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 (XI
 
 THE O'DONOGHUE
 
 -ftg. 
 
 gJ/z3 e^^-e^09z<z>zay.
 
 THE 
 
 O'DO N O G H U E 
 
 % €dt of IwfcitJr f iftj |«ars |.go 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES LEVER 
 
 AUTHOR OP "CHARLES O'mALLEY" 
 
 IV/Tff ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 Broadway, Ludgate Hill 
 
 GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK 
 
 > fi -i ^t
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS. 
 
 THE "HARRY LORREQURR" EDITION. 
 
 Itt Crovm Zvo, with Illustrations. 
 
 Harry Lorrequer. 
 
 The Dodd Family, vol. 1. 
 
 Jack Hinton. 
 
 The Dodd Family, vol. a. 
 
 Charles O'Malley, vol. I. 
 
 Luttrell of Arran. 
 
 Charles O'Malley, vol. •. 
 
 Davenport Dunn, vol. t. 
 
 Con Cregan. 
 
 Davenport Dunn, vol. a. 
 
 The O'Donoghue. 
 
 The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly. 
 
 Tom Buike, vol. i. 
 
 Lord Kilgobbin. 
 
 Tom Burke, voL a. 
 
 The Martins of Cro' Martin, voL i. 
 
 One of Them, 
 
 The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. a. 
 
 The Daltons, vol. t» 
 
 That Boy of Norcott's. 
 
 The Daltons, vol. 2. 
 
 I'he Fortunes of Glencore. 
 
 The Knight of Gwynne, Tol I. 
 
 Sir Jasper Carew. 
 
 Th"^ Knight of Gwynne, vol %. 
 
 Maurice Tiemay. 
 
 Artha- 'O'Leary. 
 
 A Day's Ride : A Life's Romanot. 
 
 Roland Cashel, voL z. 
 
 Tony Butler. 
 
 Roland CasV.el, >cl. u> 
 
 Sir Brooke Fosbrooki 
 
 SaJiiDgtoo. 
 
 Horace Templetoo.
 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 It was in wandering through the south of Ireland 1 came 
 to visit the wild valley of Glenflesk — a scene of loneliness 
 ^; and desolation, with picturesque beauty, I have never seen 
 surpassed. The only living creature I met for miles of the 
 way was a very old man, whose dress and look bespoko 
 extreme poverty, but who, on talking with him, I dis- 
 covered to be the owner of four cows that were grazing on 
 the rocky sides of the cliff. He had come some miles, he 
 told me, to give the cows the spare herbage that cropped 
 up amidst the granite boulders. As I had seen no house 
 nor trace of habitation as I came along, I was curious to 
 know where he lived, but his answer, as he pointed to the 
 mountain, was, " There, alone," and this with evident 
 unwillingness to be more freely communicative. 
 
 Though not caring to be interrogated, nor, like most 
 Irish peasants, much disposed to have a talk with a 
 stranger, he made no scruple to ask for alms, and pleaded 
 his wretched rags — and they were very miserable — as a
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 proof of Ills poverty. I did not think that the pittance I 
 gave him exactly warranted me in asking how the owner 
 of the cows we saw near us could be in that condition of 
 want he represented ; at all events, I preferred not to dash 
 the pleasure I was giving him by the question. We parted, 
 therefore, on good terms ; but some miles farther on in the 
 Glen I learned from a woman, who was " beelling " her 
 clothes in the river, that " ould Mat," as she called him, 
 was one of the most well-to-do farmers in that part of the 
 county, that he had given his daughters, of whom he had 
 several, good marriage portions, and that his son was 
 a thriving attorney in the town of Tralee. " Maybe, 
 yer honer's heard of him," said the woman — "Tim 
 O'Donoghue." 
 
 It was no new thing to me to know the Ii'ish peasant in 
 his character of a hoarder and a saver. There is no one 
 trait so indicative of the Celt as acquisitiveness, nor does 
 Eastern story contain a man more given to the castle- 
 building that grows out of some secret hoard — however 
 small — than Paddy. He is to add half an acre to his 
 potato garden, or to buy another pig, or to send the " gos- 
 soon " to a school in the town, or to pay his passage to 
 New York. This tendency to construct a future, so strong 
 in the Irish nature, has its rise in a great reliance on what 
 he feels to be the goodness of God : a firm conviction that 
 all his struggles are watched and cared for, and that every 
 little turn of good fortune has been given iiim by some
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 especial favour, lies deep in his nature, and suggests an 
 amount of hope to him which a less sanguine spirit could 
 never have conceived. 
 
 "While I thought over the endless contrarieties of this 
 mysterious national character, where good and evil eter- 
 nally lay side by side, I wondered within myself whether 
 the new civilization of later years was likely to be suc- 
 cessful in dealing with men whose temperaments and 
 manners were so unlike the English, or were we right in 
 extinguishing the old feudalism that bound the peasant to 
 the landlord before we had prepared each for the new rela- 
 tions of mere gain and loss that were in future to subsist 
 between them ? 
 
 Between the great families — the old houses of the land 
 and the present race of proprietors — there lay a couple of 
 generations of men who, with all the traditions and many 
 of the pretensions of birth and fortune, had really become 
 in ideas, modes of life, and habits, very little above the 
 peasantry around them. They inhabited, it is true, the 
 "great house," and they were in name the owners of the 
 soil ; but, crippled by debt and overborne by mortgages, 
 they subsisted in a shifty conflict with their creditors, 
 rack-renting their miserable tenants to maintain it. Sur- 
 vivors of everything but pride of family, they stood there 
 like the stumps, blackened and charred, the last remnants 
 of a burnt forest, their proportions attesting the noble 
 growth that had preceded them.
 
 VUl PKEFACE. 
 
 What would the descendants of these men prove when, 
 destitute of fortune and helpless, they were thrown upon a 
 world that actually regarded them as blamable for the un- 
 happy condition of Ireland ? Would they stand by " their 
 order" in so far as to adhere to the cause of the gentry? 
 or would they share the feelings of the peasant to whose 
 lot they had been reduced, and charging on the Saxon the 
 reverses of their fortune, stand forth as rebels to England ? 
 
 Here was much for speculation and something for story. 
 For an opening scene what could I desire finer than the 
 gloomy gi^andeur and the rugged desolation of Glenflesk, 
 and if some patches of bright verdure here and there 
 gleamed amidst the barrenness — if a stray sunlight lit up 
 the granite cliffs and made the heather glow, might there 
 not be certain reliefs of human tenderness and love to show 
 that no scene in which man has a part is utterly destitute 
 of those affections whose home is the heart. I had now 
 got my theme and my locality. For my name I took the 
 O'Donoghue : it had became associated in my mind with 
 Glenflesk, and would not be separated from it. 
 
 Here, then, in one word, is the history of this book. If 
 the performance bears but slight relation to the intention 
 —if, indeed, my story seems to have little reference to what 
 suggested it — it will be only another instance of a way- 
 wardness which has beset me through life, and left mo 
 never sure when I started for Norway that I might not 
 find myself in Naples.
 
 PREFACE c ix 
 
 It is not necessary, perhaps, for me to say that no 
 character in this tale was drawn from a model. I began 
 the story, in so far as a few pages went, at a little inn at 
 Killarney, and I believe I stole the name of Kerry O'Leary 
 from one of the boatmen on the lake, but, so far as I am 
 aware, it is tbe only theft in the book. I believe that the 
 very crude notions of an English tourist for the betterment 
 of Ireland, and some exceedingly absurd comments he 
 made me on the habits of people which an acquaintance- 
 ship of three weeks enabled him to pronounce on, provoked 
 me to draw the character of Sir Marmaduke, but I can 
 declare that the traveller aforesaid only acted as tinder to 
 a mine long prepared, and afforded me a long-sought-for 
 opportunity — not for exposing, for I did not go that far — 
 but for touching on the consummate effrontery with which 
 a mere passing stranger can settle the difficulties and de- 
 termine the remedies for a country, in which the resident 
 sits down overwhelmed by the amount and utterly despair- 
 ing of a solution. 
 
 I have elsewhere recorded that I have been blamed for 
 the fate I reserved for Kate O'Donoghue, and that she 
 deserved something better than to have her future linked 
 to one who was so unworthy of her in many ways. Till I 
 re-read the story after a long lapse of years, I had believed 
 that this charge was better founded than I am now dis- 
 posed to think it. First of all, judging from an Irish point 
 of view, I do not consent to regard Mark O'Donoghue as
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 a bad fellow. The greater number of bis faults were the 
 results of neglected training, irregular — almost utter want 
 of — education, and the false position of an heir to a pro- 
 perty so swamped by debt as to be valueless. I will not 
 say these are the ingredients which go to the formation of 
 a very regular life or a very perfect husband, but they 
 might all of them have made a worse character than Mark's 
 if he had not possessed some very sterling qualities as a 
 counterbalance. Secondly, I am not of those who think 
 that the married life of a man is but the second volume 
 of his bachelor existence. I rather incline to believe that 
 he starts afresh in life under circumstances very favourable 
 to the development of whatever is best, and to the ex- 
 tinguishment of what is worst, in him. That is, of course, 
 •where he marries well, and where lie allies himself to 
 qualities of temper and tastes which will serve as the com- 
 plement or, at times, the correctives of his own. Now 
 Kate O'Donoghue would instance what I mean in this 
 case. 
 
 Then I keep my best reason for the last — they liked 
 each other — this, if not a guarantee for their future happi- 
 ness, is still the best "martingale " the game of marriage 
 admits of. 
 
 I am free to own that the book I had in my head to write 
 was a far better one than I have committed to paper, but 
 as that is a sort of event that has happened to better men 
 than myself, I bear it as one of the accidents that author-
 
 PKEFACE. XI 
 
 sliip is heir to. At all events, my Public received it with 
 favour, and I can now — after an interval of close on thirty 
 years — recall with warm gratitude the reception it met 
 with. 
 
 A French critic — one far too able to have his dicta 
 lightly despised — has sneered at my making a poor igno- 
 rant peasant child find pleasure in the resonance of a 
 Homeric verse, but I could tell him of barefooted boys in 
 the south, running errands for a scanty subsistence, with 
 a knowledge of classical literature which would puzzle 
 many a gowned student to cope with. If the improba- 
 bilities of this volume went no further than this, it would 
 have been worthy of the reader's attention, and far more 
 grateful to the conscience of the author. 
 
 CHARLES LEVER. 
 Trieste, 1872.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 GtENPLESK ..--......, i 
 
 CHAPTER U. 
 The Watsidb Inn ■/ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The " Cottage and the Castle "....., 14 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Kerry O'Leabt 29 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 rUPBESSIONS OF IRELAND • . . S9 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 "The Black Vauet" .48
 
 Xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sib Af.oht's Temper Tried < ,59 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The House of Sickness ,70 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A Doctor's Visit , , , 77 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 An Evenino at "Mart" M'Kelly's , . . , « 85 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Mistakes on All Sides ....•••• 103 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Glen at Midnioht 115 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 *'The Guardsman" , . 124
 
 CONTENTS. . XV 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TAGS 
 
 The Comments oh a Hueried Departukk .... 134 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Some of the Pleasurks of Propkrtt , , . . . 141 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 The Foreign Letter .163 
 
 CHAPTliR XVII. 
 Kate O'Donoghub 138 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII, 
 A Hasty Pledge . » 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A Diplomatist Defeated . ,173 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Temptation in a Weak Hodr , l&l 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 The Return o/ auE Envoy 200
 
 XVI CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 A MoRNiNO Visit 20e 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 Some Opposite Tp.aits of CaARAciER . , . , ,213 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 A Walk by Moonlight • 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 A Day op Difficult Negotiations ...... 234 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 A Last Etening at Houg . . , . . . .' 2lf 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 A Supper Party 254 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 The Capital and its Pleasures 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 First Impressions 280
 
 CONTENTS. XVll 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Old Characters 'vhtu New Faces ....*. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 Some Hints about Harei Talbot ...... 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 A Presage of Danger 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 The St. Patrick's Ball 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 TuE Daybreak on the Strand 330 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 The Wanderer's Return. ....... 342 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 Spspicions on Every Side , .354 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Hemsworth's Letter 363 
 
 b
 
 Xviu CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 Tampering and Plottinq 370 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 The Brothers 380 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 The Lull before the Stokm 387 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 A Discovert • • • 393 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 The Sheauno 405 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 The Confkdkrates . . . * • • • • • »14 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 The Mountain at Sunrise ..»..•• 418 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 The Progress of Treachery ....... 429
 
 CONTENTS. XIX 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Priest's Cottage . 438 
 
 CHAriER XLVII. 
 The Day of Reckoning 446 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 The Glen and the Bay 460 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 The End , , ... 477
 
 /x ■ 
 
 J 1 O ^ ft 
 
 THE O'DONOGHUE: 
 
 ^ ^nk jof IrHuutr j;fi% g^ars ^00. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GLENFLESK, 
 
 In that wild and picturesque valley which winds its wav 
 between the town of Macroom and Bantry Bay, and goes 
 by the name of Glenflesk, the chai'acter 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 deep estgreen and the red purple of the heath-bell are 
 blended harmoniously together. The valley beneath, alter- 
 nately 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 mountain 
 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 desolation. 
 The river itself has a character of wildness all its own — 
 now brawling over rugged rocks — now foaming 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 troubled sea of foam 
 
 B
 
 2 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 and spray: its doll roar the only v^oice that echoes in the 
 mountain gorge. 
 
 Even where the hiimble roof of a soHtary cabin can 
 be seen, the- 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 struggles, or a heart 
 to console its griefs, comes mournfully on the mind, and one 
 wonders what manner of man he can be 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 cliff, 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 
 melancholy thoughts must be his companions, who spends 
 the livelong 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 fear- 
 ful superstitions will creep in upon his imagination, 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 ! Eor you no childish gambols in the sun— no 
 gay playfellow — no paddling in the running stream, that 
 steals along bright and glittering, like happy infancy — no 
 budding sense of a fair world, opening in gladness, 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 roadside ; divesting 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 powerfully- biiilt man, whose well- 
 knit frame and muscular limbs showed how much habitual 
 exercise had contributed 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.
 
 GLENFLESX. 3 
 
 and that squareness of proportion wlncli indicates con- 
 siderable physical strength; his countenance, except for 
 a look of utter listlessness 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 and in solitude the 
 curl of the upper lip betrayed his nature. 
 
 His dress was a shooting-jacket of some coarse stuff, 
 stained and washed by many a mountain streamlet ; loose 
 trousers of grey cloth, and heavy shoes — such as are worn 
 by the peasantry, 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, al- 
 though certain traits bespoke the person of a respectable 
 rank, there was a general air of neglect about him, that 
 half contradicted the supposition. 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 valley, where even 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 sounds should portend, when sud- 
 denly 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 ear, and at the same moment 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 vigorous in look ; his features, even yet 
 eminently handsome, wore an air of mingled frankness 
 and haughtiness ; there was in their expression the habitual 
 character of one accustomed to exert a degree of command 
 and influence over others — a look which, of all the char- 
 acteristics of temper, is least easily mistaken. 
 
 At his side walked one who, even at a passing glance, 
 
 B 2
 
 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 might be pronounced his daughter, so striking the resem- 
 blance 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 tender beauty, which at 
 that age blends the loveliness of the girl with the graces of 
 womanhood. Rather 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 mountain peaks were 
 tipped with the setting sun, and shone in those rich violet 
 and purple hues the autumn heath displays so beautifully. 
 The dark-leaved holly and the bright arbutus blossom 
 lent their colour to every jutting cliff and promontory, 
 which, to eyes unacqiminted with the scenery, 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 ex- 
 pression of the young girl's features, " or would you desire 
 something still more dreary ? " But she made no answer. 
 Her gaze was 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, 
 j)ointing downwards with her finger. 
 
 " Here is some one will explain it," said the old man, as 
 for the first time he perceived the youth, who still main- 
 tained 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, what does that smoke mean we 
 fiee yonder ? " 
 
 The youth sprang to his feet with a bound that almost 
 startled his questioner, so sudden and abrupt the motion ;
 
 OLENFLESK. . 5 
 
 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 
 sajing,— _ 
 
 " 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 j 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 pallor spread 
 itself across her cheeks. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," replied the youth; "they have no 
 better hereabouts," 
 
 '' What poverty — what dreadful misery is this ! " said 
 she, as the great tears gushed forth, and stole heavily 
 down her face. 
 
 '* They are not so poor," answered the young man, in a 
 voice of almost reproof. " The cattle along that mountain 
 all belong to these people — the goats you see in that glen 
 are 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 Mar- 
 maduke Travers — it is the estate of O'Donogrhue." 
 
 " Was, you mean, once," answered the old man, quickly. 
 
 " I mean what I say," replied the other, rudely. "Con-, 
 fiscation cannot take away a right, it can at most " 
 
 This speech was fortunately not destined to be finished.
 
 6 THE DONOGHUE. 
 
 for -wliile he was speaking, liis quick glance detected a dark 
 object soaring above bis bead. In a second be bad seized 
 bis gun, and taking a steady aim, be fired. The loud re- 
 port was beard 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 be lifted the body of a 
 large black eagle from the ground — " this fellow was a 
 coiifiscator too, and see what be has come to. You'd not 
 tell me that our lambs were bis, would you? " 
 
 The roll of wheels happily drowned these words, for by 
 this time the postilions had reached the place, the four 
 post-horses labouring under the heavy-laden travelling- 
 carriage, with its innumerable boxes and imperials. 
 
 The postboys saluted the young man with marked defei'- 
 ence, to which he scarcely deigned an acknowledgment, as 
 be replaced his shot-pouch, and seemed to prepare for the 
 road once more. 
 
 Meanwhile the old gentleman bad assisted his daughter 
 to the carriage, and was about to follow, when be turned 
 around 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 bis cheek flushed, as be answered coldly, — 
 " I thank yoii ; but my path is across the mountain." 
 Both parties saluted distantly, the door of the carriage 
 closed, and the word to move on was given, when the young 
 man, taking two dark feathers from the eagle's wing, ap- 
 proached the window. 
 
 " I was forgetting," said be, in a voice of hesitation 
 and diffidence, " pei'baps you would accept these fea- 
 thers." 
 
 The young girl smiled, and, half blushing, muttered 
 some words in reply, as she took the offered present. The 
 horses sprang forward the next instant, and a few minutes 
 after the road was as silent and deserted as before, and 
 gave the retiring sound of the wheels nothing broke the 
 titillness.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WATSIBE 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 Kcim-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, whoso 
 greatest recommendation was in the fact that it was the 
 only place where shelter or refreshment could be ob- 
 tained for miles on either side. An humble thatched cabin 
 abutting against the granite rock of the glen, and deco- 
 rated with an almost effaced sign of St. Finbar converting 
 a very unprepossessing heathen, over the door, showed 
 where Mary M' Kelly dispensed " enthertainment for man 
 and baste." 
 
 A chance traveller, bestowing a passing glance upon 
 this modest edifice, might deem that an inn in such a 
 dreary and unfrequented valley must prove a very profit- 
 less speculation. Few, very few, travelled the road — fewer 
 still would halt to bait within ten miles of Bantry. Re- 
 poi"t, however, said differently; the impression in the 
 country was, that " Mary's " — as it was briefly styled — 
 had a readier share of business than many a more pro- 
 mising 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 contraband wares and 
 *' run goods " which poured into the country from the 
 shores of France and Holland. 
 
 Vast storehouses and caves were said to exist in the 
 rock behind the house, to store away the valuable goods 
 which from time to time arrived : and it was currently
 
 8 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 believed that the cargo of an Indiaman might have been 
 concealed within these secret recesses, and never a cask 
 left in view to attract suspicion. 
 
 It is not into these gloomy receptacles of contraband 
 that we would now conduct our reader, but into a far more 
 cheerful and more comfortable locality — the spacious kit- 
 chen of the cabin, or, in fact, the apartment which served 
 for the double purpose of cooking and eating — the common 
 room of the inn, where around a blazing fire of black turf 
 was seated a party of three persons. 
 
 At one side sat the fat and somewhat comely figure of 
 Mary 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. 
 Opposite 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 weatherbeaten, shrivelled expression was 
 common to both, their jackets of blue cloth, leather 
 breeches, and top-ljoots, were so precisely alike, that they 
 seemed the very Dromios brought back to life, to perform 
 as postilions. 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 were the postilions of the 
 travelling carriage, which having left at its destination, 
 about two miles distant, they were now regaling them- 
 selves 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, anyhow, 
 Jim ?"
 
 THE WAYSIDE INN. 9 
 
 "I'm Joe, ma'am, avit's plazing to ye. Jim is the pole- 
 end boy ; he rides the layders. And it's true for ye — they 
 behaved dacent." 
 
 "A goold. guinea, divil a less," said the other ; "there's 
 no use in 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 bits 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 ? " said the hostess. 
 
 •* The near wheeler, ma'am ; he's a broken-kneed ould 
 devil 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 gatfers." 
 
 " ' 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 imposition of people so comfortably endowed affect- 
 ing to feel any pressure or po-verty. 
 
 "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 encouragement 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 
 view 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 himself 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 hogs-
 
 10 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 head of claret didn't do the fortnight. My father — rest 
 his soul ! — used to go up to the house every Monday morn- 
 ing for orders ; and ye'd see a string of cars following hira 
 at the same time, with tay, and sugar, and wine, and 
 brandy, and oranges, and lemons. Them was the raal 
 improvements!" 
 
 " 'Tis true for ye, ma'am. It was a fine house, 1 always 
 heerd tell." 
 
 " Forty-six in the kitchen, besides about fourteen col- 
 leens and gossoons about the place ; the best of euther- 
 tainment upstairs and down." 
 
 " Musha ! that was grand." 
 
 " A keg of sperits, with a spigot, in the servants' hall, 
 and no saying by your leave, but drink while ye could 
 stand over it." 
 
 " The Lord be good to vts ! " 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 pro- 
 found meditation at this piece of good fortune. 
 
 "Ayeh! ayeh!" continu.ed the hostess, in a strain of 
 lamentation, " when the ould 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 con- 
 temptuous 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 the miserable times they'd fallen 
 upon anything was possible. 
 
 " Licensed for sperits and groceries," said Mrs. M'Kelly, 
 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 WAYSIDE INN. H 
 
 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, Mary, it's me," said a somewhat con- 
 fident voice. " I saw the fire burning brightlj, and there's 
 no use hiding it." 
 
 " Oh, troth, Mr. Mark, I'll not keep ye out in the cowlcl," 
 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'Donoghue we'd shut the door 
 agin, anyhow." 
 
 " Thank ye, Maiy," said the young man ; " I've 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, Mary ?" 
 
 " It's a stew, sir ; more by token, of your honour's pro- 
 vidin'." 
 
 " Mine— how is that ? " 
 
 " The hare ye shot afore the door yesterday morning ; 
 sure it's raal luck we have it for you now." And while 
 Mary employed herself in the pleasant bustle of preparing 
 the 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 indiifer- 
 ence. 
 
 " 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 Hems- 
 worth, 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
 
 12 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 veiiemence ; then added, in a muttering voice, " Hich 
 enough to buy 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, throw 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 ofi", and what they had to ate, and where 
 was the schools." 
 
 " The schools ! " broke in Mary, in an accent of great 
 derision — " musha, it's great schooling we want up the glen 
 to teach us to bear povei^ty and cowld without complain- 
 ing ; 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 young man, who now seemed all 
 eagerness to resume 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 we passed a little potato 
 garden, or a lock of oats, it was always, ' God be good to 
 us! but they're mighty poor hereabouts;' bat 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! elegant!' till- we came to 
 Keira-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
 
 THE WAYSIDE INN. 13 
 
 laughed, and said, * You see, father, we have a neighbour 
 after all' " 
 
 The blood mounted to the youth's cheek, till it became 
 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 fliere, 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 High- 
 ness already' — that's what he called yer honour." 
 
 The youth sprang to his feet with a gesture so violent 
 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 discredited ; and without knowing why or wherefore, 
 he yet had an indistinct glimmering that any effort to 
 vindicate his character would be ill-received ; he therefore 
 said nothing more. His silence was contagious, and the 
 meal which a few moments before pi'omised so pleasantly, 
 passed off with gloom and restraint.
 
 14 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 All Mary M'Kelly's blandishments, assisted by a smoking 
 cup of mulled claret — a beverage -which not a chateau on 
 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 muttering to 
 himself. Mary at length having arranged the little room 
 for his reception, bade him good night, and retired to rest. 
 The postilions 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 sank 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. Originally a j'ounger 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 nature to him — rendered him both unfit to 
 enter upon the less exciting duties of a country gentle- 
 man's existence, and made him regard such as devoid of 
 interest or amusement. He continued, therefore, to reside 
 in London for many yeai's 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 agreeable, 
 and he resolved at once to remove to some one of his 
 estates, where a new sphere 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
 
 THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 15 
 
 an officer in the Guards ; and, except liis daughter, so 
 lately before tlie reader, he had no other children. 
 
 The eQbrt to attain forgctfaluess "was not more success- 
 ful here than it is usually found to be. The old man 
 sought, but found not, in a country life the solace be 
 expected ; neither his tastes nor his habits suited those of 
 his neighbours ; he was little of a sportsman, still less of 
 a farmer. The intercourse of country social life was a 
 poor recompense 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 
 Ireland, where he possessed a large estate, which he had 
 never seen. The property, 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 Hcmsworth, a gentleman who resided on 
 the estate, at his annual visit to the proprietor used to 
 dilate upon the manifold advantages and capabilities 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 promise, which the maker was 
 certainly not more sincere in pledging. 
 
 Three years of country life had now, however, disposed 
 Sir Marmaduke to reflect on this long unperformed jour- 
 ney ; 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 anuval, 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 con- 
 siderations. The state of Ii'eland had latterly become 
 a topic of the press in both countries. The poverty of the 
 people — interpreted in various ways, and ascribed to very 
 opposite causes — was a constant theme of discussion 
 aiid conversation. The strange phenomenon of a land
 
 16 THE o'dONOGUUE. 
 
 teeming with abundance, yet overrun by a starving popula- 
 tion, had just then begun to attract notice ; and theories 
 were rife in accounting for that singular and anomalous 
 social condition, wliich, unhappily, the experience of an 
 additional half-centuiy has not succeeded in solving. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke was well versed in these popular writ- 
 ings ; 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 were to be placed among the most 
 favoured nations. He had heard much of Irish indolence 
 and superstition — Irish bigotry and intolerance — the in- 
 difference to comfort — the indisposition to exertion — the 
 recklessness of the present — the improvidence of the 
 future; he had been told that saint-days and holidays 
 mulcted labour of more than half its due — that ignorance 
 made the other half almost valueless ; he had read that 
 the easy contentment with poverty had made all industry 
 distasteful, and all exertion, save what was actually indis- 
 pensable, 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, superstitions, 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 ; 
 comfort was a stimulant to industry that none disregarded ; 
 habits of order and decorum made the possessor re- 
 spected ; poverty almost argued misconduct, and certainly 
 ■was deemed a reproach. Why then not propagate 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 Marmaduke had the very best intentions — 
 the weakest notions of their realization ; the most un- 
 bounded desire for good — the very narrowest conceptions 
 of how to efi'ect it. Like most theorists, no speculative
 
 THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 17 
 
 difficulty was great enough to deter — no practical obstacle 
 was so small as not to affright him. It never apparently 
 occurred to him that men are not everywhere alike, and 
 this trifling omission was the source of difficulties which 
 he persisted in ascribing to causes outside of himself. 
 Generous, kind-hearted, and benevolent, he easily forgave 
 an injury, never willingly inflicted one ; he was also, how- 
 ever, hot-tempei'ed and passionate ; he could not brook 
 opposition to his will where its object seemed laudable to 
 himself, and was utterly unable to make allowance for pre- 
 judices 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 orna- 
 mented by Captain Hemsv/orth, and converted into a 
 cottage of singular beauty without, and no mean preten- 
 sion to comfort within dooi^s. It occupied an indenture of 
 the glen of Keim-an-eigh, and stood on the borders of a 
 email mountain lake, the surface of which was dotted with 
 wooded islands. Behind the 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 the breeze- 
 with the dark sides of the cliff opposite, 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 watchful care, grew here, 
 unattended and unregarded. The very grass had a depth 
 of green, softer and more pleasing 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, immediately above the road, stood 
 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 
 
 C
 
 18 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 vouched for an antiquity of little more than a hundred years. 
 It was a sti'ange, 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 causeway cut in the rock, and protected 
 by a square keep, through whose deep arch the road pene- 
 trated — flanked on either hand by a low battlemented wall ; 
 along these, two rows of lime-trees grew, stately and 
 beautiful 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 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 outworks of the castle. Implements of hus- 
 bandry lay carelessly on all sides, neglect and decay marked 
 everything, the garden wall was broken down in many 
 places, and cattle strayed at will among the torn fruit-trees 
 and dilapidated terraces ; while, as if to add to the dreary 
 aspect of the scene, the ground for a considerable distance 
 around had been tilled, but never -subsequently restored to 
 gi'ass land, and now along its ridged surface noisome weeds 
 and thistles grew rankly, tainting the air with their odour, 
 and sending up heavy exhalations from the moist and 
 spongy earth. 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 cor- 
 ridors, 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 jjatched carpets, were 
 the only things to be found, with here and there some dirt- 
 disfigured piece of framed canvas, which, whetlier tapestry 
 or painting, no eye could now discover. These apart- 
 ments bore little or no trace of habitation ; indeed, for many 
 years they were rarely entered by any one. A large square
 
 THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 19 
 
 room in one of the towers, of some forty feet in dimensions^ 
 ■was the ordinary resort of the family, serving. the purposes 
 of drawing and dining-room. This was somewhat better 
 in appearance : whatever articles of furniture had any pre- 
 tension to comfort or convenience were here assembled; 
 and here were met old-fashioned sofas, deep arm-chairs, 
 quaint misshapen tables like millepedes, and fat old foot- 
 stools, the pious work of long-forgotten grandmothers. A 
 huge screen, covered with a motley array of prints and 
 caricatures, cut off the group aroand the ample fireplace 
 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 a powerfully built old man, whose hair was 
 white as snow, and fell in long waving masses at either 
 5ide 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 mai'ked by a care- 
 less, 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 poorer 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 to that of the aged chieftain. An expres- 
 sion of intense acuteness pervaded every feature 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 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 queue behind, thus giving greater apparent length to 
 Lis naturally long and narrow face. His dress was that 
 of a gentleman of the time : a full-skirted coat of a dark 
 brown, with a long vest descending below the hips; 
 breeches somewhat a deeper shade of the same colour, 
 and silk stockings, with silver-buckled shoes, completed 
 an attire, which, if plain, was yet scrupulously neat and 
 respectable. As he sat, almost bolt upright in his chair, 
 there was a look of vigilance and alertness about him 
 very opposite to the careless, nearly drooping air of the 
 O'Donoghue. Such was Su- Archibald M'Nab, the brother 
 of the 6'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 his ^ 
 native 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 resolutions 
 hastily formed. M'Nab was close and secret, carefully 
 weighing everything before he made up his mind, and 
 not much given to imparting 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 serving to reconcile 
 the other discrepancies of their natures, kept them even 
 wider apart, and 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 beside the fire on a low stool, busily engaged in 
 deciphering, by the fitful 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
 
 THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 21 
 
 room, showed the handsome forehead of the youth, and 
 the ample locks of rich auburn, which hung in clusters 
 over it ; while his face was strikingly like the old man's, 
 ihe mildness of its expression — partly the result of youth, 
 partly the character imparted by his present 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 with 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 advantages 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 presenting 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 everything going forward. He had the 
 latest news of the capital — the fashions of hair and 
 toilet — the colours worn by the ladies in vogue, and the 
 newest rumours of any intended change — he knew well 
 the gossip of politics and party — upon the probable turn 
 of events in and out of Parliament he could hazard a 
 guess with a fair prospect of accuracy. With 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 acquaint- 
 ances 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, v/hich, among the majority of his associates, was 
 a great source rf his popularity ; but he well knew when
 
 22 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 to lay ttis aside and assume the exact shade of deference 
 and respect his company might require. If, then, with 
 O'Donoghue himself he would have felt perfectly at ease, 
 the presence 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. How- 
 ever, he had come for a purpose, and, if successful, the 
 result would amply remunerate him for any passing incon- 
 venience 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 
 mare of his." 
 
 " 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 fancy 
 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," in- 
 terposed the O'Donoghue, with a voice to which some 
 suddenly awakened recollection imparted a tone of 
 considerable depression. 
 
 " Sure we might make a swop with the mare," rejoined 
 Lanty, determined not to be foiled so easily. And then, 
 as no answer was forthcoming, after a long pause, he 
 added, " And haven't I the elegant pony for Master Herbert 
 there ? a crame colour — clean bred — with white mane and 
 tail. If ho 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 " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 23 
 
 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 
 .ittraction. 
 
 " 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'TTab. 
 *' Keep your rogueries and rascalities for the auld gene- 
 ration ye hae assisted to ruin ; but leave the young 
 anes alane to mind ither matters than dicing and horse- 
 racing." 
 
 Either 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 operation together, for 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 M'Nab, solemnly — "he 
 might be an Irish beggar." 
 
 " By my soul, sir — " broke in O'Donoghue. But 
 fortunately an interruption saved the speech from being 
 concluded, for at the same moment the door opened, 
 and Mark O'Donoghue, travel- stained and weary-looking, 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Mark," said the old man, as his eyes glistened 
 at the appearance of his favourite son, " Avhat sport, 
 
 *' Poor enough, sir ; five brace in two days is nothing to 
 boast of, besides two hares. Ah, Lanty, you here — how 
 goes it ? " 
 
 " Party well, as times go, Mr. Mark," said the horse- 
 dealer, affecting a degree of deference he would not have 
 deemed necessary had they been alone. "I'm glad to see 
 you 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."
 
 24 the'c'donoghue. 
 
 " That's it, Mark — give liim a canter, lad," cried tlie 
 old man, joyfully. 
 
 " I know what you are at well enough," resumed the 
 youth, encouraged by these tokens of approval ; " you 
 want that grey mare of mine. You have some fine 
 English officer ready to give you a hundred and fifty, or, 
 maybe, two hundred guineas for her the moment you take 
 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 " 
 
 " Well, 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 depre- 
 cating. " 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 
 the breast of his coat, and, opening it, displayed a thick 
 roll of bank-notes, tied with a piece of string — "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 he dropped his 
 voice to a whisper, and added, " Sure the speedy cut ia 
 ten pounds off her price any day, between two bi'others." 
 
 " What! " said the youth, as his brows met in passion, 
 and his heightened colour showed how his anger was 
 raised. 
 
 " Well, well — it's no matter, there's my offer ; and if I 
 make a ten-pound note of her, sure it's all I live by ; I 
 wasn't boi-n to an estate and a fine property, like yourself." 
 
 These words, uttered in such a tone as to 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, Lanty
 
 THE " COTTAGE A.ND THE CASTLE." 25 
 
 ■ — isn't that so ? " said the O'Donoghue, as, seizing a 
 small hand-bell, he ordered up 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 
 leave 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. 
 
 " Malachi 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 month 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. Musha! 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 draw- 
 ing-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 
 was 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 before the door, thinking and ruminat- 
 ing how to raise the money, when he sees the sheep grazing
 
 26 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 on the lawn foment him — not that he could sell one of 
 them, for there was a strap of a bond or mortgage ou 
 them a year before. • Faix,' and says he, ' when a man's 
 hard np for cash, he's often obliged to wear a mighty 
 threadbare coat, and go cold enough in the winter season 
 r-and sure it's reason sheep isn't better tlian Christians ; 
 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 even- 
 ing, and, as sure as ye're there, they cut the wool off thera 
 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 old 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 his story, 
 the whole party were convulsed with laughter; even Sir 
 Archy vouchsafed a grave smile, as, receiving the tale in 
 a different liglit, he muttered to himself, — 
 
 " They're a' the same — ne'er-do-well, reckless deevils.'* 
 
 One good result at least followed the anecdote — the 
 good humour of 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'lSTab 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 accom- 
 modation, he muttered, as he went, his self- congratula- 
 tions 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
 
 THE " COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE." 27 
 
 dressing-gown, and with 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 affected carelessness, which soon, however, gave 
 way to surprise, as he surveyed the chamber, so little 
 like any other in that dreary mansion. The walls were 
 covered with shelves, loaded with books ; maps and 
 prints lay scattered about on tables ; an oak cabinet of 
 great beauty in form and carving occupied a deep recess 
 beside the chimney ; and over the fireplace a claymore of 
 true Highland origin, and a pair of silver-mounted pistols, 
 were arranged like a trophy, surmounted by a flat High- 
 land 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, — 
 
 " Te war speaking about a sma' powny for the laird's 
 son. Mister Lawler — may I ask ye the price ?" 
 
 The words acted like a talisman — Lanty was himself in 
 a moment. The mere mention of horseflesh 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 dryly 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 Archibald ? 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.
 
 28 THE o'donoqhue. 
 
 ""Well, then, for ]\Iastei Hei-bert — sure she is the very 
 beast " 
 
 " What are you asking for hex ? 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 ofl'er me pounds I won't take it." 
 
 Sir Archy made no answer ; but turning to the old 
 cabinet, he unlocked 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 them 
 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 ain 
 good sense and justice. You say the powny is worth 
 twenty guineas ?" 
 
 " As sure as I stand here. I wouldn't " 
 
 "Weel, weel, I'm content. There's half the money; 
 tak' it, but never let's hear anither word about her here : 
 tak' her awa' wi' ye ; sell or shoot her, do what ye please 
 wi' her; 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 thei'e 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 Avhen at lens'th he acceded, it was rather from his 
 dread of the consequences of refusal than from any satis- 
 faction 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 nisht." 
 
 " Well, good night to you, anyhow," said Lanty, with a 
 slight sigh, as he dropped the money into his pocket, and 
 loft the room.
 
 THE "cottage and THE CASTLE.'* 29 
 
 " I have bought the scoundrel cheap ! " muttered Sir 
 Archy, as the door closed. 
 
 " Begorra, I thought he was twice as knowing ! " was 
 Lantv's reflection, as he entered his own chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KERRY o'LEART. 
 
 Lantt Lawler was stirring the first in the house. The 
 late sitting of the preceding evening, and the deep pota- 
 tions he had indulged in, left little trace of weariness on 
 his well-accustomed frame. Few contracts 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 descended the stairs, and took the path 
 towards the stable where he had left his hackney the night 
 before. 
 
 It was Lanty's intention to take possession of his new 
 purchase, and set out on his journey before the others 
 were stirring ; and with this object he wended his way 
 across the weed-grown garden, and into the wide and 
 dreary court-yard of the building. 
 
 Had he been disposed to moralize — assuredly an occu- 
 pation 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. Beau- 
 tifully proportioned columns, with florid capitals, supplied 
 the place of gate-piers. Richl}^ carved armorial beai'ings 
 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
 
 80 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 tlicm, it was to mutter some jeering allusion to their fallen 
 estate, rather than with any feeling 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 fox- 
 hound, 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 with- 
 stand, and he stood with his gaze fixed upon Irim. 
 
 "Poor old fellow!" said he, compassionately; "it's 
 a lonely thing for you to be there now, and all your friends 
 and companions dead and gone. Eory, 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 1 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 Lawler," 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 hayloft — ■" ' tis early you are to-day," 
 
 " Ah, Kerry, how are you, man ? I was taking a look 
 at Eory hei'e." 
 
 " Eaix, he's a poor sight now," responded the other, 
 with a sigh, " but he wasn'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 — sorrow lie in it." 
 
 A low whine from the poor old beast seemed to acknow- 
 ledge the praise bestowed upon him ; and Kerry con- 
 tinued, — 
 
 "It's truth I'm telling; and if it wasn't, it's just him- 
 himself would contradict me. — Tally-ho ! Rory — tally-ho !
 
 KEERY o'LEARY. 31 
 
 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 which so often had stirred the strongest chords 
 of his heart, and then suddenly, 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 from 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 covei-ing it derived from a 
 thick fell of strong black hair that hung down on every 
 Bide like an ill- made thatch. 
 
 Kerry was not remarkable for good looks. His brow 
 was low, 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 under-jaw, made up an assemblage of 
 features, which, when at rest, indicated little remai'kable 
 or striking ; but when animated and excited, displayed 
 the strangest possible union of deep cunning and simpli- 
 city, intense curiosity and apathetic indolence. His figure 
 was short, almost to dwarfishness, and as his arms were 
 enormously long, they contributed to give that air to his 
 appearance. His legs were widely bowed, and his gait 
 had that slouching, 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 thir^ 
 teen he rode a winning race at the Curragh, and came in 
 first on the back of Blue Blazes, the wickedest horse of 
 the day in Ireland. From that hour he became a cele-
 
 82 THE o'doxoghue. 
 
 briiy, and, -until too old to ride, was the crack jockey of 
 his time. From jocjcey 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 for- 
 tunes to his master, Keiry'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 Avas 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 unueeded. It would seem as if he were 
 kept as a kind of memento of their once condition, rather 
 than anything else. There was a pride in maintaining one 
 who did nothing the whole day but lounge about the 
 offices and the court-yard, in his old ragged suit of hunts- 
 man. And so, too, it impressed the country people, who, 
 Beeing 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, to 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 abou^ 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 dishabille 
 described, descended into the court-yard with a bunch of 
 keys 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 distui-b them with a strange beast." 
 
 " Hunters in training! " replied Lanty, in astonishment.
 
 KERRY o'lEARY. 33 
 
 " Why, I thouglit he had nothing but the grey mare with 
 the black legs." 
 
 " And sure, if he hasn't," responded Kerry, crankily, 
 ■"couldn't he buy them when he wants them ? " 
 
 " Oh, 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 ! Bad 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 everything there was. See, now ! if the 
 ^^ horses could eat peas-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 leather 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, about; 
 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 
 Avould be behind the rest of the country ? -Begorra, ye're 
 bould to come up here and tell us that ! " 
 
 " I'm not telling you anything of the kind — I'm saying 
 that if they are ruined entirely " 
 
 "Arrah! don't provoke me. Take your baste and go, 
 in God's name ! " 
 
 And so saying, Kejry, 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." 
 
 " And what for would I bring her onb ? " 
 
 " Maybe I'll tell you afterwards," was the reply. " Just 
 do as I say, now." 
 
 " The devil a one o' me will touch the beast at your 
 
 D
 
 34 THE O'DONOGHUE. 
 
 I'.dding; and, wliat's more, I'll not let yourself lay a 
 ) g-er on her." 
 
 "Be quiet, you old fool !" said a deep voice behind him. 
 pe turned, and there stood Mai-k O'Donoghue himself, 
 yiile 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 hunt- 
 ing season beginning, and sorrow thing you'll have to put 
 a saddle on, barrin' — barrin' " 
 
 " Barring what ? " interposed Lanty, with an insolent 
 grin. 
 
 The young man flushed at the impertinence of the in- 
 sinuation, but said not a word for a few minutes, then 
 suddenly exclaimed, — 
 
 " Lanty, I have changed my mind ; I'll keep the 
 mare." 
 
 The horse-dealer started, and stared him full in the 
 face. 
 
 " Why, INIr. Mai-k, surely you're not in earnest ? The 
 beast is paid foi' — the bargain all settled." 
 
 " I don't cai'e for that. There's your money again. I'll 
 keep the mare." 
 
 "Ay, but listen to reason. The mai'e is mine. She was 
 so when you handed me the luck-peuny, and if I don't wish 
 to part with her, you cannot compel me." 
 
 " Can't I ? " retorted ISIark, with a jeering laugh — 
 " can't I, faith ? Will you tell me what's to prevent it? 
 Will you take the law of me ? Is that your threat ? " 
 
 " Devil a one ever said I was that mean, before ! " re- 
 plied Lanty, with an air of decplj'-offended pride. " I 
 never demeaned myself to the law, and I'm fifteen years 
 buying and selling horses in every county in Munster. ^o, 
 ]\lr. 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 I did," cried Lanty, assuming a forced look 
 of easy assurance he was very far from feeling at the mo- 
 ment. " There's nothing more common in my trade. Kot 
 one of ns linys a beast without knowing where the next 
 owner is to be had,"
 
 KERRY o'lEARY. 3d 
 
 '♦And do you mean, sir," said Mark, as lie eyed him 
 with a steady stare — " do you 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 that our necessities 
 must make us willing chapmen for all you care to deal 
 in ? Do you dare to say that you have done this with 
 
 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 quarter, but none was forthcoming. 
 Kerry was the only unoccupied witness of the scene, and 
 his face beamed with ineffable satisfaction at the turn 
 matters had taken, and as he rubbed liis hands he could 
 scarcely control his desire to laugh outright at the lament- 
 able figure of his late antagonist. 
 
 " Let me say one word, Master Mai-k," said Lant}^, at 
 length, and in a voice subdued to its very softest key — 
 "just a single word in your own ear." And with 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 trafch," 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 the saddle on his 
 new purchase, an operation in which Kerry contrived not 
 to afi^brd him any assistance whatever, Mark O'Donoghue 
 paced slowly to and fro in the courtyard, with his arms 
 folded, and his head sunk upou his breast ; nor was ho 
 aroused from his reverie until the step of the horse was 
 beard on the pavement beside him. 
 
 " Poor Kittane," said he, looking up suddenly, " you 
 were a great pet : I hope they'll be as kind to you as I 
 was ; and they'd better, too," added he, half savagely, 
 
 D 2
 
 86 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 "for you've a drop of the Celt in your blood, and can 
 revenge harsh treatment when you meet with it. Tell 
 her owner 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. 
 
 Mark turned an elated look on the others, and then 
 surveyed the noble animal beside him with all the prido 
 aud admii-ation of a master regarding his handiwork. She 
 was, indeed, a model of symmetry, and well worthy of all 
 the praise bestowed on her. 
 
 For a moment or two the youth gazed on her with a 
 flashing eye and quivering lip, while the mare, catch- 
 ing 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 appeared 
 to feel it, as with a bound he sprang into the 
 saddle, and with a wild cheer dashed forward. With 
 lightning's speed they went, and in a moment disappeared 
 from view. Kerry jumped up on a broken gate-pier, and 
 strained his eyes to catch them, while Lanty, muttering 
 maledictions to himself on the hair-brained boy, turned 
 everywhere 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. See, 
 see! she does not see 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 tui-ning away." 
 
 ■ " I wish to the Lord he'd break a stirrup-leather," 
 muttered Lanty. 
 
 " Oh, Joseph ! " screamed Kerry, " there was a jump — 
 twenty feet, as sure as I'm livino-. Where is he now ? — 
 I don't see him."
 
 KERRY O'LEARY. 87 
 
 " May you never ! " gi'owled 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; 
 Bui'e its 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 
 9in instant before was cantering perfectly in hand, had now 
 Bet ofi' 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 thi-ough 
 it ! " And true enough — the wild and now affrighted 
 beast dashed thi'ough 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 ? " called out Kerry. " Why, then, as 
 sure as mv name's Kerry O'Leaiy, if there's a hair of his 
 head hurted, I'll " 
 
 What 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 always 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 won't 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 au 
 easy canter, was returning to the stable-yard. 
 
 "There!" said Mark, as he flung himself from the 
 
 laddie — " there, Kittane, it's the last time you're likely to 
 
 nave a bold -burst of it, or myself either, perhaps. She 
 
 touched her counter on that gate, Lanty ; but she's 
 
 nothing the worse of it." 
 
 Lanty grumbled some indistinct mutterings as he wiped 
 a blood-stnin from the mare's chest, and looked sulkily at 
 her heaving flanks and sides reeking with foam and sweat 
 
 432276
 
 38 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " 'Tis a dai^ling 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-, anyhow," said Lanty, as he pointed to the slight 
 scratch from which a few drops of Ijlood still flowed. 
 
 " Are you off the bargain, then ? '' said Mark, 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-bye, Lanty," he sauntered 
 slowly towards the house. 
 
 " Well, Mr. O'Leary," said Lanty, in a voice of affected 
 politeness Irishmen are occasionally very fond of employ- 
 ing when they intend great self-respect, "may I trouble 
 you to bring out that hack of mine ? " 
 
 " 'Tis a pleasure, Mr. 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, 
 lie 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.
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 
 
 It was not witliout a feeliug: closely allied to disappoint- 
 ment that Sir Marmaduke Travers found the advent to his 
 Irish estates uncelebrated by any of those testimonies on 
 the part of his tenantry his agent, Captain Hemsworth, 
 had often so graphically pictured befoi*e him. The post- 
 horses were suffered to drao' his carriaG-e unmolested to 
 its destination ; there was no assemblage of people to wel- 
 come — not a bonfire to hail his arrival. True, he had 
 come totally unexpectedly. The two servants sent forward 
 to prepare the lodge for his reception only reached there a 
 single day before himself. Bat Sir Marmaduke had often 
 taken his Yorkshire tenants as much by surprise, and 
 there he always found a deputation and a cortege of mounted 
 yeomen. There were addresses, and triumphal arches, and 
 newspaper paragraphs, and all the innumerable but well- 
 known accompaniments of those patronizing acts of con- 
 descension Avhich consist in the visit of a rich man to his 
 own home. ISTow, however, all was different. No cheer 
 ing 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 purple hills, 
 unscared by the lurid glow of a single bonfire. Save from' 
 an appearance of increased bustle, and an air of movement 
 and stir around the lodge itself, there was nothing to mark 
 his coming. There, indeed, servants were seen to pass 
 and repass; workmen were employed upon the flower- 
 garden and the shrubbery walks ; and all the indications 
 of care and attention to the villa and its grounds easily 
 perceptible. Beyond these precincts, howevei*, all was still 
 and solitary as before. For miles the road could be seen 
 without a single traveller. The mountains seemed desti- 
 tute of inhabitants. The peaceful solemnity of the deep 
 glen, along which the cloud shadows moved slowly in 
 procession, increased the sense of loneliness, and Sir Mar-
 
 40 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 maduko already began to suspect that tliis last trial of a 
 residence would scarcely prove more fortunate than the 
 previous ones. 
 
 Age and vpealth are uncomplying task-masters — habit 
 and power endure restraint with an ill grace. The old 
 baronet was half angry with himself for what he felt a 
 mistake, and he could not forgive the country which was 
 the cause of it. He had come expressly to see and pro- 
 nounce 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 i-espect and reverence he understood as 
 a cautious reserve. He must send for Hemsworth — thero 
 was nothing else for it. Heinsvvorth was used to them, 
 and could explain the mode of dealing with them. Their 
 very idioms i-equired tx-anslating, and he could not advance 
 without an interpreter. 
 
 Not so his daughter. To her the scene had all the 
 charm of romance. The lone dwelling beside the blue 
 lake, the tall and peaked mountains lost in the white 
 clouds, the waving foi'est 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 child- 
 hood, and she felt that visionary happiness which serenity 
 of mind, united to the warm imagination of early life, 
 alone can bestow. 
 
 It was a i'airy 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 roun- 
 delays, and the fair moon shed her pale light over hill and 
 stream, with none to mark her splendour save themselves. 
 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 bcauly of their expressions, teem- 
 ing with an imagery she never heard before. All appealed 
 to her miml with a very dilferent force from what they 
 addressed thcniselves 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 temperaments
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 41 
 
 only she found here amid poverty and privation; flashes 
 of bright wit broke from the gloom of daily suffering, and 
 the fii'e which gives life its energy burned brightly amid 
 the ashes of many an extinguished hope. These were 
 features she was not prepared to meet among a peasantry 
 living in a wild, unvisited district, and day by day they 
 fascinated 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 Rewards his tenantry 
 was, happily, tempered by the personal kindness of the 
 agent. Captain Herasworth constantly impressed them 
 with a notion that all harsh measures orisrinated with his 
 principal — the favours came from himself only. The 
 exactions of high rents, the rigorous prosecutions of the 
 law, he ever asserted were acts compulsory with him, but 
 always repugnant to his own better feelings. Every 
 little act of grace he accompanied by an assurance that 
 he "hoped Sir Marmaduke might not hear of it," as the 
 consequences to himself might prove ruinous. In fact, 
 he contrived to mislead both parties in their estimate of 
 each other, and their first acquaintanceship, it could not be 
 ■supposed, should dispel the illusion. The peasantry, how- 
 ever, 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 hina with powers of observa- 
 tion no other people in Europe can comjDete with ; and 
 while he was philosophizing about the combined influence 
 of their superstitions, their ignorance, and their apathy to 
 suffering, thei/ were accurately speculating on all the 
 possible 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 
 appeal to themselves — -to the precepts he so liberally be- 
 stowed regarding "industry " and " frugality," Eor did they 
 ever make the reply, which was ready at every lip, that 
 industry cannot be practised without an occupation, nor 
 frugality be pushed beyond the very borders of starvation.
 
 42 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 "No ; tliey 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 argu- 
 ment against their improvidence or recklessness, the ever- 
 pleasant reply was, "Sure, sir, it's the will of God" — a 
 piece of fatalism that rescued them from many a diihculty 
 ■when no other aid was near. 
 
 " They are a simple set of people," said SirMarmaduke, 
 as ho sat at his breakfast in the small parlour of the lodge 
 •which looked out upon the glen — " very ignorant, vcy 
 barbarous, but easily led — I see through them clearly." 
 
 " I like them greatly," said his daughter ; " their grati- 
 tude knows no bounds for the slightest sei'vices ; they 
 have a kind of native courtesy, so rare to find amongst a 
 peasantry. Hovv^ that poor fellow last night wished to 
 climb the cliff where the eagle's nest is, because I foolishly 
 said I had never seen a young eagle." 
 
 " They are totally misunderstood," said Sir Marmaduke, 
 sententiously, 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 ; and what a droll description tiiey gave of that 
 queer household — the chieftain — what is his name ? " 
 
 "TheO'Donoghue." 
 
 " Yes ; I never can remember it. No, no, they are not 
 so bigoted ; 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 before yesterday." 
 
 " If you like, w-e'll ride there ; I have heard that the 
 glen is beautiful higher up." 
 
