stranger. " Didn't he marry the daughter of the rich Englishman, that lived THE o'donoghue. 4(J9 there beyant ? and wasn't he a member of ParUmint ? and sure they tell me that he went out beyond the says to be a Judge somewhere in foreign parts — in India, I believe." "And who lives in the old castle of the family?" "The crows and the owls lives in it now," said the woman, with a grating laugh — " the same way as the weasels and the rats burrow in my own little place here. Ay, you may stare and wonder, but here, where you see me sit, among these old stones and black timbers, was my own comfortable home — the house I was born and reared in — and the hearth I sat by when I was a child." The man whispered a few words to his companion in a deep, low voice — she started, and was about to speak, when he stopped her, saying, "Nay, nay, it is better not;" then, turning to the woman, asked, "And were there, then, no others, whose fortunes you re- member V "It is little worth while remembering them," said the crone, whose own misfortunes shed bitterness over all the memory of others. " There was an old Scotchman that lived there long after the others were gone, and when the niece went back to the nunnery in France he staid there still alone by himself. The people used to see him settling the room, and putting books here, and papers there, and making all ready agiu she came back — and that's the way he spent his time to the day of his death. Don't cry, my lady ; he was a hard-hearted old man, and it isn't eyes like yours should weep tears for him ; if you want to pity any one, ' pity the poor, that's houseless and friendless.' " "And the Lodge," said the stranger — "is not that the name they gave the pretty house beside the lake?" "'Tisn't a pretty house now, then," said the hag, laughing. "It's a ruin like the rest." "How is that? — does the Englishman never come to it?" " Why should he come to it ? Sure it's in law ever since that black-hearted villain Hemsworth was killed — nobody knows who owns it, and they say it will never be found out ; but," said she, rising, and gathering her cloak around her as she prepared to move away — " there's neither luck nor grace upon the spot. God Almighty made it beautiful and lovely to look upon, but man and man's wickedness brought a curse down upon it." The man drew his purse forth, and, while endeavouring to take some pieces "of money from it by the aid of his single reniaiuing hand, she turned abruptly about, and, staring liim stedfastly in the face, said — ■ 410 THK o'donoghue. "I'll not take your money — 'tisn't money will serve me now — them that's poor themselves will never see me in want." " Stop a moment," said the stranger, "I have a claim on you." "That you haven't," said the woman, sternly — " I know you well, •Mark O'Douoghue — ay, and your wife, Miss Kate there ; but it isn't by a purse full of gold you'll ever make up for desarting the cause of ould Ireland." "Don't be angry with her," whispered a low mild voice behind. He turned, and saw a verv old man dressed in black, and with all the semblance of a priest. "Don't be angry with her, sir; poor Mary's senses are often wandering ; and," added he with a sigh, " she has met sore trials, and may well be pardoned, if, in the bitter- ness of her grief, she looks at the world with little favour or forgive- ness. She has mistaken you for another, and hence the source of her anaer." IHE END. DUBLIN PRINTED n\ rCilDON, BROrL'£!S, C, Eachelor'i-walk. PR ^884- ©3 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. 50jn-l,'63(D4743s8)476 ^-^. -^ ^'#«# ■^'.^