 " I was just going to propose it. That mare seems quiet 
 enough — Lawler says that she has been carrying a lady 
 these two years — will you ti-y her ? " 
 
 " I am longing to do so. I am certain she is gentleness 
 itself." 
 
 " Strange fellow that horse-dealer is, too," said the old
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 43 
 
 gentleman, in lialf solilo(|ny. " In no other country in tlie 
 universe would sucli a mere simpleton liave taken to the 
 trade of a jockey. He actually did not know wliat price 
 to ask for his horse ; he left it all to oui\selves. He'd soon 
 finish his career in London, at that rate of o'oinn:. 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 appi'oached a small glass door that opened upon the 
 lawn. 
 
 The object which so excited his astonishment 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 awaiting the moment 
 when he should issue forth. Ever}' phase of human 
 misery which Avant 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 were cripples, unable to move without 
 assistance. There was wan and sickly childhood, and 
 tremulous old age ; vet the tone of their voices showed no 
 touch of sadness ; they laughed and talked with all the 
 seeming of light-heartedness ; and many a droll and merry 
 saying broke from that medleymass of suffering and sorrow. 
 The sudden appearance of Sir Marmaduke at the door 
 instantaneously checked all merriment, and a solemn 
 silence ensued as he walked forth and stood in front of 
 them. 
 
 "What do you want, my good people?" said he at 
 length, as none seemed disposed to open the proceedings. 
 
 Had their tongues been unlocked by the spell of a 
 magician the effect could not have been more instanta- 
 neous — a perfect volley of speech succeeded, in which Sir 
 Marmaduke in vain endeavoured to follow the words of 
 jiny single speaker. Their rapid utterance, their vehement 
 ig'esticulation, and a certain guttural mode of pronuncia- 
 iion, quite new to him, made them totally unintelligible, 
 md he stood confused, perplexed, and confounded, for 
 several minutes, staring round on every side. 
 
 "Ho, in Heaven's name, be quiet," cried he at last; 
 *' let one or two only talk at a time, and I shall learn what 
 you mean." 
 
 A renewal of the clamour ensued ; but this time it was
 
 44 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 a general effort to enforce silence — a process whicli even- 
 tuated in a far greater uproar than before. 
 
 " Who, or what are you ? " cried Sir Marmaduke, at 
 last losing all temper at the continuance of a tumult there 
 seemed no prospect of coming to an end. 
 
 " We're your honour's tenants, every one of us," shouted 
 the crowd with one voice. 
 
 " My tenants ! " reiterated he in horror and astonish- 
 ment. " What ! is it possible that you are tenants on my 
 property ? Where do you live, my poor old man ? " said 
 he, addressing a venerable old fellow, with a head as white 
 as snow, and a beard like a patriarch's. 
 
 " He does not talk any English, your honour's worship 
 — he has only Irish; he lives in the glen beyond," said a 
 comely woman at his side. 
 
 " And you, where do you come from yourself? " 
 
 " I'm a poor 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 pay, wid all the scrapin' in life." 
 
 Sir Marmaduke 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 inquiry, broke forth in a 
 feeble voice, " I brought the nine shillings with me, yer 
 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 
 trifle late. It's the watery dropsy — glory be to God ! — 
 I'm under ; but they say I'm getting better." 
 
 While the poor creature spoke, a low muttering of pity 
 burst from those around him, and many a compassionate 
 look, and many a cheering word, was exjiresscd by those 
 scarce less miserable than himself. 
 
 There was now a certain kind of order restored to the 
 assembly ; and as Sir Marmaduke moved along the line, 
 each in turn addressed his supplication or complaint. One 
 was thi-eatened with a distress on his pig, because he owed 
 two half-years' rent, and could only pay a portion of the 
 debt ; there was a failure in the potato crop, and a great 
 famine the consequence. Another was only recovering 
 from the " shaking ague," and bogged for time, since if 
 he thrashed his oats now, they would bring nothing in
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 45 
 
 tbe 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 ti'ifle 
 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 \n 
 the side of it. The wearer, a tall, bony youth, with yellow 
 hail', 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 arras," he cried, and as the words were heai'd, 
 a hearty burst of laughter raij through the ci'owd ; every 
 grief and sorrow was at once forgotten ; the eyes wet witli 
 tears of sadness, were now moistened with those of mirth, 
 and they laughed like those whose hearts had never known 
 suffering. 
 
 " Who is this fellow ? " said Sir Marmaduke, half doubt- 
 ing 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, lam proud to say lam not," said TeiTy, ground- 
 ing his weapon, and advancing a step towards him ; " divnl 
 a farthin' of rent I ever paid, 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.
 
 46 THE o'cONOaHUE. 
 
 " I just come to pay my respects," said Terry, com- 
 posedly, " to wish you a welcome to the country. I 
 thought that as you might be lading the same kind of Hf'e 
 as mj^self, we wouldn't be bad companions, you see, neither 
 of us having much on our hands ; and then," continued 
 he, as he took ofF his paper bonnet and made a deep 
 reverence, " I wanted to see the young lady there, for they 
 tould me she was a born beauty." 
 
 Miss Travers blushed — she was young enough to blush 
 at a compliment from such a source, as her father said, 
 laughingly, — 
 
 " Well, Terry, and have they been deceiving you ? " 
 
 " Xo," said he, gravely, as with steady gaze he fixed his 
 large blue eyes on the fair features before him — " no — she 
 is a purty crayture — 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 
 been 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 suffering 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 agaiust 
 poverty and its evils. 
 
 " I can show you the bcautifullest places in the whole 
 country," said Terr}^, approaching Miss Travers, and 
 addressing her in a low voice ; " I'll tell you where the 
 white heath is growing, with big bglls on it, like cups, to 
 liould the dew. Were you ever up over Keim-au-eigh ? " 
 
 "Never," said she, smiling at the eagerness of her 
 questioner. 
 
 " I'll take you, then, by a short cut, and ^-ou can ride 
 the whole way, and maybe we'll shoot an eagle. Have you 
 a gun in the house ? " 
 
 "Yes, there are three or four," said she, 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 cou-
 
 IMPEESSIONS OF IRELAND. 47 
 
 stralnt in which he made theprofl'er, 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 
 ]\larmaduke having meanwhile 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 for- 
 sook his lips, as he muttered, " I was." Sir JMarmaduke 
 came up at the instant, and Terry checked himself at 
 once, and said, — 
 
 " Whenever you want me, leave word at Mary M'Kelly 's, 
 in the glen below, and I'll hear of it." 
 
 "" But don't you think you had better i-emain here with. 
 us ? you could help in the garden and the walks." 
 
 " No ; I never do be working at all — I hate work." 
 
 " Yes, but easy work, Terry," said Miss Travers, 
 " among the flowers and shT'ubs here." 
 
 " No — I'd be quite low and sorrowful if I was to be 
 staying in one place, and maybe — maybe " — here he Avhis- 
 pered so low as only to be heard by her — " maybe they'd 
 find me out." 
 
 " No ; there's no fear of that," said she ; " we'll take 
 care no one shall trouble you — stay here, Terry." 
 
 " Well, I believe I will," said he, after a pause ; ** I 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 
 idiocy, entered into his daughter's schemes for poor Terry's 
 welfai'e. 
 
 A small cottage near the boat-house on the verge of 
 the lake, inhabited by a labourer and his children, oU'ered 
 the wished-for asylum, and thei'e Terry was at once 
 installed, and recognized as a member of the household.
 
 48 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALTHOunn deferred by the accidents of the morninf^, Sir 
 Marmaduke's visit to the priest was not abandoned, and 
 at length he and his daughter set out on their excursion up 
 the glen. Their road, after pursuing the highway for about 
 two miles, diverged into a narrow valley, from which 
 there was no exit save by the mode in which it was en- 
 tered. Vast masses of granite rock, piled heap above 
 heap, hung as it were suspended over their heads, the 
 tangled honeysuckle falling in rich festoons from these, 
 and the purple arbutus glowing like grape clusters among 
 the leaves. It was a mellow, autumnal day, when the 
 warmth of colouring is sobered down by massive shadows — 
 the impress of the clouds which moved slowly above. The 
 air was hot and thick, and, save when an occasional breeze 
 came, wafted from the water, was even oppressive. 
 
 The silence of the glen was profound — not a bird was 
 heard, nor was there in the vast expanse of air a single 
 wing seen floating. As they rode, they often stopped to 
 wonder at the stranore but beautiful effects of lioht that 
 glided now slowly along the mountains — disappeared — 
 then shone again ; the giant shadows seeming to chase 
 each other through 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 
 was an humble abode, but beautifully situated at the 
 bottom of the glen ; the whole valley lying expanded in 
 front, with its bright rivulet and its bold sides of granite. 
 The cottage itself was little better than that of a poor 
 farmer ; and save from the ornament of some creepers, 
 which were trained against the walls, and formed into a 
 deep porch at the entrance, differed in no respect from 
 .such. A few straggling patches of cultivation, of the very 
 rudest kind, wei'c seen here and there, but all without any 
 effort at fence or enclosure. Some wild fruit-trees were
 
 " THE BLACK VALLEY. 49 
 
 scattered over the little lawn in front, if the naiTOw strip 
 of grass that flanked the river could be called such, and 
 here-a small Kerry cow was grazing, the only living thing 
 to be seen. 
 
 A little well, arched over with pieces of rock, and Bur- 
 niounted by a small wooden cross, stood close to the road- 
 side, and the wild-thorn that overshadowed it v^^as huno- 
 on every side with small patches, of rags of every colour 
 and texture that human dress ever consisted of; a sight 
 new to the eyes of the travellers, who knew not that the 
 shrine was deemed holy, and the tree the receptacle of 
 the humble offering of those whose sorrows of mind and 
 body came there for alleviation and succour. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke dismounted and approached the door, 
 which lay wide open ; he knocked gently with his whip, 
 and as no answer to his summons was returned, repeated 
 it again and again. He now ventured to call aloud, but 
 no one came, and at last both father and daughter began 
 to suspect there might be no one in the nouse. 
 
 " This is most strange," said he, after a long pause, and 
 an effort to peep in through the windows, half hid with 
 honeysuckle. " The place seems totally deserted. Let 
 us try at the back, however." 
 
 As the old baronet wended his way to the rear of the 
 cottage, he muttered a half upbraiding against his daughter 
 for not complying with his desire to have a groom along 
 with them — a want which now increased the inconvenience 
 of their position, She laughingly defended herself against 
 the charge, and at the same moment sprang down from 
 her saddle to assist in the search. 
 
 " I certainly perceived some smoke from the cliimney 
 as we came up the glen, and there must have been some 
 one here lately, at least," said she, looking eagerly 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 fatlier to approach, intimating by a caution -! 
 gesture that he should do so noiselessly. Sir Marmaduke
 
 50 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 came stealthily to her side, and, leaning over her shoulder, 
 looked into the room. As both father and daughter ex- 
 changed glances, they seemed with difiiculty 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, Avas 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 by 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 im- 
 parted 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 mio-ht Sir Marmaduke and his dauo^hter feel sur- 
 prise ; 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 attention of the little fellow who listened. Astonish- 
 ment, awe, and eager curiosity, blended together iu 
 that poor little face, every lineament of which trembled 
 with excitement. If a high soaring imagination and 
 elevated tone of thought were depicted in the one, the 
 other not less forcibly realized the mute and trembling 
 eagerness of impassioned interest. 
 
 The youth paused for a few seconds, and seemed to bo 
 reflecting over what he read, when the boy, in an accent 
 broken with anxiety, cried out, — 
 
 "Eead it again, Master Herbert. Oh, read it again. 
 It's like the cry of the big stag-hound at Carrignacurra." 
 
 " It is the language of the gods, Mickey — finer and 
 grander than ever man spoke," replied the youth, with
 
 ** THE BLACK YALLEY. 61 
 
 fervour. " Listen to this, here." 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, in panting eagerness. 
 
 " 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 your fist, and your eyes wor shinin' like sparks 
 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 ye," 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 several minutes without stopping. 
 
 " Oh, that'^ grand ! " said the boy, in a burst of enthu- 
 siasm. " '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 goin' 
 clap ! clap ! like a giant clapping his hands. Did he kill 
 the inimy, master dear ? " 
 
 " No, he was killed himself, and his body dragged over 
 the battle-field." 
 
 " Wirra, wirra, wirra ! " broke in the child, while he 
 wrung his hands, and burst forth into a torrent of tumul- 
 tuous grief. 
 
 " He was killed, Mickey, and listen to the lament of his 
 friends for his death." 
 
 Scarcely had the youth read a few lines, when Sir 
 Marmaduke, advancing a little farther, his shadow fell 
 across the chamber. The youth sprang up at once, and 
 came towards them. The flush of surprise — it might be, 
 
 B 2
 
 62 THE o'donoqhue. 
 
 too, of sliarae — was on his features ; but there was less of 
 awkwardness than many might have exhibited in the 
 manner of his address, as he said, — 
 
 " Father Luke is from home, sir. He has been sent for 
 to Ballyvourney — -, — " 
 
 " You are his relation, I pi-esnme ? " said Sir Marma- 
 duke, without IcttinG: him finish his sr)eech, 
 
 "lam his pupil," replied the youth, with a tone in 
 Thich offended pride was clearly confessed. 
 
 "I ask pardon," said the baronet, hastily. "It wag 
 merely that 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 Marmaduke Travers has been here." 
 
 While Sir Marmaduke was speaking, the youth's eyes 
 were fixed Avith a steadfast gaze on the features of the 
 young girl, of whose presence till then he seemed uncon- 
 scious. Fixed and earnest as his stare was, there was 
 nothing in it of rudeness, still less of insult. It was the 
 unequivocal expression of astonishment, the suddenly- 
 awakened sense of admiration in one, on whom, till that 
 very instant, beauty had shed no fascination. His eyes 
 were bent upon her, as Sir IMarmaduke thus finished' 
 speaking, and the old man smiled as he saw the wonder- 
 struck -admiration of the boy. 
 
 " You will please to say Sir Marmaduke Travers," re- 
 peated he onco more, to recall the scattered senses of the 
 youth. 
 
 "And his daughter? " murmured the other, as he still 
 continued to stare at her. 
 
 " Yes, his daughter," replied Sir Marmaduke, smiling. 
 " May I ask if there be no shorter road back to ' the 
 Lodge ' than thnt yonder ? for I perceive it is full two 
 hours later than I suspected." 
 
 " None for those on horseback. The mountain path 
 lies yonder, but even on foot it is not without danger." 
 
 " Come, then, Sybella ; let us lose no time. We must 
 ride briskl}^, to reach home by daylight. We are late 
 enough already'." 
 
 " Too late, if you ride not very fixsf," replied the youth. 
 " The rain has fallen heavily on the mountains this after- 
 noon. See that waterfall yonder, I crossed it drj'shod at
 
 " THE BLACK VALLEY." 53 
 
 daybreak, and now it is a cataract. This river rises 
 rapidly, and in a single night's rain I have seen the valley 
 all one lake." 
 
 " What are we to do then? " cried j\Iiss Travers, eagerly, 
 for now she felt self-reproach at her refusal to take a 
 groom along with them, and was vexed with herself, as 
 ■well as uneasy for her father. 
 
 " Keep the left of the valley till you reach the tall black 
 rock, they call 'the Pulpit' — you know it, at least you 
 must have seen it as you came along — then cross the 
 stream, it will be fordable enough by that time, and make 
 the best of your way along under the clifts till you arrive 
 at the broken bridge — the two buttresses,- 1 mean. Re- 
 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 ktiow the name of our kind adviser?" 
 asked Sir Marmaduke, as he mounted his horse. 
 
 "Hark! there it comes!" cried the youth, pointing 
 
 ■ upwards to the brow of a cliflf, over which a leaping 
 
 torrent had just bounded. " The mountain lakes are 
 
 flooded when Derrybahn is spouting. Away ! away ! if 
 
 you care for safety." 
 
 They turned their horses' heads as he spoke, and with a 
 hasty " good-bye " they spurred forwards. Short as the 
 time had been since they travelled the same path, -the 
 scene was wonderfully changed ; 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 upon the 
 roadside, 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 first time they slackened their
 
 54 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 pace, to clear several loose stones that obstructed 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 spurred 
 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 communicat- 
 ing fears that might not be real, neither told the other.' 
 
 " He said the left side of the valley ; but surely he 
 mistook : see how the Avater has gained here, and the 
 opposite bank seems dry." 
 
 "Let us follow the advice, father," cried Sybella ; "we 
 have no guidance save his ; he covild not — would not 
 deceive us. Is it not grand ! With all its dancer, I can 
 admire it." 
 
 As she spoke, a tremendous clap of thunder broke above 
 their heads, and made the valley tremble with the sound, 
 while, as if by the shock,, the charged clouds were rent 
 open, and the rain descended in torrents. With the 
 Bwooping 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 cletts and gashes. 
 Again the thunder pealed out, and every echo sent back 
 the sound, till the whole glen vibrated with the deafening 
 claipour. Still they sped onward. The terrified horses 
 strained every limb, and dashed 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 beat- 
 ing rain, and at last caught sight of the huge mass, around 
 whose summit the charged clouds were flying.
 
 **TnE ELACK VALLEY." 55 
 
 ** We must cross the river in this place," said the old 
 man, as he suddenly 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, resolute daring she had not used before ; 
 "rcm'ember 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 sci-eamed 
 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." 
 
 " Oj God, I thank thee ! " said the terrified girl, as once 
 more her vision was restored, and, dimly, objects began 
 to form themselves before her. 
 
 With bare head and upturned eyes the aged man looked 
 up, and poured forth his prayer of thankfulness to Heaven. 
 The raging storm beat on his brow nnfelt ; his thoughts 
 were soaring to the Throne of Mercies, and knew not 
 earth, nor all its sorrows. 
 
 A clap of thunder at the moment broke from the dense 
 cloud above them, and then, in quick succession, like the 
 pealing of artillery, came sevei'al 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 s^^lashed 
 the wild waves on every side. The spray sprang madly up, 
 while the roaring of the stream grew louder ; the clouds 
 swept past, and the tall Pulpit rock was gone ! Struck by 
 lightning, it had rolled from its centre, and fallen acres? 
 the river, the gushing waters of which poured over it i:x 
 floods, and fell in white sheets of foam and spray beyond i<*
 
 56 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 •' God is near us, my cliild," said the old man, with fer- 
 Tour ; " let us onward." 
 
 Her streaming eyes turned on liim one look of affectiou 
 — the emblem 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 ti'ied to head the terrified animal 
 against the current. 
 
 " I am near you, father — fear not for me," said she, 
 firmly, her bold heart nei'ved 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 sprang madly 
 forward, followed by the other. Now breasting the 
 stream, now sinking to the mane beneath it, the noble 
 beasts struggled 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 ray side — near me, dearest — near me ! " cried the 
 father, as his horse dashed into the seething flood, and 
 sank above the crest beneath 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 beard 
 not the words— ^the current had swept hiiu far down into 
 the stream, amid the rent branches and the rolling rocks— 
 " My child ! my child ! " the only accents heard above the 
 raging din. 
 
 Twice did the heroic girl try to face the current, but in 
 vain — the horse plunged wildly up, and threatened to fall 
 back, when 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
 
 " THE BLACK VALLEY." 57 
 
 fear, liad yielded to the current, and was now each moment 
 nearing the cataract. 
 
 "Cling to me, now!" cried the youth, as, with the 
 strength of desperation, 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 
 carried over the precipice. 
 
 " Cling fast to me, and we are safe ! " cried the youth ; 
 and with vigorous grasp he held on the tree, and, thus 
 supported, breasted the stream and reached the bank. 
 Exhausted and worn out, both mind and body powerless, 
 they both fell senseless on the grass. 
 
 The last shriek of despair broke from the father's heart 
 as tlie horse, bereft of rider, swept past him in the flood. 
 The cry aroused the Minting girl ; she half rose to her 
 i'eet, and called upon him. The next moment they 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?" were the first words he said, as he stared 
 around him vaguely ; and then, as if overcome, he fell 
 heavily back upon the sward. 
 
 A joyous cheer broke forth from several voices near, 
 and, at the instant, several country people were seen 
 coming forward, with Terry at their head. 
 
 " Here we ai'e — here we are, and in 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 1-ady," said he, kneeling down beside 
 Sybella, who still remained clasped in her father's 
 arms. 
 
 By this time some of Sir Maroiaduke's servants had 
 reached the spot, and by them the old man and his daugh- 
 ter were assisted towards the high road, while two others 
 carried the poor youth, by this time totally unable to make 
 the least exertion. 
 
 " This brave boy — this noble fellow," said Sir Marma- 
 duke, as he stooped to kiss the pale high foi'ehead, from
 
 58 THE o'doxochue. 
 
 wliich the wet liair hung backwards — " can no one tell me 
 who he is?" 
 
 "He's the young O'Donoghue," replied a half-dozen 
 voices together ; " a good warrant for courage or bravery 
 any day." 
 
 "The O'Donoghue !" repeated Sir Marmaduke, vainly 
 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. Master Hei'bert, rouse up, my child — suro 
 it isn't a wettin' would cow you this way ? " 
 
 "What! 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 whisper, but with an energy 
 that made the boy start from the arms of those who bore 
 him. 
 
 " Here's the pony, Master Herbert — get up on him, and 
 be off at once; sure tliere 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 tb ') 
 counsel, and sufiei'ed himself to be placed upon the saddle , 
 
 " Now then, hould fast, and I'll guide him," said Kerry'T 
 as elbowing the crowd right and left, Jie sprang forwar(2 
 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 —
 
 "the black valley." 59 
 
 ** to-morrow will, I hope, enable 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. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SIR AROHY S TEMPER TRIED. 
 
 It was strange tliat, altbough 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 followins; mornins^ he was in a fever. The 
 mental excitement, conspiring with fatigue and exhaustion, 
 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 
 bedside. 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 
 recognized 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 endea- 
 voured, when spoken to, to preserve coherency and me- 
 mory, the struggle was unavailing, and the immediata
 
 60 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 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 ho safe 
 beside the sick-bed, questioned the youth about his adven- 
 ture. " You said something of a horse ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she was riding. Oh, how bravely she rode too! 
 It was fine to see her as the sprny 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 ; " Derry- 
 bnhn has givincr waruinsr — the storm is comins:. It is 
 not for one so tender as you to tempt the river of the black 
 valley." 
 
 " Be still, my boy," said the old man ; " you must not 
 speak thus ; your head will ache if you take not rest — 
 keep quiet." 
 
 "Yes; my head, my head!" muttered he vaguely, 
 repeating fhe words which clinked upon his mind. " Slie 
 
 put her arm round my neck There: — there," cried he, 
 
 starting up wiklly in his bed, " catch it — seize it — my feet 
 are slipping — the rock moves — I can hold no longer ; there 
 — there! " And with a low moaninof sicfh he sank back 
 fainting on the pillow. 
 
 Sir Archibald applied all his efforts to enforce repose 
 and rest ; and having pai-tially succeeded, hastened to the 
 O'Donoghue's chamber, to confer with the boy's father on 
 what steps should be taken to procure medical aid. 
 
 It was yet some hours earlier than the accustomed time 
 of his waking, 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 un- 
 expected sight. " lias Gubbins issued tlic distress ? Are 
 the scoundrels going to sell us out ?" 
 
 " No, no ; it is another matter brings me here," replied 
 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 M'Nab, with
 
 BIB AECHY's temper TRIED. 61 
 
 impatience. " It's tliat poor callant, Herbert — lie'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 something about it ,' and so, maybe, 
 Mark may reach Cork in good time after 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 
 horse and ride over to Killarney. Oh ! X was forgetting ; 
 let a fellow go off" on foot, .he'll get there before evening. 
 It is confoundedly hard to have nothing in the stables 
 even to mount a messenger. I hope Mark mcty be able to 
 manage matters in Cork. Poor fellow, he hates bu-siness 
 as 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 downstairs in search of a safe messenger to despatch 
 to Killarney for Doctor Roach, muttering between his 
 teeth as he went, — 
 
 " We hae uae muckle chance of the doctor if we canna 
 send the siller to fetch him as well 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 way. 
 
 Meanwhile 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 suffei-ing the grey light to fall on the youth's 
 features, " what is. the matter ? Your uncle has been 
 routing me up with a story abbut you." 
 
 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
 
 62 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 lustre ; liis cheeks were pale and sun'icen, 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 dreadful ill he 
 looks. Have you any pain, my boy ?" 
 
 Tlie boy knew the voice, and recognized the kindly 
 accent, but could not hear or understand the words ; and, 
 as his eyes glistened with delight, he stole his burning 
 hand from beneath the bedclothes, 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 cauglit up. 
 
 " ISTo, by the way, it was the night before, I mean. I 
 did not see you last, night ; but, clieer up, my dear boy ; 
 we've sent for Eoach — 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 him. Sunk in these reflec- 
 tions, he drew near the window, which looked out upon 
 the old court-yard behind the house, and where now a very 
 considerable crowd of bea:s:ars had assembled to collect 
 the alms usually distributed each morning from the 
 kitchen. Each was pi^ovided with an ample canvas bag, 
 worn over the neck by a string, and capable of containing 
 a sufficiency of meal or potatoes, the habitual off"ering, to 
 support the owner for a couple of days at least. They 
 were all busily engaged in stowing away the provender of 
 various sorts and kinds, as luck, or the preference of the 
 cook, decided, laughing or grumbling over their portions, 
 as it might be, when Sir Archibald M'Nab hurriedly pre- 
 sented himself in the midst of them — an appearance which 
 seemed to create no particular satisfaction, if one were to 
 judge from the increased alacrity of their movements, and 
 the evident desire they exhibited to move off. 
 
 The O'Donoghue laughed as he witnessed the dis- 
 comfiture of the ragged mob, and let <lown tlie window- 
 Bash to watch the scene.
 
 SIR archy's temper tried. 63 
 
 « 'Tis going we are. God be good to us !" 
 
 " Te needn't be cursing that way," said an old bag, 
 with a sack on ber back large enougb to contain a cbild. 
 
 " Eyab ! the Lord look down on the poor ! " said a little 
 fat fellow, witb a flannel nigbtcap and stockings witbout 
 any feet ; " tbere's no pity now at all, at all." 
 
 " Tbc beavens be your bed, any way," said a bard- 
 featured little Avoman, witb an accent that gave tbe bless- 
 ing a very different signification from tbe mere words. 
 
 " Blessed Josepb ! sure it isn't robbers and tbieves we 
 are, tbat ye need bunt us out of tbe place." 
 
 Sucb were tbe exclamations on every side, intermingled 
 witb an under-growl of tbe " Scotcb naygur ! " — " Tbe 
 ould scrape-gut ! " and otber equally polite and flattering 
 ej)itbets. 
 
 " This is no a place for ye, ye auld beldames and black- 
 guards. Awa' wi' ye — awa' wi' ye at once ! " 
 
 " Them's the words' ye'll bear in heaven yet, darlint ! " 
 said an old fiend of a woman, witb one eye, and a moutb 
 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, any- 
 how," muttered another. " 'Tis there he'll meet most of 
 bis counti'ymen." 
 
 This speech was tbe 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 ; " and sure I bear that's more nor they do in 
 tbe parts yo-ur honour comes from." 
 
 Sir Archy's passion boiled over at this new indignity. 
 He stormed and swore, witb all tbe impetuous rage of 
 one beside himself witb passion ; but tbe eff'ect on bis 
 bearers was totally lost. The only notice they took was 
 an occasional exclamation of — 
 
 " There it is, now ! " " Ob, blessed Father ! bear what 
 be. says ! " " Oh, boly Mother ! isn't be a terrible man?" 
 — comments by no means' judiciously adapted to calm bis 
 irritation. Meanwhile, symptoms of evacuating the terri- 
 tory were sufficiently evident. Cripples were taken on 
 tbe backs and shoulders of their respective friends j sacks
 
 64 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 and pouclies were slung over the necks. Many a pre- 
 paratory shake of the rags showed that the wearer was 
 getting ready for the road, when Sir Archy, suddenly check- 
 ing himself in the full torrent of his Avrath, 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 feel- 
 ing ; 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 earn siller. Which o' ye, now, will step 
 down to Killarney, and tell the docter he's wanted up here 
 wi' a' despatch ? Ye maun go fast and bring him, or send 
 Lim here to-night ; and if ye do, I'll gie ye this piece o* 
 sill-er money when ye come back." 
 
 A general groan from that class whose age and infir- 
 mities 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. " 13egorra ! I won- 
 der 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's there's a 
 drop of milk or a pratie." 
 
 " That's the charity to the poor, I suppose," said the 
 fat fellow of the nightcap. " '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. 
 
 " Uid ever man hear or seethe like o' this ?" exclaimed 
 M'^^ab, as Avith u])liltcd hands he stared in wonderment 
 around him. " One would na believe it." 
 
 " True for you, honey," joined in one of tho group.
 
 SIR archy's temper tried. 65 
 
 ** I'm fifty-three years on tlie road, and I never heard of 
 an}'' one askin' us to do a hand's turn afore." 
 
 " Out of my sight, ye worthless ne'er-do-weels; awa* 
 wi' ye at onco 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, anyhow." 
 
 And with tlicse 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. 
 
 Alow chuckling laugh, as the sash was closed overhead, 
 made him look up, and he just caught a glimpse of 
 O'Donoghue as he retired frona the window ; for in his 
 amusement at the scene the old man forgot the sick boy 
 and all about him, and only thought of the ridiculous in- 
 terview 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 scoundrels ? 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 flunkio 
 wanting beside 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 are ye tramping it too?" said M'iSTab, with a 
 sneering accent as he addressed the footman. " Methinks 
 ye might hae a meal's meat out o' the goold lace on youx* 
 hat, and look mair like a decent Christian afterwards. 
 Ye'r out of place, maybe." 
 
 These last words were delivered in an irony to which a 
 tone of incredulity gave all the sting ; and these only 
 were intelligible to the sleek and well-fed individual to 
 whom they were addressed.
 
 G6 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 In all likelihood, had he been charged with felony or 
 highway robbery, his self-respect might have sustained 
 his equanimity; any common infraction of the statute law 
 might have been alleged against him without exciting an 
 undue indignation ; but the contemptuous insinuation of 
 being " out of place" — that domestic outlawry — was more 
 than human endurance could stomach ; nor was the insult 
 more palatable coming from one he believed to be a servant 
 himself. It was therefore with the true feeling of out- 
 raged dignity he replied, — 
 
 " JSTot exactly out of place jest now, friend ; though, if 
 they don't treat you better than your looks show, I'd 
 recommend you ti'ying for a new situation." 
 
 Of a verity. Sir Archibald's temper was destined to sore 
 trials that morning ; but this was a home thrust, for which 
 BO forethought could have prepared him. 
 
 "I hope I am no going to lose my senses," said he, as 
 he pressed his hands on either 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 veiy 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 momcutaxy 
 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 imperti- 
 nent mistake. He saw at once the immeasurable gulf, 
 impassable 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 scaled letter, 
 without one word of reply or apology. 
 
 Sir Archibald put on his spectacles, and having care- 
 fully 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, wliile Kerry O'Leary, a short distance 
 behind his chair, was relating the circumstance of the 
 last night's adventure.
 
 SIR aechy's temper tried. G7 
 
 "Is it from Mark?" said the old man, eagerly; and 
 then glancing at the writing, he thi-ew it from him in 
 disappointment, and added, " I am getting very uneasy 
 about that lad." 
 
 " Had ye no better read the letter ? the messenger wh^ 
 brought it seems to expect an answer," interposed M'K^ab, 
 
 " Messenger! — eh — not by post ? Is Hemsworth come 
 back?" exclaimed O'Donoghiie, with an evident degree 
 of fear in his manner. 
 
 " No, sir," said Kerry, guessing to what topic his 
 master's thoughts were turning ; " the captain is not 
 coming, they say, for a month or six weeks yet." 
 
 "Thank God!" muttered O'Donoghue ; "that scoun- 
 drel never leaves me a night's rest when I hear he's in the 
 neighbourhood. Will you see what's in it, Archy ? My 
 head is quite confused this moi'ning ; I got up three 
 hours before my time." 
 
 Sir Archibald resumed his spectacles, and broke the 
 seal. The contents 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 this business." 
 
 " Well, I believe your honour knows the most of it 
 now ; for when I came up to the glen they were all safe 
 over, barrin' the mare ; poor Kittane, 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 Marmaduke 
 Travers, begging to know when he may be permitted to 
 pay his personal respects to you, and express his deep and 
 grateful sense — his own words — of your son's noble con- 
 duct 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'Donoghue; "why 
 that's the man himself It was he bought the estate ; 
 he's Hemsworth's principal." 
 
 " And if he be," replied M'Nab, " canna an honest 
 man hae a bad servant ? There's nothing about Hems- 
 
 F 2
 
 63 THE O'DONOGHUE. 
 
 worth here. It's a ceevil demand from one gentleman to 
 anither." 
 
 " So it is, then, Sir Marmaduke that has been staying at 
 the lodge these some weeks past. That was Mark's secret 
 — poor dear boy, he wouldn't tell me, fearing it would 
 annoy me. Well, what is it he wants ? " 
 
 " To visit yon, O'Donoghue." 
 
 " What nonsense ; the mischief's done already. The 
 mortgage is foreclosed ; 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 ceevil way to make your acquaintance. Sir Marmaduke 
 wad pay his respects to ye." 
 
 "Well, let him come,"said 0'Donoghue,laughing; "he's 
 sure to find me at liome. The sheriff takes care of that 
 for him. ]\lark will be here to-morrow or next day ; I 
 h ppc he won't come before that." 
 
 " The answer must be a written one," said M'Nab ; " it 
 wadnabc 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 write 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 
 Southern," 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 
 proITered visit, was out of the question. His reply, then, 
 accepted the intended honour with a profession of satis- 
 faction ; apologizing 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
 
 BIR ARCHY's TEMVER TRIED. 69 
 
 quaint old-fashioned characters of the writer's time, and 
 signed " O'Douoghue," was carefully folded, au.d 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 
 au air of importance. 
 
 " No, no ; I am sure it is 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 exj^ect the doctor 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.
 
 70 THE o'DONOGHUE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HOUSE OP SICKSES3. 
 
 How painfully is the sense of severe illness difTused 
 tbroug-li every part of a household. How solemn is the 
 influence it sheds on every individual, 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 caro and solicitude for the sufferer ; all the 
 agencies of kindness and skill are 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 sufferings of 
 malady, the picture is indeed a dark one. 
 
 The many deficiencies 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 sickhouse to affright and aflflict 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 anything like dangerous sickness 
 in the house ; and like most people who have long enjoyed 
 the blessings of uninterrupted health, they had no thought 
 for such a calamity, nor deemed it among the contingenciea 
 of life. Now, however, the Avhole household felt the 
 change. The riotous laughter of the kitchen was silenced, 
 the loud speaking hushed, the doors, banged by the wind, 
 or the rude violence of careless hands, were closed noise- 
 lessly — everything betokened that sorrow was there. 
 O'Donoghue himself paced to and fro in the chamber of 
 the old tower, now stopping to cast a glance down the 
 glen, where he still hoped to see Mark approaching, now 
 Kesumitig his melancholy walk in sadness of heart. 
 
 In the darkened sick room, and by the bed, sat Sir
 
 THE HOUSE OF SICKNESS. 71 
 
 Archibald, concealed by the curtain, but near enough to 
 give assistance to the sick boy should he need it. He sat 
 buried in his own gloomy thoughts, rendered gloomier as 
 he listened to the hurried breathinafs and low mutteringfs 
 of the youth, whose fever continued to increase upon him. 
 The old ill-tempered cook, whose tongue was the terror 
 of the region she dwelt in, sat smoking by the fire, nor 
 noticed the presence of the aged foxhound, who had fol- 
 lowed 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 everything, nor was 
 the aspect without doors more cheering. The rain beat 
 heavily in drifts against the windows ; the wind shook 
 the old trees violently, and tossed their gnai-led limbs in 
 ■wild confusion, sighing with mournful cadence along the 
 deep glen, or pouring a long melancholy note through the 
 nari'ow 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-legg;ed little gossoon, 
 Mickey, who had come over from Father Luke's with a 
 message, 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 news- 
 paj^er from his pocket, and took his seat beside the blazing 
 fire. For some time he persevered in his occupation with- 
 out interruption ; but Mrs. Branaghan having apparently 
 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 naumbling it to yourself 
 there," said she, in a tone seldom disputed in the realm 
 she ruled. 
 
 " Musha, then," said Kerry, scratching his head, " the 
 little pi'int bates me entirely; the letters do be so close, 
 they haven't room to stir in, and my eye is always going 
 to the line above and the line below, and can't keep 
 straight in the furrow at all. Come here, Mickey, alanah ! 
 'tis you ought to be a great scholar, living in the house 
 with his reverence. They tell me," continued he, in a
 
 72 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 whisper to tlie cook — " they tell me, he can sarve masa 
 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 commence his task. 
 
 "Where will I begin, sir?" 
 
 *' Begin at the news, av coorse," said Kei'ry, somewhat 
 puzzled to decide what kind of intelligence he most desired. 
 *• What's this here with a large P in the first of it?" 
 
 "Prosperity of Ireland, sir," said the child. . 
 
 " Aj', read about that, Mickey," said the cook, resuming 
 her pipe. 
 
 With a sing-song intonation, which neither regarded 
 paragraph nor period, but held on equably throughout the 
 column, the little fellow began : — 
 
 " The prospect of an abundant harvest is now very 
 general throughout the country ; and should we have a 
 continuance of the heavenly weather for a week or so 
 longer, we hope the corn will all be saved." 
 
 As the allusion made here by a journiilist was to a period 
 of several years previous, the listeners might be excused 
 for not feeling a perfect 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 Stony Batter ; they are well known, and are ad- 
 vised to take care, as such depredations cannot go long 
 unpunished. — The two villains that broke into the house of 
 the Archbishop of Dublin, and murdered the housemaid, 
 will be turned off ' Lord Temple's trap' on Saturday next ; 
 this will be a lesson to the people about the Cross Poddle, 
 that we hope may serve to their advantage. 
 
 " Sir Miles IM'Shane begs to inform the person who 
 found his shoe-buckle alter the last levee, that he will 
 receive one-and-eightpence reward for the same, by bring- 
 ing it to No. 2, Ely Place ; 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 Mrs. Branaghan ; " the lying thieves !**
 
 ':-<m9Z€i 
 
 ; reaz
 
 THE HOUSE OF SICKNESS. 73 
 
 lier notions on tlie score of that material being limited to 
 patties and pie-crusts. 
 
 " The ' Backs' are imitating the ladies in all the arts of 
 beautifying the person. Many were seen painted and 
 patched at the duchess's last ball. We hope this effe- 
 minacy may not spread any further. — It is Mr. 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, Mickey ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir, barrin' they're in the fashionable 
 intelligence." 
 
 " Well, read on." 
 
 " Donald, the beast, who refused to leave his cell in Trim 
 gaol at 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 hei-e ? " 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, the jockey, when he 
 fell. The race is to be run again on Friday next. It was 
 Mr. Daly, and not Mr. Crosbie, horsewhipped the attorney 
 over the course last Tuesday. Mr. Ci'osbie 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, he will decline giving personal satisfaction 
 to the Master of the Rolls ; but we cannot credit the report. 
 
 " The Carmelites have taken Ranelagh House for a 
 nunnery,"
 
 74 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' That's the only bit in the paper I'd give the snuff 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 back 
 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 pro- 
 perty ? Ten thousand, I heerd the 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 that's all as one as 
 sould too. Ah, then. Miss Kate was the purty child, and 
 had the coaxing ways with her." 
 
 " 'Tis a pity 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. " Isn't the 
 nuns happier, and dacenter, and higher nor other women, 
 with rapscallions for husbands, and villains of all kinds 
 for childer? Is it the likes of ye, or the crayture beside 
 ye, that would teach a colleen the way to heaven? Musha, 
 but they have the blessed times of it— fastin' and pi'ayin', 
 and doing all manner of penance, and talking over their 
 sins with holy men." 
 
 "Whisht! what's that? there's the bell ringing above 
 stairs," said Kerry, suddenly starting up and listening. 
 *'Ay, there it is again;" and, so saying, he yawned and 
 stretched himself, and after sevei'al inteijectional grum- 
 blings over the disturbance, slowly mounted the stairs 
 towards the parlour. 
 
 "Are ye sleepin' down there, j^e lazy deevils?" cried 
 Sir Archy, from the landing of the stairs. " Did ye no 
 hear the bell?" 
 
 " 'Tis now I heerd it," said Kerry, composedly, for he 
 never vouchsafed the same degree of deference to Sir 
 Archy he yielded to the rest of the family. 
 
 " Go see if there be any lemons in tlie 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.
 
 THE HOUSE OF SICKNESS. 75 
 
 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 ! niurther!" muttered Kerry to himself, 
 as the whistling 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. 
 
 " Te 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 sixpence 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 of 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 entirelj^ when ould Archy 
 would give a shilling to cure him. See here, he's sending 
 me for lemons down to Mary's." 
 
 Kerry rang the coin upon the table, as if to test its 
 genuineness, and muttered to himself, — 
 
 " ' Tis a good one — devil a lie in it ! " 
 
 " There's the bell again ; musha, how he rings it! " 
 
 This time the voice of Sir Arcliy 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 utterings of the old man, who exerted all
 
 76 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 Lis efforts to calm and restrain him as Kerry reached the 
 spot. By his aid the boy was conveyed back to his bed, 
 ■where, exhausted by his own struggles, ho lay without 
 speaking or moving for some hours. 
 
 It was not difficult to perceive, however, that this state 
 boded more unfavourably than the former one. The 
 violent paroxysms of wild insanity betokened, while they 
 lasted, a degree of vital energy and force, which now 
 seemed totally to have given way ; and although Kerry 
 regarded the change as for the better, the more practised, 
 and skilful mind of Sir Archibald drew a far different and 
 more dispiriting augury. 
 
 Thus passed the weary hours, and at last the long day 
 began to decline, 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 sen- 
 tentious 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."
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A doctor's visit. 
 
 The night was far advanced as the doctor arrived at the 
 O'Donoghue's house, drenched with rain, and fatigued 
 by the badness of the roaas, wlieie nis gig was often com- 
 pelled 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 nature 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, neai'ly extinct in Ireland. 
 But so it is ; the fruits of the earth change not in course 
 of years more strikingly than the fashions of men's minds. 
 The habits, 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 pri- 
 vileged persons. The concessions now only yielded to a 
 cook were then extended to a physician ; and in accord- 
 ance 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 
 Beemed to have realized, in his own person, 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 pri- 
 vileges. Never was there one who more stoutly main- 
 tained, in his whole practice through life, the blessed 
 immunity of " the Doctor." The magic word " Recipe,"
 
 78 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 wliich headed Lis prescriptions, suggested a tone of com- 
 mand to all he said, and both his drugs and dicta were 
 swallowed without remonstrance. 
 
 It may Bot 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 in him who 
 wields it. Doctor Roach was certainly not the exception 
 to this rule. The Czar himself was not more autocrat in 
 the steppes of Russia, 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 follies of 
 childhood, the accustomed freedoms of home, the indul- 
 gences which grow up by habit in a household, had to 
 give way before 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 yesterday," saitli he, " and see how 
 liappy he is to dismiss me to-day." But who is ever 
 grateful for the pangs of a toothache ? — or what heart can 
 lind pleasure in the memory of sententiousness, senna, 
 and low diet ? 
 
 Never were the blessings of restored health felt with 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 sellishness, 
 shed a halo around recovery which the friends of the 
 patient could not properly ai^preciatc. 
 
 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
 
 A doctor's visit. 79 
 
 existed iu tlie mutual feeling of dislike between liim 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 
 disagi'eement, 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 companionship his active years 
 were passed, experience had taught him the fallacy of 
 many opinions, which owe any appearance of truth or 
 stability they possess to the fact that they have never 
 advanced beyond the stage of speculative notions into the 
 realms of actual and practical existence ; — but, above all, 
 the prudent Scotchman dreaded the prevalence of these 
 doctrines among young and unsettled minds, ever ready to 
 prefer the short and hazardous career of fortune to the 
 slow and patient drudgery of daily industry. 
 
 If the doctor anticipated but 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 threaten- 
 ing, the old man resolved to bury iji oblivion every topic 
 of mutual disagi'eement, and, so long as the doctor 
 remained in the house, to make every possible or impos- 
 sible concession to conciliate the good-will of one on whose 
 services so much depended. 
 
 t' Do ye hear?" cried Roach in a harsh voice to Kerry, 
 who was summoned from the kitchen fire to take chars-e 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 
 wayworn 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 
 oukl 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.
 
 80 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 O'Donoghue's reception of the doctor was most corJiaL 
 He was glad to see him on several accounts. He was glad 
 to see any one who could tell liim what was doing in the 
 world, from which all his intercourse was cut off ; he waa 
 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 apply- 
 ing 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. 
 
 The O'Donoghue's blood was up in a moment. His brow 
 contracted and his cheek flushed, 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 gtven 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. 
 
 " Ay, ay," muttered he, with a cackling apology for s^ 
 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
 
 A doctor's visit, 81 
 
 interest he bestowed on the narrative mainlj 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 admirably. In fact, if the old weir-rapid be any- 
 thing like what I remember it, the danger was no common 
 one. There used to be a current there strong enough to 
 carry away a dozen horsemen." 
 
 "And how is the young lady? Is she nothing the 
 worse from tlie cold, and the drenjhing, and the shock of 
 tlie accident p" 
 
 "Faith, I must confess it, I havQ 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 lawsuit, or dispute of some kind or other 
 between you, was there not ? " 
 
 " There is something of the 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 delibera- 
 tive pause, " there's no knowing how this adventure may 
 turn out. If your son saved the girl's life, 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 
 nowise concern you ;" then, seeing the terrified 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 was cautiously opened at this moment, andt 
 Kerry presented himself, with a request from Sir Archi- 
 

 
 82 THE o'donogiiue. 
 
 bald, that, as soon as Doctor Roach foiind it convenient, 
 he would bo glad to see him iu 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 tele-a-tete he had contrived to render so un- 
 palatable to both parties. As ho mounted the stairs, he 
 continued in broken phrases to inveigh against the house 
 and the host in a half soliloquy : "A tumble-down old 
 barrack it is — not fifty shillingsworth of furniture under 
 the roof — the ducks were as tougli 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 staircase. 
 
 "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 Eoach seemed vexed at the ceremony of saluta- 
 tion being forgotten in Sir Archibald's eagerness about 
 the youth, and dryly 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 you 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 lie beheld the lustrous eyeg 
 and wide-spread pupils, the rose-red cheek, and dry, 
 cracked lips of the youth, "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 ? " whispered 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 rudely back upon the bed, " That's 
 going as fast as ever his father went with the property." 
 A harsh, low, cackling laugh followed this brutal speech, 
 which demanded all Sir Archy 's predetermined endurance 
 to suifer unchecked. 
 
 " Do you know me ? " said the doctor, in the loud voice
 
 A doctor's visit. 83 
 
 nsed 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 yom- 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, when suddenly 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, w^iose nature 
 had little sympathy with the feelings of either. " You 
 must leave me alone here to examine him myself.'' 
 
 M'iSTab 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, " ain't they all broke here ? Isn't 
 the whole thing smashed?" 
 
 " Broke — smashed ! " repeated KeiTy, 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 astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " 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 oflF of him yet ; 
 he's a big brown horse, with a star on his face ; and the 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 cob for the master cost forty pounds. He'll bo here ta- 
 morrow or next day : sure ye'll see liim yourself." 
 
 " The place is falling to ruin — the roof will never last 
 the winter," broke in the doctor. 
 
 " Well, and whose fault is it but that spalpeen Murphy's, 
 that won't set the men to work till he gets oak timber 
 from the Black Say ? 'Tis the finest Avood in the world, , 
 they tell me, and lasts for ever and ever." \ 
 
 " But don't they owe money everywhere in the country ? 
 There isn't a little shop in Killarney without an account 
 of theirs 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 places nor one ? There's not 
 one of those craytars would send in their bill — no, though 
 we do be asking 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 opposite 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 hini con- 
 siderably, 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 up at Kerry, and 
 then, with a motion of bis thumb towards the bed, he 
 muttered, — 
 
 " He's going fast." 
 
 •' Going fast ! " echoed Kerry, in a voice very diflfercnt 
 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 pre- 
 sent circumstances, and the readiness of Doctor Roach's 
 apprehension clinched the discovery at once. 
 
 " We'll go down, now," said the doctor ; " I believe I 
 know the wliole state of the case." And, with these words 
 Qf ambiguous roeauiug, he returned to the drawing-room.
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN EVENIKG AT " MARY " M^KELLT'S. 
 
 If sorrow had thrown its sombre shadow over the onco 
 
 proud house of the O'Donoghue, within whose walls now 
 
 noiseless footsteps 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 
 
 fireplace, a quarter of a sheep was roasting, while various 
 
 utensils of cookery, disposed upon and around the fire, 
 
 diffused a savoury odour through the apartment. A table, 
 
 covered with a snow-white napkin, and containing covers 
 
 for a party of six, occupied the middle 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 
 
 wayside cabin. Mary herself displayed in her toilet a 
 
 more than usual care and attention, and wore, in her 
 
 becoming cap, with a deep lace border, a bouquet of tri- 
 
 coloured ribbons, coquettishly knotted, and with the ends 
 
 falling 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. 
 
 His 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 affectation of one who wished 
 
 to be thought at home, as well as to feel so. 
 
 " What hour 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 any rate ; but sure it's nigher to ten
 
 86 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 now. They were to come up on the flood tide. Whistt! 
 what was that ? Wasn't that like the noise of wheels ? " 
 
 " No ; that's the wind, and a severe niglit it is, too. 
 I'ni thinking, IMary, the storm may keep them back," 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; there's a creek down there, they tell 
 me, safer nor 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 were two 
 wrecks in the bay." 
 
 " 1 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, maybe so," muttered he, sententiously* 
 " They're wild 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, with a look of resolute determination well becom- 
 ing 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 ankles for it, 
 after all, Mary." 
 
 " Sorra bit of it — the gaol 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 anyway," 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 n)aking a nice penny you are there, Lanty," said 
 Mary, with a quizzical look from the corner of her eye. 
 
 "A good stroke of business, sure enough, Mary," re- 
 plied he, laughingly, " What d'ye think 1 did with him 
 yesterday morning? I hecrd here, ye know, what hap- 
 pened to tlie grey mare I bought from Mark O'Donoghue 
 ■ — that she was carried over the wcir-gash and drowned. 
 What docs I do, but goes up to the Lodge and asks for
 
 AN EVENING AT " MARY " M'KELLY's. 87 
 
 Sir Marmaduke ; and, says I, ' I'm come, sir, to offer n 
 hundred and tifty for the little mare I sould you the other 
 day for 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 srre your honour wouldn't prevent a 
 poor man making a trifle in the way of his trade.' ' You're 
 an honest fellow, Lanty,' says he — devil 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 about the mare, and swore 
 I was as fond of her as if she was my sister. I wish you 
 had seen his daughter then ; upon my conscience, it was 
 as good as a play. ' They have so much feelin',' says she 
 to her father. ' For fun,' says I, to myself. murther, 
 murther, Mary, and them's the people that rules us ! " 
 
 " Omadhauus 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' than the bay tin' 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, with 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 barrels of gunpowder in 
 that rock there," said she, in a low whisper, "behind 
 your back ; you needn't stir, Lanty. Begorra, if a spark 
 was in it, 'twould blow you and me, and the house that's 
 over Tis, as high as Hungry mountain." 
 
 " The angels be near tis ! " said Lanty, 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."
 
 88 THE o'donogiiue. 
 
 " True enough," chimed in Lanty ; " and I have au 
 order for five hundred cavah'y 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 gei the 
 beasts when we see the ridei's. I could mount two thou- 
 sand men in a fortnight, any day, if there was money to 
 the fore ; 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. 
 
 " It's likely I'd hear anything such a night as this," 
 grumbled 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 hear nothing ? " 
 
 " Faix I hear enough over my head ; that was thunder! 
 Is there any fear of it getting at the powder, Mary ? " 
 
 " Divil a fear; don't be unasy about that," said the 
 stout-hearted Mary. " Can you see nothing at all ? " 
 
 "Sorra a thing, barrin' the lights up at Carrignacurra ; 
 they're moving about there, at a wonderful rate. What's 
 O'Donojjhue doins' at all ? " 
 
 " 'Tis the young boy, Herbert, is sick," said Mary, 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 lias a sore time of it, with that 
 ould Scctchman that's up there; nothing ever was like
 
 AN EVENING AT " MARY " M'KELLY's. 89 
 
 him for scouldiug, and barging, and abusing ; and 
 O'Donoghue now minds nothing 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 theirs I 
 owe the roof that's over me, and my father, and my father's 
 father before me owes it. Musha, it would become me to 
 take their money, for a trifle of wine 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 bay." 
 
 "'Tis that same I was thinking myself," said Lanty, 
 with a sly look towards the roasted joint, whose savoury 
 odour was becoming a temptation 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 good luck attend you." 
 
 There never was a proposition less acceptable to the 
 individual to whom it was made; to leave a warm fire- 
 side was bad enough, but to issue 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 diplo- 
 matic 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 ? You'll 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 ? "
 
 90 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 " Ay, 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 Lawler ; foir weather 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 Eoosian 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 was 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 oilskin cap from 
 his head, held out his arms wide, as he said, — 
 
 '^ Marie, ma mie f emhrasse-moi ; " and then, not waiting 
 for a compliance with the request, sprang forward, and 
 clasped the buxom landlady in his ai-ms, and kissed her 
 on each cheek, with an air compounded of true feeling 
 and stage effect. 
 
 " Here's my friend and travelling companion, Henry 
 Talbot, come to share your hospitality, Mary," said he in 
 English, 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 gi'ound, and displayed the figure of a slight 
 and very young man, whose features were singularly 
 handsome, save for a look of great effeminacy ; his com- 
 plexion was fair as a girl's, and, flushed by exercise, the 
 tint upon his check was of a pale rose colour; he was 
 dressed in a riding-coat and top-boots, which, in the 
 fashion of the day, were worn short, and wrinkled around 
 the leg ; his hair he wore without uowder, and long upon 
 his neck; a heavy riding-whip, v,,. ...lentcd with silver, 
 the only weapon he carried, composed his costume — one 
 as unlike his companion's as could be. 
 
 Captain Jacques Flahault was a stout-built, dark-com- 
 plexioned fellow, of some four or fivc-and-forty, his face a 
 grotesque union of insolence and drollery, the eyes black
 
 AN EVENING AT " MARY " M'kELLY's. 91 
 
 as jet, shaded by brows so arched as to give always the 
 idea of laughing to a countenance the lower part of which, 
 ehrouded in beard and moustache, Avas 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, appa- 
 rently, as in their looseness the wearer might at any 
 moment have stepped freely from them ; a black handker- 
 chief, loosely knotted round his neck, displayed a throat 
 brawny and massive as a bull's, and imparted to the 
 whole head an appearance of great size — the first impres- 
 sion every stranger conceived regarding him. 
 
 "Ah! ah! Lawler, you here? How goes it, my old 
 friend ? Sit done here, and tell me all your rogueries 
 since we parted. Par Si. Pierre, Henry, this is the 
 yeriestj'rijwn in the kingdom " — Talbot bowed, and, with 
 a sweetly courteous smile, saluted Lanty, as if accepting 
 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 le potage, ma tnie! — soup before a story. 
 You shall hear everything by-and-bye. Let us have the 
 supper at once." 
 
 Lanty chimed in a willing 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 appetite of the guests, the others eat on 
 like hungry men. Captain Jacques alone intermingling 
 with the duties of the table a stray remark from time to 
 time. 
 
 " Ventrebleu, how it blows ! If it veers more to the 
 Bouth'ard, there will be a heavy strain on that cable.
 
 92 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Trinquons, mon ami — trinquons ioiijours. Ma lelle 3Iarie, 
 you eat nothing." 
 
 " 'Tis unasy I am, Captain Jack, about what's become 
 of the others," said Mrs. M'Kelly. 
 
 " Another bumper, via mie, and I'm ready for the story 
 — the more as it is a brief one. Allons 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 110.2:8- 
 lieads of Bordeaux 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 conscience ; 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 part}-, Harry included, outside, I ap- 
 proached the house, which, to my surprise, showed lights 
 from nearly every window. This made me cautious, and 
 60 I crept stealthily to a low window, across which the 
 curtain was but loosely drawn, and, mort de ma vie ! what 
 did I behold, but the prettiest face in Europe. Tin ange 
 de heaute. She was leaning over a table copying a draw- 
 ing, or a painting of some sort or other. Tete bleue ! 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. 
 
 '^ JEh lien — I tried the sash, but it was fastened. 
 I then went round the house, and examined the other 
 windows, one after the otlici' — all the same. Que faire ? 
 I thought of knocking boldly at the back door, but 
 then I t-houlil have no chance of a peep at la belle in 
 that way."
 
 AN EVENING AT " MARY " SI'KELLy'S. 93 
 
 " What did you want with a peep at her ? " asked Marj, 
 gruffly. 
 
 " Viable ! what did I want ? Pour V admirer, V adorer — 
 or at least to make my respects, as becomes a stranger and 
 a Frenchman. Poursuivons. 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. Mor- 
 hleu ! the weapon slipped and came slap through the pane, 
 with a tremendous fracas. She started up, and screamed — 
 there was no use in any more delay. I put my foot 
 through the window, and pushed open the sash at once ; 
 but, before I was well in the room, the 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, wherefore, 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 pi-event it, iete 
 Mexie ! they had got round to the farm-yard, and set fii"e 
 to the corn-stacks ; in a second, the corn and hay blazed 
 up, and enveloped house and all in smoke. I sounded the 
 I'etreat 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 
 voict / But come, can none of yon explain this affair ? 
 What is Hemsworth doing, with all this armed household, 
 and this captive princess? " 
 
 " Is the Lodge burned down ? " said Lanty, whoso 
 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 determina- 
 tion. " I'm sorry to the heart's coit). Luck nor grace
 
 94 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 never was in the glen since the first stone of it was laid — 
 nor will it be again, till it is a ruin ! Why didn't they lay 
 it in ashes when they 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 was all you could do, 
 Flahault, to call them off." 
 
 " Ti'ue enough," replied Jacques, laughing. " They 
 enjoy a hrisee like that with all their hearts." 
 
 " The English won't stay long here, after this night," 
 was Lanty's sage reflection, but one which he did not utter 
 aloud in the present company. And then, in accordance 
 with Jacques's request, he proceeded to explain by what 
 difi"erent tenants the Lodge became occupied since his last 
 visit ; and that an English baronet and his daughter, with a 
 household of many servants, had replaced Hemsvvorth and 
 his 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 drollery. Even the recollection 
 of his wounded comrade little damped his enjoyment of a 
 scene which might have been attended by the saddest 
 results ; and he chuckled a hundred times over what he 
 suspected the Englishman 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. '■'■ Morlleu/ 
 what a description of Irish rapparees, five hundred in 
 number, armed with pikes ! " 
 
 " I wish ye'd give him the cause to do it," said Mary, 
 bitterly. " What brings them here ? who wants them, or 
 looks for them ? " 
 
 " You are right, Mary," said Talbot, mildly. " Ireland 
 for the Irish ! " 
 
 *' Ay, Ireland for the Irish ! " repeated Mary andLanty, 
 and the sentiment was drunk with all the honours of » 
 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 agreeing, finally, on one point, that Sir 
 Marmaduke would scarcely ventui'c to protract his stay 
 in a country where his visit had been signalized by such a 
 reception. The tone of the conversation seemed little to
 
 AN EVENING AT " MABY " M'KELLY's. 95 
 
 accord "witli Captain Jacques's humour, whose convivial 
 temperament found slight pleasure in protracted or ai^gu- 
 mentative discussions of any kind. 
 
 "Que le dialle Vempoi^te 1''^ 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, onon evjant. Well, then, here goes." 
 
 Thus saying, Flahault pushed back his chair a little from 
 the table, and in a rich, deep, bass voice, which rang 
 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 «, which made the word 
 sound contrebanda. 
 
 Though this information as to Captain Jacques's per- 
 formance seems of little moment, yet such was the fact, 
 that any spirit the doggerel possessed could only be attri- 
 buted to the manner of the singer, and the effect produced 
 by the intonation we have mentioned. 
 
 LA CONTREBANDE 
 
 A bumper, "mes enfaiis," to swallow your care, 
 
 A full bumper, we pledge, " a I'lrlande ; " 
 The land of "belles femmes, le pays de bonne clierc, 
 
 Et tou jours de la Contrebande." 
 
 Some like to make love, and some like to make war, 
 
 Some of beauty obey " la commande ;" 
 But what is the glance from an eye, "bleu," or "noir," 
 
 Except it be "la Contrebande." 
 
 When a prince takes the cash that 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'est Men pire que la Contrebande." 
 
 Stolen kisses are ever the sweetest, we're told, 
 
 They sink like a " navire qui fondre ;" 
 And what's true of a kiss is the same, too, of gold, 
 
 They're both in their way, " Contrebanjle ! " 
 
 When kings take your money, they won't even saj, 
 
 " Mon ami, que Dieu vous le rende ;" 
 While even the priest, for a blessing takes pay, 
 
 *' C'est partout et toujours Contrebande."
 
 96 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 I 
 
 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 the poor, 
 " Voila ce que j'appelle Centre bande." 
 
 Yet, as matters go, one must not deem it strange. 
 
 That even " la France et I'lrlande," 
 If good wishes and friendship they simply exchange, 
 
 There are folks that call that " Coutrebande." 
 
 " Vive la Contrehande, mes amis ! " shouted out Jacques, 
 as he arose glass in hand, and made the room ring with 
 the toast. And every voice repeated the words, in such 
 imitations as they were able. 
 
 " 'Tis an elegant song, any way," said Lanty, " if one 
 only understood it all — and the tune's mighty 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 practise your own ' Contrehande* 
 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 of Ontario, 
 or Champlain, or scudding along under the fog-banks of 
 the Scheldt, I 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 captain's eai\ 
 
 "Ah, parhleu ! '^ exclaimed he, aloud — "is it so? 
 Practising a little ' Contrehande ' 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 way 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, address- 
 ing himself to Talbot, he went on, — 
 
 "We were dining together one day at the little inn at 
 Trois Eivicrcs, when a messenger came from Lachcgon
 
 AN EVENING AT " MARY M 'KELLY S. 97 
 
 for the Pere to administer the last rites to a * monrant.' 
 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, 
 ' C'est frop ta7\l, il est inort.' 
 
 " ' Tro]) tard ! ' said Maurice, ' not a bit of it ; give me 
 a pen and ink and some paper.' With tha.t he folded a 
 piece, note fashion, and wrote, — 
 
 " ' MoN CHEK Pierre, — Pais ton petit possible pour ce 
 pauvre diable, qui s'est glisse hors du monde sans mes 
 soins. Apparemment il etait bien presf e ; mais tu 
 t'arrangeras pour le mieux. 
 
 " ' Ton viel ami, 
 
 " 'Maurice Dulanq. 
 
 " * St. Pierre, d la Conciergerie du Paradis.' 
 
 '* ' Pat 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 comprehend the French portion of the story, "and 
 sure it's as good as anything." 
 
 " "We all thought so, Mary. Poor Maurice related the 
 stoiy at Lyons, when he was led out to the guillotine ; but 
 though the Commissaire laughed heartily, and enjoyed it 
 much, they had found a breviary in his portmanteau, and 
 they couldn't let him off. Pauvre bete ! To travel about 
 the world with the ' joiece de conviction' in his possession. 
 What, Harry, no more wine ? " 
 
 " I thank you, no more for me, although that claret is a 
 temptation." 
 
 " A bouquet, every glass of it ! What say you, Master 
 Lawler — does it suit your palate ? " 
 
 " 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, anyhow — and there's Mary asleep 
 already." 
 
 " I don't stir till I finish the flask," said Jacques, firmly ; 
 " and if 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 ? " 
 
 H
 
 98 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Tes, 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 
 whisky 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 dis- 
 appeared 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 calm- 
 ness in a second. " Why do you ask now ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you why — for myself I care not a sou — 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
 
 AN EVENING AT "MARY M^KELLY S. 99 
 
 informer ; and then this Mr. Talbot, he's a great man, you 
 tell me ? " 
 
 " He's a near kinsman of a great peer, and has a heavy 
 stake in the game — that's all 1 know, Mary — and, indeed, 
 the pi'esent voyage was more to bring him over than any- 
 thing else. Bat hush, here they come." 
 
 " You shall have your money — you've no objection to 
 French gold, I hope — for several yeai'S I have seen no 
 other," said Talbot, entering. 
 
 " I know it well," said Lanty, " and would just as soon 
 take it as if it had King George on it." 
 
 "Tou said forty pounds — fifty louis is not far off — will 
 that do ? " said the youth, as he emptied a heavily filled 
 pui'se of gold upon the table, and pushed fifty pieces to- 
 wards 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 keep- 
 sake ? " said the youth, while he took from aroiind his 
 neck a fine gold chain of Venetian work, and threw it 
 gallantly over Mary's. " This is the first shelter 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 to ; they are in the lugger. And so, now, good-bye 
 f^ll ; 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 be- 
 tween 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 favoui^able opinions ; besides 
 that he was pledged to a cause which had all their sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 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 aa 
 ever. 
 
 " You'd better go a little ways up the glen, Lanty, 
 beside him," said Mary, as she looked out into the wild 
 and dreaiy night 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE 1)0N0GnUT3. 
 
 " 'Tis what I mean to do," said Lanty; " I'll show him 
 as fur 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. 
 
 Mary had scarcely time to remove the remains of the 
 supper, when Lanty re-entered the cabin. 
 
 " He's the noble-hearted fellow any way," said he, 
 " never took a shilling off the first price I asked him; " 
 and with that he put his hand into his breast-pocket to 
 examine once more the strange coin of Frnnce. AVith a 
 start, a tremendous oath broke from him. " ]\Iy money — 
 my pocket-book is lost ! " exclaimed he, in wild excite- 
 ment, while he ransacked pocket after pocket of his dress. 
 " Bad luck to that glen ! I dropped it out there ; and 
 with the torrent of water that's falling it will never be 
 found, Oi-li, murther, this is too bad ! " 
 
 In vain the others endeavoured to comfort and console 
 him — all their assurances of its safety, and the certainty 
 of its being discovered the next morning, were in vain. 
 Lanty relighted the lantern, and muttering maledictions 
 on the weather, the road, and his own politene.-s, he 
 issued forth to search after his treasure — an occupation 
 which, with all his perseverance, was unsuccessful; for 
 when day was breaking, he was still groping along the 
 road, cursing his hard fate, and everything 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 was papers in 
 that book I wouldn't have seen for double the amount." 
 
 Long after the old smuggler was standing out to sea 
 the next day, Lanty Lawler wandered backwards and for- 
 wards in the glen, now searching among the wet leaves 
 that lay in heaps by the wayside, or, equally in vain, 
 stjunding every rivulet and watercourse which swept past. 
 His search was fruitless ; and well it might be : the road 
 was strewn with fragments of rocks and tree-tops for 
 miles, while even yet the swollen stream tore wildly past, 
 cutting up the causeway in its passage, and foaming ou 
 amid the wreck of the hurricane.
 
 AN EVENING AT " MAKY " M'KELLy's. 101 
 
 Yet the entire of that day did he persevere, regardless 
 of the beating rain, and the cold, drifting wind, to pace 
 to and fro, his heart bent upoa a^cc'vering what he had 
 lost. 
 
 " Yer sowl is set upon money ; devil a dovbt of it, 
 Lanty," said Mary, as dripiDiug with wer. and shaking 
 with 'cold, he at last re-entered the cabin; " sorra one of 
 me would go rooting there for a crock of goold, if I was 
 sure to find it." 
 
 " If is not the money, Mary, I tould you before — it's 
 something else was in the pocket-book," said he, half 
 ansrilv, while he sat down to brood in silence over his 
 misfortune. 
 
 " 'Tis a letter from your sweetheart, then," said she, 
 with a spice of jealous malice in her manner, for Lanty 
 had more than once paid his addresses to Mary, whose 
 wealth was reported to be something considerable. 
 
 " Maybe it is, and maybe it is not," was the cranky 
 reply. 
 
 " Well, she'll have a saving husband, any way," said 
 Mary, tartly, " and one that knows how to keep a good 
 grip of the money." 
 
 The horse-dealer made no answer to this encomium 
 on his economy, but with eyes fixed on the ground, pon- 
 dered on his loss ; meanwhile Mrs. M'Kelly's curiosity, 
 piqued by her ineffectual efforts to obtain information, 
 grew each instant stronger, and at last became irre- 
 pressible. 
 
 " Can't you say what it is you've lost ? Sure there's 
 many a one goes by here of a Saturday to market — and 
 if you leave the token " 
 
 '*' There's no use in it — sorra bit," said he, despond- 
 
 " You know your own saycrets best," said Mary, foiled 
 at every effort; "and they must be the dhroU saycrets 
 too, when you're so much afraid of their being found 
 out." 
 
 " Troth, then," said Lanty, as a ray of his old gal- 
 lantry shot across his mind — " troth, then, there isn't one 
 I'd tell a saycret to as soon as yourself, Mary M'Kelly; 
 you know the most of my heart already, and why wouldn't 
 you know it all ?"
 
 102 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 " Faix, it's little I care to hear about it," said Mary, 
 with an aifectation of indifference the most finished 
 coquetry could not hcve surpassed. " Ye may tell it, or 
 no, just as yoa plaze."- 
 
 "That's -it. .now," cried' Lanty — "that's the way of 
 womeT?, 'the ^vhole woi-ld 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, Lanty dear ?" 
 
 These last Avords settled the matter. Like the feather 
 that broke the camel's back, these few and slight syllables 
 were all that was wanting 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 over- 
 hear 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 it to 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. 
 
 " 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 the adroitness of superstition, he coupled with the bad 
 luck the letter had brought him, Lanty took his farewell 
 of J\[ary, and, with a heavy heart, set out on his journey.
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 
 
 The occurrence so briefly mentioned by Flabanlt, 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, was 
 confused by the many marvels she heard, and totally 
 unable to recall to mind what had really taken place. 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 house 
 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 stoutly maintained that there had 
 been neither attack nor assailants ; that the 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 hag- 
 gard, 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 resolute in his assertion — 
 circumstances dubious a moment before, were then sud- 
 denly remembered and sworn to, with numerous little aids 
 to corroboration newly recalled to mind. To one point, 
 however, all the evidence more or less convei'ged, 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 everywhere; the 
 alacrity with which he mounted the burning stack was an 
 sffence not soon to be forgotten by those who neither
 
 104 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 risked life nor limb, nor were the tannts he lavished on 
 their slugo-ish backwardness to be forgiven now. Unhap- 
 pily, too, Terry was not a favonrite 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 of demeanour 
 which should mark the intercourse of a poor, houseless, 
 friendless creature like himself, with the tagged and lace- 
 covered servants of a wealthy master. Terry, by some 
 strange blunder of his nature, imagined that, in his free- 
 dom and independence, he was the better man of the two; 
 he knew that to do nothing Avas the prerogative 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 ser- 
 vants as greatly his inferiors ; and although he was ready 
 and willing to peril his life at any moment for Sir Marma- 
 duke or his daughter, the merest commonplace services he 
 would refuse to the others without a moment's hesitation. 
 Kcither intimidation could awe, nor bi'ibery bend him ; his 
 nature knew not Avhat fear was in any shape, save one — 
 that of being 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 
 afllictions, would have secured for him there both forgive- 
 ness and affection — his waywardness and caprice 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 Avith, 
 such a creature, as he himself possessed of London life 
 and manners. 
 
 As his contempt was not measured by any scale of pru- 
 dence, but coolly evinced on every occasion of their inter- 
 course, they, one and all, detested him beyond bounds — 
 most asserting that he was a thorough-]iaced knave, whoso 
 folly was a garb assumed to secure a life of idleness, and 
 all regarding him in the light of a spy, ever ready to betray 
 them to their master. 
 
 When, therefore, one after another, the servants persisted
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 105 
 
 in either openly accusing or insinuating suggestions 
 against Terry, Sir Marmaduke became sorely puzzled. It 
 was true he himself had witnessed his conduct the night 
 before ; but if their version was correct, all his daring, 
 energy, and boldness were so many proofs against him. 
 He was, indeed, reluctant to think so badly of the poor 
 fellow, but how discredit the evidence of his entire house- 
 hold ? His butler had been in his service for years — and, 
 oh ! what a claim for all the exercise of evil influence, for 
 the petty tyranny of the low-minded and the base-born, 
 tracking its way through eavesdropping, and insinuating 
 its venom in moments of unguarded fi-eedom. His foot- 
 man, 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 
 wx-ong with a mistaken, ill-directed enthusiasm. He lis- 
 tened, 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 favourable 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 
 effort she restrained 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 Marmaduke, as he rang 
 the bell, and ordered Terry to be sent for. 
 
 While Miss Travers sat with her head bui^ied in her 
 hands, her father paced slowly up and down the room, and 
 so absorbed was he in his thoucrhts, 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 
 astonishment. The poor fellow's clothes were actually 
 reduced to a mass of burned rags, one sleeve was com- 
 pletely gone, and there could be seen his bare arm,
 
 106 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 fellow, whose 
 wandering eyes roamed over the ornaments of the 
 chamber, in total unconsciousness of himself and his 
 sufferings. 
 
 " Well, Terry," said Sir Marmaduke, after a pause, 
 '* what account do you give of last night's business ? " 
 
 " That's a picture of Keim-an-eigh," said Terry, as he 
 fixed his large eyes, open to their widest extent, on a 
 framed drawing on the wall. " There's the Eagle's Clitf, 
 and that's Murrow Waterfall ; and there's the lake — ay, 
 and see if thei"e 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," repeated Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 " It was a gi'cat 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 neai-ly choked me." 
 
 " How did it catch fire first, Terry ? Can you tell us 
 that ? " 
 
 " They put a piece of tinder in it. I gave them an ould 
 rag, and they rubbed it over with powder, 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 for them, I never seen a 
 grander." 
 
 In this vagne, rambling strain did Terry reply to every 
 question [)ut to him, his tliouglits ever travelling in one 
 narrow circle. Who they were that fired the haggard, 
 how many, and what kind of appearance they were, he
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 107 
 
 knew notliing of wBatever; for, in addition to his natural 
 imbecility of mind, the shock of the adventure, and the 
 fever of his vrounds and bruises, had utterly routed the 
 small remnant of understanding 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 Marma- 
 duko asked him how it happened that he should have been 
 up at the Lodge at so late an houi', since the doors were 
 all locked and barred a ,onsiderable time previous. 
 
 Terry's face flushed starlet at the question, and he made 
 no reply : he stole a sharp, quick glance towards Miss 
 Travers, beneath his eyelids, but so 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. 
 
 " Tou 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 concealment," said Sybella, encouragingly. 
 
 " I'll not tell it," said he, after a pause of some seconds, 
 dui-ing which he seemed to have been agitating within 
 himself all the reasons on either side — " I'll not tell it." 
 
 " Come, sir," said Sir Marmaduke, angrily, " I must 
 and will know this ; your hesitation has a cause, and it 
 shall be known." 
 
 The boy started at the tones so unusual to his ears, and 
 stared at the speaker in mute astonishment. 
 
 " I am not displeased with you, Terry ; at least I shall 
 not be, if you speak freely and openly to me. Now, then, 
 answer my question : what brought you about the Lodge 
 at so late an hour ?" 
 
 " I'll not tell," said the youth, resolutely. 
 
 " For shame, Teny," 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 agitation, 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 Marma- 
 duke, in a whisper to his daughter.
 
 108 THE o'doxogiiue. 
 
 " That he is innocent — perfectly innocent," replied she, 
 triumphantly. " The poor fellow has his own reasons — • 
 shallow enough, doubtless — 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 delaj-ed not a moment, but hastened 
 from the room as she spoke, leaving Sir Marmaduke and 
 Terry silently confronting each 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 ! " rejoined Terry, in a tone of open 
 defiance. 
 
 The words, and the look by which they were accom- 
 panied, overcame the old man's temper in a moment, and 
 he said, — 
 
 " I thought as much. I guessed how deeply gi'atitude 
 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. 
 
 " I know it, father, I know it all now ! " said Sybella, as 
 she came runring 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 shame and sorrow he 
 rested his head upon her shoulder. 
 
 For some seconds she could not comprehend his words ; 
 and, when at last she did so, she burst forth, — 
 
 " And, oh, father, think how we have wronged him ! It 
 was in his care and devotion to us the poor fellow incurred 
 our doubts. His Imbit was to sit beneath the window each 
 night, so long as lights gleamed within. Till they were
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 109 
 
 extinguisTied, he never songlit his rest. The boatman tella 
 me this, and says his notion was that God watches over thp 
 dark hours only, and that man's precautions were needed 
 up to that time," 
 
 With sincere and heartfelt sorrow Sir Marmaduke 
 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 nio-htfall the messeng-ers 
 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 grati- 
 tude for having banished one so. unpopular and un- 
 friended. 
 
 Alarm at the attack of the previous night, and sorrow 
 f'^r the unjust treatment of poor Terry, were not Sir 
 ilarmaduke's only emotions on this sad morning. His 
 messenger had just returned from Carrignacurra with very 
 dispiriting tidings of Herbert O'Donoghue. Respect for 
 the feeliugs of the family under the circumstances of severe 
 illness had induced him to defer his intended visit to a 
 more suitable opportunity ; but his anxiety for the youth's 
 recovery was unceasing, and he awaited the return of each 
 servant sent to inquire after him with the most painful 
 impatience. In this frame of mind was he as evening drew 
 near, and he wandered down his aveniie to the roadside 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 ail', and all in the glen seemed bathed in the tranquil 
 influence of the mellow sunset. The contrast to the ter- 
 rific storm which so lately swept through the mountain 
 pass was most striking, and appealed to the old man's 
 heart, as reflecting back the image of human life, so vary- 
 ing in its aspect, so changeful of good and evil. He stood 
 and meditated on the passages of his own life, whose tenor 
 had, till now, been so equable, but whose foi'tunes seemed 
 already to participate in the eventful fate of a distracted 
 country. He regretted, deeply regretted, that he had ever 
 come to Ireland. He began to learn how little power there 
 is ^o guide the helm of human fortune when once ens:aged
 
 110 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 in the stormy current, and lie 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 indolent and fatalist— a few hints he had 
 gathered of his neighbour, the O'Donoghue, amazed him 
 still more ; and by no effort of his imagination could he 
 conceive the alliance between family pride and poverty — 
 between the reverence for ancestry and an utter indifference 
 to the present. 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 humble*' and more lowly than himself, and even 
 made his rude state seem affluence and power. If in 
 bis advances to the O'Donoghue he had observed all 
 the forms of a measured respect, it was because he felt 
 so deeply his debtor for a service, that he would omit 
 nothing in the repayment : his gratitude was sincere and 
 heartfelt, and would not admit any obstacle in the way of 
 acknowledo-ina: it. 
 
 Reflecting 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 in tones of anger and impatience. The 
 moment after, an old-fashioned gig, drawn by a small, 
 miserable pony, appeared, from which a man had dis- 
 mounted to ascend the hill. 
 
 " A fine evening, sir," said Sir Marmaduke, as the 
 stranger, whose dress bespoke one of the rank of gentle- 
 man, drew near. 
 
 The other stopped suddenly, and surveyed the baronet 
 without speaking ; then, throwing down the collar of his 
 greatcoat, which he wore high round his iace, 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. 
 O'Donoghue's house? la the young gentleman better 
 thia ovening ? "
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. Ill 
 
 Roacli shook Lis head dubiously, but made no reply. 
 
 " I hope, sir, you don't apprehend danger to his life ? " 
 asked Sir M armaduke, with an effort to appear calm as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Indeed I do, then," said Roach, firmly ; " the mischief's 
 done already." 
 
 " He's not dead ? " said Sir Marmaduke, almost breath- 
 less 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 repress 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, clapping his 
 hand on his purse : " one of the late king's guineas, 
 wherever they had it lying by till now." 
 
 "I am overjoyed to have met you, sir," said Sir Mar- 
 maduke, 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-mor- 
 row 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 fervently hope 
 something may yet be done for 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 be quite time enough when you hear from me. Let 
 the youth be your first care, doctor; in the meanwhile 
 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 habit had perfected, he said, — 
 
 " The case of danger before all others, any day. I'Ll
 
 112 THE o'dOXOGHUE. 
 
 turn aLout at once, and see what can be done for the 
 lad." 
 
 Sir Marmaduke leaned towards liim, and said some 
 words hastily in a low wliispering voice. 
 
 "Never fear — never fear, Sii* 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 with redoubled energy, the 
 doctor sped along the road at a canter, which threatened 
 annihilation to the frail vehicle at every bound of the 
 animal. 
 
 " Five hundred ! " muttered Sir Marmaduke to himself, 
 as he looked after him. " I'd give half my fortune to see 
 him safe through it." 
 
 Meanwhile Roach proceeded on his way, speculating on 
 all the gain this fortunate meeting would bring to him, 
 and then 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 instruments — anything 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 ear, for he hastily shut down the massive 
 hasp that secured the bar of the gate, and as quickly 
 opened a little latched window, which, barred with iron, 
 resembled the gi'atcd aperture of a convent door. 
 
 " Tou're late this time, an^'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 
 Master JMark was here, you'd carry awny more lead in 
 your skirts tlian 3-ou'd like." 
 
 " What, Kerry ? — what's that you're saying ? " said the 
 astonished doctor; " don't you know me, man? "
 
 
 a 
 
 <pi^^a^/^-^>
 
 MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 113 
 
 " Kerry's my name, sure enough ; but, artful as you are, 
 you'll just keep the other 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 might 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 tbe reply, as Kerry adjusted 
 the piece, and seemed, to take as good an aim as the dark- 
 ness 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 bo murdered," mut- 
 tered old Roach, blessing himself, but unable from terroi^ 
 to speak aloud or stir from the spot. 
 
 " Here's two ! " ci-ied Kerry, still louder. 
 
 " I'm going! — I'm going! give me time to leave this 
 blasted place; bad luck to the day and the hour I ever 
 eaw 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 peppering over the head and counter 
 of the old pony ; for, in his fright. Roach 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 var- 
 mint I " 
 
 A heavy groan from the wretched doctor, as he sank ia 
 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. Holy Joseph! is he kilt?" And 
 
 I
 
 114 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 >/vercome by a sudden dread of having committed murder, 
 Kerry stepped out, and approached the motionless figuro 
 before him. "By all that's good, I've done for the sheriff," 
 raid he, as he stood over the body. " Oh! wirra, wirral 
 who'd think a few grains of shot would 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 faint excla- 
 mation of old Roach. *' Hear me, these are my dying 
 words, Kerry O'Leary murdered 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 hayloft he lay cowering in terror, and endeavouring 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 parlour, and threw him upon a sofa.
 
 115 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE GLEN AT MIDNiaHT. 
 
 " What have you got there, Mark ? " 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 confounded fool, Kerry, must have been listening 
 at the door, there, to what we were saying, and took him 
 for Cassidy, the sub-sheriflT; he fired a charge of slugs at 
 him — that's certain ; but I don't think there's much mis- 
 chief done." As he spoke, 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 something better. But, may I never leave this spot 
 if I don't prosecute that scoundrel O'Leary. It was all 
 naalice — I can swear to that." 
 
 " N'ot a bit of it, Roach. Mark says the fellow mis- 
 took you 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 past 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, and you need 
 not make such a work aboiit it." 
 
 "Where's the pony and the gig, then ? " called out Roach, 
 suddenly remembering the last sight he had of them. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE o'dONOGIIUE. 
 
 " 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 suppose it matters much. 
 The whole yoke wasn't worth a five-pound note — no, 
 even giving the owner into the bargain," muttered he, as 
 he turned away. 
 
 The indignity of this speech acted like a cliarm upon 
 Roach. As if galvanized 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, witli 
 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 I'ushed 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 bi'ing him back again, we 
 might save the lad." 
 
 " The d — d auld beestie," exclaimed Roach, as he sprang 
 from the sofa, and stood before him, " is very much 
 honoured by your flattering 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, gruffly, as 
 he took the doctor's arm. " Come and sec my brother, 
 and try what can be done for him." 
 
 With an under-growl of menace and rage, old Roach 
 suffered himself to be led away by the young man, Sir 
 Archy following slowly, as they mounted the stairs.
 
 THE GLEN AT MIDNIGHT. 117 
 
 Altliougli alone, the O'Donoghue coutinuecl 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'l^ab. 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 cai'eless and indifferent 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 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 forget- 
 fulness of his father. 
 
 " Ah ! better is he ? Well, that is good news, Mark ; 
 and Roach thinks he may recover?" 
 
 " 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-day." 
 
 " I'm not tired, and I'll do it," replied he, in the deter- 
 mined 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 pi'etty clear now that our game 
 is up — the mortgage is foreclosed. Hemsworth has 
 noticed the Ballyvourney tenants not to pay us the rents, 
 and the ejectment goes on." 
 
 " What of Callaghan ? " asked the O'Donoghuo, in a 
 smking voice. 
 
 "Refused — flatly refused to renew the bills. 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 Ave were circumstanced, Mark? 
 Did you mention about Kate's money ? " 
 
 " No," said Mark, sternly, as his brows met in a savage 
 frown — "no, sir, I never said a word of it. She shall not
 
 118 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 be made a beggar of for our faults. I told you before, and 
 I tell you now, I'll not suffer it." 
 
 " Bat 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 withex'ing glance at his father. 
 
 " Then there's nothing -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 listlessly 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 intention of building here," resumed he, after, a 
 long interval of silence. 
 
 "Building where ? — over at the Lodge P" 
 
 " No, here, at Carrignacurra ; throwing down this old 
 place, I suppose, and erecting a modern villa instead." 
 
 "What ! " exclaimed the O'Donoghue, Avith a look of fiery 
 indignation, "are they going to grub us out, root ^nd 
 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 two, would have been enough," said the old man, 
 in a voice of great dejection ; then added, with a sickly 
 smile, " you have little affection foT the old walls, Mark.'| 
 
 The youth made no reply, and he went on : " Nor is it 
 to be wondered at. You never knew them in their happy 
 days ! but I did, Mark— ay, that 1 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 
 higlK!st honour they could receive an invitation to this 
 house. In the very room where we are sitting, I've seen 
 thirty quests assembled, whose names comprised the rank 
 and station of the province ; and yet, all— every man of 
 them — regarded him as their chief, and he was so, too — 
 the descendant of one who was a king."
 
 THE GLEN AT MIDNIGHT. 119 
 
 The animated features of the young man, as he listened, 
 encouraged the O'Donoghue, and he went on : " Thirty- 
 seven thousand acres descended to my grandfather, 
 and even that was but a moiety of our former posses- 
 sions." 
 
 " Enough of this," interrupted Mark, rudely. " It is but 
 an unprofitable 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." 
 
 "Ton would not leave me, boy ! " cried the old man, as 
 he grasped the 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 we were 
 together, boy — so long as hand in hand we stood against 
 the storm, I felt that my courage never failed me. Stay 
 by me, then, Mark — tell me that whatever comes you'll 
 never leave me. Let it not be said, that when age and 
 affliction fell upon the O'Donoghue, his son — the boy of 
 his heart — deserted him. You shall command in every- 
 thing," said he, with 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 his outstretched arm fell 
 powerless to his side. " I was forgetting," murmured 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 sank 
 deep into the young man's heart ; they seemed the last
 
 120 THE o'dONOGHUB, 
 
 effort of courage wrung from despair, and breatlied a 
 pathos he was uuable 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 
 jDressed his hands upon his throbbing temples. It was 
 many a day since anything 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 upon 
 the youth's shoulder, half choked with sobs. 
 
 As the O'Donoghue slowly ascended the stairs towards 
 his bedroom, Mark threw himself upon a chair, and buried 
 his face in his hands. His sorrow was a deep one. The 
 resolve he had just abandoned had been for many a day 
 the cherished dream of his heart — his comfort under every 
 affliction — 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 Avholc 
 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 towai-ds age. 
 The energies that should have expanded into homely 
 affection and nmtual regard, are spent in warding off a 
 common enemy ; and with weary minds and seared hearts 
 the gentler charities of life have few sympathies. Thus 
 was it here. Mark mistook his selfishness for a feeling of 
 independence ; he thought indifference to others meant 
 confidence in himself — and he was not the first who made 
 the mistake. 
 
 Tired with thinking, and harassed with difficulties, 
 through which he could see no means of escape, he threw 
 open the window, to suffer the cool night air to blow 
 upon his throbliirig temples, and sat down beside the 
 casement to enjoy its refreshing influence. The candles 
 had burned down ia the anartment, and the fire, now
 
 THE GLEN AT MIDNIGHT. 121 
 
 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 starlit: a stillness almost pain- 
 ral reigned around. It seemed as if exhausted nature, 
 tired with the work of storm and hurricane, had sunk into 
 a deep and wearied sleep. Thousands 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 destiny is rather to display an eternal brightness 
 than the brilliancy of momeutaiy 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 impa- 
 tience, now sank deeply into his nature from those silent 
 monitors. The stars looked down, like eyes, into his very 
 soul, and he felt as if he could unburden his whole 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 lean- 
 ing out from the window, looked down the valley ; but 
 nothing was to be seen or heai'd — all was silent as before, 
 ^nd already the flash of the signals, for such they must 
 iave been he could not doubt, had faded away, and the 
 iky shone in its own spangled beauty. 
 
 "They are smugglers!" muttered Mark, as he sank 
 back in his chair ; for in that wild district such signals
 
 122 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 were employed without much fear by those who either 
 could trust the revenue as accomplices, or dare them 
 by superior numbers. More than once it had occurred 
 to him to join this lawless band, 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 pledge 
 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 Denner, belike," muttered he to himself, 
 " the Flemish fellow from the Sclieldt — a greedy old 
 scoundrel too — he refused a passage to a poor wretch that 
 broke the gaol in Limerick, because he could not pay for it. 
 I wish the people here may remember it to him. Maybe 
 its Hans ' der Teufel,' though, as they call him ; or Fla- 
 hault — 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 car ; and as he listened, he heard the distant 
 tramp of men, moving in what seemed a great numbei\ 
 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 road, 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 pi'ecision. They Avere 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 cap- 
 tains alone wore a kind of white scarf over the shoulder.
 
 THE GLEN AT MIDNIGHT. 123 
 
 which could be distinctly seen even by the imperfect light. 
 They alone carried swords, with which they checked the 
 movements 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 in- 
 tervals, as the parties defiled beneath the rock, at which 
 place the road made an abrupt turning. 
 
 So strange the spectacle, so different from all he had 
 ever witnessed or heard of, the youth more than once half 
 doubted lest a wearied and fevered brain had not called 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, i'or 
 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, at a little distance, by 
 two figures on horseback. Their long cloaks concealed 
 the wearers completely from his view, but he could dis- 
 tinctly mark the steel scabbards of swords, and hear their 
 heavy clank against the horses' flanks. 
 
 Suffering 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 a hazardous 
 exploit. He has a son, though, and, as I hear, a bold 
 fellow." 
 
 " Look to him, Harvey ; it is of moment that we 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, Mark pondered over what he
 
 124 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 had seen, nor noted tlie time as it slipped past, till tlie grey 
 tint of day-dawn warned liira of the hour. The rumbling 
 Bounds 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 meet- 
 ing 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 'THE GUARDSMAN. 
 
 Leaving for a brief season Glenflesk and its inhabitants, 
 we shall ask 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 evidence 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 evident 
 traces of fatigue and dissipation on his brow, was strik- 
 ingly handsome. 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-emi-
 
 ** THE GUARDSMAN." 125 
 
 nently distinguished as Saxon — massive but well-cliiselled 
 features, the harmony of whose expression is even more 
 striking than their individual excellence ; a look of frank 
 daring, which many were prone to attribute to supercilious- 
 ness, was the most marked trait in his face, nor was the 
 impression lessened by a certain hauteur which military 
 men of the time assumed, and w'hich he 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 introduce him to Frederick Travers, Sir 
 Mai'maduke'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 write in, and 
 Frederick Travers was as universal a favourite in the 
 circles he frequented as any man of his day. Courtly 
 manners, spirits nothing could depress, a courage nothing 
 could daunt, expensive tastes, gTatified as rapidly as they 
 were conceived, were all accessories which won their way 
 among his acquaintances, and made them proud of his 
 intimacy and boastful of his friendship. That circum- 
 stances like these should have rendered a j^oung 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 
 pui'pose. 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 upwai'd he had never met a 
 contradiction, and the natural goodness of his temper, and 
 the affectionate tuxm of his disposition, made the old man 
 believe \\\ the excellence of a system whose success lay less 
 in its principle than iii the virtue of him on whom it was 
 practised.
 
 126 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Sir Marmadukc felt pi'oud of his son's career in the 
 world, and enjoyed to the utmost all the flattery which the 
 young man's acceptance in society confen-ed ; 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 retui'ned his father's atfection 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 Marmaduke 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 Hie 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 epi- 
 grams which are current among clever men appear to be 
 BO many texts in the wisdom of the world. Nothing 
 is more common than this mistake ; nothing more fre- 
 quent than to find that intercourse with such people 
 diffuses few, if any, of their distinguishing merits 
 among their less gifted associates, who i-arely learn 
 anything 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 apology from us ; still, without it, we should 
 be unable to explain to our reader the reason of those 
 events to whose narrative we are hastening. 
 
 On the table, among the materials of a yet untasted 
 breakfast, lay an open letter, whi(.h, from time to time, 
 the young man read, and as often threw from him, with 
 expressions of impatience ami anger. Anight of more 
 than ordinary dissipation had made him irritable, and the
 
 " THE GUARDSMAN." 127 
 
 contents of tlie 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 
 ft, year the whole estate produces are not worth as many 
 weeks' annoyance. Hemsworth knows them well ; he is 
 the only man fit to deal with them. Heigho ! " said he, 
 with a sigh, "there's nothing for it, I suppose, but to 
 bring them back again as soon as may be ; and this con- 
 founded accident Hemsworth has met with in the High- 
 lands 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 Wednesday"; 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 should 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 should have warned me about the folly." 
 And thus did he accuse in turn all the parties concerned 
 in a calamity, which, after all, he saw chiefly reflected in 
 the inconvenience it caused himself. 
 
 N^ow, assuredly, Hemsworth requires some vindication 
 at our hands. It had never entered into that worthy 
 man's most imaginative conceptions to believe a visit 
 from Sir Marmaduke 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 habits 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 ; tlis 
 editorial comments on which often indicated a barbarisw 
 even deeper than the off'ence they aff'ected to deplore. Tb'j 
 accident which ultimately led to Sir Marmaduke's hurries*
 
 128 THE o'DONOaHUE. 
 
 Journey was a casualty wliicli Hcms^yortll had overloolced, 
 and when he heard tliat the family were actually domesti- 
 cated 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 fort- 
 night — that he had the misfortune to break his leg by a 
 fall from a cliff in deer-shooting. Whatever the urgency 
 of the measure, he was totally incapable of undertaking a 
 journey to Ireland, whither, nnder other circumstances, 
 he would have hastened with all speed. Ilemsworth'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 sifk and suffering, 
 more comfortable dwellings built, more liberal wages 
 allowed ; he narrated how rapidly the people, at first sus- 
 picious and distrustful, were learning to feel confidence in 
 their benefiictor, and anxious to avail themselves of his 
 benevolence ; but more than all, he dwelt upon the con- 
 viction, which every hour gained ground among them, 
 that Hemsworth had misrepresented the landlord, and 
 that, so far from being himself the instrument of, he had 
 been the obstacle to, their welfare and happiness. The 
 letter concluded with a ^wessing entreaty for his speedy 
 return to the Lodge, as, should he lie longer absent, the 
 mischief would become past remedy. 
 
 Never did agent receive an epistle more alarming ; he 
 saw the game, for which he had been playing half a life- 
 time, slip from him at the very moment of v/inning. For 
 above twenty years his heart was set upon becoming the 
 owner of the estate ; all his plans, his plots, his machina- 
 tions, had no other end or object. From tlie 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 
 drawn 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
 
 " THE GUARDSMAN." 129 
 
 fclirough such a medium that they divei^ged from their 
 destined direction, and fell less as blessings than inflic- 
 tions. The landlord was taught to regard the tenant as 
 incurably sunk in barbarism, ignorance, and superstition. 
 The tenant to suppose the landlord a cruel, unfeeling 
 taskmaster, with no care but for his rent; neither sym- 
 pathy for their sufi'erings, nor sorrow for their calamities. 
 Hemsworth played his 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 be able to purx^haSe, and at 
 the same time prepai-ing it for becoming a lucrative and 
 valuable possession ; for although the rents were nominally 
 low, the amount of fees and " duty-labour" were enormous. 
 There was scarcely a man ujion the property whose rent 
 was paid to the day and hour ; and for the favour of some 
 brief delay, certain services wei'e exacted which virtually 
 I'educed the tenants to a vassalage the most miserable and 
 degrading. 
 
 If, then, the eye ranged over a district of poverty-struck 
 and starving peasantry, with wretched hovels, naked 
 children, and rude, unprofitable tillage, let the glance but 
 turn to t*ue farm around the Lodge, and there the trim 
 fences, the well-weeded corn, and the nicely-cultivated 
 fields, were an evidence of what well-directed labour 
 could effect ; and the astounding lesson seemed to say : 
 " Here is an object for imitation. Look at yonder wheat: 
 gee 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 3'et ignorance and obstinacy 
 are incurable. They will not be taught — prefer their own 
 bai'barous ways to newer and better methods — in fact, are 
 beyond the lessons of either precept or example." 
 
 Yet what was the real cause ? 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 upon the rich man's fields, 
 the requital for which is some poor grace of a week's or a 
 
 K
 
 130 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 montli'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 anotlier's enjoy- 
 ment, and of which he must never taste. Duty-labour 
 culls the days of fair sky 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 slaveiy that hardens 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 taskmaster. 
 
 Nor does the system end here. The agent must be 
 conciliated by presents of various kinds : the humble 
 pittance ■rt'rung 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 povei'ty — it 
 breaks down the spii'it, it demoralizes the heart of a 
 people ; for where was black-mail ever extorted 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 taskmaster 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 desola- 
 tion 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
 
 " THE GUAEDSMAN." 131 
 
 our natures, are the accompaniments of deeply-reflective 
 and imaginative minds, overshadowed by lowering for- 
 tune. The glittering fancy that seems to illumine the 
 path of life is often but the wildfire that dances over the 
 bleak and desolate heath. 
 
 Their apathy and indifference to exertion was made a 
 matter of reproach to them ; yet, was it ever known that 
 toil should be voluntary, when hopeless, and that labour 
 should be endured without a prospect of requital ? 
 
 We have been led almost unconsciously into this some- 
 what lengthened 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 memory — and that, in our own day, these instances 
 were not to be found among us. 
 
 Wlien Hemsworth perceived that the project of his life 
 was in peril, he bethought him of every means by which 
 the danger could be averted. Deep and well-founded as 
 was 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 em- 
 ployed as minister plenipotentiary : it needed one, now, 
 who should possess more influence over Sir Marmaduke 
 himself. For this pui^pose, Frederick . Travers alone 
 seemed the fitting person ; to him, therefore, Hemsworth 
 wrote a letter marked " strictly confidential," detailing 
 with painstaking 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 disappointment 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 
 
 £ 2
 
 132 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 people long accustomed to regard the Saxon as their 
 tyrant. 
 
 The night attack upon the Lodge furnished also its 
 theme of teiTor ; and so artfully did he blend his fact and 
 fiction, his true statement 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 recall those 
 he held dearest from such a land of anarchy and mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 Not satisfied with the immediate object in view, Hems- 
 worth ingeniously contrived to instil into Frederick's 
 mind misgivings as to the value of an estate thus circum- 
 stanced, representing, not without some truth on his side, 
 that the only chance of bettering the condition of a pea- 
 santry so sunk and degraded was by an actual residence 
 in the midst of them — a penalty which, to the youth, 
 seemed too dear for any requital whatever. 
 
 On a separate slip of paper, marked " to be bui-ned 
 when read," Frederick deciphered the following lines : — 
 
 "Above all things,! would caution you regarding a family 
 who, though merely of the rank of farmer, affect a gen- 
 tility which had its origin soiue 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 can- 
 not too strongly represent 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 Ibey are highly and eminently dangerous in a land 
 where their claim.s are regarded as only in abeyance — 
 deferred, but not obliterated, by confiscation. 
 
 "E. H." 
 
 • It would in nowise forward the views of our story were 
 ■we to detail to our readers the affecting scenes which pre- 
 luded Frederick's departure from London, the explana- 
 tions he was 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
 
 '* THE GUARDSMAN." 133 
 
 matter of 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 
 AYorld regarded him pretty much as the damsels of old did 
 some doughty knight when setting forth on his way to 
 Palestine. That filial affection could exact such an instance 
 of devotion 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 pi'epared to do valiant battle, if need be, 
 against the Irish " rogues and rapparees." 
 
 Here, then, for the present, we shall leave liim, having 
 made his last " adieux " to his friends, and set out on liig 
 journey to Ireland.
 
 134 THE 0*DONOGHUE, 
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 THE COMMENTS ON A HURRIED DEPARTURE. 
 
 Brief as tas been the interval of our absence from Glen- 
 flesk, time's changes have been there. Herbert O'Donoghue 
 had experienced a fortunate change in his malady, and on 
 the 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 Arch}' 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 by 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 fray. Sir Archibald had only waited till the 
 moment Roach's services in the sick room could be safely 
 dispensed with to reopen his fire ; while Roach, harassed 
 by so unexpected a peace, felt like a beleaguered fortress 
 during the operation of the miners, and knew not when 
 and how the dreaded explosion was to occur. Now, how- 
 ever, the signal-gun was fired — hesitation was at an end ; 
 and, of a verity, the champions showed no disinclination 
 for the field. 
 
 " Ye'll be hungry this morning, doctor," said Sir Archy, 
 *' and I have ordered breakfast a bit carl}-. A pick o' ham 
 at twelve o'clock, and a quart of sherry, aye gives a man a 
 relish for breakfast." 
 
 " Begad, so it might, or for supper too," responded 
 Roach, " when the ham was a shank-bone, and the sherry- 
 bottle like a four-ounce mixture." 
 
 " Ye slept surprisingly after your slight refection. I 
 heerd ye snoring like a grampus."
 
 THE COMMENTS ON A HURRIED DEPAETUEE. 185 
 
 " 'Twasn't the nightmare from indigestion, anyhow," 
 said Roach, with a grin. " I'll give you a clean bill of 
 health from that malady here." 
 
 " It's weel for ns that we ken a cure for it — more than 
 ye can say for the case you've just left." 
 
 " I saved the boy's life," said Roach, indignantly. 
 
 "Assuredly ye did na kill him, and folks canna a' ways 
 say as muckle for ye. We maun thank the Lord for a' his 
 mercies ; and he vouchsafed you a vara sound sleep." 
 
 How this controversy was to be carried on farther it is 
 not easy to say, but at this moment the door of the break- 
 fast-room opened cautiously, and a wild, rough head peeped 
 stealthily in, which gradually was followed by the neck, 
 and in succession the rest of the figure of Kerry O'Leary, 
 who, dropping down on both knees before the doctor, cried 
 out in a most lamentable accent, — 
 
 " Oh ! docther, dai'lint — docther dear — forgive me — for 
 the love of Joseph, forgive me! " 
 
 Roach's temper was not in its blandest moment, and his 
 face grew purple with passion as he beheld the author of 
 his misfortunes at his feet. 
 
 " Get out of my sight, you scoundrel ; I never want to 
 set eyes on you till I see you in the dock — ay, with hand- 
 cuffs on you." 
 
 " Oh, murther, murther, is it take the law of me for a 
 charge of swan-drops ? Oh, dochter acushla, don't say 
 you'll do it." 
 
 *' I'll have your life, as sure as my name's Roach." 
 
 " Try him wi' a draught," interposed M'Nab. 
 
 "Begorra, I'm Avillin'," cried Kerry, grasping at the 
 mediation. " I'll take anything, barrin' the black grease 
 he gave the masther — that would kill the divil." 
 
 This exceptive compliment to his skill was not so accept- 
 ahle to the doctor, whose passion boiled over at the new 
 indignity. 
 
 " I'll spend fifty guineas but I'll hang you — there's my 
 word on it." 
 
 " Oh, wirra ! wirra ! " cried Kerry, whose apprehensions 
 of how much law might be had for the money made him 
 tremble all over, " that's what I get for tramping the roads 
 all night after the pony." 
 
 "Where's the pony — where's the gig?" called out
 
 136 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Koacli, suddenly reminded by material interests that he 
 had more at stake than mere vengeance. 
 
 '* The beast is snug in the stable — that's whore he is, 
 eating a peck of oats — last year's corn — divil a less." 
 
 " And the gig ? " 
 
 " Oh, the gig is it ? IVIusha, we have the gig, top," 
 responded Kerry, but with a reluctance that could not 
 escape the shrewd questioner. 
 
 " Where is it, then?" said Roach, impatiently. 
 
 " Where would it be, but in the yard ? We're going to 
 •wash it." 
 
 The doctor did not wait for the conclusion of this reply, 
 but hastening from the room, passed down the few stairs 
 that led towards the old court-yard, followed by Sir Arcliy 
 and Kerry, the one eager to witness the termination of the 
 scene, the other muttering in a very dilTerent spirit, " Oh, 
 but it's now we'll have the divil to pay ! " 
 
 As soon as Roach arrived at the court-yard, he turned 
 his eyes on every side to seek his conveyance ; but although 
 there were old harrows, broken ploughs, and disabled 
 wheelbarrows in numbers, nothing was there that bore 
 any resemblance to what he sought. 
 
 " Where is it ? " said he, turning to Kerry, with a look 
 of exasperation that defied all attempt to assuage by mere 
 " blarney "— " where is it ? " 
 
 *' Here it is, then," said O'Leary, with the tone of one 
 whose courage was nerved by utter despair, \/hi]e, at the 
 same time, he drew forth two whetls and an axle, the sole 
 surviving members of the late vehicle. As he displayed 
 the wreck before them, the ludicrous — always too strong 
 for an Irish peasant, no matter how much it may be asso- 
 ciated with his own personal danger — overcame his more 
 discreet instincts, and ho broke forth into a broad grin, 
 while he cried, " ' There's the inside of her now ! ' as 
 Darby Gossoon said, when he tuk his watch in pieces, 
 ' and, begorra, we'll see how she's made, any way.' " 
 
 This true history must not recount the expressions in 
 which Roach permitted himself to indulge. It is enough 
 to say that his passion took the most violent form of invec- 
 tive against the house, the glen, the family, and their 
 retainers, to an extreme generation, while he stamped 
 and gesticulated like one insane.
 
 THE COMMENTS ON A HURRIED DEPARTURE. 137 
 
 "Ye'll hae sma' space for yer luggage in yon," said 
 M'Nab, with one of his driest laughs, while he turned 
 back and re-entered the house. 
 
 " Where's my pony ? — where's my pony ? " shouted out 
 the Doctor, determined to face all his calamities at 
 once. 
 
 " Oh, faix, he's nothing the worse," said Kerry, as ho 
 unlocked the door of the stable, and pointed with all the 
 pride of veracity to a beast in the stall before him. 
 " There he is, jumping like a kid out of his skin wid fun 
 this morning." 
 
 ISTow, although the first part of Kerry's simile was 
 assuredly incorrect, as no kid of which we have any record 
 ever bore the least resemblance to the animal in question, 
 as to the fact of being " out of his skin " there could not 
 be a second opinion, the beast being almost entirely flayed 
 from his shoulders to his haunches, his eyes being repre- 
 sented by two globular masses about the size of billiard- 
 balls, and his tail bearing some aifinity to an ovei'grown 
 bamboo, as it hung down, jointed and knotted, but totally 
 destitute of hair. 
 
 " The thief of the world," said Kerry, as he patted him 
 playfully, " he stripped a tx'ifle of hair off him with kick- 
 ing, but a little gunpowder and butter will bring it on 
 again in a day or two." 
 
 " Liar that thou art, Ken-y-^it would take a cask of 
 one and a firkin of the other to make up the necessary 
 ointment ! " 
 
 There are some evils which no anticipation can paint 
 equal to their severity, and these, in compensation, 
 perhaps, are borne for the most part without the same 
 violent exuberance of sorrow lesser misfortunes elicit. So 
 it was — Roach spoke not a word : one menace of his 
 clenched hand towards Kerry was the only token he gave 
 of his malice, and he left the stable. 
 
 " I've a note here for Doctor Roach," said the servant, 
 in Sir Marmaduke's livery, to Kerry, as he proceeded to 
 close and lock the stable door. 
 
 "I'm the person," said the Doctor, taking the billet and 
 breaking the seal. " Have you the carriage here now ? " 
 asked he, when he had finished reading. 
 
 *' Yes, sir, it's on the road. Sir Marmaduke desired
 
 138 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 me not to drive np, for fear of disturbing the sick gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " I'm ready, then," said the Doctor ; and never casting 
 a look backward, nor vouchsafing another word, he passed 
 out of the gate, and descended towards the high road. 
 
 "I'll take good care of the baste till I see you, sir!" 
 shouted Kerry after him ; and then, as the distance 
 widened, he added, "and may I never see your ouki yallow 
 wig agin, I pray this day. Divil take me, but I hope 
 you've some of the slugs in ye, after all." And with these 
 pious wishes, expressed fervently, Kerry returned to the 
 house, his heart considerably lightened by the doctor's 
 departure. 
 
 Scarcely was he seated beside the kitchen fire — the 
 asylum he regarded as his own — when, all fears for his 
 misconduct and its consequences past, he began speculating 
 in a very Irish fashion on the reasons of the doctor's 
 sudden departure. 
 
 "He's off now to the Lodge^divil fear him — faix, if he 
 gets in there, they'll not get him out so asy — they'll have 
 a pain for every day of the week before he leaves them. 
 Well, well, thanks be to God, he's out of this." 
 
 *' Is he gone, Kerry ? " said Mrs. Branaghan. " Did he 
 leave a ' cure ' for Master Herbert before he went?" 
 
 " Sorra bit," cried Kerry, as if a sudden thought struck 
 him, " that's what he didn't ! " And, without hesitating 
 another moment, he sprang from his chair, and mounted 
 the stairs towards the parlour, where now the O'Donoghue, 
 Mark, and Sir Archy were assembled at breakfast. 
 
 "He's away, sir, he's off again," said Kerry, as thougli 
 tbe nature of his tidings did not demand any more cere- 
 monious preliminary. 
 
 " Who's away ? Who's gone ? " cried they all in a 
 breath. 
 
 " The doctor, sir— Doctor Roach. There was a chap in 
 a sky-blue livery came up with a bit of a letter for him to 
 go down there, and when he read it, he just turned about, 
 this way" — here Kerry performed a not over graceful 
 pirouette^ — " and without saying ' By yer leave,' he walks 
 down the road and gets into the coach. ' Won't you 
 see Master Herbert before you go, sir,' says I ; * sure 
 you're not leaving him that way ? ' but bad luck
 
 THE COMMENTS ON A HURRIED DEPARTURE. 139 
 
 to one word he'd say, but went away wid a grin on 
 bim." 
 
 " Wliat ! " cried Mark, as his face crimsoned with 
 passion. '• Is this true ? — are you sure of what you're 
 saying ? " 
 
 " I'll take the book an it," said Kerry, solemnly. 
 
 " Well, Archy," said the O'Donoghue, addressing his 
 brother-in-law. "You are a good judge of these matters. 
 Is this conduct on the pai*t of our neighbours suitable or 
 becoming ? Was it exactly right and proper to send here 
 for one whose services we had taken the trouble to seek, 
 and might much have needed besides ? Should we not 
 have been consulted, think you?" 
 
 " There's not a poor farmer in the glen would not resent 
 it! " cried Mark, passionately. 
 
 " Bide a wee, bide a wee," said Sir Archy, cautiously ; 
 " we hae na heard a' the tale yet. Eoach may perhaps 
 explain." 
 
 "He had better not come here to do so," interrupted 
 Mark, as he strode the room in passion ; "he has a taste 
 for hasty departures, and, by G — , I'll help him to one ; 
 for out of that window he goes, as sure as my name is 
 Mark." 
 
 " 'Tis the way to serve him, divil a doubt," chimed in 
 Kerry, who was not sorry to think how agreeably he 
 might thus be relieved from any legal difficulties. 
 
 " I am no seeking to excuse the man," said Sir Arthur, 
 temperately. " It's weel kenned we hae na -muckle love 
 for ane anither ; but fair play is bonnie play." 
 
 " I never heard a mean action yet, but there was a 
 Scotch adage to warrant it," muttered Mark, in a whisper 
 inaudible by the rest. 
 
 "It's no improbable but that "Sir Mai'maduke Travers 
 did ask if the doctor could be spared, and it's no impos- 
 sible, either, that Roach took the answering the question 
 in his ain hands." 
 
 " I don't think so," bi-oke in Mark ; " the whole thing 
 bears a different aspect. It smacks of English courtesy 
 to an Irish kern." 
 
 " By Jove, Mark is right," said the O'Donoghue, whose 
 prejudices, strengthened by poverty, too readily chimed in 
 with any suspicion of intended insult.
 
 140 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 " They were not long learning tlie game," said Mark, 
 bitterly; " they are, if I remember aright, scarce two months 
 in the country, and, see, they treat us as 'mere Irish* 
 already." 
 
 " Ye'r ower hasty, Mark. I hae na muckle respect for 
 Roach, nor wad I vouch for his good breeding ; but a gen- 
 tleman, as this Sir Marmaduke's note bespeaks him " 
 
 " What note ? I never heard of it." 
 
 " Oh! it was a polite kind of message, Mark, to say he 
 would be obliged if I permitted him to pay his respects 
 here. I forgot to tell you of it." 
 
 " Does the enemy desire to peep at the fortress, that he 
 may calculate how long we can hold out ?" said the youth, 
 sternly. 
 
 " Begorra, with the boys from Eallyvourney and Tnchi- 
 geela, we'll howld the place agin the English army," said 
 Kerry, mistaking the figurative meaning of the speech ; 
 and he rubbed his hands with delight at the bare prospect 
 of such a consummation. 
 
 Sir Archy turned an angry look towards him, and 
 motioned with his hand for him to leave the room. Kerry 
 closed the door after him, and for some minutes the 
 silence was unbroken. 
 
 " What does it matter, after all ? " said the O'Donoghue, 
 with a sigh. " It is a mere folly to care for these things, 
 now. When the garment is worn and threadbare, one 
 need scarce fret that the lace is a little tarnished." 
 
 " True, sir, quite true ; but you are not bound to forget 
 or forgive him who would strip it rudely off, even a day or 
 an hour before its time." 
 
 " There is na muckle good in drawing inferences from 
 imaginary evils. Shadows are a' bad enough ; but they 
 needna hae children and grandchildren ; and so I'll even 
 take a cup of tea to the callaut." And thus, wise in prac- 
 tice and precept, Sir Archibald left the room, while 
 O'Donoghue and Mai-k, already wearied of the theme, 
 ceased to discuss it farther.
 
 141 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASURES OP PROPERTY. 
 
 In a small, bat most comfortable apartment of the Lodge, 
 which, in virtue of its book-shelves and smartly-bound 
 volumes, was termed "the Study," sat Sir JVJarmaduke 
 Travers. Before him was a table covered with writing 
 materials, books, pamphlets, prints, and drawings ; his great 
 arm-chair was the very ideal of lounging luxury, and in the 
 soft carpet his slippered feet wei'e almost hidden. Througli 
 the window at his right hand an alley in the beech wood 
 onened a view of mountain scenery it would have been 
 clitficult to equal in any country of Europe. In a word, it 
 was a very charming little chamber, and might have ex- 
 cited the covetousness of those whose minds must minister 
 to their maintenance, and who rarely pursue their toilsome 
 task save debarred from every sound and sight that might 
 foster imagination. How almost invariably is this the 
 case ! Who has not seen, a hundred times over, some 
 perfect little room, every detail of whose economy seemed 
 devised to sweeten the labour of the mind, teeming with 
 its many appliances for enjoyment, yet encouraging thought 
 more certainly than ministering to luxury — with its cabinet 
 pictures, its carvings, its antique armour, suggestive in tu-n 
 of some passage in history, or some page in fiction ;— who 
 has not seen these devoted to the half-hour lounge over a 
 newspaper, or the tiresome examination of house expendi- 
 ture with the steward, while he, whose mental flights were 
 soaring midway 'twixt earth and heaven, looked out from 
 some gloomy and cob webbed pane upon a forest of chim- 
 neys, surrounded by all the evils of poverty, and tortured 
 by the daily conflict with necessity. 
 
 Here sat Sir Marmaduke, a great volume like a ledger 
 open before him, in which, from time to time, he employed 
 himself in making short memoranda. Directly in front of 
 him stood, in an attitude of respectful attention, a man of
 
 142 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 about five-and-forty years of age, who, althougli dressed in 
 an humble garb, had yet a look of something above the 
 common ; his features were homely, but intelligent, and 
 though a quick, sharp glance shot from his grey eye when 
 he spoke, yet in his soft, smooth voice the words came 
 forth with a measured calm, that served to indicate a 
 patient and gentle disposition. His frame betokened 
 strength, while his face was pale and colourless, and with- 
 out the other indications of active health in his gait and 
 walk would have implied a delicacy of constitution. 
 This was Sam Wylie, the sub-agent — one whose history 
 may be told in a few words : — His father had been a butler 
 in the O'Donoghue house, where he died, leaving his son, 
 a mere child, as a legacy to his master. The boy, how- 
 ever, did not turn out well ; delinquencies of various 
 kinds — theft among the number — were discovered against 
 him ; and after many, but ineffectual, efforts to reclaim him, 
 he was turned off, and advised, as he wished to escape 
 worse, to leave the county. He took the counsel, and did 
 so ; nor for many a year after was he seen or heard of. A 
 report ran that he passed fourteen years in trausportation ; 
 but however that might be, when he next appeared in 
 Kerry, it was in the ti'ain of a civil engineer, come to 
 make surveys of the county. His clevei'ness and skill 
 in this occupation recommended him to the notice of 
 Hemsworth, who soon after appointed him as bailiff, and 
 subsequently sub-agent on the estate ; and in this capacity 
 he had now served about fifteen years, to the perfect satis- 
 faction, and with the full confidence of his chief. Of his 
 " antecedents " Sir Marmaduke knew nothing ; he was 
 only aware of the implicit trust Hemsworth had in him, 
 and his own brief experience perfectly concurred in the 
 justice of the opinion. He certainly found him intelligent, 
 and thoroughly well informed on all connected with the 
 property. When questioned, his answei's were prompt, 
 direct, and to the purpose ; and to one of Sir Marmaduke's 
 business habits this quality possessed merit of the highest 
 order. If he had a fault with him, it was one he could 
 readily pardon — a leniency towards the people — a desire 
 to palliate their errors and extenuate their failings — and 
 always to promise well for the future, even when the 
 present looked least auspicious. His hearty concurrence
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASUKES OF PROrERTY. 143 
 
 with all the old baronet's plans for improvement were also 
 highly in his favour ; and already Wylie was looked on as 
 " a very acute fellow, and with really wonderful shrewd- 
 ness for his station ;" as if any of that acuteness or that 
 shrewdness, so estimated, could have its growth in a more 
 prolific soil than in the heart and mind of one bred and 
 I'eared among the people, who knew their habits, their tone 
 of thinking, their manners, and their motives — not through 
 any false medium of speculation and theory, but practically, 
 innately, instinctively — who had not studied the peasantry 
 like an algebraic formula, or a problem in Euclid, but read 
 them as they sat beside their turf fires, in the smoke of 
 their mud hovels, cowering from the cold of winter, and 
 gathering around the scanty meal of potatoes — the only 
 tribute they had not rendered to the landlord. 
 
 " Roger Sweeney," said Sir Marmaduke — " Roger 
 Sweeney complains of his distance from the bog ; he 
 cannot di-aw his turf so easily as when he lived on that 
 swamp below the lake ; but I think the change ought to 
 recompense him for the inconvenience." 
 
 " He's a Ballyvourney man, your honour," said Sam, 
 placidly, " 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 Marmaduke, accepting 
 an explanation he was far from thoroughly understanding! 
 " Then there's Jack Heff'ernan — what does this fellow 
 mean by saying that a Berkshire pig is no good?" 
 
 " He only means, your honour, that he's too good for 
 the place, and want's better food than the rest of the 
 family." 
 
 " The man's a fool, and must leaini better. Lord Mud- 
 ford told me that he never saw such an excellent breed, 
 and his swineherd is one of the most experienced fellows 
 in England. Widow Mul — Mul — what?" said he, en- 
 deavouring to spell an unusually long name in the book 
 before him — " Mulla " 
 
 " Mallahedert, your honour," slipped in Wylie, " a 
 very dacent crayture." 
 
 " Then why won't she keep those beehives ? Can't she 
 see what an excellent thing honey is in the house ? — if 
 one of her children was sick, for instance."
 
 l-i4 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 " True for you, sir," said Sam, witlioufc the slightest 
 change of feature. " It is wonderful liovv your honour 
 can have the mind to think of these things — upon my 
 word, it's surprising." 
 , " Samuel M'EIroy 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 Ballyvouruey man, too, sir." 
 
 " Oh, is he? " said Sir Marmaduke, accepting this as a 
 receipt in full for any degree of eccentricity. 
 
 " Sharaus M'Gillicuddy — Heavens, what a name ! This 
 Shamus appears a very desperate fellow ; he beat a man 
 the other evening, coming back from the market." 
 
 " It was only a neighbour, sir ; they live fornint each 
 other." 
 
 " A neighbour! but, bless my heart, that makes it 
 worse." 
 
 " 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 ci-ack on the skull that kiid 
 him quivering on the daisies." 
 
 " Savage ruffian, that Shamus ; 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 moment undecided whether he should not 
 ask the meaning of a phiase, which, occurring at every 
 moment, appeared most perplexing in signification ; but 
 the thought that by doing so he should confess his igno- 
 rance belbre the sub-agent, deterred him, and he resolved 
 to leave the interpretation to lime 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 
 imperceptible smile, "and the sluice gave way, and carried 
 oft' the house and the end of the barn into the tail race. 
 He's gone in to take an action again your honour for the 
 damages." 
 
 " Ungrateful rascal ! I told him I'd be at the whole
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF PROPERTY. 145 
 
 expense myself, and I explained the great saving 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 ou Tuesday, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " He's a Bally vourney man, isn't he ?" 
 
 " He is, sir," replied Wylie, 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 j 
 they'd rather it was the ould way still." 
 
 " "What, have I taken all this trouble for nothing, then? 
 Is it possible 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, when they had the 
 mountain among them, they fed on what they could get ; 
 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, yonr 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 trespassing, out comes 
 some one with a stick and wallops him back again, and 
 •*:.hen the man that owns him, natural enough, wouldn't 
 see shame on his 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, assen- 
 tively. 
 
 h
 
 146 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeded. 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 differences of two nations essentially unlike, ho 
 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 unskilful- 
 ness. He forgot that a people long neglected cannot at 
 once be won back — that confidence 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 incul- 
 cate 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 success 
 were wanting. The peasantry saw — for, however strange 
 it may seem, through every phase of want and wretched- 
 ness their intelligence and apprehension suffer no impair- 
 ment — 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 condition, has an innate reverence 
 for ability, and can rarely feel attachment 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 detriment 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.
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF PROPERTY. 147 
 
 crotchety old gentleman, ■with no harm in him, the land- 
 lord believed them to be almost incurably sunk in bar- 
 barism and superstition. Their native courtesy in declining 
 to accept suggestions they never meant to adopt he looked 
 on as duplicity; he could not undei'stand that the matter- 
 of-fact sternness of English expression has no parallel 
 bere ; 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 b© 
 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 condition ; 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 a rich man's favour. These, at first sight, found 
 favour with him, as possessing more intelligence and 
 tractability than their neighbours, and for them cottages 
 were built, rents abated, improved stock introduced, and 
 a hundred devices organized to make them an example for 
 •all imitation. Unhappily, the conditions of the contract 
 were misconceived. The people believed that all the land- 
 lord 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 stagnant pools before the 
 door, weed-grown fields, and broken fences, harmonize ill 
 with rural palings, drill cultivation, and trim hedges. 
 They took all they could get, but assuredly they never 
 understood the obligation of repayment. They thought 
 (not very unreasonably, perhaps), " It's the old gentle- 
 man'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 willing 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 endui-ed, and deemed all con- 
 verts to his opinion who lived on his bounty. Hence, each 
 morning presented an array of the most worthless, irre- 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE o'dONOGHUE, 
 
 claimable of tlie tenantry around his door, all eagerly 
 seeking to be included in some new scheme of regenera- 
 tion, by which they understood 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 independence, 
 were a set of wild, irreclaimable savages, he softly insinuated 
 his compliments on the success in other quarters, while, in 
 his heart, he well knew 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 Marmaduke 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 murmur of blessings and heavenly invocations 
 met his ears — sounds, that if one were to judge from his 
 brightening eye and beaming countenance, he relished 
 well. No longer, however, as of old, suppliant and entreat- 
 ing, with tremulous voice and shrinking gaze, did they 
 make their advance?. These people were now enlisted in 
 his army of "regcncratoi'S ;" they were converts to the 
 landlord's manifold theories of improved agriculture, neat 
 cottages, pigsties, dovecots, beehives, and Heaven knows 
 what other suggestive absurdity, ease 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, 
 "bannn' 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 greatcoat around her in lieu of a cloak. 
 
 " Slates falling — why doesn't your husband fasten them 
 on again ? He said he was a handy fellow, and could 
 do anvthing about a house."
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF PROPERTY. 149 
 
 *' 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 thero 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, while the 
 woman resumed, — 
 
 " Well, he tried that same too, your honour, and if he 
 did, by my sowl, it was worse for him ; for when he seen 
 the slates going off every minit with the wind, he put the 
 han'ow on the top " 
 
 " The harrow — put the harrow on the roof?" 
 
 *' Just so — wasn't it natural? But as sure as the wind 
 riz, down came the harrow, and stripped every dirty kippeen 
 of a slate away with it." 
 
 " So the roof is oiT? " said Sir Mai-maduke, with stifled 
 rage. 
 
 " 'Tis as clean as my five fingers, the same rafters," said 
 she, with unmoved gravity. 
 
 " This is too bad — Wylie, do you hear this? " said the 
 old gentleman, with a face dark with passion. 
 
 "Ay," 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 re- 
 moving which he discovered a countenance that bore no 
 earthly resemblance to that of a human being ; the eyes 
 were entirely concealed by swollen masses of cheek and 
 eyelid — the nose might have been eight noses — and the 
 round, immense lips, and the small aperture between, 
 looked like the opening in a ballot-box. 
 
 " Who is this ? — what's the matter here ? " said Sip 
 Marmaduke, as he stared in mingled horror and astonish- 
 snent 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 Marma-
 
 150 THE O'dONOGHUE. 
 
 duke, somewhat ruffled by the sturdy tone of the ragged 
 fellow's address. 
 
 " 'Tis your owu 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 
 cursed beehives 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, sorni 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 ! could this be credited ? — could any 
 man conceive barbarism like this ? " cried Sir Marmaduke, 
 as with uplifted hands he stood overwhelmed with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Wylie again whispered something, and again telegraphed 
 to the applicant to move off; but the little man stood his 
 ground and continued, " 'Twas a heifer you gave Tom 
 Lenahan, and it's a dhroll day the M'Garreys warn't as 
 good as the Lenahans, to say we'd have nothing but bees, 
 and them was to get a dacent baste ! " 
 
 "Stand aside, sir," said Sir Marmaduke; "Wylie has 
 got my orders about you. Who is this ? " 
 
 " Faix, me, sir — Andrew Maher. I'm come to give your 
 honour the key — I couldn'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?" 
 
 " Everything's wrong about it. First and foremost, 
 your honour, the neighbours has no money; and though 
 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
 
 SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF PROPERTY. 151 
 
 couldn't liave 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 ! I ax your 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, Wylie ? — are they as poor as this ? " asked 
 Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 Wy lie's answer was still a whispered one. 
 
 " Well," said Andy, with a sigh, " there's the key, any 
 way. I'd rather be tachin' the gaffers again than be 
 keeping the same shop." 
 
 These complaints were followed by others, differing in 
 kind and complexion, but all agreeing in the violence with 
 which, they were urged, and all inveighing against " the 
 improvements " Sir Marmaduke 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 unrestricted 
 liberty. 
 
 Far from finding any contented. Sir Marmaduke only 
 saw a few among the number willing to endure his 
 bounties, as the means of obtaining other concessions they 
 desired more ardently. They would keep their cabins 
 clean if anything was to be mai'e by it ; they'd weed their 
 potatoes if Sir Marmaduke would only offer 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 brouglit no 
 requital ; and the real benefits offered to them came so
 
 152 THE o'DONoanuE, 
 
 often associated with new-fangled and absurd innovations, 
 that both became involved in the same disgrace, and both 
 sank in the same ridicule together. These were the re- 
 fuse of the tenantry ; for we have seen that the indepen- 
 dent feeling of tlie 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 tlie 
 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 taken but one-half the pains to 
 learn something of national character that he bestowed on 
 his absurd eff"orts to fashion it to his liking, his success 
 might have been different. He would, at least, have 
 known how to distinguish between the I'eally 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 as it may seem, 
 will go far in appreciating the difficulties which attend all 
 attempts at Irish social improvement, and explain much of 
 the success 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 
 deceitfuluess and trickery of those who employed it, coolly 
 sat down with the conviction that there was no truth in 
 the land.
 
 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FOREIGN LETTER. 
 
 The arrival of a post-letter at the O'Donoghue house was 
 an occurrence 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 
 j\Jrs. Branaghan and Kerry O'Leary, as the latter poised 
 and balanced the epistle in his hand, as though its weight 
 and foi'm might assist him in his divination. 
 
 After having conned over all the different legal pro- 
 cesses which he deemed might be conveyed in such a 
 shape, and conjured up in his imagination 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 bedroom. 
 
 " How is Herbert ? " said the O'Donoghue, as he heard 
 the footsteps beside his bed, for he had been -dreaming of 
 the boy a few minutes previous. " Who is that ? Ah ! 
 Kerry. Well, 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, pre- 
 ferred this safe line of reply, as he deemed it, to a confes- 
 sion of his ignorance. 
 
 " Did he sleep well, Kerry ? " 
 
 " Oh ! for the matter of the sleep we w^on'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 your 
 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 pondered for a second or two, endea- 
 vouring to frame some distinct notion from these scanty 
 materials, and then said, —
 
 154 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Send Master Mark to me." At the same time he 
 drew aside the curtain, and broke the seal of the letter. 
 The first few lines, however, seemed to satisfy his curi- 
 osity, although the epistle was written in a close hand, 
 and extended over three sides of the paper ; and he threw 
 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 alread}' to have for- 
 gotten 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 debilitv, I suppose there is little 
 to ail him. What !— a letter ? ' Who is this from ? " 
 
 "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 speaking, 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 hei'e? 
 More embarrassment — 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 CcBur, where 
 Kate is, has set free its inmates, who ai-e returning to 
 their friends. She comes here." 
 
 " What ! -here? " said the O'Donoghue, with some 
 evidence of doubt at intelligence so strange and unex- 
 pected. "Why, Mark, my boy, that's impossible — the 
 house is a ruin ; we haven't a room ; we have no servants, 
 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
 
 THE FOREIGN LETTER. 155 
 
 meet — how happy I am to visit Carricnacurra 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 day ago. Strange enough, she 
 remembers what I myself have long since forgotten. 
 ' How I long for my own little blue bedroom, that looked 
 out on the 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, unsvxited 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." 
 
 "Tes," 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 profier 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 desire 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 natur- 
 ally she assumed airs of command and superiority over
 
 156 ' THE o'donogbue. 
 
 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 would 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 twelvemonth." 
 
 "You must 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 bedrooms, 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 long day ago that 
 looked on Keim-an-eigh." 
 
 " How can you torture me this way, boy ?" said the old 
 man, with a look of imploring, to which his Avhite 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 burden to him. In fact, I 
 believe he rather likes it ; so here goes to do bim a favour. 
 It is seldom the occasion presents itself." 
 
 Ifc 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 portion 
 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 Carrignacurra ? " 
 
 " It is even so ! though I don't wonder at your finding 
 it hard of belief." 
 
 " It's mair than that — it's ftir mair — it's downright in- 
 credible." 
 
 " I thought so too; but my father cannot agree with me.
 
 THE FOREIGN LETTER. 157 
 
 He will not believe tliat this old barrack is not a baronial 
 castle ; and persists in falling back on what is past, rather 
 than look on the present, 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 Archj-, 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. 
 " So he may, lad," rephed Sir Archy ; " but she may 
 hae 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 vera disturbed 
 state. Folks are talking in a suspicious way." 
 
 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 be mercifu' to us I " added 
 he, gravely, as if the latter thought approached somewhat 
 too close on a temptation of Providence. 
 
 " If she's like what I remember has 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 curiosity ; say there was a likelihood of a rebel- 
 lion, and she would risk her life to be near it; and as for 
 a fever, we never were able to keep her out of the cabins 
 when there was sickness going. Faith, I believe it was
 
 158 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 the danger, and not the benevolence, of the act charmed 
 her." 
 
 " You are no far wrong. I mind her weel — she was a 
 saucy cutty ; and I canna forget the morning she gave me 
 a bunch o' thistles on my birthday, and ca'ed it a ' Scotch 
 bouquey.' " 
 
 "You had better read the letter in any case," said Mark, 
 as he presented bhe 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, Mark, 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 Carriguacurra 
 household to make any apology for adding one to the 
 number below stairs, in the person of my maid Mademoi- 
 selle Hor tense, from whose surprise and astonishment at 
 our Irish mountains I anticipate a rich treat. She is a 
 true Parisian, who cannot believe in anything outside the 
 Boulevards. What will she think of Mrs. Branaghan and 
 Kerry O'Lcary '? — and what will they think of her ? ' 
 
 " Lord save us, Mark, this is an awfu* business ; a 
 Fi'ench 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." 
 
 " True enough, Mark ; we maun let the malady cure 
 itsel' ; and so, I suppose, the lassie must even see the 
 nakediicss o' the land wi' her ain eyes, though I'd just as 
 soon we could ' put the cover on the parritch,' as the laird 
 said, 'and make the fules think it brosc.' 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 sprang to the door
 
 THE FOREIGN LETTER, 159 
 
 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 Mark. 
 *' I heard him at my door about a fortnight since, when I 
 was talking to Herbert^ and I sent a bullet through the 
 panel — I thought it might cure him,". 
 
 " I wonder it did na kill him ! " exclaimed M'JS^ab, 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 eavesdropper 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 consider- 
 able time." And the youth left the chamber to look after 
 the arrangements he spoke of. 
 
 *' 'Tis what I tould you," said Kerry, as he drew hia 
 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 laving the blessed nunnery ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Branaghan, with a holy horror in her countenance — 
 *' desarting 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. 
 
 Mrs. Branaghan 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 boiild to talk that way to me ! 
 — What wickedness ! Isn't horse-racing, card-playing, 
 rafiling, wickedness ? Isn't drinking and swearing wick- 
 edness ? 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 Bother- 
 ation to you, but I wouldn't be losing my time talking to 
 you ! When was one of ye at his duties ? Answer me
 
 160 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 that. How mnch did one of yo pay at Aystcr or Christ- 
 mas, these ten years ? Signs on it, Fatlier Luke hasn't aj. 
 word for ye when he comes here — he trates ye with con- 
 timpt." 
 
 KeiTy was abashed and terrified. He little knew when 
 he pulled up the sluice-gate the torrent that won Id flow 
 down; and now would have made any "amende" to 
 establish a truce again ; but Mrs. Branaghan 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, signs on it, 
 there's a curse on the place — nothing thrives in it." 
 
 " Faix, then, ye mustn't say that, anyhow," said Kerry, 
 insinuatingly. " You have no rayson to spake again it. 
 'Twas Tuesday week last I heerd Father Luke say — it was 
 to myself he said it — ' How is Mrs. Branaghan, Kerry ? ' 
 says he. ' She's well and hearty, your reverence,' says I. 
 
 * I'll tell 70U what she is, Kei^ry,' says he ; ' she's looking 
 just as I knew her five-and-thirty years ago ; and a come- 
 lier, dacenter woman wasn't in the three baronies. I 
 remember well,' says he, ' I seen her at the fair of Killar- 
 ney, 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'ro saying?" said Mrs. Branaghan, 
 who didn't comprehend 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 
 hard a nate leg and foot." 
 
 " Killarney was a fine placo, I'm tould," said Kerry, with 
 a dexterous shift to change the topic. " I wasn't often 
 tbere myself, but I heerd it was the iligant fair entirely."
 
 THE FOREIGN LETTER. 161 
 
 " So it was," said Mrs. Branaglian ; there never was the 
 kind of sport and divarsion wasn't there. It begun on a 
 Monday, and went through the week ; and short enough 
 the time was. There was dancing, and fighting, and sing- 
 ing, and ' stations ' up to Aghadoe and down again on the 
 bare knees, and a pilgrimage to the holy well — three times 
 round that, majhe after a jig two hours long ; and there 
 was a dwarf that toukl fortunes, and a friar that sould 
 gospels agin fever and fallin' sickness, and ballad-singers, 
 and play-actors. Musha, there never was the like of it." 
 And in this strain did she pour forth a flood of impassioned 
 eloquence on the recollection of those carnal pleasures and 
 enjoyments which, but a few minutes before, she had con- 
 demned so rigidly in others, nor was it till at the very 
 close of her speech that she suddenly perceived how she 
 liad 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 was ratified. 
 
 " You wouldn't believe, now, what Miss Kate is bring- 
 ing over with her — faix, you wouldn't believe it." 
 
 " Maybe a monkey," said Mrs. Branaghan, who had a 
 vague notion that Prance 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. Branaghan, " and don't 
 be talking that way. Miss Kate was never the one to turn 
 to the likes of them things." 
 
 " 'Tis truth I'm telling ye, then ; I heerd it all between 
 the master and Master ]\Iark, 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. Branaghan, 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 pity poor 
 Mrs. Branaghan,' says he ; ' she's a quiet crayture that 
 won't take her own part, and ' " 
 
 "Won't I ? Be my conscience, we'll soon see t'iat." 
 
 M
 
 162 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " I'll lay the mark of my fingers on her av she says 
 'pays,'" said Mrs. Branaghan, with an energy that looked 
 like truth. 
 
 Meanwhile, Kerry, perceiving that her temper was up, 
 spared nothing to aggravate her passion, retailing every 
 possible and impossible affront the new visitor might 
 pass off on her, and expressing the master's soitows at tho 
 calamities awaiting her. 
 
 "If she isn't frightened out of the country at once, 
 there's no help for it," said he, at last. " I have a notion 
 myself, but sure, maybe it's a bad one." 
 
 " What is it, then ?^spake it out free." 
 
 " 'Tis just to wait for the chaise — she'll come in a 
 chaise, it's likely " 
 
 But what was Kerry's plan, neither INIrs. Branaghan 
 nor the reader are destined to hear, for at that moment a 
 loud summons at the hall door — a very unusual sound — 
 announced the arrival of a stranger. Kerry, therefore, had 
 barely time for a hasty toilet with a pocket-comb, before a 
 small fragment of looking-glass he carried in his pocket, 
 as he hastened to receive the visitor.
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 KATB O UONO*iUtJE. 
 
 Before Kerry O'Leary had reached the hall, the object 
 around whose coming all his schemes revolved was already 
 in her uncle's arms. 
 
 " My dear, dear Kate," said the old man, as he embraced 
 her again and again, while she, overcome by a world of 
 conflicting emotions, concealed her face upon his shoulder. 
 
 " This is Mark, my dearest girl — cousin Mark." 
 
 The girl looked up, and fixed her large, full eyes upon 
 the countenance of the young man, as, in an attitude of 
 bashful hesitation, he stood uncertain how far the friend- 
 ship of former days warranted his advances. She, too, 
 seemed equally confused ; and when she held out her hand, 
 and he took it half coldly, the meeting augured but poorly 
 for warmth of heart on either side. 
 
 " And Herbert — where is he ? " cried she, eagerly, 
 hoping to cover the chilling reception by the inquiry ; 
 *' and my uncle Archy " 
 
 " Is here to answer for himsel'," said M'Nab, quietly, 
 as he came rapidly forward and kissed her on either cheek ; 
 and, with an arm leaning on each of the old men, she 
 walked forward to the drawing-room. 
 
 " And are you alone, my dear child — have you come 
 alone ? " said the O'Donoghue. 
 
 " Even so, papa. My attached and faithful Hortense 
 left me at Bristol. Sea-sickness became stronger than 
 afi^ection. She had a dream, besides, that she was lost, 
 devoured, or carried off by a merman — I forget what. 
 And the end was, she refused to go farther, and did her 
 best to persuade me to the same opinion. She didn't 
 remember that I had sent on my effects, and that my 
 heart was here already." 
 
 '• My own dearest child," said O'Donoghue, as he 
 pressed her hand fervently between his own. 
 
 "But how have ye journeyed by yoursel'?" said Sir 
 
 M 2
 
 16 J: THE o'DONOGHUE. 
 
 Archy, as he gazed on the slight and delicate figure before 
 him. 
 
 " Wonderfully well, uncle. During the voyage every 
 one was most polite and attentive to me. There was a 
 handsome young Guardsman who would have been more, 
 had he not been gentleman enough to know that I was a 
 lady. And once at Cork, I met, at the very moment of 
 landing, with a kind old friend, Father Luke, who took 
 care of me hither. " He only parted with me at the gate, 
 not wishing to interfere, as he said, with our first greet- 
 ings. But I don't see Herbert — where is he ? " 
 
 " Poor Herbert has been dangerously ill, my dear," said 
 the father; " I scarcely think it safe for him to see you." 
 
 " No, no," interposed Sir Archy, feelingly. " If the 
 sight of her can stir the seared heart of an auld cai-le like 
 mysel', it wadna be the surest way to calm the frenzied 
 blood of a youth." 
 
 Perhaps Sir Archy was not far wrong. Kate O'Donoghue 
 ■was, indeed, a girl of no common attraction. Her figure 
 — rather below than above the middle size — was yet so 
 perfectly moulded that, for very symmetry and grace, it 
 seemed as if such should have been the standard of 
 womanly beauty, while her countenance had a character 
 of loveliness even more striking and beautiful ; her eyes 
 were large, full, and of a liquid blue that resembled black ; 
 her hair a rich brown, through which a golden tinge was 
 seen to run, almost the colour of an autumn sunset, giving 
 a brilliancy to her complexion which, in its transparent 
 beauty, needed no such aid ; but her mouth was the feature 
 whose expression, more than any other, possessed a pecu- 
 liar charm. In speaking, the rounded lips moved with a 
 graceful undulation, more expressive than mere sound, 
 while, as she listened, the slightest tremble of the lip 
 harmonizing with the brilliant glance of her eyes, gave a 
 character of rapid intelligence to her face well befitting 
 the vivid temper of her nature. She looked her very self 
 — a noble-hearted, high-spirited girl, without a thought 
 save for what was honourable and lofty ; one who accepted 
 no compromise with a doubtful line of policy, but eagerly 
 grasped at the right, and stood firmly by the consequence. 
 Although educated within the walls of a convent, she had 
 mixed, her extreme youth considered, much in the world
 
 KATE o'dONOGHUE. 165 
 
 of the city she lived in, and was thus as accomplished in 
 all the " usage " and conventional habits of society, as she 
 was cultivated in those gifts and graces which give it all 
 its ornament. To a mere passing observer there might 
 seem somewhat of coquetry in her manner ; but veiy little 
 observation would show, that such unerring gracefulness 
 cannot be the result of mere practice, and that innate 
 character had assumed that garb which best suited it, and 
 not one to be merely worn for a season. Her accent, too, 
 when she spoke English, had enough of foreign intonation 
 about it to lay the ground for a charge of affectation ; but 
 he should have been a sturdy critic who could have per- 
 sisted in the accusation. The fear was rather, that one 
 leaned to the very fault of pronunciation as an excellence, 
 so much of piquancy did it occasionally lend to expressions 
 which, from other lips, had seemed tame and common- 
 place. To any one who has seen the graceful coquetry of 
 French manner engrafted on the more meaning eloquence 
 of Irish beauty, my eflFort at a portrait will appear a very 
 meagre and barren outline ; and I feel how poorly I have 
 endeavoured to convey any idea of one, whose Spanish 
 origin had left a legacy of gracefulness and elegance, to 
 be warmed into life by the fervid character of the Celt, 
 and tempered again by the consummate attraction of 
 French manner. 
 
 The ease and kindliness of spirit with which she sat 
 between the two old men, listening in turn to each, or 
 answering with graceful alacrity the questions they prof- 
 fered — the playful delicacy with which she evaded the 
 allusions they made from time to time to the disappoint- 
 ment the ruined house must have occasioned her — and the 
 laughing gaiety with which she spoke of the new life 
 about to open before her, were actually contagious. They 
 already forgot the fears her anticipated coming hud 
 •inspired, and gazed on her with the warm affection that 
 should wait on a welcome. Oh ! what a gift is beauty, 
 and how powerful its influence, when strengthened by the 
 rich eloquence of a spotless nature, beaming from beneath 
 long-lashed lids, when two men like these, seared and 
 hardened by the world's ills — broken on the wheel of 
 fortune — should feel a glow of long-forgotten gladness 
 in their chilled hearts as they looked upon her ! None
 
 1G6 THE o'donoghub. 
 
 could have guessed, however, what an effort that seeming 
 light-heartedness cost her. Poor girl ! Scarcely was she 
 alone, and had closed the door of her room behind her, 
 when she fell upon the bed in a toiTcnt of tears, and sobbed 
 as if her heart was breaking. All that Father Luke had 
 said as they came along — and the kind old man had done 
 his utmost to break tlie shock of the altered state of her 
 uncle's fortunes — was far from preparing her for the cold 
 reality she witnessed. It was not the ruined walls, the 
 treeless mountain, the desolate and dreary look of all 
 around that smote upon her heart. Sad as these signs 
 were, her grief had a higher source. It was the sight of 
 that old man she called father, tottering feebly to the 
 grave, surrounded by images of poverty and misfortune. 
 It was the aspect of Mark, the cousin she had pictured to 
 her mind as an accomplished gentleman in look and 
 demeanour — the descendant of a house more than noble — 
 the heir of a vast property ; and now she saw him scarce 
 in gesture and manner above the peasant — in dress, as 
 slovenly and uncared for. She was prepared for a life of 
 monotonous retirement and isolation. She was ready to 
 face the long winter of dreary solitude — but not in such 
 company as this. That she never calculated on. Her 
 worst anticipations had never conjured up more than an 
 unchequered existence, with little to vary or relieve it ; and 
 now, she foresaw a life to be passed amid the miserable 
 straits and shifts of poverty, with all its petty incidents 
 and lowering accidents, to lessen her esteem for those she 
 wished to look up to and love. And this was Carrigna- 
 curra, the proud castle she had so often boasted of to her 
 school companions, the baronial seat she had loved to 
 exalt above the antique chateaux of France and Flanders; 
 and these the haughty relatives, whose pride she mentioned 
 as disdaining the alliance of the Saxon, and spurning all 
 admixture of blood with a race less noble than their own. 
 The very chamber she sat in, how did it contradict her 
 own animated descriptions of its once comforts and luxu- 
 ries ! Alas ! it seemed to be like duplicity and falsehood, 
 that she had so spoken of these things. More than once 
 she asked herself — " Were they always thus ? " Poor 
 child ! she knew not that poverty can bring sickness, and 
 sorrow, and premature old age. It can devastate the fields,
 
 KATE o'dONOGHUE. 167 
 
 and desolate the affections, and make cold botli heart and 
 home together. 
 
 If want stopped short at privation, men need not to 
 tremble at its ^ approach. It is in the debasing and de- 
 gradiDg influence of poverty its real terror lies. It is in 
 the plastic facility with which the poor man shifts to meet 
 the coming evil, that the high principle of rectitude is 
 sacrificed, and the unflinching course of honour deviated 
 from. "When the proud three-decker, in all the majesty of 
 her might, may sail along her course unaltered, the humble 
 craft, in the same sea, must tack, and beat, and watch for 
 every casualty of the gale to gain her port in safety. 
 These are the trials of the poor, but proud man. It is 
 not the want of liveried lacqueys, of plate, of equipage, 
 and all the glittering emblems of wealth, that smite his 
 heart and break his spirit. It is the petty subterfuge he 
 is reduced to that galls him — it is the sense of struggle 
 between his circumstances and his conscience — between 
 what he does, and what he feels. 
 
 It is true Kate knew not these things, but yet she had 
 before her the results of them too palpably to be mis- 
 taken. Sir Archibald was the only one on whom reverse 
 of fortune had not brought carelessness and coarseness of 
 manner. He seemed, both in dress and demeanour, little 
 changed from what she remembered him years before; 
 nor had time, apparently, fallen on him with heavier im- 
 press in other respects. What was Herbert like ? was the 
 qiaestion ever rising to her mind, but with little hope that 
 the answer would prove satisfactory. 
 
 While Kate O'Donoghue was thus pondering over the 
 characters of those with whom she was now to live, they, 
 on the other hand, were exerting themselves to the utmost 
 to restore some semblance of its ancient comfort to the 
 long neglected dwelling. A blazing fire of bog deal was 
 lighted in the old hall, whose mellow glare glanced along 
 the dark oak wainscot, and threw a rich glow along the 
 coiTidor itself, to the very door of the tower. In the 
 great chamber, where they sat, many articles of furniture, 
 long disused and half forgotten, were now collected, 
 giving, even by their number, a look of increased com- 
 fort to the roomy apartment. Nor were such articles of 
 ornament as they possessed forgotten. The few pictures
 
 163 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 which had escaped the wreck of damp and time were 
 placed upon the walls, and a small miniature of Kate, as 
 a child — a poor performance enough — was hung up over 
 the chimney, as it were to honour her, whose presence 
 these humble preparations were made to celebrate. Sir 
 Archy, too, as eager in these arrangements as J^Iark him- 
 self, had brought sevei'al books and illustrated volumes 
 from his chamber to scatter upon the tables ; while, as if 
 for a shrine for the deity of the place, a little table of 
 most elaborate marqueterie, and a richly carved chair 
 beside the fire, designated the place Kate was to occupy 
 as her own, and to mark which he had culled the very 
 gems of his collection. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to conceive how completely even 
 a few trifling objects like these can change the "morale " 
 of a chamber — how that, which before seemed cumbrous, 
 sad, and dispiriting, becomes at once lightsome and 
 pleasant-looking. But so it is : the things which speak 
 of human thought and feeling appeal to a very different 
 sense from those which merely minister to material com- 
 fort ; and we accept the presence of a single book, a print, 
 or drawing, as an evidence that mental aliment has not 
 been forgotten. 
 
 If the changes here spoken of gave a very different air 
 and seeming to the old tower, Kate's own presence there 
 completed the magic of the transformation. Dressed in 
 black silk, and wearing a profusion of lace of the same 
 colour — for her costume had been adapted to a very 
 different sphere— she took her place in the family circle, 
 diffusing around her a look of refinement and elegance, 
 and making of that sombre chamber a spacious salon. 
 Her guitar, her embroidery, her old-fashioned writing- 
 desk, inlaid with silver, caught the eye as it wandered 
 about the room, and told of womanly gi-aces and accom- 
 plishments, so foreign to the rude emblems of the chase 
 and the field, henceforth to be banished to the old entrance 
 
 hall. 
 
 The O'Donoghue himself felt the influence of the young 
 girl's presence, and evidenced in his altered dress and 
 demeanour the respect he desired to show; while Mark 
 took from his scanty wardrobe the only garment he pos- 
 sessed above the rank of a shooting-jacket, and entered the
 
 KATE o'DONOGHUE. 169 
 
 room with a half-bashfal, half-sullen air, as though angry 
 and ashamed, with himself for even so much compliance 
 with the world's usages. 
 
 Although Kate was quick-sighted enough tb see that 
 these changes wei'e caused on her account, her native tact 
 prevented her from showing that knowledge, and made 
 her receive their attentions with that happy blending of 
 courtesy and familiarity so fascinating from a young and 
 pretty woman. The dinner — and it was a chef-d'ceuvre 
 on the part of Mrs. Branaghan — passed off most pleasantly. 
 The fear her coming had excited now gave way to the 
 delight her presence conferred. They felt as if they had 
 done her an injustice in their judgment, and hastened to 
 make every amende for their unfair opinion. Never, for 
 yeai'S long, had the O'Donoghue been so happy. The cold 
 and cheerless chamber was once more warmed into a 
 home. The fire beside which he had so often brooded in 
 sadness was now the pleasant hearth surrounded by cheery 
 faces. Memories of the past, soothing through all their 
 sorrow, flowed in upon his mind, as he sat and gazed at 
 her in tranquil ecstasy. Sir Archibald, too, felt a return 
 to his former self in the tone of good breeding her 
 presence diffused, and evinced, by the attentive politeness 
 of his manner, how happy he was to recur once more to 
 the observances which he remembered with so much 
 aflPection, associated as they were with the brightest period 
 of his life. 
 
 As for Mark, although less an actor than the others in 
 the scene, the effect upon him was not less striking. All 
 his assumed apathy gave way as he listened to her descrip- 
 tions of foreign society, and the habits of those she had 
 lived amongst. The ringing melody of her voice, the 
 brilliant sparkle of her dark eyes, the gi'aceful elegance of 
 gesture — the Frenchwoman's prerogative — threw over him 
 their charm, a fascination never experienced before ; and 
 although a dark dread would now and then steal across his 
 mind, How was a creature, beautiful and gifted like this, to 
 lead the life of dreariness and gloom their days were 
 passed in ? — the tender feeling of affection she showed his 
 father, the fondness with which she dwelt on every little 
 incident of her childhood — every little detail of the moun- 
 tain scenery — showed a spirit which well might harmonize
 
 170 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 with a home even humble as theirs, and pleasures aB 
 uncostly and as simple. " Oh ! if she grow not weary of 
 us ! " was the heart-uttered sentence each moment as he 
 listened ; and in tlie very anxiety of the doubt the ecstasy 
 of enjoyment was heightened. To purchase this boon 
 there was nothing he would not dare. To think that as 
 he trod the glens, or followed the wild deer along some 
 cragged and broken mountain goi'ge, a home like this ever 
 awaited him, was a picture of happiness too bright and 
 dazzling to look upon. 
 
 " Now, then, ma helle," said Sir Archibald, as he rose 
 from his seat, and. with an air of gallantry that might have 
 done credit to Versailles of old, threw the ribbon of her 
 guitar over her neck, " now for your promise — that little 
 romance ye spoke of." 
 
 "Willingly, dear uncle," replied she, striking the chords 
 as a kind of prelude. " Shall I sing you one of our con- 
 Vent hymns ? — or will you have the romance ? " 
 
 " It is no fair to tempt one in a choice," said INI'Nab, 
 slyly ; " but sin ye say so, I must hear baith before I 
 decide." 
 
 "Your own favourite the first," said she, smiling; and 
 began the little chanson of the " Garde Ecossaise," the 
 song of the exiled nobles in the service of France, so dear 
 to every Scotchman's heart. 
 
 While the melody described the gathering of the clans 
 in the mountains to take leave of their departing kinsmen, 
 the measured tramp of the music, and the wild ringing of 
 the pibroch, the old chieftain's face lit up, and his eye 
 glared with the fierce fire of native pride ; but when the 
 moment of leave-taking arrived, and the heart-rending cry 
 of " Farewell!" broke from the deserted, his eye became 
 glazed and filmy, and, with a hand tremulous from 
 emotion, he stopped the singer. 
 
 " Na, na, Kate ; I canna bear that the noo. Ye hao 
 smote the rock too suddenly, lassie ;" and the tears rolled 
 heavily down his seared cheeks. 
 
 "You must let me finish, uncle," said she, disengaging 
 her hand ; and at the instant, sweeping the chord with a 
 bold and vigorous finger, she broke into a splendid and 
 chivalrous description of the Scottish valour in the service 
 of France, every lino swelling with their proud achieve-
 
 KATE o'DONOGHUE. 171 
 
 ments, as foremost they marcTied to battle. To this suc- 
 ceeded the crash and turmoil of the fray, the ringing 
 cheers of the plaided warriors mingling with the war-cries 
 of the Gaul, till, in a burst of triumph and victory, the 
 song concluded. Then the old man sprang from his chair 
 and threw his arms around her in transport, as he cried, — 
 
 " It's a mercifu' thing, lassie, ye didna live fifty years 
 ago ; by my soul, there's nae saying how many a brave 
 fellow the like o* that had laid low ! " 
 
 " If that be one of the hymns you spoke of, Kate," 
 said the O'Donoghue, smiling, " I fancy Mark would have 
 no objection to be a nun ; but where is he ? — he has left 
 the room." 
 
 "I hope there is nothing in my song he disliked?" 
 asked she, timidly ; but before there was time for an 
 answer the door opened, and Mark appeared with Herbert 
 in his arms. 
 
 " There ! " said he, laying him gently on the sofa ; "if 
 cousin Kate will only sing that once more, I'll answer for 
 it, it will save you a fortnight in your recovery." 
 
 Kate knelt down beside the sick boy and kissed him 
 tenderly, while he, poor fellow, scarce daring to believe in 
 the reality of all before him, played with the long tangles 
 of her silky hair, and gazed on her in silence. 
 
 "We maun be cautious, Mark," whispered M'Nab, care- 
 fully ; but Mark had no ears nor eyes save for her who 
 now sat beside his brother, and in a low, soft voice, 
 breathed her affectionate greetings to him. 
 
 In this way passed the first evening of her coming — a 
 night whose fascination dwelt deep in every heart, and 
 made each dreamer blest.
 
 172 . THE o'donouhue. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A HASTY PLEDGE. 
 
 While tliese things were happening within the ruined 
 castle of the O'Donoghue, a guest, equally unexpected as 
 theirs, had arrived at the Lodge. Frederick Travers, 
 delayed in Bristol by contrary winds, had come over 
 in the same packet with Kate ; but without being able 
 either to learn her name, or whither she was going. His 
 unlooked-for appearance at the Lodge was a most welcome 
 surprise both to Sir Mai^maduke and Sybella ; and as he 
 did net desire to avow the real object of his coming, it 
 was regarded by them as the most signal proof of affection. 
 They well knew how much London life engrossed him — 
 how completely its peculiar habits and haunts possessed 
 attractions for him — and with what a depreciating esti- 
 mate he looked down on evei'y part of the globe, gave that 
 consecrated to the fashionable follies and amusements of 
 his own set. 
 
 He was not, in reality, insensible to other and bettei 
 influences ; his affection for his father and sister was 
 unbounded ; he had a bold, manly spirit, unalloyed with 
 anything mean or sordid ; a generous, candid nature, and 
 straightforward earnestness of purpose, that often carried 
 him farther by impulse than he was followed by his con- 
 victions. Still, a conventional cant, a tone of disparaging, 
 half-contemptuous indifference to everything which cha- 
 racterized his associates, had already infected him ; and ho 
 felt ashamed to confess to those sentiments and opinions, 
 to possess and to act upon which should have been his 
 dearest pride. 
 
 " Well, Fred," said Sybella, as they drew around the 
 fire after dinner, in that happy home circle so suggestive 
 of enjoyment, " let us hear what you thought of the 
 scenery. Is not Glcnflesk fine ? " 
 
 "Matlock on a larger scale," said he, coolly. "Less 
 timber and more rocks."
 
 A HASTY PLEDGE. 173 
 
 " Matlock ! clear Fred. You might as well compare 
 Keim-an-eigli with Holborn — you are only jesting." 
 
 " Compare what ? Repeat that droll name, I beg of 
 
 you." ... 
 
 " Keim-an-eigh. It is a mountain pass quite close to us 
 here." 
 
 " Admirably done ! Why, Sybella dear, I shall not be 
 surprised to see you take to the red petticoat and bare 
 feet soon. You have indoctrinated yourself wonderfully 
 since your arrival." 
 
 " I like the peoj^le with all my heart, Fred," said she, 
 artlessly, " and if I could imitate many of their traits of 
 forbearance and long-suffei'ing patience by following their 
 costume, I promise you I'd don the scarlet." 
 
 " Ay, Fred," said Sir Marmaduke, with a sententious 
 gravity, " they don't know these Irish at all at our side of 
 the water. They mistake them totally. They only want 
 teaching — a little example, a little encouragement, that's 
 ail — and they are as docile and tractable as possible. I'll 
 show you to-morrow what improvements a few months 
 have eSected. I'll bring you over a part of the estate 
 where there was not a hovel fit for a dog, and you shall see 
 what comfortable dwellings they have. We hear nothing 
 in England but the old songs about popery, and super- 
 stition, and all that. Why, my dear Fred, these people 
 don't care a straw for the priest — they'd be anything I 
 asked them." 
 
 " Devilish high principled that, any way," said Fred, 
 dryly. 
 
 " I didn't exactly mean that ; at least, in the sense you' 
 take it. I was about to say, that such is their confidence, 
 such their gratitude to the landlord, that — that " 
 
 " That, in short, they'd become Turks, for an abatement 
 in the rent. Well, Sybella dear, is this one of the traits 
 you are so anxious to imitate ? " 
 
 " Why will you misunderstand, Fred ? " said Sybella, 
 imploringly. " Cannot you see that gratitude may lead 
 an uninstructed people far beyond the limits of reason ? — 
 mj father is so good to them." 
 
 " With all my heart ; I have not the slightest objection 
 in life ; indeed, I'm not sure, if all the estate be like what 
 I passed through this afternoon, if my generosity wouldn't
 
 174 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 go farther, and, instead of reducing the rent, make them 
 an honest present of the fee simple." 
 
 " Foohsh boy!" said Sir Marmaduke, half angrily. 
 ♦' There are forty thousand acres of reclaimable land " 
 
 " Which might bear crops anno Domini 3095." 
 
 " There are mines of inexhaustible wealth." 
 
 " And would cost such to work them, sir, no doubt. 
 Come, come, father, — Hemsworth has passed a life among 
 these people. He knows more than we do, or ever shall." 
 
 " I tell you, sir," said Sir Marmaduke, nettled by such a 
 sarcasm on liis powers of observation, " I know them per- 
 fectly ; I can read them like a book. They are a guileless, 
 simple-minded, confiding people ; you may see every 
 thought they have in their countenances. They only need 
 the commonest offices of kindness to attach them ; and, 
 as for political or religious leanings, I have questioned 
 them pretty closely, and, without a single exception, have 
 heard nothing but sentiments of loyalty and attachment 
 to the church." 
 
 " Well, I only hope you don't mean to prolong your 
 stay here. I'm sure you've done enough for any ordinary 
 call of conscience, and, if you have not, set about it in 
 right earnest — convert the tens into hundreds — make 
 them all as comfortable as possible — and then, in Heaven's 
 name, get back again to England. There is no earthly 
 reason why you should pass your time here j and as for 
 Sybella " 
 
 " Don't include me, Fred, in your reasons for departui'e. 
 I never was so happy in my life." 
 
 " There, boy — there's an example for you ; and if you 
 need another, here am I, ready to confess the same thing. 
 I don't mean that there are not little dampers and diffi- 
 culties. There's that fool about the mill-wheel, and that 
 fellow that persists in dragging the river with a net;" 
 and so ho muttered on for some minutes between his 
 teeth, to the evident enjoyment of Fred, whose quivering 
 lip and laughing eye told how he appreciated the con- 
 flicting evidence memory was eliciting. 
 
 Thus, for some time, the conversation continued, until 
 Miss Travers retired for the night. Thou Sir Marmaduke 
 drew his chair closer to his son's, and, in an earnest manner, 
 related the whole circumstance of Sybella's escape from
 
 A HASTY PLEDGE. 175 
 
 the monntain torrent, dwelling witli grateful eloquence 
 on the young O'Donoghue's heroism in coming to her 
 rescue. " The youth has narrowly escaped with his life. 
 The doctor, who left this but a few hours ago, said he 
 ' never witnessed a more dangerous case than the symp- 
 toms at one time presented.' He is well, however, now — 
 the risk is past^and I want your aid, Fred, to devise 
 some suitable mode of evincing our gratitude." 
 
 " These O'Donoghues are your tenants, are they not? '* 
 asked the young man. 
 
 " Yes, they are tenants ; but on that score we must not 
 say much in their favour. Wylie tells me that they have 
 been at feud with Hemsworth for years past — they never 
 pay rent, nor will they surrender possession. The whole 
 thing is a difficult matter to understand; first of all, there 
 is a mortgage " 
 
 " There, there, my dear father, don't puzzle my brain 
 and your own with a statement we'll never get to the 
 end of. The point I want to learn is, they are your 
 tenants " 
 
 " Yes, at least for part of the land they occupy. There 
 is a dispute about another portion ; but I believe Hems- 
 %yorth has got the Attorney-General's opiaion that their 
 case cannot stand," 
 
 " Tush — never mind the Attorney- General. Give up 
 the question at issue ; send him, or his father, or whoever it 
 is, the receipt for the rent due, and take care Hemsworth 
 does not molest him in future." 
 
 *' But you don't see, boy, what we are doing. We 
 hope to obtain the whole of the Ballyvourney property — 
 that is part of our plan ; the tenants there are in a state 
 of absolute misery and starvation." 
 
 "Then, in God's name, give them plenty to eat; it 
 doesn't signify much, I suppose, whose tenantry they are 
 when they're hungry." 
 
 The old gentleman was scarcely prepared for such an 
 extended basis for his philanthropy, and, for a moment or 
 two, seemed quite dumbfounded by his son's proposition, 
 while Fred continued, — 
 
 " If I understand the matter, it lies thus : you owe a 
 debt of gratitude which you are desirous to acquit — you 
 don't care to pay highly."
 
 176 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " On the couti-ary, I am quite willing," interposed Sir 
 Marmaduke ; " but let tlie price be one wliicli shall realize 
 a benefit equivalent to its amount. If I assure these 
 people in the possession of their land, what security have 
 I that they will not continue, as of old, the same useless, 
 wasteful, spendthrift set they ever were — presenting the 
 worst possible example to the other tenants, and marring 
 the whole force of the lesson I am endeavoui-ing to 
 inculcate ? " 
 
 " That, I take it, is more tlieir affair than yours, after 
 all," said Fred ; " you are not to confer the boon and allo- 
 cate its advantages afterwards — but come, what kind of 
 people are they ? " 
 
 " Oh ! a species of half-gentry, half-farmer set, I be- 
 lieve — proud as they are poor — deeming themselves, as 
 O'Donoghues, at least dur equals ; but living, as I believe, 
 in every kind of privation." 
 
 " Very well ; sit down there, and let me have a cheque 
 on your banker for five hundred pounds, and leave the 
 aifair to me." 
 
 " But you mistake, Fred, they are as haughty as 
 Lucifer," 
 
 " Just leave it to me, sir. I fancy I know something of 
 the world by this time. It may require more money, but 
 the result I will answer for." 
 
 Sir Marmaduke's confidence in his son's tact and worldly 
 skill was one of the articles of his faith, and he sat down 
 at the table and wrote the order on the bank at once. 
 "Here, Fred," said he; "I only beg of you to remember 
 that the way to express the grateful sense I entertain of 
 this boy's conduct is not by wounding the susceptibilities 
 of his feelings; and if they be above the class of farmers, 
 which I really cannot ascertain, your steps must demand 
 all your caution." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Fred, with some vanity in the tone, 
 " that I have never made you blush for my awkwardness, 
 and I don't intend to do so now. I promise for the suc- 
 cess of my negotiation ; but I must not say a word more 
 of how I mean to obtain it." 
 
 Sir Marmaduke was far from feeling satisfied with him- 
 self for having even so far encouraged a plan that his own 
 blind confidence in his son's cleverness had for a moment
 
 A HASTY PLEDGE. 177 
 
 entrapped him into ; lie would gladly have withdrawn his 
 consent, but old experience taught him that Fred was 
 never completely convinced he was right until he met 
 opposition to his opinion. So he parted with him for the 
 night, hoping that sleep might suggest a wiser counsel 
 and a clearer head ; and that, being left free to act, he 
 might possibly feel a doubt as to the correctness of his 
 own judgment. 
 
 As for Fred, no sooner was he alone than he began ta 
 regret the pledge his precipitancy had carried him into. 
 What were the nature of the advances he was to make — 
 how to open the negotiation, in a quarter the habits and 
 prejudices of which he was uttei-ly ignorant of, he had 
 not the most vague conception ; and, as he sought his 
 chamber, he had half persuaded himself to the conviction, 
 that the safest, and the most honest course, after all, 
 would be to avow in the morning that he had over- 
 stated his diplomatic abilities, and fairly abandon a task 
 to which he saw himself inadequate. These were his 
 last sleeping thoughts ; for his waking resolves we must 
 enter upon another chapter. 
 
 N
 
 178 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XTX. 
 
 A mi'L'JMATIST DEFEATED. 
 
 If Frederick Travers went to sleep at nignt with very 
 considerable doubts as to the practicability of his plans 
 regarding the O'Donoghues, his waking thoughts were 
 very far from reassuring him, and he heartily wished he 
 had never engaged in the entei'prise. Now, however, 
 his honour was in a manner pledged ; he had spoken 
 so confidently of success, there was nothing for it but 
 to go forward, and endeavour, as well he might, to redeem 
 his promise. 
 
 At the time we speak of, military men never for a 
 moment divested themselves of the emblems of their 
 career ; the uniform and the sword, the plumed hat and 
 the high boot, formed a costume not to be worn at certain 
 periods and laid aside at others, but was their daily dress, 
 var^ang merely in the degree of full or half dress, as the 
 occasion warranted. There was no affectation of the 
 happy freedom of "mufti" — no pretended enjoyment of 
 the incognito of a black coat and round hat ; on the con- 
 trary, the king's livery was borne with a pride which, 
 erring on the opposite side, suggested a degree of 
 assumption and conscious imjiortance in the wearer, which 
 more or less separated the soldier from the civilian in 
 hearing, and gradually originated a feeling of soreness on 
 the part of the more humbly-clad citizen towards the more 
 favoured order. 
 
 A certain haughty, overbearing tone of manner, was then 
 popular in the army, and particiilarly in those regiments 
 which boasted of an unalloyed nobility among the officers. 
 If they assumed an air of superiority to the rest of the 
 service, so much the more did they look down upon the 
 mere civilian, whom they considered as belonging to a 
 very subordinate class and order of mankind. To mark 
 the sense of this difl'ercnce of condition in a hundred little 
 ■ways, and by a hundred petty observances, was pai't of a
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. " 179 
 
 military education, and became a more unerring test of the 
 soldier in society, than even the cockade and the cross- 
 belt. To suppose that SKch a line of conduct should not 
 have inspired those against whom it was directed with a 
 feeling of couiiter hatred, would be to disbelieve in human 
 nature. The civilian, indeed, reciprocated with dislike 
 the soldiers insolence, and, in their estrangement from 
 each other, the breach grew gradually wider — the domi- 
 nant tyranny of the one, and the base-born vulgarity of 
 the other, being themes each loved to dilate upon without 
 ceasing. 
 
 Now this consciousness of superiority, so far from 
 relieving Frederick Travers of any portion of the difficulty 
 of his task, increased it tenfold. He knew and felt he 
 was stooping to a most unwarrantable piece of condescen- 
 sion in seeking these people at all ; and although he 
 trusted firmly that his aristocratic friends were very 
 unlikely to hear of proceedings in a quarter so remote and 
 unvlsited, yet how he should answer to his own heart for 
 such a course, was another and a far more puzzling matter. 
 He resol\ed, then, in the true spirit of his order, to give 
 his conduct all the parade of a most condescending act, to 
 let them see plainly how immeasurably low he had volun- 
 tarily descended to meet them ; and to this end he attired 
 himself in his full field uniform, and with as scrupulous a 
 care as though the occasion were a review before his 
 Majesty. His costume of scarlet coat, with blue velvet 
 facings, separated at the breast so as to show a vest of 
 white kerseymere, trimmed with a gold border — =his 
 breeches, of the same colour and material, met at the 
 knee by the high and polished boot, needed but the addi- 
 tion of his cocked hat, fringed with an edging of ostrich 
 feathers, to set off a figure of singular elegance and sym- 
 metry. The young men of the day were just beginning 
 to dispense with hair powder, and Fred wore his rich 
 brown locks, long and fioating, in the new mode — a 
 fashion which well became him, and served to soften 
 down the somewhat haughty carriage of his head. There 
 was an air of freedom, an absence of restraint, in the 
 military costume of the period, which certainly contri- 
 buted to increase the advantages of a naturally good- 
 looking man, in the same way as the present stiff Prussian 
 
 K 2
 
 180' THE o'dONOGHTTE. ■ 
 
 mode of dress will assuredly conceal many defects in 
 mould and form among less-favoured individuals. The 
 loosely-falling flaps of the waistcoat — the deep hanging 
 cuff's of the coat — the easy folds of the long skirt — gave a 
 character of courtliness to uniform which, to our eye, it at 
 present is very far from possessing. In fact, the graceful 
 carriage and courteous demeanour of the drawing-room 
 sufi'ered no impediment from the pillory of a modern 
 stock, or the rigid inflexibility of a coat strained almost tr» 
 bursting. 
 
 " Are you on duty, Fred ? " said Sir Marmaduke, laugh- 
 ing, as his son entered the breakfast-room thus carefully 
 attired. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I am pi^eparing for my mission ; and it 
 would ill become an ambassador to deliver tis credentials 
 in undress." 
 
 " To what court are you then accredited ? " said Sybella, 
 laughing. 
 
 " His Majesty The O'Donoghue," interposed his father, 
 *' King of Glenflesk, Baron of Inchigeela, Lord Protector 
 of — of half the blackguards in the county, I verily be- 
 lieve," added he, in a more natural key. 
 
 " Are you really going to Carrignacurra, Ered ? " asked 
 Miss Travers, hurriedly ; " are you going to visit our 
 neighbours ? " 
 
 ■ " I'll not venture to say that such is the place, much less 
 pretend to pronounce it after you, my dear sister, but I am 
 about to wait on these worthy people, and, if they will 
 permit me, have a peep at the interior of their stockade 
 or Avigwam, whichever it be." 
 
 " It must have been a very grand thing in its day : that 
 old castle has some fine features about it yet," replied she, 
 calmly. 
 
 "Like Windsor, I suppose," said Fred, as he replied to 
 her ; and then complacently glanced at the well-fitting 
 boot which ornamented his leg. " They'll not be over 
 ceremonious, I hope, about according me an audience." 
 
 "Not in the forenoon, I believe," said Sir Marmaduke, 
 dryly ; for he was recalling the description old lioach had 
 given him of his own reception by Kerry O'Leary, and 
 which circumstance, by the bye, figured somewhat osten- 
 tatiously in his charge to the old baronet.
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 181 
 
 **01i, then, they receive early," resumed Fred, " the old 
 French style — the petit lever du roi — befoi*e ten o'clock:. 
 Another cup of tea, Sybella, and then I must look after 
 a horse." 
 
 " I have given orders already on that score. I flatter 
 myself you'll rather approve of my stud ; for, amongst 
 the incongruities of Ireland, I have fallen upon an honest 
 horse-dealer." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the young man, with more interest 
 than he had yet shown in the conversation ; " I must cul- 
 tivp,te that fellow ; one might exhibit him with great 
 success in London." 
 
 " Unquestionably, Fred, he is a curiosity ; for while he 
 is a perfect simpleton about the value of an animal — an 
 easy-tempered, good-natured, soft fellow — with respect to 
 knowledge of a horse, his points, his performance, and his 
 soundness, I never saw his equal." 
 
 " I'll give him a commission to get me two chargers," 
 said Fred, delighted at the prospect of deriving so much 
 benefit from his Irish journey. " What makes you look so 
 serious, Sybella ? " 
 
 " Was I so, Fred ? I scarcely know — pei'haps I was 
 regretting," added she, archly, "that there were no ladies 
 at Carrignacurra to admire so very smart a cavalier." 
 
 Frederick coloured slightly and endeavoured to laugh, 
 but the consciousness that his " bravery" of costume was 
 somewhat out of place, worried him, and he made no reply. 
 
 " You'll not be long, Fred," said his father ; " I shall 
 want you to take a walk with me to the lake." 
 
 " No, Fred — don't stay long away ; it is not above two 
 miles from this at farthest." 
 
 " Had I not better send a guide with you ? " 
 
 " No, no ; if the place be larger than a mud hovel, I 
 cannot mistake it. So here comes our steed. Well, I own, 
 he is the best thing I've yet seen in these parts ; " and the 
 youth opened the window, and stepped out to approach 
 the animal. He was, indeed, a very creditable specimen of 
 Lanty's taste in horseflesh — the model of a compact and 
 powerfully-built cob horse. 
 
 "A hundred guineas, eh?" said Fred, in a tone of 
 question. 
 
 " Sixty — not a pound more," said the old man, in con-
 
 182 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Bcious pride. " The fellow said but fifty ; I added ten on 
 my own account." 
 
 Frederick mounted the cob, and rode him across the 
 grass, with that quiet hand and steady seat which bespeaks 
 the judgment of one called upon to be critical. " A little, 
 a very little over done in the mouthing, but his action 
 perfect," said he, as he returned to the window, and held 
 the animal in an attitude to exhibit his fine symmetry to 
 advantage. " The Prince has a passion for a horse of this 
 <!lass ; I hope you have not become attached to him ? " 
 
 " His Royal Highness shall have him at once, Fred, if 
 he will honour you by accepting him." And as he spoke, 
 he laid the stress on the you, to evince the pleasure he 
 anticipated in the present being made by Frederick, and 
 not himself. 
 
 " Now, then, with God and St. George!" cried Fred, 
 laughingly, as he waved an adieu with his plumed hat, 
 and cantered easily towards the high road. 
 
 It was a clear and frosty day in December, with a blue 
 sky above, and all below bright and glittering in a thin 
 atmosphere. The lake, clear as crystal, reflected every 
 cliff" and crag upon the mountain, while each island on its 
 surface was defined with a crisp sharpness of outline, 
 scarce less beautiful than in the waving foliage of summer. 
 The many-coloured heaths, too, shone in hues more bright 
 and varied than usual in our humid climate; and the 
 voices which broke the silence, heard from long distances 
 away, came mellowed and softened in their tones, and 
 harmonized well with the solitary grandeur of the scene. 
 Nor was Frederick Travers insensible to its influence ; the 
 heiffht of those bold mountains — their wild and fanciful 
 outlines — the sweeping glens that wound along their 
 bases — the wayward stream that flowed through the deep 
 valleys, and, as if in sportiveness, serpentined their course, 
 were features of scenery he had not witnessed before, while 
 the perfect solitude awed and appalled him. 
 
 He had not ridden long when the tall towers of the 
 old castle of Carrignacui-ra caught his eye, standing 
 proudly on the bold mass of rock above the road. The 
 unseemly adjunct of farm-house and stables were lost to 
 view at such a distance, or blended with the general mass 
 of building, so that the whole gave the impression of extent
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 183 
 
 and pretension to a degree he was by no means prepared 
 for. These features, however, gradually diminished as ha 
 drew nearer ; the highly-pitched roof, pierced with narrow 
 windows, patched and broken — the ci'umbling battle- 
 ments of the towers themselves — the ruinous dilapidation 
 of the outer buildings, disenchanted the spectator of his 
 first more favourable opinion ; until at length, as he sur- 
 veyed the incongruous and misshapen pile, with its dreary 
 mountain background, he wondered how, at any point 
 of view, he should have deemed it other than the gloomy 
 abode it seemed at that moment. 
 
 The only figure Frederick Travers had seen, as he rode 
 along, was that of a man carrying a gun in his hand, in a 
 dress somewhat like a gamekeeper's, who, at some short 
 distance from the road, moved actively across the fields, 
 springing lightly from hillock to hillock with the step of 
 a practised mountain walker, and seemingly regardless of 
 the weight of a burden which he carried on one shoulder : 
 BO rapidly did he move, that Frederick found it difficult to 
 keep pace with him, as the road was deeply cut up, and 
 far from safe for horse travel. Curious to make out what 
 he carried, Travers spurred eagerly forward ; and at last, 
 but not without an effort, came within hail of him at the 
 iron-barred gate which formed the outer entrance to the 
 castle from the high road. The burden was now easily 
 seen, and at once suggested to Frederick's mind the reason 
 of the bearer's haste. It was a young buck, just killed ; 
 the blood still trickled from a wound in its skull. 
 
 " Leave that gate open, my good fellow," cried Frede- 
 rick, in a voice of command, as the other pushed the frail 
 portal wide, and let it fall back heavily to its place again 
 - — " do you hear me ? — leave it open." 
 
 " We always leap it when mounted," was the cool reply, 
 as the speaker turned his head round, and then, without 
 deigning either another word or look, continued his way 
 up the steep ascent. 
 
 Travers felt the rude taunt sorely, and would have given 
 much to be near him who uttered it ; but, whether dis- 
 daining to follow a counsel thus insolently conveyed, or, 
 it might be, not over-confident of his horse, he dis- 
 mounted, and, flinging wide the gate, rode quickly up the 
 causeway — not, however, in time to overtake the other
 
 184 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 for, altlaougli the Avay was enclosed by walls on botli sides, 
 lie bad disappeared already, but in what manner, and how, 
 it seemed impossible to sa}'. 
 
 " My father has omitted poaching, it would seem, in 
 his catalogue of Irish virtues," muttei'ed the young man, 
 as he rode through the arched keep, and halted at the 
 chief entrance of the house. The door lay open, display- 
 ing the cheerful blaze of a pine-wood fire, that burned 
 briskly within the ample chimney in the keen air of a 
 frosty morning. " I see I shall have my ride for my 
 pains," was Fred's reflection as he passed into the wide 
 hall, and beheld the old weapons and hunting spoils 
 iirranged around the walls. " These people affect chief- 
 tainship, and go hungry to bed to dream of fourteen 
 quarterings. Be it so. I shall see the old rookery, at all 
 events;" and, so saying, he gave a vigorous pull at the 
 old bell, which answered loudly in its own person, and 
 also by a deep howl from the aged foxhound, then lying 
 at the fire in the drawing room. These sounds soon died 
 awa}', and a silence deep and unbroken as before suc- 
 ceeded. A second time, and a third, Travers repeated his 
 sumnums, but without any diUerence of result, save that 
 tlie dog no longer gave tongue ; it seemed as if he were 
 becoming reconciled to the disturbance, as one that needed 
 no further attention from him. 
 
 " I must explore for myself," thought Ered ; and so, 
 attaching his liorse to the massive ring by which a chain 
 used once to be suspended across the portal, he entered 
 the house. Walking leisurely forward, he gained the 
 long corridor. For a second or two he was uncertain hovv 
 to proceed, when a gleam of light from the half-open door 
 in the tower led him onward. As he drew near, lie heard 
 the deep tones of a man's voice recounting, as it seemed, 
 some story of the chase ; the last w^ords, at least, were, 
 " I fired but one shot — the herd is wild enough alread}-." 
 Travers pushed wide the door, and entered. As he did 
 so, he involuntarily halted: the evidences of habits and 
 tastes he was not prepared for suddenly rebuked his un- 
 announced approach, and he would gladly have retreated 
 were it now practicable. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the same voice he heard before, and 
 from a young man, who leaned with one arm on the
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 185 
 
 cTiimney-piece, and -svitli the otlier hand held his gun, 
 while he appeared as if he had been conversing with a 
 pale and sickly youth, propped and pillowed in a deep 
 arm-chair. They were the only occupants of the room. 
 *' Well, sir, it would seem j'ou have made a mistake ; the 
 inn is lower down the glen — you'll see a sign over the 
 doorway." 
 
 The look which accompanied this insolent speech re- 
 called at once to Frederick's mind the same figure he 
 had seen in the glen ; and, stung by impertinence from 
 such a quai'ter, he replied, — 
 
 " Have no fear, young fellow ; you may poach eyety 
 acre for twenty miles round — I have not tracked you on 
 that score." 
 
 "Poach! — ti-acked me! " reiterated MarkO'Donoghue, for 
 it is needless to say it was he ; and then, as if the ludicrous 
 were even stronger in his ruind than mere passion, he 
 burst into a rude laugh ; while the sick boy's pale face grew 
 a deep crimson, as, with faltering accents, he said, — 
 "You must be a stranger here, sir, I fancy r"' 
 "I am so," said Travers, mildly, and yielding at once 
 to the respect ever due to suffering ; " my name is Travers. 
 I have come over here to inquire after a young gentleman 
 who saved my sister's life." 
 
 " Then you've tracked him well," interjiosed Mark, with 
 an emphasis on the word. " Here he is." 
 
 "Will you not sit down?" said Herbert, motioning 
 with his wasted hand to a seat. 
 
 Frederick took his place beside the boy at once, and 
 said, " We owe you, sir, the deepest debt of gratitude it 
 has ever been our fortune to incur ; and if anything could 
 enhance the obligation, it has been the heroism, the per- 
 sonal daring " 
 
 "Hold, there," said Mark, sternly. "It's not our cus- 
 tom here to listen to compliments on our courage — we are 
 O'Donoghues." 
 
 " This young gentleman's daring was no common one," 
 answered Travers, as if stung by the taunt. 
 
 " My brother will scarce feel flattered by your telling 
 him so," was Mark's haughty answer ; and for some 
 seconds Frederick knew not how to resume the conversa- 
 tion J at last, tui-ning to Herbert, he said, —
 
 186 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " May I hope that, without offending you, we may be 
 permitted in some shape to express the sentiment I speak 
 of ? It is a debt which cannot be requited ; let us at least 
 have some evidence that we acknowledge it." 
 
 " It is the more like some of our own," broke in Mark, 
 with a fierce laugh ; " we have parchments enough, but we 
 never pay. Your father's agent could tell you that." 
 
 Fi'ederick gave no seeming attention to this speech, but 
 went on : " When I say there is nothing in our power we 
 would deem enough, I but express the feelings of ray 
 father and myself." 
 
 " There, there," cried Mark, preventing Herbert, who 
 was about to reply, "you've said far more than was needed 
 for a wet jacket and a few weeks' low diet. Let us have 
 a word about the poaching you spoke of." 
 
 His fixed and steady stare — the rigid brow by which 
 these words were accompanied — at once proclaimed the 
 intention of one who sought reparation for an insult, and 
 so instantly did they convey the sentiment that Travers, 
 in a second, forgot all about his mission, and, starting to 
 his feet, replied in a whisper, audible but to Mark, — 
 
 " True, it was a very hazardous guess ; but when, in 
 England, we meet with a fustian jacket and a broken 
 beaver in company with a gun and a game-bag, we have 
 little risk in pronouncing the owner a gamekeeper or a 
 poacher." 
 
 Mark struck his gun against the ground with such 
 violence as shivered the stock from the barrel, while he 
 gi-asped the corner of the chimney-piece convulsively with 
 the other hand. It seemed as if passion had actually 
 paralyzed him. As he stood thus, the door opened, and 
 Kate O'Donoghue entered. She was dressed in the be- 
 coming half-toilette of the morning, and wore on her head 
 one of those caps of blue velvet, embroidered in silver, 
 which are so jxjpular among the peasantry of Rhenish 
 Germany. Tlic light airiness of her step as she came for- 
 ward, unconscious of a stranger's presence, displayed her 
 figure in its most graceful character. Suddenly her eyes 
 fell upon Frederick Travers ; she stopped and curtseyed 
 low to him, while he, thundei'struck with amazement 
 at recognizing his fellow-traveller so unexpectedly, could 
 Bcarcely return her salute with becoming courtesy.
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 187 
 
 "Mr. Travers," said Herbert, after waiting in vain for 
 Mark to speak — " Mr. Travers has been kind enough to 
 conn, and inquire after me. Miss O'Donoghue, sir ;" and 
 the boy, with much bashfulness, essayed in some sort the 
 ceremony of introduction. 
 
 " iiy cousin, Mr. Mark "O'Donoghue," said Kate, with 
 a graceful movement of her hand towards Mark, whose 
 attitude led her to suppose he was not known to Travers. 
 
 " I have had the honour of presenting myself already," 
 said Fi'ederick, bowing; but Mark responded not to the 
 inclination, but stood still with bent brow and clenched 
 lip, Seemingly unconscious of all around him, while Kate 
 seated herself, and motioned to Travers to resume his 
 place. She felt how necessary it was that she should 
 atone, by her manner, for the strange rudeness of her 
 cousin's ; and her mind being now relieved of the fear 
 which first struck her, that Frederick's visit might be in- 
 tended for herself, she launched freely and pleasantly into 
 converi-ation, recurring to the incidents of the late journey, 
 and the fellow-travellers they had met with. 
 
 If Kate was not sony to learn that the Lodge was 
 tenanted by persons of such condition and class as might 
 make them agreeable neighbours, Travers, on the other 
 hand, was overjoyed at discovering one of such attractions 
 within an easy visiting distance ; while Herbert sat by, 
 wondering how persons so little known to each other could 
 have so many things to say, and so many topics which 
 seemed mutually interesting. For so it is ; they who are 
 ignorant of the world and its habits can scarcely credit 
 the great extent of those generalities which form food for 
 daily intercourse, nor with what apparent interest people 
 can play the game of life with but counterfeit coinage. 
 He listened at first with astonishment, and afterwards 
 with delight, to the pleasant flippancy of each, as in turn 
 they discussed scenes, and pleasures, and people, of whom 
 he never so much as heard. The gentillesse of French 
 manner — would that we had a name for the thing in 
 English — imparted to Kate's conversation a graceful ease 
 our more reserved habits rarely permit ; and while in her 
 costume and her carriage there was a certain coquetry 
 discernible, not a particle of afiectation pervaded either 
 her opinions or expressions. Travers, long accustomed to
 
 188 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 the best society of London, had yet seen scarcely anything 
 of the fascination of foreign agreeability, and yielded him- 
 self so insensibly to its charm, that an hour slipped away 
 unconsciously, and he totally forgot the great object of his 
 visit, and lost all recollection of the luckless animal he 
 had attached to the door ring — luckless, indeed, for already 
 a heavy snowdrift was falling, and the day had assumed 
 all the appearance of severe winter. 
 
 "You cannot go now, sir," said Herbert, as Frederick 
 rose to take his leave — " there's a heavy snow-storm with- 
 out," for the boy was so interested in all he heard, he 
 could not .endure the thought of his departure. 
 
 " Oh ! it's nothing," said Travers, lightly. " There's an 
 old adage — ' Snow should not scare a soldier.' " 
 
 " There's another proverb in the French service," said 
 Kate, laughing, as she pointed to the blazing hearth — " ' Lo 
 soldat ne tourne pas son dos au feu.' " 
 
 " I accept the augury," cried Frederick, laughing 
 heartily at the witty misapplication of the phrase, and 
 resumed his seat once more. 
 
 " Cousin Kate plays chess," said Herbert, ia his anxiety 
 to suggest a plausible pretext for delaying Frederick's 
 departure. 
 
 " And I am passionately fond of the game ; would you 
 favour me so far ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," said she, smiling ; " I only ask one 
 condition, point de grace — no giving back — the O'Donog- 
 hues never take or give quarter — isn't that so, Mark ? 
 Oh ! he's gone." And now for the first time it was 
 lemarked that he had left the apartment. 
 
 In a few moments after they had drawn the little 
 marqueterie table close to the fire, and were deeply inter- 
 ested in the game. 
 
 At first each party played with a seeming attention, 
 which certainly imposed on Herbert, who sat eagerly 
 ■watching the progress of the game. Frederick Ti-avers 
 was, however, far more occupied in observing his anta- 
 gonist, than in the disposition of his rooks and pawns. 
 While she, soon perceiving his inattention, half suspected 
 that he did not deem her an enemy worth exerting his 
 skill upon, and thus, partly in pique, she bestowed, more 
 watchfulness than at first.
 
 A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 180 
 
 " So, mademoiselle," cried Travers at length, recurring 
 to liis game, " I pei'ceive you have only permitted me to 
 advance thus far to cut off my retreat for ever. How am 
 I to save myself now ? " 
 
 *' It's hard to say. Sir Captain. It's the old tactique of 
 Celts and Saxons on both sides ; you would advance into 
 the heart of the enemy's country, and as, unhappily, the 
 men in ivory are truer than the natives were here, and 
 won't take bribes to fight against their fellows, you must 
 e'en stand or fall by your own deservings." 
 
 " Come, then, the bold policy for ever. Check." 
 
 " And you lose your castle." 
 
 •' And you your bishop ! " 
 • " We must avenge the church, sir. Take care of your 
 queen." 
 
 " Parhleic, mademoiselle, you are a fierce foe ! What 
 say you, if we draw the battle P " 
 
 " No, no, cousin Kate ; continue, and you win it." 
 
 " Be it so. And now for my turn," said Travers, who 
 was really a first-rate player, and at length began to feel 
 interested in the^ result. 
 
 The move he made exhibited so much of skill, that Kate 
 foi-esaw that the fortune of the day was about to change. 
 She leaned her brow upon her hand, and deliberated long 
 on the move ; and at length, lifting her head, she said, — ■ 
 
 " I should like much to beat you — but in fair fight, 
 remember — no courtesy nor favour." 
 
 " I can spare neither," said Travers, smiling. 
 
 " Then defeat is no dishonour. There's my move." 
 
 " And mine," cried Fred, as rapidly. 
 
 " What prevents my taking you ? I see nothing." 
 
 "Nor I either," said he, half chagrined, for his move 
 was an oversight. 
 
 " You are too proud to ask quarter — of course you are 
 — or I should say, take it back." 
 
 " No, Kate, no," whispered Herbert, whose excitement 
 was at the highest. 
 
 " I must abide my fortune," said Frederick, bowing ; 
 " and the more calmly; as I have won the game." 
 
 *' Won the game ! How ? — where ? " 
 
 "Check!" 
 
 "How tauntingly he says it now," said Kate, while her
 
 190 THE o'dONOGHIJE. 
 
 eyes sparkled brilliantly. " There is too mucli of the con- 
 queror in all that." 
 
 Frederick's glance met hers at the instant, and her cheek 
 coloured deeply. 
 
 Who knows the source of such emotions, or of how 
 much pleasure and pain they are made up ! " And yet I 
 have not won,'' said he, in a low voice. 
 
 " Then be it a drawn battle," said Kate. " You can 
 afford to be generous, and I can't bear being beaten— 
 that's the truth of it." 
 
 " If I could but win ! " muttered Travers, as he rose 
 from the table ; and whether she overheard the words, and 
 that they conveyed more than a mere allusion to the game, 
 she turned hastily away, and approached the window. 
 
 " Is that snowball your horse, Captain Travers ? " said 
 she, with a wicked smile. 
 
 " My father's favourite cob, by Jove ! " exclaimed Fre- 
 derick ; and, as if suddenly aroused to the memory of his 
 lengthy visit, made his adieus witli more confusion than 
 was exactly suitable to a fashionable Guardsman — and 
 departed. 
 
 " I like him," said Herbert, as he looked out of the 
 ■window after him. " Don't you, cousin Kate ?" 
 
 But cousin Kate did not rc])iy.
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR. 
 
 When Mark O'Donogliue left the room, his passion had 
 become almost ■ungovernable — the entrance of his cousin 
 Kate had but dammed up the current of his anger — and, 
 during the few moments he still remained afterwards, his 
 temper was fiercely tried by witnessing the courtesy of her 
 manner to the stranger, and the apparent intimacy which 
 subsisted between them. " I ought to have known it," 
 was the expression he uttered over and over to himself — 
 *'I ought to have known it! That fellow's gay jacket 
 and plumed hat are dearer to her woman's heart than 
 the rude devotion of such as I am. Curses be on them ! 
 they carry persecution through everything — house, home, 
 country, rank, wealth, station — ay, the very aifection of 
 our kindred they grudge us ! Was slavery ever like 
 this ? " And with these bitter words, the offspring of 
 bitterer thoughts, he strode down the causeway, and 
 reached the high road. The snow was falling fast — a 
 chilling north wind drove the thin flakes along — but he 
 heeded it not. The fire of anger that burned within his 
 bosom defied all sense of winter's cold ; and with a 
 throbbing brow and fevered hand he went, turning from 
 time to time to look up at the old castle, whence he 
 expected each moment to see Travers take his departure. 
 Now he hurried eagerly onward, as if to reach some 
 destined spot — now he would stop, and retrace his steps, 
 irresolutely, as though half determined to return home. 
 
 "Degraded, insulted, outraged on the very hearth of my 
 father's house ! " cried he, aloud, as he wrung his hands 
 in agony, and gave his passion vent. Again he pressed 
 forward, and at last arrived at that part of the glen where 
 the road seems escarped between the two mountains, 
 which rise several hundred feet, like walls, on either side. 
 Here he paused, and after examining the spot foi' some 
 seconds, he muttered to himself, " He has no choice here
 
 192 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 but stand or turn!" And so saying, he drew from the 
 breast of his coat two pistols, examined the priming- of 
 each, and then replaced them. The prospect of speedy 
 revenge seemed to have calmed his vindictive spirit, for 
 now he continued to walk backwards and forwards, at a 
 slow space, like a sentinel on his post, pausing occasion- 
 ally to listen if a horse's hoofs could be heard upon 
 the road, and then resuming his walk once more. A 
 rustling sound in the brushwood above his head once 
 stai-tled him, but the granite clitls that overhung the road 
 prevented his seeing from what it proceeded, and his 
 heart was now bent on a very different object than the 
 pursuit of the deer. At that moment the proiidest of the 
 herd might have grazed in safety within pistol-shot of 
 him, and he had not deigned to notice it. Thus passed an 
 hour — a second and a thii'd succeeded — and already the 
 dull shadows of approaching night were falling, yet no 
 one came. Tortured with strange conjectures, Mark saw 
 the day waning, and yet no sight nor sound of him he 
 looked for. Let not poets speak of the ardent longing of 
 a lover's heart, as in throbbing eagerness he waits for her 
 whose smile is life, and hope, and heaven. Compared 
 with the mad impatience of him who thirsts for ven- 
 geance, his passion is but sluggish apathy. It is the bad 
 that ever calls forth the sternest energies of human nature. 
 It is in crime that men transcend the common attributes 
 of mankind. Here was one, now, who would have given, 
 his right hand beneath the axe for but one brief moment 
 of vengeance, and have deemed years of suffering 
 cheaply bought for the mere presence of his enemy before 
 him. 
 
 " He must have guessed my meaning when I left the 
 room," was the taunting expression he now uttered, as 
 his unsated anger took the shape of an insolent depre- 
 ciation of his adversary. "An Irishman would not need 
 a broader hint." 
 
 It grew darker — the mountains frowned heavily beneath 
 the canojiy of clouds, and night was rapidly approaching, 
 when, from the gloom of his almost extinguished hope, 
 Mark was suddenly aroused. He heard the tramp of a 
 horse's feet ; the dull reverberation on the deep snow 
 filled the air, and sometimes they seemed to come from
 
 TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR. 193 
 
 ilae opposite part of the glen, -wlien tlie pace slackened, 
 and at last the sounds became almost inaudible. 
 
 "There is yet enough of daylight if we move into the 
 broad road," was Mark's soliloquy, as he stooped his ear 
 to li-sten — and at the instant he beheld a man leading his 
 horse by the bridle, while he himself seemed seeking along 
 the roadside, where the snowdrift had not yet fallen, as if 
 for some lost object. A glance, even by the imperfect 
 light, and at some thirty paces off, showed Mark it was 
 not him he sought, and were it not that the attitude 
 attracted his curiosity, he had not wasted a second look 
 on him ; but the horseman by this time had halted, and 
 was scraping with his whip-handle amid the pebbles of 
 the mountain rivulet. 
 
 " I'll never see it again — it's no use! " was the excla- 
 mation of the seeker, as he gathered up his reins and 
 prepared to mount. 
 
 "Is that Lanty Lawler? " cried Mark, as he recognized 
 the voice ; " I say, did you meet with a young officer 
 riding down the glen, in the direction of Carrignacurra ? " 
 
 "No, indeed, Mr. Mark — I never saw living thing since 
 I left Bantry." 
 
 The young man paused for a few seconds — and then, as 
 if anxious to turn all thought from his question, said, 
 *' What have you lost thereabouts ? " 
 
 " Oh, more than I am worth in the world ! " was the an- 
 swer, in a deep, heart-drawn sigh ; " but, blessed Heaven ! 
 what's the pistols for? Oh, Master Mark, dear — sure — 
 sure " 
 
 " Sure what ? " cried the youth, with a hoarse laugh — 
 *' sure I'm not turned highway robber ! Is that what you 
 want to say ? Make your mind easy, Lanty, I have not 
 reached that point yet; though, if inditference to life 
 might tempt a man, I'd not say it is so far oif." 
 
 "'Tis a duel, then," cried Lanty, quickly; "but I hopo 
 you wouldn't fight without seconds. Oh ! that's down- 
 I'ight murder. .What did he do to you? Was it one of 
 the fellows you met in Cork ? " 
 
 "You are all wi'ong," said Mark, sullenly. "It is 
 enough, however, that neither of us seem to have found 
 what he was seeking. You have your secret; I have 
 mine."
 
 194 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Oh, faix, mine is soon told — 'twas my pocket-book, 
 with as good as seventy pounds in goold, 1 lost here a 
 three weeks ago, and never set eyes on it since ; and there 
 was papers in it — ay, faix, papers of great value — and I 
 daren't face Father Luke without them. I may leave the 
 country when he hears what happened." 
 
 " Where are you going now ? " said Mark, gloomily. 
 " I'm. going as far as Mary's, for the night. Maybe 
 you'd step down there, and take a bit of supper? When 
 the moon rises the night will take up fine." 
 
 The young man turned without speaking, and bent hia 
 steps in the direction Lanty was travelling. 
 
 The horse-dealer was too well versed in human nature 
 to press for a confidence which he foresaw would be at 
 last willingly extended to him ; he therefore walked along 
 at Mark's side, without uttering a word, and seeming to 
 be absorbed in his own deep musings. His calculation 
 was a correct one. They had not gone many paces for- 
 ward when young O'Donoghue unburdened his whole 
 heart to him — told him, with all the eloquent energy of a 
 wounded spirit, of the insult he had received in his own 
 home, before his younger brother's face. He omitted 
 nothing in his description of the overbearing impertinence 
 of Frederick Travers's manner — with what cool assurance 
 he had entered the house, and with what fiippant careless- 
 ness he treated his cousin Kate. 
 
 '* I left home with an oath not to return thither un- 
 avenged," said he; "nor will I, though this time luck 
 seems against me. Had he but come, I should have given 
 him his choice of pistols and his own distance. My hand 
 is true from five paces to thirty ; but he has not escaped 
 ;iie yet." 
 
 Lanty never intei'ruptcd the narrative except to ask 
 from time to time some question, the answer to which 
 was certain to develop the deeper indignation of the 
 youth. A low, muttering commentary, intended to mean 
 a heartfelt sympathy with his wrongs, was all he suffered 
 to escape his lips, and, thus encouraged in his passionate 
 vehemence, Mark's wrath became like a frenzy. 
 
 " Come in, now," said Lanty, as he halted at the door 
 of Mary's cabin, " but don't say a word about this busi- 
 ness. I have a thought in my head that may do you
 
 TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUK. 195 
 
 good service, but keep a fair face before people — do you 
 mind me?" 
 
 There was a tone of mystery and secrecy in these words 
 Mark could not penetrate ; but, however dai^k their mean- 
 ing, they seemed to promise some hope of that revenge 
 his heart yearned after, and with this trust he entered the 
 house. 
 
 Mary received them with her wonted hospitality — Lanty 
 was an expected guest — and showed how gratified she 
 felt to have young O'Donoghue beneath her roof. 
 
 " I was afeard you were forgetting me entirely, Mr. 
 Mark," said she ; " you passed the door twice, and never 
 as much as said, ' God save you, Mary.' " 
 
 " I did not forget you, for all that, Mary," said he, 
 feelingly. " I have too few friends in the world to spare 
 any of them; but I've had many things on my mind 
 lately." 
 
 " Well, and to be sure you had, and why wouldn't you ? 
 'Tis no shame of you to be sad and down-hearted — an 
 O'Donoghue of the ould stock — the best blood in Kerry, 
 wandering about by himself, instead of being followed by 
 a troop of servants, with a goold coat-of-arms worked on 
 their coats, like your grandfather's men — the heavens be 
 his bed. Thirty-eight mounted men, armed — ay, and well 
 armed — were in the saddle after him, the day the English 
 general came down here to see the troops that was quar- 
 tered at Bantry." 
 
 " No wonder we should go afoot now," said Mark, 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Well, well,, it's the will of God," ejaculated Mary, 
 piously ; '* and who knows what's in store for you yet? " 
 
 " That's the very thing I do be telling him," said Lanty, 
 Avho only waited for the right moment to chime in with 
 the conversation, "There's fine times coming." 
 
 Mary stared at the speaker with the eager look of one 
 who wished to derive a meaning deeper than the mere 
 words seemed to convey, and then, checking her curiosity 
 at a gesture from Lanty, she set about arranging the 
 supper, which only awaited his arrival. 
 
 Mark ate but little of the fare before him, though Mary's 
 cookery was not without its temptations ; but of the wine 
 — and it was strong Burgundy — he drank freely. Goblet 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE o'donoghub. 
 
 aftei' goblet lie drained witli that craving desire to allay a 
 tliirst, "wliich is rather the symptom of a mind fevered by 
 passion than by malady. Still, as he di'ank, no sign of 
 intoxication appeared ; on the contrary, his words evinced 
 a tone of but deeper resolution, and a more settled pui'pose 
 than at first, when he told liow he had promised never to 
 leave his father, although all his hopes pointed to the 
 glorious career a foreign service would open before him. 
 
 " It was a good vow you made, and may the saints 
 enable you to keep it," said Mary. 
 
 " And for the matter of glory, maybe there's some to be 
 got nearer home, and without travelling to look for it," 
 interposed Lanty. 
 .f What do you mean?" said Mark, eagerly. 
 
 " Fill your glass. Take the big one, for it's a toast I'm 
 going to give you — are you ready ? Here now, then- 
 drink — 
 
 * A stout heart and mind, 
 And an easterly wind, 
 And tlie Devil behind 
 The Saxon.' " 
 
 Mark repeated the doggerel as well as he was able, and 
 pledged the only sentiment he could divine, that of the 
 latter part, with all his enthusiasm. 
 
 " You may tell him what you plaze, now," whispered 
 Mary in Lanty's ear ; for her i-eady wit perceived that his 
 blood was warmed by the wine, and his heart open for any 
 communication. 
 
 Lanty hesitated but a second, then drawing his chair 
 close to Mark's, he said, — 
 
 " I'm going now to put my life in your hands, but I 
 can't helj) it. When Ireland is about to strike for liberty, 
 it is not an O'Donoghue should be last in the ranks. 
 Swear to me you'll never mention again what I'll tell you 
 — swear it on the book." IMary, at the same moment, 
 placed in his hand a breviary, with a gilt cross on the 
 binding, which Mark took reverently, and kissed twice. 
 " That's enough — your word would do for me, but I must 
 obey them that's over me ;" and so saying, Lanty at once 
 proceeded to lay before the astonished mind of young 
 O'Donoghue the plan of France for an invasion of Ireland
 
 TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR. 197 
 
 ' — not vaguely nor imperfectly, not in the mere language 
 of rumour or chance allusion, but with such aids to cir- 
 cumstance and time, as gave him the appearance of one 
 conversant with what he spoke on. The restoration of 
 Irish independence — the resumption of forfeited estates — 
 the return of the real nobility of the land to their long-lost 
 position of eminence and influence, were themes he des-- 
 canted upon with consummate skill, bringing home each 
 fact to the actual eifect such changes would work in the 
 youth's own condition, who, no longer degraded to the 
 rank of a mere peasant, would once ag'ain assert his own 
 rightful station, and stand forth at the head of his vast 
 property — the heir of an honoured name and house. 
 Lanty knew well, and more, too, implicitly believed in all 
 the plausible pretension of French sympathy for Irish 
 suflfering, which formed the cant of the day. He had 
 often heard the arguments in favour of the success of such 
 an expedition — in fact, the reasons for which its failure 
 was deemed impossible. These he repeated fluently, 
 giving to his narrative the semblance of an incontestable 
 statement, and then he told him that from Brest to Dublin 
 was " fifty hours' sail, with a fair breeze" — that same 
 " eastei'ly wind " the toast alluded to, that the French 
 could throw thirty, nay fifty thousand troops into Ireland, 
 yet never weaken their own army to any extent worth 
 speaking of — that England was distracted by party spirit, 
 impoverished by debt, and totally unable to repel invasion, 
 and, in fact, that if Ireland would be but " true to herself," 
 her success was assured. 
 
 He told, too, how Irishmen were banded together in a 
 sworn union to assert the independence of their country, 
 and that such as held back, or were reluctant in the cause, 
 would meet the fate of enemies. On the extent and com- 
 pleteness of the organization he dwelt with a proud satis- 
 faction, but when he spoke of large masses of men trained 
 to move and act together, Mark suddenly interrupted him,. 
 saying, — 
 
 " Yes, I have seen them. It's not a week since some 
 hundreds marched through this glen at midnight." 
 
 "Ay, that was Holt's party," said Mary, composedly ; 
 "and fine men they are." 
 
 " They were unarmed," said Mark.
 
 198 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " If they were, it is because the general didn't want 
 their weapons." 
 
 " There's arms enough to be had when the time comes 
 for using them," broke in Mary. 
 
 " Wouldn't you show him " and Lanty hesitated to 
 
 conclude a speech the imprudence of which he was already 
 aware of. 
 
 " Ay, will I," said Mary. " I never mistrusted one of 
 his name ; " and with that, she rose from the fireside, and 
 took a candle in her hand. " Come here a minute, Master 
 Mark." Unlocking a small door in the back wall of the 
 cabin, she entei-ed a narrow passage which led to the 
 stable, but off which a narrow door, scarcely distinguish- 
 able from the wall, conducted into a spacious vault, exca- 
 vated in the solid rock. Here were a vast number of 
 packing-cases and boxes, piled on each other, from floor to 
 roof, together with hogsheads and casks of every shape 
 and size. Some of the boxes had been opened, and the 
 lids laid loosely over them. Removing one of these, Mary 
 pointed to the contents, as she said, — 
 
 " There they are — French muskets and carbines. There's 
 pistols in that case ; and all them, over there, is swords 
 and cutlasses. 'Tis pike-heads that's in the other corner ; 
 and the casks has saddles and holsters and them kind of 
 things." 
 
 Mark stooped down and took up one of the muskets. 
 It was a light and handy weapon, and bore on its stock 
 the words — "Armee de Sarabre-et-Meuse," for none of the 
 weapons were new. 
 
 " These are all French," said he, after a bi'ief pause. 
 
 "Every one of them," replied Mary, proudly; "and 
 there's more coming from the same place." 
 
 " And why can we not fight our own battles without 
 aid from France? " said Mark, boldly. " If we really are 
 worthy of independence, are we not able to win it? " 
 
 " Because there's traitors among us," said Mary, replying 
 before Lanty could interpose — " because there's traitors 
 that would turn again us if we were not sure of victory ; 
 but when they see we have the strong hand as well 
 as the good cause, they'll be sure to stand on the safe 
 Bide." 
 
 " I don't care for that," said Mark. " I want no such
 
 TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR. 199 
 
 allies as these. I say, if we deserve our liberty, we 
 ought to be strong enough to take it." 
 
 " There's many think the same way as yourself,'' said 
 Lanty, quietly. " I heard the very words you said from 
 one of the delegates last week. But I don't see any harm 
 in getting help from a friend when the odds is against 
 
 you." 
 
 " But I do — and great harm too. What's the price of 
 the assistance ? — tell me that." 
 
 " Oh, make your mind easy on that score. The French 
 hate the English, whether they love us or no." 
 
 "And why wouldn't they love us," said Mary, half 
 angry at such a supposition, "and we all Catholics? 
 Don't we both belong to the ould ancient church ? and 
 didn't we swear to destroy the heretics whei'ever we'd find 
 them ? Ay, and we will, too ! " 
 
 " I'm with you, whatever comes of it," said Mark, after 
 a few seconds of thought. " I'm with you ; and if the 
 rest have as little to live for, trust me, they'll not be 
 pleasant adversaries." 
 
 Overjoyed at this bold avowal, which consummated the 
 success they desired, they led Mark back into the cabin, 
 and pledged, in a bumper, the " raal O'Donoghue."
 
 200 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE RETURN 0* THE ENV07. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke Tkaveks and his dauo-hter had passed a 
 morning of great uneasiness at; the dehiy in Frederick's 
 return. Noon came, and yet no appearance of him. They 
 wandered along the road, hoping to meet him, and at Last 
 turned homeward, with the intention of despatching a 
 servant townrds Carrignacurra, fearing lest he should 
 have missed his way. This determination, however, they 
 abandoned, on being told by a countryman that he had 
 seen the horse young Travers rode still standing at the 
 gate of the "castle." 
 
 A feeling of curiosity to hear his son's account of the 
 O'DonoQfhues minoled with the old man's excitement at 
 his absence ; and as the day declined, and still no sign of 
 his return, he walked every now and then to the door, 
 and looked anxiously along the road by which he expected 
 his approach. Sybella, too, was not without her fears, 
 and though vague and undefined, she dreaded a possible 
 collision between the hot blood of Mark and her brother. 
 The evening of her first arrival was ever present to her 
 mind, and she often thought of what might have then 
 occurred had Frederick been present. 
 
 They had wearied themselves with every mode of ac- 
 counting for his delay, guessed at every possible cause of 
 detention, and were at length on the point of sending a 
 messenger in search of him, when they heard the tramp 
 of a horse coming, not along the high road, but, as it 
 seemed, over the fields in front of them. A few minutes 
 more of anxious cxpectnncy, and Frederick, with his horse 
 splashed and panting, alighted beside them. 
 
 " Well, you certainly have a very pretty eye for a 
 country, father," said he, gaily. " That same line you 
 advised has got three as rasping fences as I should like to 
 meet with." 
 
 "What do you moan, boy?" said Sir Mai-maduke, as
 
 THE RETURN OF THE ENVOY. 201 
 
 Tnncli puzzled at the speech as the reader himself may 
 feel. 
 
 " Simply, sir, that though the cob is a capital horse, 
 and has a great jump in him, I'd rather have daylight 
 for that kind of thing ; and I really believe the ragged 
 fellow you sent for me chose the stiffest places. I saw 
 the rascal grinning when I was coming up to the mill- 
 Btream." 
 
 " Mes.senger ! — ^ragged fellow ! The boy is dreaming." 
 
 " My dear Frederick, we sent no messenger. We were, 
 indeed, very anxious at your delay, but we did not despatch 
 an}- one to meet you." 
 
 Frederick stared at both the speakers, and then repeated, 
 in astonishment, the last words, "Sent no messenger!" 
 but when they once more assured him of the fact, he gave 
 the following account of his return : — 
 
 " It was very late when I left the castle. I delayed 
 there the whole day; but scarcely had I reached the high 
 road, when a wild-looking fellow, with a great pole in his 
 hand, came up to me, and cried out, — 
 
 " ' Are you for the Lodge? ' ' Yes,' said he, answering 
 for himself, ' you are her brother. I'm sent over to tell you 
 not to go back by the road, for the bridge is down ; but 
 you're to come over the fields, and I'll show you the way.' 
 
 " Supposing the fellow was what he assumed to be, your 
 messenger, I followed him ; and, by George, it was no 
 joking matter ; for he leaped like a deer, and seemed to 
 take uncommon pleasure in pitting himself against the 
 cob. I should have given up the contest, I confess, but 
 that the knave had me in his power. For when it grew 
 dark, I knew not which way to head, until, at length, he 
 shouted out, — 
 
 " ' There's the Lodge now, where you see the light.' 
 And after that, what became of himself I cannot tell you." 
 
 "It was Terry, poor Terry," cried Sybella. 
 
 *' Yes, it must have been Terry," echoed her father. 
 
 "And is this Terry retained to play Will-o'-the-wisp?''* 
 asked Fred ; " or is it a piece of amateurship ? " 
 
 But both Sir Marmaduke and Sybella were too deeply 
 engaged in canvassing the motive for this strange act to 
 pay due attention to his question. 
 
 As Frederick was but little interested ia his guide, nor
 
 202 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 mindful of what became of him, they were not able to 
 obtain any clue from liim as to what road he took ; nor 
 what chance there was of overtaking him. 
 
 " So then this was a piece of j^olitesse for which I ara 
 indebted to your friend Terry's own devising," said Fred, 
 half angrily. " The fellow had better keejj out of my way 
 in future." 
 
 " Ton will not harm him, Fred, you never could, when 
 I tell you of his gallant conduct here." 
 
 " My sweet sister, I am really wearied of this eternal 
 theme — I have heard of nothing but heroism since ray 
 arrival. Once for all, I concede the matter, and am 
 willing to believe of the Irish, as of the family of Bayard, 
 that all the men are brave — and all the women virtuous. 
 And now, let us to dinner." 
 
 " You have told us nothing of your visit to the en- 
 chanted castle, Fred," said his sister, when the servants 
 had withdrawn, and they were once more alone, " and I am 
 all impatience to hear of your adventures there." 
 
 " I confess, too," said Sir Marmaduke, " I am not devoid 
 of curiosity on the subject — let us hear it all." 
 
 *' I have little to recount," said Frederick, with some 
 hesitation in his manner; "I neither saw the O'Donog- 
 hue, as they call him, nor his brother-in-law — the one 
 was in bed, and the other had gone to visit some sick 
 person on the mountain. But I made acquaintance with 
 your p^'eiix chevalier, Sybella — a fine-looking young fellow, 
 even though wasted with sickness ; he was there with an 
 elder brother, an insolent kind of personage — half pea- 
 sant, all bull}'." 
 
 " He was not wanting in proper respect to you,'''' said 
 Sir Marmaduke. " 1 trust, Fred, he was aware of who 
 you were ? " 
 
 " Faith, sir, I fancy he cared very little on the subject ; 
 and had I been a much more important individual, he 
 would have treated me in the same Avay — a way, to say the 
 least of it, not overburdened with courtesy." 
 
 " Had you any words together, boy ? " said Sir Marma- 
 duke, with an evident anxiety in his look and voice. 
 
 " A more interchange of greeting," replied Fred, laugh- 
 ing, " in which each party showed his teeth, and did not 
 bite withal. I unhaj^pily mistook him for a gamekeeper,
 
 THE RETURN OF THE ENVOY. 203 
 
 and, worse still, told him so, and he felt proportionably 
 angry at the imputation, pi-eferring, probably, to be 
 thought a poacher. He is a rude, coarse fellow,'' said he, 
 •with a changed voice, " with pride to be a gentleman, but 
 not breeding nor manner to enact the character." 
 
 "The visit was, after all, not an agTceable one," said 
 Miss Travers, " and I am only surprised how you came to 
 prolong it. You spent the whole day there." 
 
 Although there was not the slightest degree of suspicion 
 insinuated by this remark, Fred stole a quick glance at his 
 sister, to see if she really intended more than the mere 
 words implied. Then, satisfied that she had not, he said, 
 in a careless way, — 
 
 " Oh, the weather broke ; it came on a heavy snow- 
 storm ; and as the younger brother pressed me to remain, 
 and I had no fancy to face the hurricane, I sat down to a 
 game of chess." 
 
 " Chess ! Indeed, Fred, that sounds very humanizing. 
 And how did he play ? " 
 
 " It was not with him I played," answered he, hesitat- 
 ingly. 
 ''' What— with the elder ? " 
 
 "No, nor him either; my antagonist was a cousin — I 
 think they called her cousin." 
 
 " Call her," said Sybella, slyly. " So, then. Master 
 Fred, there was a lady in the case. Well, we certainly 
 have been a long while coming to her." 
 
 " Tes, she has lately arrived — a day or two ago — from 
 some convent in the Low Countries, where she has lived 
 since she was a child." 
 
 " A strange home for her," interposed Sir Marmaduke. 
 " If I do not misconceive them greatly, they must be very 
 unsuitable associates for a young lady educated in a French 
 convent." 
 
 " So you would say if you saw her," said Fred, seizing 
 with avidity at the opening then offered to coincide with 
 nn opinion he was half afraid to broach. " She is per- 
 fectly foreign in look, dress, and demeanour — with all the 
 ma^inerism of Paris life, graceful and pleasing in her 
 address; and they, at least one of them, a downright 
 boor ; the other, giving him credit for good looks and good 
 nature, yet immeasurably lier inferior in every respect."
 
 204 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Is she pretty, Frederick?" said Sybella, not lifting 
 her eyes from her work as she spoke. 
 
 " I shoukl say pretty," replied he, with hesitation, as if 
 qualifying his praise by a word which did not imply too 
 much. " I prefer a quieter style of beauty, for my own 
 part; less dazzle, less sparkling effect; something to 
 see every day, and to like the better the more one sees 
 it ; " and he placed his arm around his sister's waist, 
 and gazed at her, as if to give interpretation to his 
 speech. 
 
 " You have made me quite curious to see her, Fred, 
 said Sybella. " The very fact of finding one like her iu 
 such a place has its interest." 
 
 "What if you were to visit her, my dear?" said Sir 
 Marmaduke ; " the attention would only be a proper one ; 
 you have books and music here besides, which she might 
 be glad to have in a region so remote as this." 
 
 Frederick never spoke a word, but anxiously awaited his 
 sister's answer. 
 
 " I should like it greatly ; what says Fred to tho 
 notion?" 
 
 " I see nothing against it," replied he, with a well- 
 affected indifference. " She is a most ladylike person, 
 and if it be your own intention to pass a few weeks 
 longer in this solitude, would be of infinite value for 
 companionship." 
 
 "A few weeks longer! — I shall remain till Christmas, 
 boy," said his father, with determination. " I have taken 
 a fancy to Ireland ; and my intention is to go up to 
 Dublin for a few months in winter, and return here ia 
 the spring." 
 
 This was at once approaching the very subject which 
 Frederick had journeyed to determino ; but whether it 
 was that the time seemed unfavourable, or that his own 
 ideas in the matter had undergone some modification since 
 his arrival, ho contented himself with simply a doubtful 
 shake of the head, as if distrusting Sir Marmaduke's 
 firmness, and did not endeavour to oppose his determina- 
 tion by a single argument of any kind. On the contrary, 
 he listened with patience and even seeming interest to his 
 father's detailed account of his project ; how he had 
 already given orders to secure a house in Stephen's Greea
 
 THE RETURN OF THE ENVOY, 205 
 
 for the winter, intending to make acquaintances witli the 
 gentry of the capital, and present himself and his daughter 
 at the vice-regal court, 
 
 " Sybella may as well make her dehut in society here as 
 in London," said Sir Marmaduke. " Indeed, I am not 
 Bure but the provincial boards are the best for a first 
 appearance. In any case, such is the line I have laid 
 down for myself; and if it only secured me against a sea 
 voyage to England in such a season, I shall be amply 
 repaid for my resolve." 
 
 Against the season of his return, too, Sir Mai'maduke 
 hoped to make such additions to the Lodge as should 
 render it more comfortable as a residence ; various plans 
 for which were heaped upon the library table, and littered 
 the chairs about the room. 
 
 Miss Travers had already given her hearty concurrence 
 to all her father's schemes, and seconded most ably every 
 one of his views by such arguments as she was possessed 
 of; so that Frederick, even if disposed to record his 
 opposition, saw that the present was not an opportune 
 moment, and prudently reserved for another time what, if 
 unsuccessful now, could never be recurred to with advan- 
 tage. 
 
 The conversation on these topics lasted long. They 
 discussed with interest every detail of their plans ; for so 
 it is, the pleasures of castle-building are inexhaustible, and 
 the very happiest realities of life are poor and vague com- 
 pared with the resources provided by our hopes and 
 fancies. The slightest grounds of probability are enough 
 to form a foundation, but there is no limit to the super- 
 Btructure we raise above. 
 
 In the indulgence of this view, they continued to chat 
 till a late hour, and parted for the night in high good 
 humour with each other — a visit to the O'Donoghue being 
 the plan for the succeeding day's accomplishment.
 
 206 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A MORNING VISIT. 
 
 On the afternoon of the following day, Sir Marmaduke, 
 accompanied by his son and daughter, bent their steps 
 towards the castle of the O'Donoghue. The day was a 
 fine and bright one, with a blue sky above, and a hard, 
 frosty surface on the earth beneath, and made walking as 
 pleasant as open air and exercise can render it. The 
 carriage was ordered to meet them on their return, less, 
 indeed, on account of the distance, than that the shortness 
 of the day made the precaution reasonable. 
 
 Chatting agreeably, on they went. The time slipped 
 rapidly away, now adverting to the bold and majestic 
 scenery around them, now speaking of the people, their 
 habits, their prejudices, and their leanings, or anon dis- 
 cussing the O'Donoghue family, which, of all the puzzling 
 themes the land presented, was certainly not the least em- 
 barrassing to them. 
 
 *" We must think of some means of evincing our grati- 
 tude to this boy, Fred," said Sir Marmaduke, in a whispei'. 
 "You appear to have found the matter more difficult than 
 you anticipated." 
 
 " Very true, sir. In the early part of my visit, it was 
 rendered impossible by the interruption of the elder 
 brother; and, in the latter part, somehow, I believe I — 
 I actually begin to fear I forgot it altogether. Howevei', 
 I have thought of one thing, and it should be done with- 
 out a moment's loss of time. You must write to Garden, 
 the law agent, and stop any proceedings Hcmsworth may 
 have begun against these people. It would be most dis- 
 graceful to think that, while professing sentiments of good 
 feeling and friendliness, wo were using the arm of the 
 law to harass and distress them." 
 
 " I'll do it at once, Fred, by this night's post. In 
 truth, I never understood the point at issue between us ; 
 nor can I clearly see Hemsworth's reason for the summary
 
 A MORNING VISIT. 207 
 
 course lie has taken with them. There must he more in 
 it than I know of." 
 
 *' The castle stands proudly, as seen from this point," 
 said Syhella, who felt somewhat wearied of a conversa- 
 tion maintained in a voice too low for her to hear. And 
 the remark had the effect of recalling them to other 
 thoughts, in discussing which they arrived at the old 
 keep of Carrignacurra. 
 
 Whether recent events had sharpened Kerry O'Leary to 
 a more acute sense of his duties as butler, or that Kate 
 O'Donoghue had exerted some influence in bringing about 
 so desii-able an object, we know not ; but at the very first 
 summons of the hall-door bell he made his appearance, 
 his ordinary costume being augmented, if not improved, 
 by a pair of very unwieldy top-boots of his master's, 
 which reached somewhere to the middle of the thigh, and 
 was there met by a green velvet waistcoat, from the same 
 wardrobe, equally too large and voluminous for its present 
 owner. 
 
 Visitors at the O'Donoghue house were generally of a . 
 character which Kerry felt necessary to close the door 
 against. They unhappily came, not with the ceremonial 
 of a visiting-card, but with some foi'midable ' missive of 
 the law, in the shape of a distress warrant, a latitat, or 
 that meeker and less dreaded engine, a protested bill. It 
 was, then, with a considerable relief to his anxieties that 
 his eye caught the flutter of a lady's dress, as he peeped 
 from the small casement beside the door, and his heart 
 expanded in a little thanksgiving of its own as he un- 
 barred the portal to admit her. 
 
 Having informed his visitors that the family were at 
 home, he preceded them to the drawing-room, with a step 
 the noise of which happily drowned the tittering it was 
 impossible to subdue at beholding him. To prevent the 
 awkwardness which Sir Marmaduke foresaw might arise 
 from the blundering announcement Kerry woiild inevitably 
 make of their names, he having repeated over and over 
 as he went along, by way of refreshing his memory, " Sir 
 Marmaduke, Sir Marmaduke Travers," the old gentleman 
 stepped forward as the door opened, and presented him- 
 self by name, introducing his daughter at the same time. 
 The O'Donoghue, seated in his chair, half rose, for it
 
 203 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 was one of his gouty days, and he could not stir without 
 great difficulty, and with an air and voice which besjioke 
 the gentleman, welcomed his guests. 
 
 Herbert's eyes gleamed with delight as he gazed on the 
 party; and Sir Archibald, bowing with an ancient grace 
 that would have suited a courtier of a century previous, 
 presented chairs to each, going through the ceremonial 
 of a new obeisance to every one of the group. Kate 
 O'Donoghue was not in the room, nor Mark — the latter, 
 indeed, had not returned to the castle since the day pre- 
 vious. 
 
 The ordinary greetings over, and Sir Marmadukc 
 having expressed, in well-chosen phrase, the gratitude he 
 had so long laboured to acquit, the conversation became 
 easy and agreeable. Sir Marmaduke, seating himself next 
 O'Donoghue, had entered into a discussion of the state of 
 the country and the people — Frederick, beside Herbert's 
 chair, was conversing with the boy by lively sallies and 
 pleasant stories, that flowed the more rapidly as the 
 listener was an eager one ; while Sir Archibald, standing 
 in an attitude of respectful attention, had engaged Miss 
 Travers in a conversation about the glen and its scenery, 
 to which his own correct taste and thorough appreciation 
 of the picturesque gave a charm and piquancy that already 
 interested her deeply. So naturally easy and unaffected 
 was the tone of their reception, that all astonishment at 
 finding their host so superior to their anticipation was 
 merged in the pleasure that Travers felt in the interview. 
 The good-tempered heartiness of the O'Donoghue himself, 
 his frank speech, his ready humour, won each moment 
 more and more on Sir Marmaduke. Frederick, too, never 
 grew wearied of the fresh and joyous spirit which gleamed 
 out of every look and word from Herbert, whose ardent 
 temperament and high-hearted nature caught up the 
 enthusiasm of a spirit like his own ; and as for Sybella, 
 the charm of Sir Archy's mannei', whose perfection was its 
 adaptation to the society of ladies, delighted her greatly, 
 and she soon forgot any slight inclination to smile at the 
 precision of language, where deep sound sense and high 
 feeling were conveyed with only the fault of pedantry. 
 While thus agreeably engaged on all sides, the door 
 opened, and Kate entered, but so noiselessly withal, that
 
 A MORNING VISIT. 209 
 
 she was in the midst of the party before they knew of her 
 approach. Recognizing Frederick Travers with a gra- 
 cious smile, she received Sir Marmaduke's salutation 
 with a deep courtesy, and then, as if similarity of years 
 required a less cei^emonious introduction, took her seat 
 beside Miss Travers, with an air of mingled kindness and 
 cordiality she so well knew how to assume. As in au 
 orchestra, amid the swell of many instruments, where 
 deep-toned thunders mingle with sounds of softer in- 
 fluence, some one strain will rise, from time to time, 
 suggestive of feelings apart from the rest, with higher 
 and nobler sympathies around it, so did her voice, heard 
 among the others, sound thus sweetly. Her words came 
 winged with a fine expression, which look and gesture 
 could alone give them, and in the changing colour of her 
 cheek, her brilliant brow, her lips, even in silence eloquent^ 
 there was a character of loveliness as much above mere 
 beauty as life transcends the marble. The more perfect 
 regularity of Sybella's features, their classic outline, their 
 chaste correctness in every line and lineament, seemed 
 cold and inanimate when contrasted with the more ex- 
 pressive loveliness of Kate O'Donoghue. The fearless 
 character of her mind, too, was blended with so much of 
 womanly delicacy and refinement, the wish to please so 
 associated with a seeming forgetfulness of self, that every 
 act and every gesture teemed with a charm of interest for 
 which there is no word save " fascination ; " even that 
 slightly foreign accent, of which we have already spoken, 
 served to individualize all she said, and left it graven on 
 the heart long after the words were spoken. 
 
 Frederick Travers watched with eager delight the effects 
 these gifts were producing upon his sister. He saw the 
 pleasure with which Sybella listened ; he recognized, 
 even already, the symptoms of that conquest by which 
 mind subdues mind, and was overjoyed as he looked. 
 
 To Sir Marmaduke's gracefully expressed hope that 
 this visit should form a prelude to their nearer intimacy, 
 the O'Donoghue, with a touch of sadness in his t^oice, 
 replied that he himself was an invalid, whose steps never 
 wandered beyond the precincts of his home ; but his 
 brother-in-law, and his niece, and the boys, they would all,, 
 he was certain, avail themselves of such a neighbourhood, 
 
 P
 
 210 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 Sir Arcliibald bowed low, and somewhat stiffly, per- 
 haps, in accordance with a pledge thus given without his 
 concurrence ; but Herbert's bright eyes grew brighter, 
 and his cheek flushed with delight at the bare anticipa- 
 tion of the thought. 
 
 "And you, Miss O'Donoghue," said Sir Marmaduke, 
 turning towards Kate, " our humble libraiy at the Lodge 
 is perfectly at your service ; the only condition we ask is, 
 that you come and choose from it in person." 
 
 " That promise is already most kindly made, father," 
 inteiTupted Sybella, whose pleased look showed how she 
 had been captivated by her new friend. 
 
 While their smiles and gi-acious words went I'ound, the 
 door was suddenly opened by Kerry O'Leary, who, for- 
 getful of the visitors in his eager anxiety as the bearer of 
 news, cried out, — 
 
 " There's a shindy, master dear ! Such a row ! May I 
 never die in sin if ever I seen the equal of it ! " 
 
 " What does he mean ? — is the fellow mad ? " cried the 
 O'Donoghue, angrily, while Sir Archy, bending on him a 
 most ominous frown, muttered, — 
 
 " Have ye lost a' decency together. Ye daft loon, what 
 ails ye?" 
 
 " I ax your pardon, and the quality's pardon," said 
 Kerry, with an expression of abject misery for his un- 
 ceremonious entree ; " but, if you seen it, sorra bit but 
 you'd forgive me." 
 
 "There has been good fun somewhere, I'm certain," 
 cried out Frederick Travers, whose curiosity to learn 
 Kerry's intelligence could no longer be repressed. 
 
 "What is it, then, Kerry?" said the O'Donoghue. 
 "Let us hear it all." 
 
 " 'Tis Master Mark, good luck to him ! " cried Kerry, 
 overjoyed at the permission to speak out freely. " He 
 was over at Ballyvourney with the greyhounds, when he 
 seen that dirty spalpeen, Sam Wylie, wid a process- 
 sarver along wid him, noticin' the tenants. The sarver 
 was a stranger, and he didn't touch him ; but he made 
 the boys put Sam on Nick Malone's mule, and give him a 
 fair start, and they run him down the mountain, with a 
 fine view, and ran into him here at the horse-pond, where 
 the mule flung him head over heels ; and begorra, yoi\
 
 A MORNING VISIT. 211 
 
 wouldn't know 'twas a Christian, if you seen liim this 
 minit dripping wet, and the duckweed all hanging round 
 him ; and he's running still, for he thinks Master Mark 
 will take the life of him before he stops." 
 
 A roar of laughter from - Frederick, joined in by 
 Herbert, and at last by the O'Donoghue himself, for some 
 moments prevented a word of commentary on this out- 
 rageous proceeding, when Sir Marmaduke, rising slowly, 
 said, — 
 
 " I am a stranger here, very ignorant of the country 
 and its habits ; but I have yet to learn that any man, in 
 the just discharge of his duty, should be thus treated. I 
 call upon you, sir, to investigate this affair, and if it be 
 as we have heard it, to make reparation " 
 
 " Ye hae muckle reason for what ye say, sir," interposed 
 Sir Archy ; " but the freaks and follies o' young men hae 
 a license here I doubt ye are na used to." 
 
 " I'll lay my life on it Mai-k was right," called out the 
 O'Donoghue. " The boy never makes any mistake in 
 these matters." 
 
 "If the fellow were insolent," said Frederick, "your 
 son has served him properly." 
 
 Kate smiled at the speaker a look of gratitude, which 
 amply repaid him for coming thus promptly to the rescue. 
 
 " It may be so," said Sir Marmaduke, happy at such a 
 means of escaping from a farther prosecution of a most 
 unpleasant topic. 
 
 "The captain's guessed it well," cried Kerry. "The spal- 
 peen tould Master Mark that he'd be up here to-morrow 
 wid a notice for the master himself, and it would go 
 hard but he'd see us out of the place before Easter." 
 
 " Is this possible?" said Sir Marmaduke, blushing 
 deeply. " I beg, my dear sir, that you will forgive any 
 hasty expression I may have used." 
 
 " 1 can forgive the lad myself," said Sir Archy, proudly. 
 
 "Not I, then, uncle," interposed Kate — " not I. Mark 
 should have horsewhipped the fellow w-thin an inch of 
 his life." 
 
 Sybella Travers started at the energy of voice and 
 manner which accompanied these words ; while the 
 O'Donoghue, rising from his chair, came slowly across 
 the hearth, and imprinted a kiss upon Kate's forehead. 
 
 V 2
 
 212 THE o'doxoghue. 
 
 " You're one of tlie raal stock — there's no denying it," 
 muttered Kerry, as he gazed on her with an expression of 
 almost worship. " 'Tis blood that never gives in — divil a 
 lie in it!" 
 
 Herbert, who alone had witnessed the unfriendly meet- 
 ing between his brother and young Travers, turned a 
 pleasant smile at the latter, as he half whispered, — 
 
 " This was very kind of yo?/." 
 
 It would have been a difficult — nay, an almost impos- 
 sible task, to recall the tone and temper of the party 
 previous to this unhappy interruption. All Sir Marma- 
 duke's efforts to resume the conversation had lost their 
 former ease — the O'Donoghue himself was disconcerted ; 
 for he was not quite certain what were Sir Marmaduke's 
 words on the occasion, and how far he should feel called 
 upon to demand a retractation, and Sir Archibald, fretful 
 and annoyed at the impression Mark's conduct would 
 convey of the habits and temper of the house, felt his task 
 a severe one to assume an air of serenity and quietude. 
 
 Frederick Travers alone seemed hajDpy and delighted. 
 The sudden expression of Kate O'Donoghue's opinion, so 
 utterly unlike anything he had ever heard before from a 
 young lady's lips, took him as much by surprise as the 
 spii'it pleased him ; and he would willingly have engaged 
 to horsewhip a dozen process-servers for another glance of 
 her flashing eyes as she delivered the words ; while Sybella 
 could not help a sentiment bordering on fear, for one who, 
 young as herself, gifted with every womanly attribute of 
 grace and loveliness, hadyetcvinced a degree of impetuosity 
 and passion she could not reconcile with such attractions. 
 As for Kate, the sentiment had evoked no stir within her 
 bosom. It was a wish as naturally expressed as it was 
 felt, and all the surprise the others experienced at her 
 words would have been nothing to her own to have known 
 of their astonishment. 
 
 The visit soon came to a termination, and Sir Marma- 
 duke, having succeeded in a great degree in restoring the 
 favourable impression he had at first obtained, took his 
 leave of the O'Donoghue, and then, addressing Sir Archy, 
 said, — 
 
 " You, sir, I rejoice to Irarn, are not an invalid. May I 
 expect the happiness of seeing you sometimes ? "
 
 A MORNING VISIT. 213 
 
 Sir Arcliy bowed deeply, and, with a motion of his hand 
 towards Miss Travcrs, replied, — 
 
 " I have already made an engagement here, sir." 
 
 " Yes," said S^^bella, to whom this speech seemed half 
 addressed, " Sir Archibald has been kind enough to offer 
 me his guidance up the glen, where there are several 
 points of view finer than any I have seen." 
 
 Emboldened by the success of these advances. Sir 
 Marmaduke, with a courtesy he was perfect master of, 
 requested the party would not delay their kind intentions, 
 but favour him with their company the following day. 
 
 It is doubtful whether Sir Archy might not have 
 declined a more formal invitation ; but there seemed 
 something so frank in the abruptness of the present, that 
 he acceded at once ; and Kate having also pledged herself 
 to accompany him, their greetings were interchanged, and 
 they parted. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 BOMB OPPOSITE TRAITS OP CHARACTER. 
 
 It may seem strange, and almost paradoxical — but so it 
 was — Kate O'Donoghue's presence appeared to have 
 wrought a most magical change in the whole household of 
 the O'Donoghue. The efforts they themselves made to 
 ward off the semblance of their fallen estate induced a 
 happier frame of mind than that which resulted from 
 daily brooding over their misfortunes : the very strug§pte 
 elicited a courage they had left long in disuse ; and the 
 cheerfulness which at first was but assumed, grew gradu- 
 ally more and more natural. To the O'Donoghue, who, 
 for many a day, desired no more than to fend off the evil 
 in his own brief time — who, with the selfishness of an old 
 age passed in continual confiict with poverty, only sought 
 a life interest in their bettered fortunes — she was a boon 
 above all price. Hei' light step, her lighter laugh, her
 
 214 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 mirthful tone of conversation, -witTi its many anecdotes 
 and stories of places and people lie had not heard of 
 before, were resoui-ces against gloom that never failed. 
 
 Sir Archy, too, felt a return to the old associations of 
 his youth in the presence of a young, beautiful, and accom- 
 plished girl, whose gracefulness and elegance threw a halo 
 around her as she went, and made of that old and crum- 
 bling tower, dark with neglect, and sad with time, a salon, 
 teeming with its many appliances against depression, 
 where she herself, ai*med with so many fascinations, dis- 
 pensed cheerfulness and bliss on all about her. Nor was 
 he selfish in all this. He marked with delight the impres- 
 sion made upon his favourite Herbert by his cousin's 
 attractive manners. How insensibly, as it were, the boy 
 was won from ruder pursuits and coarser pleasures, to sit 
 beside her as she sang, or near her as she read ; with what 
 intei'est he pursued his lessons in French beneath her 
 tuition, and the ardour with which he followed every plan 
 of study suggested by her. Sir Archibald saw all these 
 things, and calculated on their result with accuracy. He 
 foresaw how Kate's attractive gifts would throw into the 
 shade the ruder tastes the boy's condition in life might 
 expose him to adopt, and thus aid him in the great object 
 of his whole existence — to save him, at least, from the 
 wreck of his house. 
 
 Mai'k alone seemed untouched by her presence, save that 
 the wild excesses of high spirit, to which from time to 
 time he ever gave way, were now gone, and, in their place, 
 a deep gloom, a morosencss of character succeeded, ren- 
 dering him usually silent before her, or sunk in his own 
 saddening reflections. Kate would sometimes adventure 
 to disperse the dark clouds from his mind, but ever without 
 success; he either felt annoyed at being the subject of 
 remark, or left the room ; so that at last she abandoned 
 the effort, hoping that time and its changes would effect 
 what the present denied. Perhaps, too, she had reasons 
 for this hope. More than once, with womanly quickness, 
 had she marked how he had stood with his eye fixed upon 
 her, unconscious of being seen ; how, when about to leave 
 the room, he would loiter about, as if in search of some- 
 thing, but, in reality, to listen to the song she was singing. 
 Still, she showed no sign of having seen these things, but
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OF CHAEACTER. 215 
 
 always, in her air towards him, affected a careless ease of 
 manner as like bis own as possible. For days, sometimes 
 for an entire week, he would absent himself from home ; 
 and, as he was never submissive to much questioning, his 
 ajipearance called forth no other remark than some passing 
 observation of what had occurred in his absence, but which 
 drew from him no interchange of confidence. 
 
 These symptoms of Mark's altered character made a 
 deeper impression on his father than events of gi'eater 
 moment could have done. He watched every movement 
 and expression of his favourite son, to catch some clue to 
 the change ; but all in vain. The young man never, by 
 any accident, alluded to himself, nor did he often now 
 advert to the circumstances of the family difficulties ; on 
 the contrary, a lethargic carelessness seemed to brood over 
 him, and he went about like one who had lost all zest for 
 life, and all care for its enjoyments. 
 
 The O'Donoghue was too well versed in the character 
 of his son to hope for auy elucidation of the mystery by a 
 mere inquiry ; so that he was left to speculate on the 
 many causes which might have operated the change, and 
 divine, as well as he was able, the secret grief that affected 
 him. In this pursuit, like all who have long suffered the 
 pressure of a particular calamity, he ever felt disposed to 
 ascribe Mark's suffering to the same cause which produced 
 his own, namely, the fallen fortunes of the house, and the 
 ruin that hung over them. Yet, somehow, of late, matters 
 had taken a turn more favourable. His attorney at Cork 
 had informed him, that from some informality in the 
 proceedings, the ejectment was stopped, at least for the 
 present term. The notices to the tenants not to pay were 
 withdrawn, and the rents came in as before ; and the only 
 very pressing evil were the bills, the renewal of which 
 demanded a considerable sum of ready money. That this 
 one misfortune should occasion a gloom the accumulated 
 griefs of former days had not done, he could not under- 
 stand ; but by long musing on the matter, and deep 
 reflection, he at last came to the conviction that such was 
 the case, and that Mark's sorrow was the greater from 
 seeing how near they were to a more favourable issue to 
 their affairs, and yet how fatally debai'red from such a 
 consummation by this one disastrous circumstance.
 
 ^16 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 The drowning man grasps not the straw with more 
 avidity than does the harassed and wearied mind, agitated 
 by doubts, and worn out with conjectures, seize upon 
 some one apparent solution to a difficulty that has long 
 oppressed it, and, for the very moment, convert every pass- 
 ing circumstance into an argument for its truthfulness. 
 The O'Donoghue now saw, or believed he saw, why Mark 
 would never accompany the others in their visits to the 
 Lodge, nor be present when any of the Travers family 
 came to the castle ; he immediately accounted for his sou's 
 rejection of the proffered civilities, by that wounded pride 
 which made him feel his present position so painfully, and, 
 as the future head of the house, grieve over a state so 
 unbecoming to its former fortunes. 
 
 " The poor fellow," said he, "is too high-spirited to be 
 a guest to those he cannot be a host. Noble boy ! the old 
 blood flows strongly in your veins, at least." 
 
 How to combat this evil now became his sole thought. 
 He mused over it by day — he dreamed of it by night. 
 Hour by hour he endured the harassing tortures of a 
 poverty whose struggles were all abortive, and whose 
 repulses came without ceasing. Each plan he thought of 
 ■was met by obstacles innumerable ; and when, worn out 
 with unproiitable schemes, he had resulved on abandoning 
 the subject for ever, the sight of Mark's wasted cheek and 
 sunken eye rallied \\m\ again to an effort, which, each time, 
 he vowed should be the last. 
 
 The old and often successful remedies to rally him from 
 his low spirits his father possessed no longer — the indul- 
 gence of some caprice, some momentaiy fancy for a horse 
 or a hound — a boat or a fishing-rod. He felt, besides, that 
 his grief, whatever it was, lay too deep for such surface 
 measures as these, and ho pondered long and anxiously 
 over the matter. Nor had he one to share his sorrow, or 
 assist him with advice. Sir Archibald he ever regarded 
 as being prejudiced against Mark, and invariably more 
 disposed to exaggerate than extenuate his faults. To have 
 opened his heart to him would be to expose himself to 
 Bome very plausible, but, as he would deem them, very 
 impracticable remarks, on frugality and order — the neces- 
 sity of submitting to altered fortunes — and, if need be, of 
 undertaking some humble but honest occupation as a liveli-
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 217 
 
 hood. These, and sucli like, had more than once been, 
 intruded upon him ; but to seek and court them, to invite 
 their presence, was not to be thought of. 
 
 Kerry O'Leary was, then, the only one who remained ; 
 and they who know the intimacy to which old servants, 
 long conversant with the fortunes of the family, and deemed 
 faithful, because, from utter inutility, they are attached to 
 the house that shelters them, are admitted in Irish house- 
 holds, will not be surprised at the choice of the confidant. 
 He, I say, was the O'Donoghue's last resource; and from 
 him he still hoped to gain some clue, at least, to the secret 
 of this mystery. Scarcely had the O'Douoghue retired to 
 liis I'oom at night, when Kerry was summoned to his pre- 
 sence, and after a few preliminaries, was asked if he knew 
 where, how, or with whom his young master latterly spent 
 his time. 
 
 " Faix, and 'tis that same does be puzzling myself," said 
 Kerry, to whom the matter had already been otic of con- 
 siderable curiosity. " Sometimes I think one thing, and 
 then I think another — but it beats me entirely." 
 " What were your thoughts then, Kerry ?" 
 " 'Twas Tuesday last 1 suspected Joe Lenahan's daughter 
 — the fair-haired girl, above at the three meadows ; then 
 I took it into my head it might be a badger he was after 
 — for he was for ever going along by the bank of the river ; 
 but, twice in the week, I was sure I had him — and faix, I 
 think, maybe I have." 
 
 " How is that, Kerry ? Tell me at once, man !" 
 " It's a fine brown beast Lanty Lawler has — a strapping 
 four-year-old, as likely a weight-carrier as ever I seen — 
 that's what he's after — sorra lie in it. I obsarved him, on 
 Friday, taking him over the big fences beyant the whin- 
 field — and I measured his tracks — and may I never die in 
 Bin if he didn't stride nineteen feet over the yallow ditch." 
 " Do you know what he's asking for him, Kerry ? " cried 
 the old man, eagerly. 
 
 *' His weight in goold, I heerd say ; for the captain, up. 
 at the Lodge, will give him his own price for any beast 
 will make a charger — and three hundred guineas Lanty 
 expects for the same horse. Ayeh ! he's a play-actor is 
 Lanty, and knows how to rub the gentlemen down with a 
 damp wisf)."
 
 218 THE o'd oghue. 
 
 " And you think that's it, Kerry ? " 
 
 " I'll take the vestment it's not far off it. I never hecrd 
 Master Mark give a cheer out of him going over a fence 
 that he hadn't a conceit out of the beast under him. 
 ' Whoop ! ' says he, throwing up his whip hand, ' this way.' 
 ' Your heart's in him,' says I, ' and 'tis a murther he isn't 
 your own.' " 
 
 " You may leave me, Kerry," said the old man, sighing 
 heavily ; " 'tis getting near twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Good night, sir, and a safe rest to you." 
 
 "Wait a moment — stay a few minutes. Are they in the 
 drawing-room still ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I heerd Miss Kate singing as I came up the 
 stairs." 
 
 " Well, Kerry, I want you to wait till she is leaving the 
 room, and just whisper to her — mind now, for your life, 
 that nobody sees nor hears you — just say that I wish to 
 see her up here for a few seconds to-night. Do you under- 
 stand me?" 
 
 " Never fear, sir, I'll do it, and sorra one the wiser." 
 
 Kerry left the apartment as he spoke, nor was his master 
 long doomed to suspense, for immediately after a gentle 
 tap at the door announced Kate's presence there. 
 
 " Sit down there, my darling Kate," cried the O'Donog- 
 hue, placing a chair beside his own, " and let me have five 
 minutes' talk with you." 
 
 The young girl obeyed with a smile, and returned the 
 pressure of her uncle's hand with warmth. 
 
 " Kate, my child," said he — speaking with evident 
 difficulty and embarrassment, and tixii;g his eyes, not on 
 her, but towards the fire, as he spoke — " Kate, you have 
 come to a sad and cheerless home, with few comforts, with 
 no pleasure for one so young and so lovely as you are." 
 
 " My dear uncle, how can you speak thus to me ? Can 
 you separate me in your heart from your othei children ? 
 Mark and Herbert make no complaint — do you think that 
 I could do so?" 
 
 " They are very different from you, my sweet child. The 
 moss-rose will not bear the storms of winter that the wild 
 thorn can brave without danger. To you this dreary 
 house must be a prison. I know it — I feel it." 
 
 *' Nay, nay, uncle. If you think thus, it must be my
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 219 
 
 fault — some piece of wilfulness of mine could alone have 
 made you suppose me discontented ; but I am not so — far 
 from it. I love dear old Sir Archy and my cousins dearly ; 
 yes, and my uncle Miles too, though he seems anxious to 
 get rid of me." 
 
 The old man pi^essed her fingers to his lips, and turned 
 avfuy his head. 
 
 " Come, Kate," said he, after a brief pause, '' it was with 
 no intention of that kind 1 spoke. We could none of us 
 live without you now. My thoughts had a very difi'erent 
 object." 
 
 " And that was " 
 
 " Simply this " — and here he made a great effort, and 
 spoke rapidly, as if fearing to dwell on the words — " law- 
 suits and knavish attorneys have wasted three-foui"ths of 
 my estate — the remainder I scarcely know if I be its 
 master or not ; on that portion, however, the old house 
 stands, and the few acres that survive the wreck. At this 
 moment heavy proceedings are pending in the courts, if 
 successful in which, I shall be left in possession of the 
 home of my father, and not turned adrift upon the world, 
 a beggar. There — don't look so pale, child — the story is 
 an old one now, and has few terrors for us as long as it 
 remains merely anticipated evil. This is a sad tale for 
 your ears — I know it," said he, wiping away a tear that 
 would come in spite of him. 
 
 Both were now silent. The old man paused, uncertain 
 how he should proceed farther. Kate spoke not ; for as 
 yet she could neither see the drift of the communication, 
 nor, if it were in any way addressed to her, what part she 
 was expected to take in the matter. 
 
 " Are you aware, my dear,'"' resumed he, after a con- 
 siderable delay, " that your father was married to your 
 mother when she was but sixteen ? " 
 
 " I have often heard she was scarcely more than a 
 child," said Kate, timidly, for she had no recollection of 
 having seen either of her parents. 
 
 " A child in years, love, she was, but a woman in grace, 
 good sense, and accomplishments — in fact, so fortunate 
 was my poor brother in his choice, he ever regarded the 
 youthfulness of his wife as one of the reasons of that 
 amiability of teniper she possessed. Often have we talked
 
 220 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 of tliis together, and nothing could convince him to the 
 contrary, as if, had the soil been unfruitful, the tares and 
 the thistles had not been as abundant a crop as the good 
 fruit really was. He acted on his conviction, however, 
 Kate ; for he determined, if ever he had a daughter, she 
 should be of age at sixteen — the period of life her mother 
 was married at. I endeavoured to dissuade him, I did 
 my best to expose the dangers and difficulties of such a 
 plan. Perhaps, dearest, I should have been less obstinate 
 in argument had I been prophetic enough to know what 
 my niece would be ; but it was all in vain. The idea had 
 become a dominant one with him, and I was obliged to 
 yield. And now, Kate, after the long lapse of years — for 
 the conversation I allude to took place a great while ago 
 — it is my lot to say, that my brother was right and I was 
 wrong; that he foresaw with a truer spirit the events of 
 the future than was permitted to me. You were of age 
 two months since." 
 
 The young girl listened with eager curiosity to every 
 word that fell from her uncle's lips, and seemed disap- 
 pointed when he ceased to speak. To have gone thus far, 
 and no farther, did not satisfy her mind, and she waited 
 with impatience for him to continue. 
 
 " I see, my child," said he, gently, "you are not aware 
 of the proceedings of coming of age ; you have not heard, 
 perhaps, that, as your guardian, I hold in my hands the 
 fortune your father bequeathed to you. It was his por- 
 tion as a younger son ; for, poor fellow ! he had the family 
 failing, and never could live within his income. Your ten 
 thousand — he always called it yours — he never encroached 
 upon — and that sum, at least, is secured to you." 
 
 Although Kate knew that her uncle was her guardian, 
 and had heard that some property would revert to her, 
 what its amount was she had not the most remote idea of, 
 nor that her power over it should commence so soon. 
 
 " I see, uncle — I understand all you sa}^," said she 
 hurriedly ; " I am of age, and the owner of ten thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 The tone of decision she employed half terrified the 
 O'Donoghuc for the prudence of his communication, and 
 he almost hesitated to answer her directly — " Yes, my 
 child, it is a rent-chai'ge — a "
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TEAITS OF CHARACTER. 221 
 
 " I care not for the name, sir. Does it represent the 
 value ? '' 
 
 " Unquestionably it does." 
 
 " Take it, then, dearest uncle," said she, flinging her- 
 self upon his neck — " take it, and use it, so that it may 
 bring some comfort to youi'self — some ease of mind, at 
 least, and make your home a happier one. What need to 
 think of the boys? Mark and Herbert are not of the 
 mould that need fear failure, whatever path they follow ; 
 and as for me, when you grow weary of me, the Sacre 
 Coeur will gladly take me back. Indeed, they feel their 
 work of conversion of me but very imperfectly executed," 
 added she, smiling ; " and the dear nuns would be well 
 pleased to finish their task." 
 
 " Kate, my child — my own darling," cried the old man, 
 clasping her to his heart, " this may not — this cannot be." 
 
 "It must, and it shall be, uncle," said she, resolutely. 
 " If my dear father's will be not a nullity, I have power 
 over my fortune." 
 
 " But not to effect your ruin, Kate." 
 
 "No, sir, nor shall I. Will my dear uncle love me less 
 for the consciousness in my own heart that I am doing 
 right ? Will he have a smile the less for me, that I can 
 return it with an affection warmer from veiy happiness ? 
 I cannot believe this; nor can I think that you would 
 render your brother's daug-hter unworthy of her father. 
 You would not refuse Mm." Her lip trembled, and her 
 eyes grew full as she uttered the last few words, in a 
 voice every word of which went to the old man's heart. 
 
 " There is but one way, Kate." 
 
 " What need of more, uncle ? Do we want a choice of 
 roads, if we see a straight path before us ? " 
 
 " Yes, dearest ; but it will be said that I should not have 
 suffered you to do this. That in accepting a loan " 
 
 " A loan ! " uttered she, reproachfully. 
 
 " As that, or nothing, can I ever touch a farthing of it," 
 replied the O'Donoghue. " No, no ! Distress and hardship 
 have been a weary load this many a year; but all sense of 
 honour is not yet obliterated in this poor heart ! " 
 
 "Beit as you please, my dear, dear uncle," said the 
 affectionate girl ; " only let it not cost you another painful 
 thought, to rob me of so many happy ones. There now,
 
 222 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 wo must never speak of this any more ; " and, so saying, 
 she kissed him twice, and rose from her chair. " We are 
 going to the Lodge to-morrow, to spend the day ; Herbert 
 is so well that he comes with us." 
 
 "And Mark— what of him, dearest?" 
 
 " Mark will he none of us, sir. We are either too gay, 
 or too frivolous, or too silly, or too something or otlaer, 
 for his solemn humour, and he only frowns and stares at 
 us ; but all that will pass away soon ; I shall find the key 
 to his temper yet, and then make him pay for all his 
 arrears of sulkiness." 
 
 *' It is our changed condition, my love, that has made 
 him thus," said the father, anxious to excuse the young 
 man's morose habits, 
 
 " The poorer courage his, then," replied the high- 
 spirited girl ; " I have no patience for a man who acts but 
 the looking-glass to fortune — frowns when she frowns, and 
 smiles when she smiles. No ! Give me the temper that can 
 enjoy the sunshine and brave the storm — take all the good 
 the world affords, and show a bold heart to resist the evil." 
 
 " My own brother, my poor dear Mark, spoke there," cried 
 the old man in an ecstasy, as, springing up, he flung his arms 
 about her ; " and that's your philosophy, sweet Kate ? " 
 
 " Even so ; the stout heai-t to the stae brae, as Sir 
 Archy Avould call it, and as he mutters every evening he 
 has to climb the steep stair towards his bedroom. And 
 now, good night, dear uncle, good night." 
 
 With an affectionate greeting the old man took his leave 
 of her for the night and sat down, in a frnme of mingled 
 happiness and shame, to think over what had passed. 
 
 The O'Donoghue was very far from feeling satisfied 
 with himself for what he had done. Had Kate been at 
 all difficult of persuasion — had she yielded to his argu- 
 ments, or been convinced by any explanations of his views, 
 he Avould soon have reconciled himself to the act as one 
 in which both parties concurred. Far from this ; he saw 
 that her only motive was affection ; that she would listen 
 to nothing save the promptings of her own warm heart ; 
 she would not let him even exculpate himself from the 
 charge of his own conscience ; and, although acquitted by 
 her, he felt the guilt still upon him. 
 
 There was a tiaie when he would not have stooped to
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TEAIT3 OF CHARACTER. 223 
 
 such a course ; but then he was rich — rich in the world's 
 wealth, and the honour such affluence suggests ; for, alas ! 
 humbling as the avowal may seem, the noble traits so 
 often admired in prosperity are but the promptings of a 
 spirit revelling in its own enjoyment — open-handed and 
 generous, because these qualities are luxuries ; free to 
 give, because the giving involves gratitude ; and gratitude 
 is the incense of weakness to power — of poverty to wealth. 
 How often are the warm affections, nurtured by happy cir- 
 cumstances, mistaken for the evidence of right principles ? 
 How frequently are the pleasurable impulses of the heart 
 confounded with the well-directed judgments of the mind. 
 This man was less changed than he knew of — the world 
 of his circumstances was, indeed, different, but he was 
 little altered ; the same selfishness that once made him 
 munificent now made him mean ; but, whether conferring 
 or accepting favours, the spirit was one. 
 
 Besides, how ingenious is the mind in suggesting plau- 
 sible reasons for its indulgences ! — how naturally easy did 
 it seem to borrow and repay ! The very words satisfied 
 his scruples on that score ; but if he were indeed so con- 
 tented with himself, why did he fear lest any one should 
 ever learn the circumstance ? Why cower with shame 
 before himself to think of his brother-in-law, or even 
 Mark, hearing of it ? Were these the signs of conscious 
 rectitude, or were they the evidence of a spirit soaking 
 rest in casuistry and self-deception ? In this conflict 
 of alternate approval and condemnation he passed the 
 greater part of the night — sometimes a struggling sense 
 of honour urging him to regret a course so fraught with 
 humiliations of every kind ; and again a thrill of delight 
 would run through his heart to think of all the pleasure 
 he could confer upon his favourixe boy — the indulgences 
 he could once more shower upon him. He fancied the 
 happiness of emancipation from pressing difficulties, and 
 how instinctively Mark's buoyant temper would take the 
 tone of their altered fortunes, and ho once again become 
 the gay and reckless youth he loved to see him. 
 
 " He must have that brown horse Kerry speaks of," 
 muttered he to himself. " Sir Marmaduke shall not out- 
 bid us there, and we'll see which of the two best becomes 
 his saddle. I'll back my own boy against his scarlet-
 
 224 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 coated fop for a thousand. They've got some couples of 
 dogs, too, Kerry was telling me, up the mountains. We 
 must inquire about them ; with eight or ten couple Mark 
 could have good sport in the glen. Then thex'e's those 
 bills of Callaghan's — but he'll not press hard when he sees 
 we've money. Cassidy must get his ^800, and so he 
 shall ; and that scoundrel, Swaby, will be sending in his 
 bill of costs ; but a couple of hundred jjounds ought to 
 stop his mouth. Archy, too, — by Jove, I forget how 
 much I owe him now ; but he doesn't, I'll warrant him. 
 Well, well, if it won't stop the leak, it will at least give 
 us time to work the pumps — ay, time, time !" He asked 
 for no more ; he only sought to reach the haven himself, 
 and cared nothing what happened the craft nor the crew 
 aftei'wards. 
 
 His next thought was how to effect all the legal 
 arrangements in these complicated matters without the 
 knowledge of Mark or Sir Archy; and on this difficult 
 point he spent till nigh morning deliberating. The only 
 mode he could think of was by writing to Swaby himself, 
 and making him aware of the whole proceeding. That, 
 of course, would be attended by. its own penalties, as 
 Swaby would take care that his own costs were among the 
 first things to be liquidated ; but yet it seemed the sole 
 course open to him, and with the resolve to do this on the 
 morrow he turned on his pillow and fell asleep. 
 
 The morning broke with happiness to the uncle and the 
 niece, but it was a happiness of a very different order. To 
 him, the relief of mind for the long harassing cares of 
 debt and difficulty was a boon of inestimable price — life 
 and liberty at once to the imprisoned spirit of his proud 
 lieart. To her, the higher and nobler sense of gratifica- 
 tion which flows from having acted well, sent a thrill of 
 ecstasy through her bosom such as only gentle and gener- 
 ous youth can ever feel. And thus, while the O'Donoghue 
 mused over the enjoyments and pleasures his new acces- 
 sion of wealth might place at his disposal, she revelled 
 in the delight of having ministered to the happiness of 
 one she had always regarded as a father, and even felt 
 grateful to him for the emotions of her own heart. 
 
 The O'Donoghue's first thought on awaking was to 
 employ this large sum to liquidate some of his most press-
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OP CHARACTER. 225 
 
 ing debts, and to make such arrangements as might enable 
 them to live economically but comfortably, paying off 
 those creditors whose exorbitant interest was consuming 
 all the remnant of his income, and entering into contracts 
 with others for the gradual repayment of loans. The 
 more he reflected on these good intentions, the less pleasure 
 did they yield him. He had for years past tauglat himself 
 to regard a creditor as an implacable enemy. The very 
 idea of succumbing smacked of defeat. He had defied 
 the law so long, it looked like cowardice to surrender now; 
 besides, the very complication of his affairs offered an 
 excuse which he was not slow to catch at. How could he 
 pay Cassidy in full, and only give Hickson a part ? Would 
 not the mere rumour of his paying off his debts bring 
 down a host of demands that had almost slumbered them- 
 selves out of existence. He had often heard that his 
 grandfather "muddled away his fortune paying small 
 debts." It could not be supposed he would reject the 
 traditions of his own house — nor did he. 
 
 He judged wisely, if not well, that new habits of 
 expenditure would do more to silence the complaints of 
 duns than the most accurately calculated system of liquid- 
 ation. That entertainments and equipages, a stable full of 
 horses, and a house crammed with guests, are a receipt in 
 full for solvency, which, however some may distrust, none 
 are bold enough to question openly. 
 
 If the plan had fewer excellences, it at least suited him 
 better ; and he certainly opened the campaign with vigour. 
 No sooner had he decided on his line of acting, than 
 he despatched Kerry O'Leary to Cork with a letter for 
 Svvaby, his attorney, requiring his immediate presence at 
 Carrignacurra, and adding, " that if he brought a couple 
 of hundred pounds over with him at the same time, he 
 might include them with the costs, and get a cheque for 
 the whole together." 
 
 As the old man sealed his epistle, he chuckled over the 
 thoughts of Swaby's astonishment, and fancied the many 
 guesses the crafty attorney would frame to account for 
 such unexpected prosperity. The little remaining sorrow- 
 he felt for his share in the transaction gave way to the 
 vulgar pleasure of this surprise ; for so it is, the conflict 
 with poverty can debase the mind, and make the very 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 straits and stratagems of want seem straits of cleverness 
 and ability. 
 
 It was a day of pleasure almost to all. Sir Archy, 
 dressed in a suit whicli had not seen daylight for many a 
 previous year, gaVe his arm to Kate, and, accompanied by 
 Herbert, set out to pass the day at the Lodge. Mark alone 
 had no participation jn the general joy ; he stood with 
 folded arms at the window of the old tower, and gazed on 
 the group that moved along the road. Although he never 
 thought of accompanying them, there was a sense of deser- 
 tion in his position of which he could not divest himself. 
 With the idea of the pleasure their visit would afford them 
 came the reflection that he was debarred from his share of 
 such enjoyment, and the galling feeling of inferiority sent 
 the blood with a throbbing current through his temples, 
 and covered his face with a deep flush. He retorted his 
 own isolation against those he had so strenuously avoided, 
 and accused them of the very fault of which he was him- 
 self guilty. " My uncle is more distant to me than ever," 
 muttered he, " and even Herbert, too, — Herbert, that used 
 to look up to and rely on me — even he shuns me.'' He 
 did not utter his cousin's name, but a single tear, that 
 rolled heavily down his cheek, and seemed to make it 
 tremble as it passed, showed that another and a deeper 
 spring of sorrow was opened in his heart. With a sudden 
 gesture of impatience he roused himself from his musing, 
 and hastily descending the stair, he crossed the old court- 
 yard, and, without any fixed resolve as to his course, 
 walked down the road ; nor was it until after proceeding 
 some distance that he perceived he was rapidly gaining 
 on the little party on their way to the Lodge ; then he 
 quitted the high road, and soon lost himself in one of 
 the mountain glens. 
 
 As for the others, it was indeed a day of unaccustomed 
 pleasure, and such as rarely presented itself in that solitary 
 valley. All that kindness and hospitality could suggest 
 was done by the family at the Lodge to make their visit 
 agreeable ; and while Sir Marmaduke vied with his son 
 and daughter in courteous attentions to his guests, they, 
 on their part, displayed the happy consciousness of these 
 civilities by efforts to please not less successful. 
 
 Sir Archy — albeit the faculty had long lain in disuse —
 
 SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 227 
 
 was possessed of conversational powei's of a high order, 
 and could blend his observation of passing events with 
 the wisdom derived from reflection, and the experience of 
 long intercourse with the world ; while, as if to relieve 
 the sombre colouring of his thoughts, Kate's lively sallies 
 and sparkling repartees lit up the picture, and gave it 
 both brilliancy and action. The conversation ranged freely 
 over the topics which form the staple of polite intercourse 
 in the world of the cultivated and the fashionable ; and 
 although Sir Archy had long been removed from such 
 companionship, it was easy to perceive how naturally he 
 could revert to a class of subjects with -which he had once 
 been familiar. 
 
 It was thus alternating remarks of the past with allu- 
 sions to the present — mingling grave and gay, with that 
 happy blending which springs from the social intercourse 
 of different ages — they sat, after dinner, watching, 
 through the unshuttered window, the bright moonlight 
 that streamed across the glen and glittei-ed on the lake, 
 the conversation, from some reference to the scenery, 
 turned to the condition of Ireland, and the then state of 
 her people. Sir Marmaduke, notwithstanding his late 
 experiences, fully maintaining the accuracy of his own 
 knowledge in matters which have not ceased to puzzle 
 even wiser heads, gained confidence from the cautious 
 reserve of Sir Archy, who rarely ventured an opinion, 
 and never hazarded a direct assertion. 
 
 " They would have me believe, in England," said Sir 
 Marmaduke, " that Ireland was on the very brink of a 
 rebellion ; that the organization of revolt was perfect, anA 
 only waiting French co-operation to burst forth ; but how 
 absurd such statements are to us who live amongst them." 
 
 Sir Archy smiled significantly, and shook his head. 
 
 " You, surely, have no fears on this head, sir ? It is 
 not possible to conceive a state of more profound peace 
 than we observe around us. Men do not take up arms 
 against a rightful authority without the working of strong 
 passions and headlong impulses. AVhat is there to indi- 
 cate them here ?" 
 
 " You'll allow. Sir Marmaduke, they are no over-likely 
 to mak' ye a confidant, if they intend a rising," was the 
 dry observation of M'Nab. 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE o'donoghub. 
 
 " True ; but could tliey conceal their intentions from 
 me — that is the question ? Think you that I should not 
 have discovered them long since, and made them known 
 to the Government ? " 
 
 " I trust you'd have done no such thing, sir," inter- 
 posed Fred. " I heard Maitland say there never was a 
 chance of keeping this country down if we did not have 
 a brush with them every thirty or forty years; and, if 
 I don't mistake, the time for a lesson has just como 
 round." 
 
 " Is it so certain on which side is to be the teacher ?" 
 said Kate, with a voice whose articulate distinctness 
 actually electrified the i^arty ; and, as it drew their eyes 
 towards her, heightened the flush that mantled on her 
 cheek. 
 
 " It never occurred to me to doubt the matter," said 
 Fred, with an air of ill-dissembled mortification. 
 
 " No more than you anticipated it, perhaps," retorted 
 she, quickly: "and yet events are happening every day 
 which take the world by surprise. See there ! — look. 
 That mountain peak was dark but a moment back ; and 
 now, see the blazing fire that has burst' forth upon it !" 
 
 The whole party started to their feet, and drew near 
 tlie window, from which, at a distance of about two miles, 
 the red glare of a fire was seen. It burned brightly for 
 some minutes, and then decaying, became extinguished, 
 leaving the dark mountain black and gloomy as before. 
 
 " What can it mean ? " said Sir Marmaduke, in amaze- 
 ment. " Can it be some signal of the smugglers. I 
 understand they still venture on this coast." 
 
 " That mountain yonder is not seen from the bay," 
 said Sir Archy, thoughtfully. " It can scarcely be that." 
 
 " I think we must ask Miss O'Donoghue for the ex- 
 planation," said Fred Travers. " She is the only one 
 here not surprised at its appearance." 
 
 " Miss O'Donoghue is one of those who, you assert, 
 ore to be taught ; and, therefore, finable to teach others," 
 said she, in a low \vhisper, only audible to Frederick, who 
 stood beside her ; and he almost started at the stx'auge 
 meaning the words seemed to convey.
 
 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A WALK BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The visit alluded to in the last chapter formed the first 
 step to an acquaintance which speedily ripened into 
 intimacy. Seldom a day passed without some inter- 
 change of civilities ; and as they 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 ; wliile 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 eccen- 
 tric ! 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 discrepancy of character and taste — the great differ- 
 ences of age and habit of thought — yet moulded into on» 
 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 were rarely faulty save when attri- 
 buting 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,
 
 230 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 which seemed to deepen and not diminish her affection 
 for Kate O'Donoghue. 
 
 It might appear an ungenerous theme to dwell on, but 
 how often are our friendships suggested by self-love ? — 
 how frequently are we led to think highly and speak 
 praisingly of qualities the opposite to our own, from the 
 self-satisfaction our apparent impartiality yields us. Jus- 
 tice 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 recti- 
 tude of Sybella's character was as free from taint as was 
 Sybella's heartfelt enthusiasm for the Irish girl. As for 
 Frederick Travers, the same dissimilarity in character 
 which made him at first compare Kate with his sister dis- 
 advantageously, now induced him to be struck and fas- 
 cinated by her qualities. The standard by which he had 
 measured her she had long since passed, in his estimation ; 
 and any idea of a comparison between them would now 
 have appeared ridiculous. It Avas true many of her 
 opinions savoured of a nationality too strong for his admi- 
 ration. • 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 moi'e 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, appeai-ed 
 more disposed to enjoy the sunshine 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 iiationality, that excited and 
 exalted her imagination. 
 
 Her convent education had stored her mind with nar- 
 ratives of native suffering and Saxon tyranny, and she
 
 A -^ALK BY MOONLIGHT. 231 
 
 longed for the day of retribution on tlie " proud in- 
 vaders." Great was her disappointment at finding her 
 cousins so dead to every feeling of this kind ; and she 
 preferred the chivalrous ardour of the French soldier to 
 the sluggish apathy of ]\Iark, 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 reflec- 
 tion that more than once occurred to her mind, and never 
 more powerfully than on parting with him the very even- 
 ing we have mentioned. He had accompanied them on 
 their return to Carrignacurra, which, as the night was 
 fine and the moon nearly at her full, they did on foot. 
 Kate, who rarely accepted an arm when walking, had, by 
 some accident, taken his on this occasion, Sir Archy lean- 
 ing 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 mas- 
 sacre 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, be- 
 neath that tall cliflF yonder, where yoii 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; goon, 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.
 
 232 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' 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 friend- 
 lessness 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 tale as I 
 have heard it ; but why may 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's arm, 
 and exclaimed — "Did you see that?" 
 
 " I thought some dark object moved by the roadside." 
 
 "I saw a man pass, as if from behind us, and gain the 
 thicket yonder : he was alone, however." 
 
 "And I am armed,'' said Travers, coolly. 
 
 "And if you were not," replied she, proudly, "an 
 O'Donoghue has nothing to fear in the valley of Glenflesk. 
 Let us join my uncle, however, for I see he has left us 
 some distance behind him;" and while they hastened 
 forward" she resumed her story with the same unconcern 
 as before the interruption. 
 
 Travers listened eagerly — less, it is true, in sympathy 
 with the story than in delight at the impassioned eloquence 
 of her who related it. *' Such," said she, as they turned 
 to bid him farewell at the old keep on the roadside — " 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 hep 
 speech by some commonplace compliment about her own 
 powers of inflicting bondage ; but she stopped him sud- 
 denly with — 
 
 " N'ay, nay ; these are not jesting themes, although you 
 may deem them unsuited for one as ignorant and inex- 
 perienced 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
 
 A WALK BY MOONLIGHT. 233 
 
 Judgment might warrant, tBey 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 
 intei'est 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 Mark 
 O'Donoghue, almost rudel}', as he opened the door to 
 admit them. " The smugglei^s are on the coast now, and 
 frequently come up the glen at nightfall." 
 
 "Why not have come to be our escort, then?" said 
 Kate, smiling. 
 
 "What? With the gay soldier for your guard," said 
 he, bitterly. 
 
 " How knew you that, my worthy cousin P " said Kate, 
 rapidly ; and then, with a significant shake of the head, 
 added, in a whispei", " I see there are marauders about." 
 
 Mark blushed till his face became scarlet, and turning 
 abruptly away, sought his own room in silence.
 
 234 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEaOTIATIONS. 
 
 The time was now approaching when the Traverses were 
 to remove to the capital, and, at Sybella's urgent entreaty, 
 Sir Marmaduke was induced to request that Kate 
 O'Donoghue might accompany them in their visit, and 
 thus enjoy the pleasures of a winter in Dublin, then 
 second to no city of Europe in all that constituted social 
 excellence. 
 
 The note of invitation, couched in terms the most 
 flattering and cordial, arrived when the O'Donoghues were 
 seated at breakfast, 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 considei-ation, 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 hesitatiou in Kate's manner, came thus 
 goodnaturedly to the rescue. 
 
 "With all my heart, Archy," said thp 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 tho 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 ovei", and that I were back in my 
 easy-chair again." 
 
 " Tlie politeness in the present case lies less in the style 
 than iu the substance," said Sir Archy. " This is a vara 
 civil, though, I must say, to me a vara unwelcome pro- 
 posal, 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 sprang from gratified
 
 A. DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS. 235 
 
 pride at tlie palpable 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," replied she, avoiding, even for a second, to look 
 towards where Mark was sitting. 
 
 " But yon must not lose such an opportunity, dearest 
 Kate," whispered Herbert eagerly into her ear. " These 
 are the scenes and the places you are nsed to, and best 
 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 Archy, " albeit I may lose a sweetheart 
 by my generosity." 
 
 "Have no fears of my fidelity," said Kate, laughing, as 
 she extended 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 flush that covered his 
 face and forehead in an instant ; he bent his head almost 
 to the table to avoid observation, and, as if in the distrac- 
 tion of the moment, he took up the note and seemed to
 
 236 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 pore over its contents ; then suddenly crusliing' it in his 
 hand, he ai'ose from the table and left the room. 
 
 " My sweet Kate," said Sir Archy, as he led her within 
 the deep recess of a window, " talc' care ye dinna light up 
 a flame of treason where ye only hoped to warm a glow of 
 patriotism ; such eyes and lips as yours are but too ready 
 teachers ; be cautious, lassie. This country, however 
 others may think, is on 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 fortunes ?" 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 hae 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 
 sufierings — 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 whoso 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, dryly; 
 " but we maunna quarrel, Kate dear ; our time is e'en too 
 short already. Sit ye down and sing me a sang."
 
 A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS. 237 
 
 "It shall be a rebel one, tlien, 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, affecting an air of surprise. " On his way to 
 Killarney, perhaps. Well, well, they may let him in." 
 
 The announcement did not, to all appearance, afford 
 mnch 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 appearance 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 Avill not 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 need 
 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 fidelity. 
 
 " I happen," resumed Sir Archy, 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 require is only a thousand
 
 238 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 pound s — five hu ndred 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 parch- 
 ments. " 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 Hoare on the Ballyrickan property, and. I could 
 not get any 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 Pre- 
 tender got some of your countrymen into a pretty scrape 
 with his tricks. There are fools to be had for asking 
 everywhere." 
 
 " We will no discuss this question just noo," said Sir 
 Archy, snappishly ; *' and, to return to the 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 M'Nab. 
 
 " His honour's waiting for Mr. Swal)y," said Kerry, who 
 now appeared in the room, without either of the others 
 having noticed his entrance. 
 
 Sir Archy rose with an angry brow, but 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 already 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 tranquil or composed. 
 
 Swaby's surprise at his interview with Sir Archy, 
 whom he never had the slightest siispicion of possessing 
 any property whatever, was even surpassed by his aston- 
 ishment on hearing the favourable turn of O'Donoghue's 
 affairs ; and while he bestowed the requisite attention to
 
 A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS. 239 
 
 follow the old man's stateraent, 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 attor- 
 ney 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, recognizing 
 with practised acuteness how far he could turn such un- 
 looked-for prosperity to his own purposes, and subsidize 
 one brothei'-in-law at the expense of both. 
 
 While thus each within the limit of this narrow house- 
 hold was following out the thread of his destiny, eagerly 
 bent on his dwn object, 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 offering jjleasures and 
 enjoyments none relished more highly than herself, she 
 yet saw difficulties which might render the step unad- 
 visable, if not perilous. Of all considerations, money was 
 the one which least had occupied any share in her calcu- 
 lations ; yet now she bethought herself that expense must 
 necessarily be incurred which her uncle's finances could 
 but ill a,fibrd. 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 believed a point of principle to be 
 engaged ; and the only difiiculty 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
 
 240 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 forwards in his cliamber overhead, and without losing 
 another moment, hastily ascended the stairs to his door ; 
 her hand was already outstretched to knock, when sud- 
 denly 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 invita- 
 tion ? Such were 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 
 eavesdropper 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 break- 
 fast ? " 
 
 " Did I ? " said he, reddening. " Did I take it off the 
 table ? Yes, yes ; I remember something of it how. You 
 must forgive me, cousin, if these careless habits take the 
 shape of rudeness." He seemed overwhelmed with con- 
 fusion, as he added, " I know not why I put it into my 
 pocket; here it is." 
 
 And so saying, he drew from the breast of his coat a 
 crushed and crumpled paper, and gave it into Kate's hand. 
 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 veiy indecision rendered more difficult, she 
 merely uttered a brief " thank you," and withdrew.
 
 A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIOXS. 241 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said she, as slie 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 inglorious life — that habits of 
 recklessness had covered, but not obliterated, the traces 
 of that bold and generous spirit 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 sus-o'estive of sfloom, 
 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 wa3 a breach of con- 
 fidence; indeed, the intense interest 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 sents charts, &c.,, 
 over. Above all, be patient ; trust no rumours, and rely 
 on ns for the earliest and the safest intelligence. L. will 
 hand you this. You must contrive to learn the cipher, as 
 any correspondence discovered would ruin all. 
 
 " Yours ever, and in the cause, 
 
 "H. R." 
 
 Here, then, was the youth she had been commiserating 
 for his career of lowly and unambitious hopes — here, the
 
 242 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 mere peasant ! the accomplice of some deep and desperate 
 plot, in wliich the arms of France should be employed 
 against the government of England. Was this the secret 
 of his preoccupation and his gloom ? Was it to concen- 
 trate 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 temperament as 
 his must incur in an enterprise like this — without experi- 
 ence of men or any knowledge of the world whatever — 
 without habitual prudence or caution 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? Othera would Avait the time and cal- 
 culate 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 fascinated by peril 
 than others were by pleasui^e. 
 
 As she I'easoned 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 con- 
 jured up. She knew he was the ouly tie that bound his 
 father to existence, and that any misfortune to Mark would 
 be the old man's death-blow. ISTor 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 misei'able 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 Avhere 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 ouo-ht to act thickened 
 around her. Sir Archy alone was capable of advising her, 
 liis calm and unl)iasscd reason would be now invaluable,
 
 A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS. 243 
 
 but dare she, even to him, make use of a confidence thus 
 accidentally obtained ? Would Mark — could lie ever for- 
 give 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 seci'et had become known, to learn from 
 him as much as lay in her power of the dangers and diffi- 
 culties of the meditated revolt, and if unable to dissuade 
 him from participation, at least to mingle with his resolves 
 all she could of prudence or good counsel. The deter- 
 mination was scarcely formed when she was once more at 
 the door of his chamber ; she knocked twice, without any 
 reply following, 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 
 accomplishment; a dozen times she endeavoured, while 
 explaining the accident that divulged his secret, to impress 
 him with the hazard of an undertaking so palpably de- 
 picted, and to the safe keeping of which his own careless- 
 ness might prove fatal ; but each effort dissatisfied her. 
 In one place, she seemed not to have sufiiciently 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 pre- 
 senting before him the vicissitudes of fortune to which his 
 venturous career would expose him, she felt how every 
 word contradicted 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 
 few 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 
 
 K 2
 
 244 THE O'OONOGHUE. 
 
 acceptance a sum of money sufficient foi* 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 ojiposing the Avishes of her friends concern- 
 ing her. 
 
 "Then you really desire I should go to Dublin?" 
 Baid 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, speak- 
 ing her thoughts unconsciously aloud. 
 
 "Not the less reason, perhaps, for going," said Sir 
 Archy, dryly ; while at the same moment his eye caught 
 the letter bearing Mai'k 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 ray own against the project, I should not be able to 
 frame them ; it was mere caprice." 
 
 "I hope so, dearest Kate," said he, with a tone of deep 
 affection — " I hope so, with all my heart ;" and thus say- 
 ing, he pressed her hand fervently between his own and 
 left the room.
 
 '215 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A LAST EVENING AT 11 0MB. 
 
 With tlie expcricDce 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 plan 
 of invasion meditated against Ireland by France ; nor is 
 it easy to determine whether this indiil'ereuce proceeded 
 more from ignorance of the danger, or that amount of 
 information 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 impediment or molestation ; statistical 
 information the most minute was forwarded 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 i-eported and commented 
 on, and made the subject of discussion in the " bureau " of 
 the War Minister of France. To such an extent was this 
 system caiTied, that more than once the French authorities 
 became suspicious regarding the vei-acity of statements, 
 from the very facility with which their details were com- 
 municated, and hinted that such regularity in correspon- 
 dence 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. 
 
 Tone's letters show the wearisome toil of his negotia- 
 tion ; the assurances of aid, obtained after months of 
 
 ! painful, harassing solicitation, deferred or made dependent 
 on some almost impossible conditions ; guarantees de- 
 manded from him which he neither could nor would 
 accord; information sought, which, Avere they in actual 
 possession of the country, would have been a matter of 
 difficult acquisition ; and, after all, when the promised 
 assistance was granted, it came coupled with hints and
 
 246 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 acknowledgments 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, neither party was satisfied with the compact long 
 before the time of nutting it in operation arrived. Mean- 
 while the insurgents spared no efforts to organize a 
 powerful body among the peasantry, and, at least numeri- 
 cally, to announce to France a strong and effective co- 
 operation. Such reports wez'e 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 willingness 
 of the people to throw off the yoke of England. 
 
 It is now well known that the French party in IrelaTid 
 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 willing 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 pi'ojeet — those 
 educated in Finance — were natui-ally fearful of a reiietition 
 at home of the torril.)le 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 pi'omises, and the theme of English oppression 
 could be chanted with innumerable variations, the right 
 choi'd 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 
 personal 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 necessity of employing this lure, and 
 giving the adherents of the cause their share of power 
 and influence, was another great source of weakness. 
 Diversity of opinion arose on every subject ; personal
 
 A LAST EVENING AT HOME. 247 
 
 altercations of the bitterest kind, reproaches and insinua- 
 tions, passed continually between them, and it needed all 
 the skill and management of the chiefs to reconcile, even 
 temporarily, these discordant ingredients, and maintain 
 any semblance of agreement among these " United 
 Irishmen." 
 
 Among those who lived away from such scenes of 
 conflict the great complaint was the delay. "What are 
 we waiting for ? " " When are 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 be- 
 trayed impatience, the despondent — and there are such 
 in every cause — showed signs of vacillation, 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, was 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 projDOsed for their accomplishment. 
 
 His influence among the people was considerable. In- 
 dependently 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 iinculti- 
 vated 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 com- 
 mand being conferred on him, for the duties and privileges 
 of which, he was informed, a few days would sufficiently 
 instruct him. 
 
 Nearly a week had elapsed from the day on which Kate 
 addressed her note to Mark, and he had not vet returned
 
 243 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 home. Sucli absences were common enough ; but now 
 ebe felt an impatience almost amounting 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 Carrignacurra, and they were seated ai'ound tlie tea- 
 table, thoughtful and silent by turns, as are they who 
 meet for the last time before separation. Although she 
 heard with pleasure the announcement that Herbert would 
 be her companion to the capital, where he was about 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 
 prospects opening 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 olf 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 sub- 
 stituting 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 efi'orts, 
 however successful, to bring back the lost glories of their 
 once proud house. And now he was on the very thresliold 
 of that career his heart was centred in. No wonder is it, 
 then, if his spirits were high and his ]mlse 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 the bo}-, appeai'ed as though calculating how 
 far such a temperament nn'ght minister to or mar his 
 future fortune. 
 
 The O'Donoghue was more thoughtful than usual. The 
 idea of approaching 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 
 cf the ties of daily intercourse ; to the old, it has all the
 
 A LAST EVENING AT HOME. 249 
 
 Bolemn meaning of a warning, and tells of the approach 
 of the last dreadful parting, when adieus are said for ever. 
 He could not help those gloomy forebodings, and he was 
 silent and depressed. 
 
 Kate's attention wandered from the theme of Herbert's 
 anticipated pleasures to think again 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 deep 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 Herbei't of the dangers of involving 
 himself in any way in the conflicts of party politics then 
 60 high in Dublin. 
 
 He cautioned him to reject those extreme opinions so 
 fascinating to young minds, and which either give an 
 unwarrantable bias to the judgment through life, or 
 •which, when their fallacy is detected, lead to a reaction as 
 violent and notions as false. " Win character and repu- 
 tation first, Herbert— gain the position from which your 
 .opinions will come with influence, 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. You 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 with 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 lionoui\" 
 
 "True, sir — true; but Mark " She stopped, and 
 
 the blush that covered her face suSused 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."
 
 250 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 These words were spoken calmly, and with a studious 
 desire to avoid increasing Kate's confusion. 
 
 "What about Mark?" cried the O'Donoghue, sud- 
 denly 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 depar- 
 ture ? " 
 
 " I told him of it, and he has promised to be here," 
 said Herbert. " He was going to Beerhaven for a day or 
 two for the shooting, but, droll enough, he has left his gun 
 behind him." 
 
 "The 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; Avhen, with that strange 
 instinct so indescribable and so inexplicable, she felt Sir 
 Archy's eyes fixed upon 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 ascending the causeway, and the next 
 moment the bell sent forth a loud summons. 
 
 " I knew he'd keep his word," said the boy, proudly, as 
 he walked to meet him. The door opened, and Frederick 
 Travers appeared. 
 
 So unexpected was the disappointment, it needed all 
 Sir Archy's practised politeness to conceal irom the young 
 Guardsman the discomfiture of the rest. JS'or did he 
 entirely succeed, for Frederick was no common 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 accidentally to-day that Herbert was going 
 up to Dublin, and my father sent me to request he would 
 join our party." 
 
 " He is about to enter college," said Sir Archy, half 
 fearing to divert the youth's mind from the great object 
 of his journey. 
 
 "Be it so," said Fred, gaily; "we'll talk Virgil and 
 Homer on the road."
 
 A LAST EVENING AT HOME. 251 
 
 I 
 
 "I'm afraid such pleasant compauionshfp ma}'- jiut Greece 
 and Rome in the backgTOund," said Sir Archy, dryly. 
 
 " I'll answer for it, he'll be nothing the worse for the 
 brief respite from study. Besides, you'd not refuse me 
 his company, 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 preparations 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 interest- 
 ing jouimey. 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 
 Travel's made her acquaintance in the Bristol packet, and 
 the cool assurance of which she, with most womanly per- 
 tinacity, had not yet forgiven. Travers, who had often 
 felt ashamed of the circumstance, and had hoped it long 
 since forgotten, looked the very picture of confusion. 
 
 " I perceive Sir Archibald has not taught you to respect 
 his native proverb, Miss O'Donoghue, and let ' bygones be 
 bygones.' " 
 
 " I hae taught her nothing Scotch, sir," replied Sir 
 Archy, smiling, " but to love a thistle, and that e'en 
 because it has a sting." 
 
 " Not for those that know how to take it, uncle," said 
 she, archly, 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 arranged the matter of his visit satisfactorily, arose 
 to take his leave. 
 
 " Then you'll be ready for me at eight, Herbert. My 
 father is a martinet in punctuality, and the phaeton will 
 not be a second behind time ; remember that, !Miss 
 O'Donoghue, for he makes v.2 exception, even for ladies." 
 
 He moved towards the door, then, turning suddenly, 
 said, — 
 
 " By the bye, have you heard anything of a movement 
 in the covintry here about us ? The Government have 
 apparently got some information on the subject, but I sus- 
 pect without any foundation whatever."
 
 252 TUE o'doxogiiue. 
 
 "To what extent does this infoi'mation go?" said Sir 
 Archy, cautiously. 
 
 "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 organized rebellion, only 
 waiting the signal for open revolt." 
 
 '' That same rebellion has been going on, to my know- 
 ledge, something more than forty years," said the 
 O'Donoghue, laughing ; " and I never knew of a lord- 
 lieutenant or chief secretary Avho 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 no 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 this brief colloquy, 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 
 Travers's information, and it was evident that he had not 
 concealed anything he knew. Was he in a position to 
 learn more ? was the next question to herself; might he 
 not be able to ascertain where the suspicion of Govern- 
 ment rested, and on whom ? Her decisions were seldom 
 but the work of a second, and, as soon as this thought 
 struck her, she determined to act upon it. Slipping noise- 
 lessly 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 no time for the indulgence of ba.shfulness, 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 procedure, even to the very words she should 
 employ. 
 
 "I must not tell him it is for Mark," said she; "he 
 must think it is a general desire to save any rash or mis-
 
 ft ..^^..^ 
 
 
 ::S*5^-" 
 
 :.Av.^-S^\ Wv>A>, r W ^w ,...,7 
 
 ;.>^. 
 
 *'%. 
 
 
 iMyMyn'i^ 
 
 
 
 ^ei?^; >- 
 
 ^^pt?t:^ ^J^S'M'/
 
 A LAST EVENING AT HOME. 253 
 
 giiided enthusiast from ruin. But here he comes." And 
 at the same instant the figure of a man was seen approach- 
 ing, leading his horse by the bridle. The dark shadow of 
 the castle fell across the I'oad at the spot, and served to 
 make the form dim and indistinct. Kate waited not for 
 his coming nearer, but, advancing hastily towards him, 
 cried out, — 
 
 " Captain Travers, I have a favour to ask you — ono 
 which my coming thus to seek " 
 
 " Say no more, Kate, lest I hear what was never in- 
 tended for my ears," said a low, deep voice. 
 
 "Mark — cousin Mark, is this you?" cried she, with 
 mingled pleasure and shame. 
 
 " Yes,"a-eplied 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 see me — to speak to «?e," said he, stepping back, 
 and letting the moonlight fall full upon his features, now 
 pale 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 sjooke, 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 slowly to the castle, her heart torn with opposing 
 emotions, among which wounded pride was not the least 
 poignant.
 
 254 THE o'DONOaHUE. 
 
 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 lingered with u3 
 hitherto, we may be permitted to throw on them a laat 
 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 Carrignacurra, silent and thoughtful, each fol- 
 lowing 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 asso- 
 ciated 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 
 intercourse, so little at the time — so much when remem- 
 bered years afterwards. 
 
 The brightest moments of life are the most difficult to 
 recall ; they are like the brilliant lights upon a landscape, 
 which we may revisit a hundred 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 gi'afted hope upon the tree scathed and withered 
 by evil fortune. Several efforts to start a topic of conver- 
 sation 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'Donoglme's could plainly be heard. 
 
 "Yes, bul I insist upon it," cried he; "to refuse will 
 offend y - "
 
 A SUPPER PARTY. 255 
 
 Some words were then spoken in a tone of remon- 
 strance, 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 at the bell drowned the remainder of the 
 speech. 
 
 " AVe are about to hae company, I perceive," said 
 Sir Archy, looking cautiously about to secure his book 
 and his spectacles befoi'e retreating to his bedroom. 
 
 " Bedad, you guessed it," said Kerry, who, having 
 reconnoitred the party through a small window beside 
 the door, had now prudentlj' adjourned to take counsel 
 whether to admit them. " There's eight or nine at laste, 
 and it isn't fresh and fasting either they are." 
 
 " Why don't you open the door ?^do you want your 
 bones broken for you ?" said the O'Donoghue, harshly, 
 
 " I'd let them gang the 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 heard outside. 
 
 " What's the rascal staring at? " cried the O'Donoghue, 
 with clenched teeth. " Open the door this instant." 
 
 But the words were scarcely uttered, w^hen a tre- 
 mendous crash i-esounded. through the whole building, 
 and then 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 unfeigned terror ; and, without 
 waiting a second, he rushed from the room to seek somo 
 place of concealment from Mark's anger. 
 
 The clash of the massive chain was next heard, as it 
 banged heavily against the oak door; bolt after bolt was 
 quickly shot, and Mark, calling out, " Follow me — this 
 way," rudely pushed wide the door and entered the tower. 
 A mere passing glance was enough to show that his ex- 
 citement was not merely the fruit of passion — his eyes 
 wild and bloodshot, his flushed cheek, his swollen and 
 heavy lips, all betrayed that he had drunk, deeply. His 
 cravat was loose and his vest onen, v/hile the fingers of
 
 253 THE o'DONOGnUE. 
 
 his riglit hand were one mass of blood, from tlic 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, ilai'k, but always 
 too early to part with one," cried the O'Donoghue, who, 
 although shocked at the condition he beheld his son in, 
 resolved to betray for the time no apparent consciousness 
 of it. 
 
 " This is my friend, Harry Talbot, father — Sir Archy 
 M'Nab, my nncle. Holt, where are 3'ou ? I'll be hanged 
 if they're not slipped a\yay ;" and with a fearful impreca- 
 tion on their treachei'y, lie rushed from the room, leaving 
 Talbot to make his own advances. The rapid tramp of 
 feet, and the loud laughter of the fugitives without, did 
 not for a second or two permit of his few words being 
 heard ; but 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 disparage my friend Mark's hosjiitable in- 
 tentions, 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 mo 
 under more becoming circumstances." 
 
 Sir Ai'chibald's surprise at the tone in which these 
 words were delivered did not prevent him making a suit- 
 able reply, while, lelinquishing his intention of retiring, 
 he extinguished his candle, and took a seat opposite 
 Talbot. 
 
 Having in an early chapter of our talc presented this 
 gentleman to our reader's notice, wc have scarcely any- 
 thing to add on the present occasion. His dress, indeed, 
 was somewhat dilferent ; then, he wore a riding costume 
 — now, he was habited in a frock richly braided, and 
 ornamented with a deep border of black fur ; a cap of the 
 same skin, from which hung a band 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-ai'rived guest, the O'Donoghue, by dint of reiterated
 
 A SUPPER PARTY. 257 
 
 pulling at tlae bell, had succeeded in inducing Kerry 
 O'Leary to quit bis sanctuary, and venture to the door of 
 his 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 ex- 
 cellent 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, "There 
 are worse places than that little ' shebeen : ' 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 sti'anger some hint either as to the object or the 
 road of his journey. 
 
 " We were not over particular on that score," said 
 Talbot, laughing. " A few young college men, seeking 
 some days' amusement in the wild mountains of this pic- 
 turesque district, could well afiTord to rough it for the 
 enjoyment of the ramble." 
 
 " You should visit us in the autumn," said O'Donoghue, 
 " when our heaths and arbutus blossoms are in beauty ; 
 then, they who have travelled 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 pleasure 
 of a glass of wine with you." 
 
 The party had scarcely taken their places at the table, 
 when Mark re-entered the room, heated and excited with 
 the chase of the fugitives. 
 
 "They're off," muttered he, angrily, "down the glen, 
 and I only hope they may lose their way in it, and spend 
 the night upon the heather." 
 
 As he sjDoke, he turned his eyes to the corner of the 
 
 8
 
 258 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 room, where Kerry, in a state of the most abject fear, 
 was endeavouring to extract a cork from a bottle oy means 
 of a very impracticable screw. 
 
 " Ah, you there ! " cried he, as his eyes flashed fire. 
 " Hold the bottle up — hold it steady, you old fool ! " and 
 with a savage grin he drew a pistol from his breast- 
 pocket, and levelled it at the mark. 
 
 Kerry was on his knees, one hand on the floor and in 
 the other the bottle, which, despite all his efforts, he 
 swayed backwards and forwards. 
 
 "0 master, darlin' ! — O Sir Archy dear! — O Joseph 
 and Mary ! " 
 
 " I've drunk too much wine to hit it flying," said 
 Mark, with a half-drunken laugh, "and the fool won't be 
 steady. There!" and as he spoke, the crash of the report 
 resounded through the room, and the neck of the bottle 
 was snapped off about half an inch below the cork. 
 
 " Neatly done, Mark — not a doubt of it," said the 
 O'Donoghue, as he took the bottle from Kerry's hand, 
 who, with a pace a kangaroo might have envied, approached 
 the table, actually dreading to stand up straight in Mark's 
 presence. 
 
 " At the risk of being thought an epicure," said M'Nab, 
 " I maun say I'd like my wine handled more tenderly." 
 
 " It was cleverly done, though," said Talbot, helping 
 himself to a bumper from the broken flask. " I remember 
 a trick we used to have at St. Cyr, which was, to place a 
 bullet on a cork, and then, at fifteen paces, cut away the 
 cork, and drop the bullet into the bottle." 
 
 "No man ever did that twice," cried Mark, rudely. 
 "I'll wager a hundred guineas I do it twice, within 
 five shots," said Talbot, with the most perfect coolness. 
 
 " Done, for a hundred— I say done," said Mark, slap- 
 ping him familiarly on the shoulder. 
 
 " I'll not win your money on such unfair terms," said 
 Talbot, laughing ; " and if I can refrain from taking too 
 much of this excellent Bordeaux, I'll do the trick to- 
 morrow without a wager." 
 
 Mark, like most persons who place great store by feats 
 of skill and address, felt vexed at the superiority claimed 
 by another, answered carelessly, " that, after all, perhaps 
 the thiner was easier than it seemed."
 
 A SUPPER PARTY. 259 
 
 " Very true," chimed in Talbot, mildly ; " what we 
 have neither done ourselves nor seen done by another, 
 has always the appearance of difficulty. What is called 
 wisdom is little other than the power of calculating 
 success or failure on grounds of mere probability." 
 
 " Your definition has the advantage of being sufficient 
 for the occasion," said Sir Archy, smiling. " I am happy 
 to find our glen has not disappointed you ; but if you 
 have not seen the Lake and the Bay of Glengarifi', I 
 anticipate even a higher praise from you.'' 
 
 " We spent the day on the water," replied Talbot ; "and 
 if it were not a heresy, I should affirm that these bold 
 mountains are grander and more sublime in the desolation 
 of winter than even when clothed in the purple and gold 
 of summer. There was a fine sea, too, rolling into that 
 great bay bounding upon the rocks, and swelling proudly 
 against the tall cliffs, which, to my eye, is more pleasur- 
 able than the glassy surface of calm water. Motion is the 
 life of inanimate objects, and life has always its own 
 powers of excitement." 
 
 While they conversed thus, M'lSTab, endeavouring, by 
 adroit allusions to the place, to divine the real reason of 
 the visit, and Talbot, by encomiums on the scenery, or, 
 occasionally, by the expression of some abstract proposi- 
 tion, seeking to avoid any direct interrogatory, Mark, who 
 had grown weary of a dialogue, which, even in his clearer 
 moments, would not have interested him, filling and refil- 
 ling a large glass unceasingly, while the O'Donoghue merely 
 paid that degree of attention which politeness demanded. 
 It was thus that, while Sir Archy believed he was push- 
 ing Talbot closely on the objects of his coming, Talbot 
 was, in reality, obtaining from him much information 
 about the country generally, the habits of the people, and 
 their modes of life, which he effected in the easy, uncon- 
 strained manner of one perfectly calm and unconcerned. 
 " The life of a fisherman," said he, in reply to a remark of 
 Sir Archy's — " the life of a fisherman is, however, a poor- 
 one ; for though his gains are great at certain seasons, 
 there are days — ay, whole months — he cannot venture out 
 to sea. Now it strikes me, that in that very Bay of Ban- 
 try the swell must be terrific when the wind blows from 
 the west, or the nor'-west." 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 "You are right — quite right," answered M'Nab, who at 
 once entered freely into a discussion of the condition of 
 the bay, under the various changing circumstances of wind 
 and tide. "Many of our poor fellows have been lost 
 within my own memory, and, indeed, save when we have 
 an easterly wind " 
 
 "An easterly wind?" re-echoed Mark, lifting his head 
 suddenly from between his hands, and staring in half- 
 drunken astonishment around him. " Is that the toast — 
 did you say that?" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Sir Archy, smiling. *' There 
 are few sentiments deserve a bumper better by any who 
 live in these parts. Won't you join us, Mr. Talbot ? " 
 
 "Of course I will," said Talbot, laughing ; but with all 
 his efforts to seem at ease, a quick observer might have 
 remarked the look of warning he threw towards the young 
 O'Donoghue. 
 
 " Here, then," cried Mark, rising, while the wine 
 trickled over his hand from a brimming goblet — " I'll 
 give it — are you ready?" 
 
 "All ready, Mark," said the O'Donoghue, laughing 
 heartily at the serious gravity of Mark's countenance. 
 
 " Confound it," cried the youth, passionately, " I forget 
 the jingle." 
 
 "Nevermind — never mind," interposed Talbot, slyly; 
 "we'll pledge it with as good a mind." 
 
 " That's— that's it," shouted Mark, as the last word 
 clinked upon his memory. " I have it now," and his eyes 
 sparkled, and his brows were met, as he called out,— 
 
 " A stout heart and mind, 
 And an easterly wind, 
 And the devil behind 
 The Saxon." 
 
 Sir Archy laid down his glass untasted, while Talbot, 
 l)ursting forth into a well-acted laugh, cried out, " You 
 m.ust excuse me from repeating your amiable sentiment, 
 which, for aught I can guess, may be a sarcasm on my 
 own countiy." 
 
 " I'd like to hear the same toast explained," said Sir 
 Archy, cautiously, while his looks wandered alternately 
 from J^Iark to Talbot.
 
 A SUPPER PARTY. 261 
 
 " So you shall, then," replied Mark, sternly, •* and thia 
 very moment, too." 
 
 " Come, that's fair," chimed in Talbot, while he fixed 
 his eyes on the youth with such a steady gaze as seemed 
 actually to have pierced the dull vapour of his clouded 
 intellect, and flushed light upon his addled brain. " Let 
 us hear your explanation." 
 
 Mark, for a second or two, looked like one suddenly 
 awakened from a deep sleep, and trying to collect his 
 wandering faculties, while, as if instinctively seeking the 
 clue to his bewilderment from Talbot, he never turned his 
 eyes from him. As he sat thus he looked the very ideal of 
 half-drunken stupidity. 
 
 "I'm afraid we have no right to ask the explanation," 
 whispered Talbot into M'Nab's ear. " We ought to be 
 satisfied if he give us the rhyme, even though he forget the 
 reason." 
 
 " I'm thinking you're right, sir," replied M'Nab ; " but 
 I suspect we hae na the poet before us ony mair than the 
 interpreter." 
 
 Mark's faculties, in slow pursuit of Talbot's meaning, 
 had just at this instant overtaken their object, awd he 
 burst forth into a boisterous fit of laughter, which, what- 
 ever sentiment it might have excited in the others, relieved 
 Talbot, at least, from all his former embarrassment: he 
 saw that Mark had, though late, recognized his warning, 
 and was at once relieved from any uneasiness on the score 
 of his imprudence. 
 
 Sir Archy was, however, very far from feeling satisfied. 
 What he had heard, brief and broken as it was, but served 
 to excite his suspicions, and make him regard this guest as 
 at least a very doubtful character. Too shi-ewd a diplo- 
 matist to push his inquiries any farther, he adroitly turned 
 the conversation upon matters of comparative inditference, 
 reserving to himself the part of acutely watching Talbot's 
 manner, and nan^owly scrutinizing the extent of his 
 acquaintance with Mark O'Donoghue. In whatever school 
 Talbot had been taught, his skill was more than a match 
 for Sir Archy's. Not only did he at once detect the mean- 
 ing of the old man's policy, but he contrived to make it 
 subservient to his own views by the opportunity it afforded 
 him of estimating the influence he was capable of exerting
 
 262 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 over his nephew, and how far, if need were, Mark should 
 become dependent on his will, rather than on that of any 
 member of his own family. The frankness of his manner, 
 the seeming openness of his nature, rendered his task a 
 matter of apparent amusement ; and none at the table 
 looked in every respect moi'e at ease than Harry 
 Talbot. 
 
 While Sir Archy was thus endeavouring, with such skill 
 as he possessed, to worm out the seci-et reason — and such, 
 he well knew, there nuist be — of Talbot's visit to that 
 unfrequented region, Kei-ry O'Leary was speculating, with 
 all his imaginative ability, how best to account for that 
 event. The occasion was one of more than ordinary diffi- 
 culty. Talbot looked neither like a bailiff nor a sheriff's 
 officer ; neither had he outward signs of a lawyer or an 
 attorney. Kerry was conversant with the traits of each of 
 these. If he were a suitor for Miss Kate, his last guess, 
 he was a day too late. 
 
 " But sure he couldn't be that ; he'd never come with a 
 throop of noisy vagabonds, in the dead of the night, av he 
 was after the young lady. Well, well, he bates me out — 
 sorra lie in it," said he, drawing a heavy sigh, and crossing 
 his hands before him in sad resignation. 
 
 " On my conscience, then, it was a charity to cut your 
 hair for you, anyhow ! " said Mrs. Branaghan, who had 
 been calmly meditating on the pistol-shot, which, in grazing 
 Kerry's hair, had somewhat damaged his locks. 
 
 " See, then, by the holy mass I av he went half an inch 
 lower, it's my life he'd be after taking ; and av he was the 
 fifty O'Donoghues, I'd have my vingince. Bad cess to me, 
 but they think the likes of me isn't fit to live at all." 
 
 " They do," responded Mrs. Branaghan, with a mild puff 
 of smoke from the corner of her mouth — " they do; and 
 if they never did worse than extarminate such varmin, 
 their sowls would have an easier time of it." 
 
 Kerry's brow lowered, and his lips muttered, but no 
 distinct reply was audible. 
 
 " Sorra bit of good I see in ye at all," said she, with 
 inexorable severity. " I mind the time ye used to tell a 
 body what was doing above stairs ; and though half what 
 ye said was lies, it was better than nothing : but now yer 
 as stupid and lazy as the ould beast there fornint the fire—
 
 A SUPPEB PARTY. 2G3 
 
 not a word out of your head from morning to night. 
 Ayeh, is it your hearin's failin' ye ? " 
 
 " I wish to the Blessed Mother it was," muttered he, 
 fervently, to himself. 
 
 " There's a man now eatin' and drinkin' in the parlour, 
 and the sorra more ye know about him than if he was the 
 Queen of Sheba." 
 
 " Don't I, thin — maybe not," said Kerry, tauntingly, 
 and with a look of such well-affected secrecy that Mrs. 
 Branaghan was completely deceived by it. 
 
 " What is he, then ? — spake it out free this minit," said 
 she. " Bad cess to you, do you want to trate me like an 
 informer?" 
 
 " No, indeed, Mrs. Branaghan ; it's not that same I'd 
 even to you — sure I knew your people — father and mother's 
 side — two generations back. Miles Buoy — Yallow Miles, as 
 they called him — was the finest judge of a horse in Kerry 
 — I wonder, now, he didn't make a power of money." 
 
 " And so he did, and spint it after. 'Twas blackguards, 
 with ould gaiters, and one spur on them, that ate up every 
 shilling he saved." 
 
 " Well, well ! think of that now," said Kerry, with the 
 sententiousness of one revolving some strange and curious 
 social anomaly ; " and that's the way it wint ?" 
 
 " AVasn't it a likely way enough ? " said Mrs. Branaghan, 
 with flashing eyes ; " feedin' a set of spalpeens that thought 
 of nothing but chafing the world. The sight of a pair of 
 top-boots gives me the heartburn to this day." 
 
 " Mine warms to them, too," said Kerry, timidly, who 
 ventured on his humble pun with deep humility. 
 
 A contemptuous scowl was Mrs. Branaghan's reply, and 
 Kerry resumed, — 
 
 " Them's the changes of the world — rich yesterday — 
 poor to-day. Don't 1 know what poverty is well myself ? 
 Augh ! sure enough they wor the fine times when I rodt 
 out on a beast worth eighty guineas in goold, wid 
 clothes on my back a lord might envy; and now, look 
 at me!" 
 
 Mrs. Branaghan, to whom the rhetoincal figure seemed 
 a direct appeal, did look ; and assuredly the inspection 
 conveyed nothing flattering, for she turned away abruptly 
 and smoked her pipe with an air of profound disdain.
 
 264 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Faix, ye may say so," continued Kerry, converting her 
 glance into words. " 'Tis a poor object I am this blessed 
 day. The coat on my back is more like a transparency, 
 and my small-clothes, saving your favour, is as hard to 
 get into as a fishiiig-net ; and. if I was training for the 
 coorse I couldn't be on shorter allowance." 
 
 "What's that yer saying about yervittals?" said the 
 cook, turning fiercely towards him. " There's not your 
 equal for an appetite from this to Cork. It's little time a 
 Kerry cow would keep you in beef, and it's an ill skin it 
 goes into. Yer a disgrace to a good family." 
 
 "Well, I am, and there's no denying it!" ejaculated 
 Kerry, with a sigh that sounded far more like despair 
 than resignation. 
 
 " Is it to hang yourself you have that piece of a rope 
 there ? " said she, pointing to the end of a stout cord 
 that depended from Kerry's pocket. 
 
 " Maybe it might come to that same yet," said he ; and 
 then putting his hand into his pocket, he drew forth a 
 great coil of rope, to the end of which a leaden weight 
 was fastened. " There now," resumed he, " yer a cute 
 woman — can ye tell me what's the meanin' of that? " 
 
 Mrs. Branaghan gave one look at the object in question, 
 and then turned away, as though the inquiry was one 
 beneath her dignity to investigate. 
 
 " Some would call it a clothes-line, and more would say 
 it was for fishing ; but sure there's no sign of hooks on it 
 at all; and what's the piece of lead for? — that's what 
 bothers me out entirely." 
 
 These observations were so many devices to induce 
 Mrs. Branaghan to offer her own speculations; but they 
 failed utterly, that sage personage not deigning to pay 
 the least attention either to Kerry or the subject of hia 
 remarks. 
 
 "Well, I'll just leave it where I found it," said he, in a 
 half soliloquy, but which had the effect of at least arousing 
 the curiosity of his companion. 
 
 " And where was that ? " asked she. 
 
 " Outside there, before the hall door," said he, carelessly, 
 " where I got this little paper book too ; " and he pro- 
 duced a small pocket almanack with blank pages inter- 
 leaved, some of which had short pencil memoranda. I'll
 
 A SUPPER PARTY. 265 
 
 leave them botli there, for, somehow, I doii't like the look 
 of either of them." 
 
 " Eead us a bit of it first, anyhow," said Mrs. Branaghan, 
 in a more conciliating tone than she had yet employed. 
 
 " 'Tis what I can't do, then," said Kerry, "for it's writ 
 in some outlandish tongue that's past me altogether." 
 
 " And you found them at the door, ye say ? " 
 
 " Out there fornint the tower. 'Twas the chaps that 
 run away from Master Mark that dropped them. Ye'r a 
 dhroll bit of a rope as ever 'I seen," added he, as he poised 
 the lead in his hand, " av a body knew only what to make 
 of ye." Then turning to the book, he pored for several 
 minutes over a page, in which there were some lines 
 written with a pencil. " Be my conscience I have it," 
 said he, at length ; '' and faix it wasn't bad of me to make 
 it out. What do jon think, now, the rope is for? " 
 
 " Sure I tould you afore I didn't know." 
 
 " Well, then, hear it, and no lie in it — 'tis for measurin' 
 the say." 
 
 " Measurin' the say ! What bother you're talking ; isn't 
 the say thousands and thousands of miles long ? " 
 
 " And who says it isn't ? — but for measurin' the depth of 
 it, that's what it is. Listen to this — ■' Bantry Bay, eleven 
 fathoms at low water inside of Whiddy Island ; but the 
 shore current at half ebb makes landing difficult with any 
 wind from the westward ; ' and here's another piece, half 
 rubbed out, about flat-bottomed boats being best for the 
 surf." 
 
 " 'Tis the smusrsrlers agfain," chimed in Mrs. Branaofhan, 
 as though summing up her opinion on the evidence. 
 
 " Troth, then, 1 don't think so ; they never found it 
 hard to land, no matter how it blew.. I'm thinking of a 
 way to find it out at la.'^t." 
 
 "And what's that?" 
 
 " I'll just go up to the parlour, wid an innocent face on 
 me, and I'll lay the rope and the little book down on the 
 table before the strange man there, and I'll just say, 
 ' There's the things your honour dropped at the door out- 
 side; ' and maybe ould Archy won't have the saycret out 
 of him." 
 
 " Do that, Kerry avich," said !Mrs. Branaghan, who 
 at length vouchsafed a hearty approval of his skill in
 
 266 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 devices — " do that, and I'll broil a bit o' meat for ye agin 
 ye come down." 
 
 " Wid an onion on it, av it's plazing to ye, ma'am," 
 said Kerry, insinuatingly. 
 
 " Sure I know how you like it ; and if ye bave tlie whole 
 of the saycret, maybe you'd get a dhrop to wash it down 
 besides." 
 
 " And wish you health and happy days, Mrs. Branaghan," 
 added Kerry, with a courteous gallantry he always reserved 
 for the kitchen. So saying, he arose from his chair, and 
 proceeded to arrange his dress in a manner becoming the 
 dignity of his new mission, rehearsing at the same time 
 the mode of his entry. 
 
 '"'Tis the rope and the little book, your honour,' I'll 
 say, * that ye dropped outside there, and sure it would 
 be a pity to lose it afther all your trouble measuring the 
 places.' That will be enough for ould Archy ; let him get 
 a sniflP of the game once, and begorra he'll run him home 
 by himself afterwards." 
 
 With this sensible reflection Kerry ascended the stairs 
 in high good humour at his own sagacity and the excellent 
 reward which awaited it on his return. As he neared the 
 door, the voices were loud and boisterous ; at least, j\Iark's 
 was such ; and it seemed as if Talbot was endeavouring 
 to moderate the violent tone in which he spoke, and suc- 
 cessfully, too ; for a loud burst of laughter followed, in 
 which Talbot appeared to join heartily. 
 
 " Maybe I'll spoil your fan," said Kerry, maliciously, to 
 himself; and he opened the door, and entered.
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 
 
 Dublin, at tlie time we speak of, possessed social attrao- 
 tions of a high order. Eank, beauty, intellect, and wealth, 
 contributed their several influences ; and while the tone 
 of society had all the charms of a politeness now bygone, 
 there was an admixture of native kindliness and cordiality 
 as distinctive as it was fascinating. 
 
 Almost every Irishman of rank travelled in those days. 
 It was regarded as the last finishing-touch of education, 
 and few nations possess quicker powers of imitation, or a 
 greater aptitude in adapting foreign habitudes to home 
 usages, than the Irish ; for, while vanity with the French- 
 man — coldness with the Englishman — and stolid indiffer- 
 ence with the German, are insuperable barriers against 
 this acquirement, the natural gaiety of Irish character, the 
 buoyancy, but still more than all, perhaps, the inherent 
 desire to please, suggest a quality which, when cultivated 
 and improved, becomes that great element of social success 
 • — the most precious of all drawing-room gifts — men call 
 tact. 
 
 It would be a most unfair criterion of the tastes and 
 pleasures of that day, were we to pronounce from our 
 experience of what Dublin now is. Provincialism had not 
 then settled down upon the city, with all its petty atten- 
 dant evils. The character of a metropolis was upheld by 
 a splendid Court, a resident Parliament, a great and titled 
 aristocracy. The foreground figures of the time were men 
 whose names stood high, and whose station was recognized 
 at every Court of Europe. There was wealth more than 
 proportioned to the cheapness of the country ; and while 
 ability and talent were the most striking features of every 
 circle, the taste for gorgeous display exhibited within 
 doors and without, threw a glare of splendour over the 
 scene, that served to illustrate, but not eclipse, the prouder 
 glories of mind. The comparative narrowness of the
 
 2G8 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 circle, and the total absence of English reserve, pi'oduced 
 a more intimate admixture of all the ranks which consti- 
 tute good society here than in London, and the advantages 
 were evident ; for while the aristocrat gained immeasurably 
 from intercourse witli men whose pursuits were purely 
 intellectual, so the latter acquired a greater cxpansiveness, 
 and a wider liberality in his views, from being divested 
 of all the trammels of mere professional habit, and threw 
 off his pedantry as a garment unsuited to his position in 
 society. But what more than all else was the character- 
 istic of the time, was the fact that social eminence — the 
 siicces de salon — was an object to every one. From the 
 proud peer, who aspired to rank and influence in the 
 councils of the State, to the rising barrister, ambitious of 
 parliamentary distinction — from the mere fashionable idler 
 of the squares, to the deeper plotter of political intrigue 
 • — this was alike indispensable. The mere admission into 
 certain circles was nothing— the fact of mixing with the 
 hundred others who are announced, and bow, and smile, 
 and slip away, did not then serve to identify a man as 
 belonging to a distinct class in society ; nor w^ould the easy 
 platitudes of the present day, in which the fool or the fop 
 can always have the ascendant, suffice for tlic absence of 
 conversational ability, ready wit, and sharj) intelligence, 
 which were assembled around every dinner-table of the 
 capital. 
 
 It is not our duty, still less our inclination, to inquire 
 why have all these goodly attractions left us, nor where- 
 fore is it, that, like the art of staining glass, social agree- 
 ability should be lost for ever. So it would seem, how- 
 ever ; we have fallen upon tiresome times, and he who is 
 old enough to remember pleasanter ones has the sad solace 
 of knowing that he has seen the last of tliem. 
 
 Crowded as the capital was with rank, wealth, and 
 influence, the arrival of Sir Marmadukc Travcrs was not 
 without its eclat. His vast fortune was genei-ally known ; 
 besides that, there was a singularity in the fact of an 
 Englishman, bound to Ireland by the very slender tie of a 
 small estate, without connections or friends in the country, 
 coming to reside in Dublin, which gratified native pride 
 as much as it excited public curiosity ; and the rapidity 
 with which the most splendid mansion in Stephen's Green
 
 ■ THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 269 
 
 vr&s prepared for bis reception vied in interest with the 
 speculation as to what possible cause had induced him to 
 come and live there. The rumours of his intended mag- 
 nificence, and the splendour of his equipage, furnished 
 gossip for the town and paragraphs for the papers. 
 
 It was, indeed, a wondrous change for those two young 
 girls — from the stillness and solitude of Glenflesk, to the 
 gaiety of the capital — from a life of reflection and retire- 
 ment, to the dazzling scenes and fascinating pleasures of a 
 new world. Upon Sybella the first effect was to increase 
 her natural timidity — to render her more cautious, as she 
 found herself surrounded by influences so novel and so 
 strange ; and in this wise there was mingled with her 
 enjoyment a sense of hesitation and fear that tinged all 
 her thoughts, and even impressed themselves upon her 
 manner. Not so with Kate : the instinct that made her 
 feel at home in the world was but the consciousness of 
 her own powers of pleasing. She loved society as the 
 scene where, however glossed over by conventionalities, 
 human passions and feelings were at work, and where the 
 power of influencing or directing others gave a stimulus 
 to existence far higher and nobler than all the pleasures of 
 retirement. It was life, in fact. Each day had its own 
 separate interests, dramatizing, as it were, the real, and 
 making of the ordinary events of the world a romance, 
 of which she felt herself a character. As much 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 appearance, these two young 
 gii-ls 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 diflferent 
 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 enmity of Celt to Saxon was then 
 stirring in secret the hearts of thousands m the country, 
 and fashioning itself into the elements of open insurrec- 
 tion, the city was divided by a more peaceful animosity,
 
 270 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 and the English and the Irish party were arrayed against 
 each other in the cause of beauty. 
 
 It would be impossible to conceive a rivalry from which 
 e\erj ungenerous or unworthy feeling was more perfectly 
 excluded. So far from any jealousy obtruding, every little 
 triumph of one was a source of unalloyed heartfelt pleasure 
 to the other ; and while Sybella sympathized with all the 
 delight of Kate's followers in an Irish success, so Kate, 
 with characteristic feeling, enjoyed nothing so much as 
 the chagrin of her own party when Sybella was unques- 
 tionably in the ascendant. Happily for us, we are not 
 called upon to explain a phenomenon so novel and so 
 pleasing — enough if we record it. Certain it is, the ab- 
 sence of all envy enhanced the fascinations of each, and 
 exalted the objects in the eyes of their admirers. On this 
 point alone opinion 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 mutual affection. 
 
 One alone among the circle of their acquaintances stood 
 neutral — unable to divest himself enough of natural par- 
 tiality to be a fair and just judge. Sir Marmaduke 
 Travers candidly avowed that he felt himself out of 
 court. The leaders of fashion, the great arbiters of hon 
 ton, were happily divided, and if England could boast of a 
 majority among the Castle party, Ireland tui-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 use the phrase appro- 
 priated by the newspapers, their entrance into the fashion- 
 able life of Dublin excited. Let us now return to the 
 parties themselves. In a large and splendidly fui'nished 
 apartment of Sir Mai-maduke's Dublin residence, sat the 
 baronet, his daughter, and Kate, at breakfast, alternately 
 reading from the morning papers, and discussing the news 
 as they ate. 
 
 "Well, but, my dear Kate" — Sir Marmaduke had 
 emancipated himself from the more formal "Miss" a 
 week before — " turn to another column, and let us hear 
 if they have any political news."
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 271 
 
 " There's not a word, sir, unless an allusion to tlie rebel 
 colour of my dress at the Chancellor's ball be such. You 
 see, Sybella, Falkner fights not under mj banner." 
 
 " I think you stole the Chancellor himself from me," 
 replied Sybella, laughing, " and I must say most unhand- 
 somely too: he had just given me his arm, to lead me to 
 a chair, when you said something in a half whisper — I 
 could not catch it if I would — he dropped my arm, burst 
 out a laughing, and hurried over to Lord Clonmel — I 
 suppose to repeat it." 
 
 " It was not worth relating, then," said Kate, with a 
 toss of her head. " I merely remarked how odd it was 
 Lady Ridgeway couldn't dance in time, with such beautiful 
 clocks on her stocking." 
 
 " Oh, Kate, dearest ! " said Sybella, who, while she could 
 not refrain from a burst of laughter, became deep scarlet 
 at her friend's hardihood. 
 
 " Why Meddlicot told that as his own at supper," said 
 Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 " So he did, sir ; but I cautioned him that a license for 
 wholesale does not permit the retail even of jokes. Isn't 
 the worthy sheriff a druggist ? But what have we here 
 — all manner of changes on the staff — Lord Sellbridge to 
 join his regiment at Hounslow, vice Captain — your brother, 
 Sybella — Captain Frederick Travers ; " and she reddened 
 slightly at the words. " I did not know he was appointed 
 aide-de-camp to the Viceroy." 
 
 "Nor did I, my dear," said Sir Marmaduke. " I knew 
 he was most anxious to make the exchange with Lord 
 Sellbridge ; but this is the first I have heard of the success 
 of his negotiation." 
 
 "You see, Kate," said Sybella, while a sly glance shot 
 beneath her long-lashed lids, " that even Fred has become 
 a partisan of Ireland." 
 
 " Perhaps the prospect of the revolt he hinted at," re- 
 plied Kate, with an air of scornful pride, "has made the 
 Guardsman prefer this country for the moment." 
 
 " I incline to a very different reason," said Sybella, but 
 in a voice so subdued as to be only audible to Kate herself, 
 who again blushed deeply, and seemed greatly confused. 
 
 " Ha ! here it is," said Sir Marmaduke, reading aloud a 
 long paragraph from a morning paper, which, descanting
 
 272 THE o'donoghue, 
 
 on the abortivcness of any effort to destroy tlio peace of 
 the realm by enemies without or within its frontiers, con- 
 cluded with a glowing panegyric on the blessings of the 
 British constitution. " ' The Government, while confid- 
 ing implicitly on the loyalty and bravery of his Majesty's 
 people, have yet neglected no measures of precaution 
 against the insane and rash attempts of our " natural 
 enemies," whose temerity is certain of again receiving the 
 same severe lesson which every attempt upon our shores 
 has taught them.' Yes — yes — very prompt and active 
 measures — nothing could be better," muttered he to 
 himself. 
 
 " May I ask what they consist in, these precautionary 
 movements ? " said Kate. 
 
 "A full oi'ganization of the militia and yeomanry," re- 
 plied Sir Marmaduke, proudly — for he commanded a regi- 
 ment of Northamptonshire Fencibles — " strengthening the 
 different garrisons in large towns, mounting guns of heavy 
 calibre on the forts " 
 
 A hearty burst of laughter broke from Kate, which she 
 made no effort to control whatever. 
 
 "I cannot help laughing, because that same word recalls 
 a conversation I once heard between two French officers 
 in Bruges. One of them, who seemed to know Ireland 
 well, averred that these forts were so placed as only to 
 be capable of battering down each other. I know he 
 instanced two on the southern coast, which, in three 
 discharges, must inevitably make a drawn battle of it." 
 
 "My dear young lady," said Sir Marmaduke, with an 
 unusual gravity, " it is not exactly to our enemies we must 
 look for any warm encomium on our means of defence ; 
 nor has experience yet shown that British courage can be 
 justly a subject for a Frenchman's laughter." 
 
 "And as to the militia and yeomanry," continued Kate, 
 for she seemed bent on tormenting, and totally indifferent 
 to the consequences regarding herself, " Colonel Uelcamp 
 called them ' arscnaux ambulants,' admirably contrived to 
 provide an invading army with arms and ammunition.". 
 
 " I heartily wish your friend Colonel Delcamp would 
 favour us with a visit of inspection," said the baronet, 
 scarcely able to control his anger. 
 
 " I should not think the occurrence unlikely," was the
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASUKES. 273 
 
 cool reply ; " and if so, I may be permitted to assure yon 
 that you will bo much pleased with his manners and 
 agreeability." Sybella's imploring look was all in vain, 
 Kate, as she herself said, belonged to a race who neither 
 gave nor took quarter, and such a controversy was the 
 very conflict she gloried in. How it was to be carried on 
 any farther is not easy to forseee, had not the difficulty 
 been solved by the entrance of Frederick Travers, come to 
 communicate the news of his appointment. While Sir 
 Marmaduke and Sybella expressed their joy at his success, 
 Kate, half chagrined at the interruption to a game where 
 she already deemed herself the winner, walked towards 
 the window and looked out. 
 
 " Have I nothing like congratulation to expect from 
 Miss O'Donoghue?" said Frederick, as he placed himself 
 at her side. 
 
 " I scarcely knew if it were a subject where congratula- 
 tion would be suitable. To exchange the glories of Lon- 
 don life, the fascinations of a great Court, and the society 
 of the first people in the land, for the lesser splendours of 
 a second-rate capital — perhaps you might have smiled at 
 the simplicity of wishing you joy for all this ; " and here 
 her voice assumed a deeper, fuller accent. '* I own that I 
 do not feel Ireland in a position to bear even a smile of 
 scorn without offence to one of her children." 
 
 " I was not aware till now that you could suspect me 
 of such a feeling." 
 
 " You are an Englishman, sir — that's enough," said 
 Kate, hurriedly. " In your eyes, we are the people you 
 have conquered ; and it would be too much to expect you 
 should entertain great respect for the prejudices you have, 
 laboured to subdue. But, after all, there is a distinction 
 worth making, and you have not made it." 
 
 "And that is — if I dare ask " 
 
 " That is, there is a wide difference between conquering 
 the territory and gaining the affections of a people. You 
 have succeeded in one ; you'll never, at least by your 
 present coui-ses, accomplish the other." 
 
 " Speak more plainly to me," said Travers, who felta 
 double interest in a conversation which every moment cou 
 tained an allusion that bore upon his own fortune. 
 
 " There — there, sir," said Kate, proudly, " your very 
 
 T
 
 274 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 request is an answer to yourself. "We here, who have 
 known each other for some time, have had opportunities of 
 interchanging opinions and sentiments, cannot understand 
 a simple matter in the same way, nor regard it in the same 
 light, how do you suppose that millions, separated by dis- 
 tance, habits, and pursuits, can attain to what we, with 
 our advantages, have failed in ? Can you not see that we 
 are not the same people ? " 
 
 " But need our dissimilitudes sever — may they not be 
 made rather ties to bind us more closely together," said 
 he, tenderly. 
 
 " Equality for the future, even if we obtained it, cannot 
 eradicate the memory of the past. The penal laws " 
 
 "Come — come. There is no longer anything there. 
 See the University, for instance. By the bye" — and here 
 Travers caught eagerly at the opportunity of escape — 
 " what of Herbert ? is" not this near the time for his exa- 
 mination?" 
 
 ' The very day, the 28th of February," said she, read- 
 ing from a small memorandum-book. " It is six weeks 
 yesterday since we have seen him — poor boy ! " 
 
 " How pale and sickly he looked, too ! 1 wish with all 
 my heart he had not set his mind so eagerly on college 
 
 success " 
 
 •' It is only for women to live without ambition of one 
 sort or other," replied Kate, sadly ; " and a very poor kind 
 of existence it is, I assure you." 
 
 " What if we were to make a party, and meet him as he 
 comes out? "We might persuade him to join as at dinner, 
 
 too." 
 
 " Well thought of, Fred," said Sir Marmaduke. _" Her- 
 bert seems to have forgotten us latterly, and knowing his 
 anxiety to succeed, I really scrupled at the thought of 
 idling him." 
 
 " It's very kind of you all," said Kate, with one of her 
 sweetest smiles, " to remember the poor student, and there 
 is nothing I should like better than the plan you propose." 
 
 "We must find out the hour they leave the Hall," said 
 Frederick. 
 
 " I heard him say it was at four o'clock," said Sybella, 
 timidly, venturing for the first time to interpose a word in 
 the conversation.
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 275 
 
 " You have the best memory in the world, Sybella," 
 whispered Kate in her friend's ear ; and simple as the 
 words were, they called the blush to her cheek in an 
 instant. 
 
 The morning passed away in the thousand little 
 avocations which affluence and ease have invented to 
 banish ennui and render life always interesting. A few 
 minutes before four o'clock the splendid equipage of 
 Sir Marmaduke Travers, in all the massive perfection of 
 its London appointments, drew up at the outer gate 
 of the University ; the party preferring to enter the courts 
 on foot. 
 
 As Frederick Travers, with his two lady companions, 
 appeared within the walls, the murmur of their names ran 
 through the crowd of gownsmen already assembled in the 
 court ; for although by College time it still wanted fifteen 
 minutes of the hour, a considerable number of students 
 were gathei^ed together, anxious to hear the result of the 
 day. The simple but massive style of the buildings ; the 
 sudden change from the tumult and noise of a crowded 
 city to the silence and quietude of these spacious quad- 
 rangles ; the number of youths dressed in their University 
 costume, and either gazing wistfully at the door of the 
 Examination Hall, or conversing eagerly together, were all 
 matters of curious interest to the Travers's party, who saw 
 themselves in a world so different from that they daily 
 moved in. Nor were the loungers the students only ; 
 mixed up with them, here and there, might be seen some 
 of the leading barristers of the day, and one or two of 
 the most distinguished members of the House of Com- 
 mons — men who themselves had tasted the sweets of 
 College success, aud were fain, even by a passing moment, 
 to refresh the memory of youthful triumphs, and bring 
 back, by the sight of familiar objects, the recollection of 
 days to which all the glories of after life are but poor in 
 c ' aparison. Many of these were recognized by the 
 - itents, and saluted by them with marks of profound 
 oect ; and one, a small, mean-looking man, with jet- 
 ok eyes and olive complexion, was received with a 
 ■ ar, which was with difficulty arrested by a waving 
 ion with his hand and a gesture towards the door of 
 
 • Hall, from which, with a hollow, cavernous sound, a 
 
 X 2
 
 276 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 ]:eavy bolt was now drawn, and tlie wide portal opened. 
 A general movement in the crowd showed how intense 
 expectation then was ; but it was destined to a further 
 trial, for it was only the head porter dressed in his crimson 
 robe, and carrying his cap at arm's length before him, 
 who, followed by the Provost, issued forth : the students 
 removed their caps, and stood in respectful silence as he 
 passed. Again the door was closed, and all was still. 
 
 " There is something in all this that stimulates curiosity 
 strongly," said Kate. " When I came in here I could 
 have waited patiently for an hour or two, but now, the 
 sight of all these anxious faces, these prying looks, that 
 seem eager to pierce the very door itself, those short 
 sentences, broken by quick glances at the clock, have 
 worked me up to an excitement high and fevered as their 
 own." 
 
 " It wants but a minute now," said Fred. 
 
 " I think the hand has not moved for the last ten," said 
 Sybella, smiling faintly. 
 
 " I hope he has gained the prize," muttered Kate, below 
 her breath ; and at the moment the bell tolled, and the 
 wide doors, as if burst open by the sound, were flung 
 wide, and the human tide poured forth, and mingled with, 
 that beneath ; but what a ditFcrent aspect did it present. 
 The faces were mostly flushed and heated, the eyes flash- 
 ing, the dress disordered, the cravats awry, the hair 
 tangled — all the signs of mental excitement, long and 
 arduously sustained, were there, and save a few, whose 
 careless look and unmoved expression showed that their 
 l^art had no high ambition at stake, all were impressed 
 with the same character of mingled eagerness and ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 Many among these were quickly singled out and sur- 
 rounded by troops of eager and anxious friends, and the 
 passing stranger might easily read in the tone and accent 
 of tlie speaker his fortune, whether good or evil. 
 
 " Where is Herbert ? — where can he be? — I don't see 
 him," said each of the Travers's party, as, mingling with 
 the crowd, they cast their anxious looks on every side ; 
 but amid the bustle of the scene, the hurrying forms, 
 and the babble of tongues, they felt bewildered and con- 
 fused.
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 277 
 
 " Let us try at his cliambers," said Frederick; '^he will, 
 in all likelihood, be there soon;" and at once they turned 
 their steps towards the corner of the old square near the 
 library, where Herbert lived his solitary life ; for although 
 nominally linked with a companion — a chum, in college 
 parlance — he rarely made his appearance within the walls, 
 and then only for a few days at a time. 
 
 When they reached the door they found it open, and 
 without further waiting, or any notice of their approac^h, 
 they entered, but so noiselessly and quietly withal, that the 
 deep accents of grief — the heavy sound of broken sobs — 
 struck at once upon their ears. They stopped and gazed 
 in silence at each other, reading, as it were, their own 
 heartfelt fears in the face of each. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Kate, as her proud lip trembled with 
 agitation; " this is a sad beginning." 
 
 " Let us go back," whispered Sybella, faintly, and her 
 cheek was pale as death as she spoke. 
 
 "No, no," cried Frederick, hurriedly; " we must cheer 
 him up. What signifies the whole affair — a piece of mere 
 boyish ambition, that he'll only laugh at one of these 
 days." 
 
 " Not so," said Kate ; " the augury of success or failure 
 in the outset of life is no such trifle as you deem it. If 
 he be faint-hearted, the game is up with him for ever — if 
 he be made of sterner stuff, as one of his name and house 
 ought to be, he'll revenge his present fall by a great here- 
 after. Let me see him ; " and, at once disengaging her 
 arm, she walked forward and entered the chamber, while 
 Frederick and his sister retired to the court to await her 
 return. 
 
 When Kate O'Donoghue entered the room, Herbert was 
 seated before a table, on which his head was leaning, with 
 his hands pressed against his face. At his feet lay his 
 cap, and the books he carried with him from the Hall. 
 Unconscious of her presence, lost to everything save his 
 overwhelming affliction, the sobs came with a convulsive 
 shudder that shook his frame and made the very table 
 rattle, while at intervals there broke from him a faint 
 moan of heartrending sorrow. 
 
 " My dear brother," said Kate, placing her arm around 
 bis neck. The boy started and looked up, and prepared
 
 278 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 as she was to see the traces of suffering there, she started 
 at the ravages long days and nights of study and deep 
 grief had left behind them : his eyes were sunk, and 
 surrounded by dark circles, that made them seem quite 
 buried beneath his brows ; his forehead, traversed by a 
 network of blue veins, had that transparent thinness 
 mental labour impresses, and his lips were thin and 
 colourless ; while on each cheek a burning spot of red 
 looked like the mark of hectic. He made no answer, but 
 the tears ran fast from his eyes, and his mouth quivered 
 as he tried to say something. 
 
 She sat down beside him on the same chair, and bending 
 her head till the silken curls touched his very cheek, she 
 spoke to him — not in words of encouragement or good 
 cheer, for such her own instinct told her were inappli- 
 cable, but in the soft accents of afi'ection, neither under- 
 valuing the source of his grief, nor yet suffering him to 
 be carried away by his own sense of his calamity. 
 " Remember, my dear brother," said she, " you are not 
 less dear to our hearts for all this — remember that for the 
 casualties of the world, and its chances, we can only do 
 our utmost — that success is not for us to determine, but 
 to strive for. Had you won to-day, some other must now 
 have grieved like you, and who can tell if he could count 
 as many fond and loving hearts to feel for and console 
 him ? " 
 
 " Oh, if you knew how I strived and longed — how I 
 prayed for success," said he, in a voice almost stifled by 
 convulsive throbs. 
 
 " And it will come yet, Herbert. The tree is only the 
 more fruitful when the knife has cut down to its very 
 heart. Yours is not the nature to be deterred by one 
 repulse, nor yours the name to be stamped with failure 
 because the contest is difficult. Ambitions are only noble 
 when their path is steep. Who knows how 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 hope. The next 
 struggle will end differently ; but, above all, wear a fair 
 face before the world. I remember some French prisoners 
 being brought into Courtray, who amused us so much by 
 their gay and smiling air, and look of ease and satisfao-
 
 THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASUKES. 279 
 
 tion : their secret "was, that defeat was never disgrace, 
 save when it lowered the spirit and made the heart droop. 
 Tbeirs never failed, and I promise 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 iip the contest, wheu, 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 which I defended 
 my opinion for a time, and actually encouraged my per- 
 sistence, 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 compeusates 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 ai'biter of temperament 
 as well as talent. Come, Herbert, even this should recon- 
 cile you to your fortune ; you have not failed unworthily." 
 
 " But my uncle, Kate — my uncle will deem it far other- 
 wise. 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
 
 280 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 tTiouglit on wliat's bygone. Tlie Traverses invited you to 
 (line witli them to-day." 
 
 " Ob, no— no." 
 
 " No, I have no intention to press you, only come soon 
 to see us — to see ?«e." She kissed his forehead tenderly 
 as she spoke the last word, and glided rapidly from the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIOUa 
 
 Kate O'Donoghue was more deeply affected by Herbert's 
 failure than she had let appear to the youth, or even 
 confessed to herself. It was not that the character of hip 
 ambition enlisted her sympathies or engaged her interest. 
 T'ar 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 eai'ly pre- 
 judices — 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 pi'ison- 
 like walls of the convent did not keep out the spirit-stirring 
 sounds of drum and trumpet, the tramp of marching hosts, 
 and the proud clangor of war. It was a time when the 
 soldier was everything. There was but one path in life by 
 which to win honour, rank, fame, and fortune. Even the 
 humblest 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 Idton de mareclial. 
 
 All she had ever seen of foreign society partook of this 
 character; for, strangely enough, on the ruin of an aris- 
 tocracy a new and splendid chivalry was founded — a 
 chivalry whose fascinations covered many a wrong, and 
 made many a bad cause glorious by the heroism it evoked I
 
 FIEST IMPRESSIONS. 281 
 
 The peaceful path in life was then, in her estimate, the 
 inglorious one. Still, her proud nature could not brook 
 defeat in anything'. 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, thought no ambition above their daring ; and she 
 was worthy of the haughtiest of her ancestoi^s. 
 
 Too proud to enter into any detail of Herbert's failure, 
 she dismissed the subject as briefly as she could, and made 
 her appearance in the drawing-room without any per- 
 ceptible change of manner ; nor did she appear to take any 
 notice of the announcement made by Sir Marmaduke to 
 his son, that Hemsworth, who had just arrived from Scot- 
 land, would join the family circle at dinner. Kate had 
 never seen him, but his name was long associated in her 
 mind with anecdotes of oppression and cruelty to her 
 nncle — of petty insults and annoyances which the letters 
 from Carrignacurra used constantly to tell of, and of which 
 her relatives abroad had often descanted in her hearing. 
 The pictire 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 dis- 
 cover that Hemsworth entered the room a gentlemanlike 
 person, of about five-and-forty, tall, and well-formed, with 
 regular features, rather melancholy in their expression than 
 otherwise, with a voice singularly low, soft, and pleasing, 
 his manner a mixture of well-bred ease, and that excessive 
 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 anything subservient. With all her disposition to 
 be critical, she could find little fault with either his 
 manner or his conversation, nor could she detect any 
 appearance of aft'ectation. On the contrary, he seemed 
 atf'able, 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 surprised Kate by the absence
 
 282 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 peasantry of other lands. 
 
 She listened at Grst with suspicion and distx'ust, then, by 
 degrees, with interested attention, and, at last, with actual 
 delight, to the narrative he gave of the social condition of 
 Ireland ; in which he laboured to show that a mistaken 
 estimate of the people by England — a misconception 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 country, and led to that con- 
 dition of insulting depreciation on one side, and proud 
 defiance on the other, which the two people exhibited 
 towards each other. 
 
 So well and ably did he sustain his part — so powerfully 
 support each position by reference to some fact with which 
 bis ample memory supplied him — that Sir Marmaduke was 
 eventually obliged to confess himself vanquished, though 
 unconvinced — who ever was when worsted ? — and Frede- 
 rick, 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 inferior 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 Hemsworth's face so adequately expressed what she 
 wished, but dared not say, that she merely returned the 
 smile, and was silent. 
 
 Had Hemsworth's whole 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 could 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
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 283 
 
 inoontrovei'tible or irrefutable. They were merely his 
 sentiments — his mode of seeing and estimating particular 
 events, of which another might judge diflerently. For all 
 he advanced 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 Iter opinions also. 
 
 " So you think we shall have no outbreak, Hemswortb," 
 said Sir Marmaduke, as they sat at tea. 
 
 " I scarcely go so far," said he, gravely. " There are 
 too many reasons for an opposite fear, to say so much, even 
 if the Secretary of State 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 ambition ; 
 and from them any peril that may now be apprehended 
 will certainly come. Many young men of the best 
 families of the country, whose estates are deeply encum- 
 bered — -heavy mortgages and large dowries weighing them 
 down — are ready to join in any bold attempt which 
 promises a new order of things. They see themselves 
 forgotten in the distribution of ail patronage — excluded 
 from every office — sometimes for reasons of religion — 
 sometimes for family, even for a mere namesake. They 
 are ready to play a bold game, where losing is only quicker 
 ruin, and to gain would be a glorious victory." 
 
 " But what could a few rash and desperate young men 
 like these effect against a power so great and so con- 
 solidated as England ? " 
 
 " Little, perhaps, as regards the overthrow of a govern- 
 ment, but a world of injury to the prospect of future 
 quiet. 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 waa 
 glad to accord to Scotland — had he, without 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 people labour under. I have a very large Irish 
 acquaintance in London, and pleasanter, happier fellows 
 cannot exist than they are."
 
 284 THE o'donoghue, 
 
 " All tlie young men of family in Ireland aie 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 away 
 without speaking. 
 
 " Should we not ask pardon of the ladies for this subject 
 of our conversation ? " 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 
 60 satisfactorily to account for." 
 
 " How happy I am to meet my countrywoman's 
 approval," said Hemsworth, bowing courteously, and with 
 a marked emphasis directing his speech to Kate. 
 
 The manner in which he spoke the words was bo 
 palpably intended for herself, that she felt all the charm 
 of a flattery to which the disparity 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 
 Sybella," 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 ; not so difficult a 
 task as the poor boy deems, but one to which he is himself 
 unequal." 
 
 "Does he then 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 oii 
 each word. *' I shall hate the sight of that University until 
 he carries ofi" the next prize ; and then — then I care not 
 whether his taste incline him for another effort ; " and so 
 Baying, she embraced her friend, and they parted for the 
 night. 
 
 The ejnstle which Kate had promised to conclude was
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 285 
 
 in itself a lengthy one — ■written at different intervals 
 duving 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 liim to whom it was addressed, and to 
 whom every allusion was familiar, and the reference to 
 each book and subject thoroughly known — what diflB.- 
 culties 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 
 examination, when the following few lines, written with 
 trembling hand, appeared : — 
 
 " They say I shall gain it. H called my translation 
 
 of Horace a brilliant one, and asked the Yice-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 uncle," wrote Kate, 
 after these words, " to fulfil the ungrateful task of bear- 
 ing bad tidings ; and I, who have never had the good 
 fortune to biing you happiness, must now speak to you of 
 misfortune. — My dear cousin has failed." 
 
 She followed these few lines by a brief narrative 
 Herbert had given her — neither seeking to extenuate his 
 errors, nor excuse his rashness — well knowing in her 
 heart that Sir Archy would regard the lesson thus con- 
 veyed 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 toilsome 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 myself, I feel the even 
 current of prosperity is but a sluggish dream, that calls 
 for no efforts to stem its tide ; and, were his grief over, 
 I'd rather rejoice that he has found a conflict, because he 
 may now discover he has courage to meet it.
 
 286 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Even I, to follow a theme so dispiriting — even I grow 
 weary of pleasure, and tire 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 agreeability than I expected — 
 both have exceeded my anticipations; nor is it that I 
 have not been what we should call in 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 ha3 
 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 fact, 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 inevitably 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, 
 Serjeants learned in the law, country gentlemen in hordes, 
 two baronets, and one luckless viscount, have asked for 
 the valueless hand that writes these lines ; and yet— and 
 yet, my dear chevalier, I shall still write myself at tho 
 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 rohe, coleur de cerise, looped with 
 white roses, and my chapeau de paysane, 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 eyelashes 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 
 
 " IQte O'Donoghue.
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS, 287 
 
 " I have met Hempworth, and, strange to say, found 
 him both pleasant and agreeable." 
 
 Such were the concluding lines of an epistle, in which 
 few who did not possess Sir Archy's acuteness could 
 successfully trace anything of the real character of the 
 writer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 OLD CHAKACTEES WITH NE)7 FACES. 
 
 At the time we speak of, Clontarf 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 circumstances 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 summei', in winter its dreariness and desola- 
 tion 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 drift- 
 ing to the very roof's ; the thatch was fastened 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 wei'e 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, sci-eening his lace
 
 288 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 from tlie beating storm, all was silent and motionTess. 
 The little inn, which in the summer-time was thronged 
 from inorning 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, everything 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 table 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 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, everything 
 presented a very cheering contrast to the bleak desolation 
 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 kitchen 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. He 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 sound of a carriage was heard on the 
 road, and the next moment he unbarred the door and 
 admitted two persons, whose dripping hats and soaked 
 greatcoats bore evidence to the downpour without. 
 
 •' Well, Billy," said the first who entered, " this rain 
 will beat down the 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
 
 OLD CHARACTERS WITH NEW FACES. 289 
 
 east, and I know from the noise on the Bull we'll have 
 plenty of it. I was afeard something happened you, sir ; 
 you're an hour behind the time you said yourself." 
 
 "Very true — so I 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 misfortune 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 tlie reply ; and, as 
 he opened the door into the parlour, the fact declared 
 itself to their senses. 
 
 Tiie 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 dooi-s. It is not 
 necessary to consume much time in presenting them to our 
 readers ; they are botli already known to him. One was 
 Mr. Hemsworth ; the other no less a person than Lanty 
 Lawler, the hox'se-dealer. One only remark is necessary. 
 Familiar as these characters already are, they here 
 appear in aspect somewhat different from what they have 
 hitherto exhibited. Hemsworth, no longer the associate 
 of fashionable company, had exchanged his silken defer- 
 ential manner for an air of easy confidence that seemed to 
 fit him even better ; Lanty, on the other hand, had lost all 
 his habitual self-possession, looked abashed and sheepish, 
 and seemed for all the world as though ho 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 
 frankness, were 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 preoccupation 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 Hemsworth, who at Inst interposed, in a calm 
 but commanding tone, as he laid his hand on the decanter: 
 
 u
 
 290 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " A pipe of it, if you please, Lanty ; you may iiave 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 since we met, 
 and it may be longer ere we have anotlier opportunity like 
 the present." 
 
 " Very true, sir," said Lanty, submissively, as he pushed 
 his untasted glass before him. " It was the wetting I was 
 afeard of; my clothes were soaked through." 
 
 Hemsworth paid 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, Hemsworth's eyes 
 never tui'ned from him. They were fixed on him, not with 
 any expression of severity or harshness, neither did the 
 glance indicate suspicion. It. was a steady, passionless 
 stare, rather like one seeking an explanation than pre- 
 judging a motive. 
 
 " You were quite certain that they were the papers we 
 wanted?" 
 
 " 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 Hems- 
 worth 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. There are the 
 letters Mark wrote to the Delegates." 
 
 " I think Mr. Morrissy has most of them, sir," said 
 Lanty, hesitating j "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 may have as many as that — ay, and here in your 
 pocket, too, this minute. Come, my worthy friend, you 
 may cheat me in horseflesh whenever I'm fool enough to
 
 OLD CHARACTERS WITH NEW FACES. 291 
 
 deal witli you, but at this game I'm your master. Let me 
 see these letters." 
 
 " Howwould I have them, captain, at all?" said Lanty, 
 imploringly ; " sure you know as well as me that I'm not 
 in the scheme at all." 
 
 " Save so far as having a contract to mount five hun- 
 dred men of the French on their landing in Ireland, the 
 money for which you have partly received, and for Avhich 
 I hold the cheque, 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 a horse, 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, I'll 
 let them hang you as I'd see them hang a dog." 
 
 Lanty became lividly pale as Hemsworth 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. Hemsworth 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 you 
 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 I'm 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 random. 
 Lanty still preserved silence, and looked as^ though dog- 
 gedly 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 mean- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 while refilled his glass, crossed his arms before him, and 
 seemed awaiting, without impatience, the result of the 
 other's deliberation. At length the hand approached the 
 fio^ure ; it wanted but about half a minute of the time, and 
 Hemsworth, taking up the watch from the table, held it 
 before Lanty's eyes, as he said, — 
 
 " Time is nearly up. Master Lawler ; do you 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 ap- 
 proached the fireplace 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 chim- 
 ney. He stood thus for a few seconds, when Lanty — in 
 whose flashing eyes and darkened colour inward rage was 
 depicted — suddeidy thrust his arm into the breast of his 
 coat. Hemsworth 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 
 handred 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. 
 " 1 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 the 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." 
 
 " Al)out that same, sir," replied Lawler, while he drew 
 forth the two pistols from the same breast-pocket he had 
 taken the letters.
 
 OLD CHARACTERS WITH NEW FACES. 293 
 
 Ilemswortli 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 LuUets, Lanty," 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 
 justol, containing four revolving barrels, each as wide as 
 the bore of a musket. Lanty gazed in astonishment and 
 terror at the murderous implement, into which the hand 
 fitted by a handle like that of a saw. Hemsworth played 
 the spring by which the barrels moved with a practised 
 finger, and seemed to exult in the expression 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 Dele- 
 gates, and as they never saw his handwriting, 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. " VYell, 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 when 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."
 
 294 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' I don't thiuk 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 Hemsworth, 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 a second time, made his appearance, and by Hems- 
 worth'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 town, too, Lanty ? " said he, 
 in a tone of inquiry. 
 
 " ISTo, sir ; I'm going to stop here with Billy, if your 
 honour has no objection." 
 
 " None whatever. Eemember to let me see you on 
 Tuesday, when I shall have everything in readiness for 
 your journey south — till then, good-bye." So saying, and 
 handing Corcoran two guineas in gold, for he paid liber- 
 ally, Hemsworth 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 
 went, " I wish it was the last I was ever to see of you."
 
 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 BOME HINTS AIJOtTT HARRY TALBOT. 
 
 We iimst 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 Carrignacurra 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 per- 
 chance anything on his part might offend the youth. 
 !None knew better than Kerry the violent temper of the 
 young O'Donoghue, and how little resti'aint 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 him how he should act ; on tlie one 
 side lay the penalties, on the other the rewards of his ven- 
 ture — 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 con- 
 varsin' with them this half-hour, and that the rojie and the 
 bit of lead is a new way they do have for catching mer- 
 maids and other faymale fishes in the bay; and sure if I 
 only 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 with this profound reflection on 
 Mrs. Branaghan'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 fol- 
 lowed ; we have merely adverted to the fact, inasmuch 
 as that on the trivial circumstances of Kerry's resolve 
 depended the discovery of a plot which, if once known 
 to M'Nab, would immediately have been communicated 
 to the Government. The fates willed it otherwise j and
 
 296 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 wlien the party separated in the old tower, Sir Arcny was 
 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 acquaint- 
 ance. With many a "wily scheme for the morrow, the old 
 man went to rest, determining to spare no pains to un- 
 ravel the mystery; a fruitless resolve after all, for when 
 day broke Talbot and Mark were already away, many 
 miles on the road to Dublin. 
 
 The O'Donoghue's first act, on completing his arrange- 
 ments with Svvaby, 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 possessed in his life. 
 Talbot, to whom the circumstance was told by Mark, 
 readily persuaded him to visit Dublin, not merely for the 
 pleasures and amusements of the capital, but that he 
 inight personally be made known to the Delegates, and 
 see and confer with those who were the directors 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 everything. He made no secret to his new friend 
 of his present unhappiness, nor did he conceal that an 
 unpaid 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 rendering 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 op- 
 portunity 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 
 *v'e the passpoi'ts, the other darkly ruminated on tho
 
 SOME HINTS ABOUT HARRY TALLOT. 297 
 
 chances of meeting Lis enemy and provoking him to 
 a duel. 
 
 It was on the evening of the third day after they left 
 Carrignacurra that they drew near tlie capital, and after a 
 promise from Mark that in everything 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 bo}", 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 
 doggedly ; "we have good names, and a good pnrse, 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 will 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 pre- 
 tending 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 j
 
 298 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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, however it happens, Billy knows all the 
 gossip of the day — fashionable, political, or sporting, he 
 keeps himself up to what is going forward everywhere." 
 And so saying, Talbot at once hastened after the landlord 
 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 pretentious 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, Billy ; 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 anything here- — from 
 the lloyal Bari-acks to Trinity College." 
 
 " Flattery, gross flattery, I3ill. I was your own pupil, 
 and you can't help pai'tiality." 
 
 " 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 ]\lelian at the 
 spring meeting with the roan cob that knew how to limp 
 when you wanted him ? — as great a devil as himself, Mr.
 
 SOME HINTS ABOUT HARRY TALBOT. 299 
 
 O'Donogliue. You'd swear tte beast had a bad blood 
 spavin if you saw him move, and he all the time a three- 
 quarter bred horse, without a stain or a blemish about 
 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 reception they met 
 with, he joined in the mirth as freely as the others. 
 
 " The best of all was the Wicklow steeple-chase ; soi'row 
 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 starting 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 postilion to Steevens's 
 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 Mr. Talbot lay snug in the stable, waiting for the 
 chaise to be oi'dered round, when down comes the word, 
 * Number four, two bays, you're wanted ; ' and up 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 horseshoe 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 Wicklow.
 
 800 THE o'donogiiue. 
 
 " Never sucli cries were heard as the bishop's. Some 
 say that he s\Yore hard ; but it isn't true- — he prayed, and 
 begged, and shouted — but no use. Talbot gave them the 
 Btcel at every stride ; and after a long shipping gallop, ho 
 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 knowledge 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 landing on the Irish 
 shores. Mark could not well understand how any one 
 charged with such a mission could have either wasted his 
 time or endangered his safety by any ridiculous adven- 
 tures, and did not scruple to show his astonishment at the 
 circumstance. 
 
 Talbot smiled significantly at the remai^k, and exchanged 
 a glance with Crossley, while he answered, — 
 
 " Placed in such a position as I have been for some 
 years, Mark, many different parts have been forced upon 
 me ; and I have often found that there is no such safe 
 mask against detection as following out the bent of one's 
 humour in circumstances of difficulty. An irresistible 
 impulse to play the fool, even 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 prac- 
 tice, that with the world passes for cleverness. And so,, 
 in turn, I have been an actor, a smuggler, 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 themselves into my true character, my 
 real part has remained undetected. Master Crossley 
 here might furnish a hint or two towards it; but—
 
 SOME niNTS ABOUT HAKRY TALBOT. 801 
 
 but, as Peacliem says, 'we could hang one anotlier' — 
 ch, Bill?" 
 
 A nod and a smile, more grave than gay, "was Crossley's 
 answer, and a silence ensued on all sides. Thei'e 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 vai'ious 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 suspicions 
 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 peril, 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 unguarded freedom of his manner 
 showed, even to so poor an observer as Mark, that the 
 words conveyed 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 Parliament doing?" 
 
 " Voting itself into Government situations." 
 
 " And the Viceroy ? " 
 
 " Snubbing the Parliament." 
 
 " And the Government in England ? " 
 
 " Snubbing the Viceroy." 
 
 *' Well, they are all employed at least ; and, as the 
 French say, that's always something. And who are the 
 play-men now ? " 
 
 " The old set. Tom Whaley and Lord Drogheda — your 
 old friend Giles Daxon — Sandy Moore "
 
 802 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' AL, wliat of Sandy ? They told me he won heavily 
 at the October races." 
 
 " So he did — beggared the whole club at hazard, and 
 was robbed of the money the night after, when coming up 
 through Naas." 
 
 " Ha I I never heard of that, Billy. Let us hear all 
 about it." 
 
 " It's soon told, sir. Sandy, who never tries economy 
 till he has won largely, and is reckless enough of money 
 when on the verge of ruin, heard, on leaving the course, 
 that a strange gentleman was waiting to get some one to 
 join him in a chaise up to Dublin. Sandy at once sent 
 the waiter to open the negotiations, which were soon con- 
 cluded, and the stranger appeared — a fat, unwieldy-look- 
 ing old fellow, Avitli a powdered wig and green goggles — ■ 
 not a very sporting style of travelling companion ; but no 
 matter for that, he had a dark chestnut mare with him, 
 that looked like breeding, and with strength enough for 
 any weight over a country. 
 
 " ' She'll follow the chaise — my son taught her that 
 trick,' said the old fellow, as he hobbled out of the inn, 
 and took his place in the carriage. 
 
 " Well, in jumped Sandy, all his pockets bursting with 
 guineas, and a book of notes crammed into his hat, very 
 happy at his adventure, but prouder of saving half the 
 posting than all besides. 
 
 *' ' Keep to your ten miles an hour, my lad, or not a 
 sixpence,' said the old gentleman ; and he drew his night- 
 cap over his eyes, and was soon snoring away as sound as 
 need be. 
 
 " That was the last was seen of him, however, for when 
 the postilion drew up for fresh horses at Carrick's, they 
 found Sandy alone in the chaise, with his hands tied 
 behind him, and his mouth gagged. His companion and the 
 dark chestnut were off, andall the winnings along with them." 
 
 *' Cleverly done, by Jove! " cried Talbot, in an ecstasy 
 of admiration. 
 
 " What a contemptible fellow your friend Sandy must 
 be ! " exclaimed Mark, in the same breath. " Man to man 
 — I can't conceive the thing possible." 
 
 " A bold fellow, well armed, Mark," observed Talbnt, 
 gravely, "might do the deed, and Sandy be no coward 
 after all."
 
 SOME HINTS ABOUT HARRY TALBOT. 303 
 
 Cbatting in this wise the first evening was spent ; and 
 if Mark was, at times, disposed to doubt the morality of 
 Lis new friend, he was very far from questioning his know- 
 ledge of mankind. His observations were ever shrewd 
 and caustic, and his views of life those of one who looked 
 at the world with a scrutinizing glance ; and although the 
 young O'Donoghue would gladly have seen in his young 
 companion some traces of the enthusiasm he himself expe- 
 rienced in the contemplated rising, he I'elt convinced that 
 a cooler judgment, and a more calculating head than his, 
 were indispensable requisites to a cause beset with so many 
 dangers. He, therefore, implicitly yielded himself to 
 Talbot's guidance, resolving not to go anywhere, nor see 
 any one, even his brother, save with his knowledge and 
 consent. 
 
 If the scenes into which Talbot introduced Mark 
 O'Donoghue were not those of fashionable life, they were 
 certainly as novel and exciting to one so young and inex- 
 perienced. The taverns resorted to by young men of 
 fashion, the haunts of sporting characters, the tennis- 
 court, but, more frequently still, the houses where high 
 play was carried on, he was all familiar with — knew the 
 precise type of company at each, and not a little of their 
 private history ; still it seemed as if he himself were but 
 little known, and rather received for the recommendation 
 of good address and engaging manners than from any 
 cix'cumstance of previous acquaintance. Mark was aston- 
 ished at this, as well as that, although now several weeks 
 in Dublin, Talbot had made no advance towards intro- 
 ducing him to the leading members of the insurgent party, 
 and latterly had even but very rarely alluded to the pros- 
 pect of the contemplated movement. 
 
 The young O'Donoghue was not one to harbour any 
 secret thought long unuttered in his breast, and he briefly 
 expressed to Talbot his surprise — almost his dissatisfac- 
 tion — at the life they were leading. At first, Talbot 
 endeavoured to laugh off such inquiries, or turn them aside 
 by some passing plcasantrj^ ; but when more closely 
 pressed, he avowed that his present part was a duty im- 
 posed upon him by his friends in France, who desired, 
 above all things, to ascertain the feeling among young 
 mm of family and fortune in the metropolis how they
 
 804 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 real]y felt affected towards England, and with wliat success, 
 should French republicanism fail to convert them, would 
 the fascinations of Parisian elegance and vice be thrown 
 around them. 
 
 " There must be bribes for all temperaments, Mark," 
 said he, at the end of a very lengthened detail of his views 
 and stratagems. " Glory is enough for such as you, and 
 happily you can have wherewithal to satisfy a craving 
 appetite ; but some must be bought by gold, some by 
 promises of vengeance upon others, some by indemnities 
 for past offences, and not a few by the vague hope of 
 change, which disappointed men ever regard as for the 
 better. To sound the depths of all such motives is part 
 of my mission here, and hence I have rigidly avoided 
 those by whom I am more than slightly known ; but, in a 
 week or two, I shall exchange this part for another, and 
 then, Mark, we shall mix in the gayer world of the squares, 
 where your fair cousin shines so brilliantly. Meanwhile, 
 have a little patience with me, and sufi'er me to seem 
 sometimes inconsistent, that I may be least so in reality. 
 I see you are not satisfied with me, Mark, and I am sorry 
 to incur a friend's reproach, even for a brief season ; 
 but come — I make you a pledge. To-day is the 12th ; in 
 five days more the viceroy gives his St. Patrick's Ball, 
 at which I am to meet one of our confederates. You 
 seem surprised at this ; but where can man speak treason 
 so safely as under the canopy of the throne ?" 
 
 " But how do you mean to go there ? You do not 
 surely expect an invitation ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; but I shall go notwithstanding, and 
 you with me. Ay, Mark, never frown and shake your 
 head. This same ball is a public assembly, to which all 
 presented at the levees are eligible, without any bidding 
 or invitation. Who is to say that Harry Talbot and 
 Mark O'Donoghue have not paid their homage to mock 
 royalty ? If you mean that there is some danger in the 
 step, I agree with you there is ; but you are not the 
 man, I take it, to flinch on that account." 
 
 This adroit stroke of Talbot's settled the matter, and 
 Mark felt ashamed to offer any objection to a course which, 
 however disinclined to, he now believed was accompanied 
 by a certain amount of peril.
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A PRESAGE OF DANGER. 
 
 Whf'^i the long-wished-for evening drew nigh in whioh 
 Talbot had pledged himself to reveal to Mark the cir- 
 cumstances of their enterprise, and to make him known, 
 to those concerned in the plot, his manner became 
 flurried and excited ; he answered, when spoken to, with 
 signs of impatience, and seemed so engrossed by his own 
 thoughts, as to be unable to divert his attention from 
 them. Mark, in general the reverse of a shrewd observer, 
 perceived this, and attributing it to the heavy losses he 
 had latterly incurred at play, forbore in any way to 
 notice the circumstance, and from his silence Talbot, 
 became probably more indifferent to appearances, and 
 placed less restraint on his conduct. He drank, too, 
 more freely than was his wont, and appeared like one 
 desirous by any means to rid himself of some unwelcome 
 reflections. 
 
 " It is almost time to dress, Mark," said he, with 
 an effort to seem easy and unconcerned. "Let us have 
 another flask of Burgundy before we go." 
 
 " I'll have no more wine ; nor you, if you will be advised, 
 by me, either," said Mark, gravely. 
 
 "Ha! then you would imply I have drunk too much 
 already, Mark ? Not far wrong there, perhaps, and under 
 ordinary circumstances such would be the case ; but 
 there are times when the mind, like the body, demands 
 double nourishment, and with me wine strengthens, never 
 confuses thought. Do you know, Mark, that I have a pre- 
 sentiment of some evil before me ; — whence, and in what 
 shape it is to come, I cannot tell you ; but I feel it as 
 certain as if it had been revealed to me." 
 
 " You are despondent about our prospects," said Mark^ 
 gloomily. 
 
 Talbot made no answer, but leaned his head on the 
 
 X
 
 306 TUB o'donoghue. 
 
 chimney-piece, and seemed buried in deep thought ; then 
 recovering himself, he said, in a low, but distinct accent, — • 
 
 "Did you take notice of a fellow at the tennis-court 
 the other day, who stood beside me all the time I was 
 settling with the marker ? Oh ! I forgot — you were not 
 there. Well, there was such a one — a flashy-looking, 
 vulgar fellow, with that cast of countenance that betokens 
 shrewdness and cunning. I met him yesterday in the 
 Park, and this evening, as I came to dinner, I saw him 
 talking to the landlord's nephew, in the hall." 
 
 "Well, and what of all that ? If any one should keep 
 account of where and how often he had seen either of us, 
 this week past, might he not conjure up suspicions fully as 
 strong as yours ? Let as begin to take fright at shadows, 
 and we shall make but a sorry hand of it when real dangers 
 approach us." 
 
 " The shadows are the warnings, Mark, and the wise 
 man never neglects a warning." 
 
 "He who sees thunder in every dark cloud above him 
 is but the fool of his own fears," said Mark, rudely, and 
 walked towards the window. " Is that anything like your 
 friend, Talbot ? " added he, as he beheld the dark outline 
 of a figure, which seemed standing, intently looking up at 
 the window. 
 
 " The very fellow ! " cried Talbot ; for at the moment a 
 passing gleam of light fell upon the figure, and marked it 
 out distinctly. 
 
 " There is something about him I can half recognize 
 myself," said Mark ; " but he is so muffled up with great- 
 coat and cravat, I cannot clearly distinguish him." 
 
 "Indeed! Do, for Heaven's sake, think of where you 
 saw him, and when, Mark ; for I own my anxiety about 
 him is more than common." 
 
 " I'll soon find out for you," said Mark, suddenly seizing 
 his hat ;^but at the same instant the door opened, and a 
 waiter appeared. 
 
 " There's a gentleman below stairs, Mr. Talbot, would 
 be glad to speak a few words with you." 
 
 Talbot motioned, by an almost imperceptible gesture, 
 that Mark should retire into the adjoining room ; and 
 then, approaching the waiter, asked, in a low, cautious 
 voice, if the stranger were known to him.
 
 A PRESAGE OP DANGER. 307 
 
 " No, sir — never saw him before. He seems like one 
 from the country; Mr. Crossley says he's from the south." 
 
 " Show him up," said Talbot, hurriedly; and, as the 
 waiter left the room, he seated himself in his chair, in an 
 attitude of well-assumed carelessness and ease. This was 
 scarcely done, when the stranger entered, and closed the 
 door behind him. 
 
 " Good evening to you, Mr. Talbot. I hope I see your 
 honour well," said he, in an accent of very unmistakable 
 Kerry Doric. 
 
 "Good evening to you, friend," replied Talbot. "My 
 memory is not so good as yours, or I'd call you by your 
 name also." 
 
 " I'm Lanty Lawler, sir — that man that sold your honour 
 the dark chestnut mare down in the county Kerry last 
 winter. I was always wishing to see your honour again, 
 by reason of that same." < 
 
 " How so ? said Talbot, getting suddenly paler, but 
 with no other appearance of emotion in his manner. " Waa 
 not our contract honestly concluded at the time ? " 
 
 " It was, sir — there's no doubt of it. Tour honour paid 
 like a gentleman, and in goold besides ; but that's just tha 
 business I come about here. It was French money you 
 gave me, and I got into trouble about it — some saying that 
 I was a spy, and othei'S making out that I was, maybe, 
 worse, and so I thought I wouldn't pass any more of it till 
 I seen yourself, and maybe you'd change it for me." 
 
 While he was speaking, Talbot's eye never waadered 
 from him — not fixed, indeed, with any seeming scrutiny, 
 but still intently watching every play of his features. 
 
 " You told me at the time, however, that French gold 
 was just as convenient to you as English," said he, smiling 
 good-humouredly, " and from the company I met you iu 
 I found no difficulty in believing you." 
 
 " The times is changed, sir," said Lanty, sighing. " God 
 help us! — we must do the best we can." 
 
 This evasive answer seemed perfectly to satisfy Talbot, 
 who assented with a shake of the head, as he said, — 
 
 "Very well, Lanty; if you will come here to-morrow, 
 I'll exchange your gold for you." 
 
 " Thank your honour kindly," said Lanty, with a bow; 
 but still making no sign of leaving the room, where he 
 
 X 2
 
 808 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 stood, changing from one foot to tlie other, in an attitude 
 of bashful diffidence. " There was another little matter^ 
 sir, but I'd be soriy to trouble you about it — and sure you 
 couldn't help it, besides." 
 
 '* And that is Let us hear it, Lanty." 
 
 " Why, sir, it's the horse — the mare with the one white 
 fetlock. They say, sir, that she was left at Moran's stables 
 by the man that robbed Mr. Moore, of Moore Croft. Deaf 
 Collison, the postboy, can swear to her ; and as I bought 
 her myself at Dycer's, they are calling me to account for 
 when I sold her, and to whom." 
 
 " Why, there's no end to your trouble about that unlucky 
 beast, Lanty," said Talbot, laughing ; " and I confess it's 
 rather hard that you are not only expected to warrant 
 your horse sound, but must give a guarantee that the 
 rider is honest." 
 
 " Devil a lie in it, but that's just it," said Lanty, wha 
 laughed heartily at the notion. 
 
 " Well, we must look to this for you, Lanty; for although 
 I have no desire to have my name brought forward, still 
 you must not suffer on that account. I remember paying 
 my bill at Rathmallow with that same mare. She made 
 an overreach coming down a hill, and became dead lame 
 with me ; and I gave her to the landlord of the little inn 
 in the square in lieu of my score." 
 
 " See, now, what liars there's in the woi^ld !" said Lanty, 
 holding up his hands in pious horror. " Ould Finn, of the 
 Head Inn, tould me she ate a feed of oats at the door, and 
 started again for Askeaton with a gentleman just like your 
 honour the night after I sold her. Ho knew the mare 
 well ; and by the same token he said she was galled on 
 the shoulder with holsters that was fixed to the saddle. 
 Now, think of that, and he after buying her ! Is it early 
 in the morning I'm to come to your honour?" said he, 
 moving towards the door. 
 
 " Yes — that is — no, Lanty, no — about twelve o'clocko 
 I'm a late riser. Wait a moment, Lanty ; I have something 
 more to say to you, if I could only remember it." He 
 passed his hand across his brow as he spoke, and looked 
 like one labouring to recall some lost thought. " No 
 matter," said he, after a pause of some minutes ; " I shall, 
 perhaps, recollect it before to-raorrow."
 
 A PRESAGE OF DANGER. 809 
 
 ** Good niglit to you, then, sir," said Lanty, with a 
 most obsequious bow, as he opened the door. 
 
 Their eyes met : it was only for a moment ; but with 
 such intelligence did each glance read the other, that 
 they both smiled significantly. Talbot moved quickly 
 forward at the instant, and closing "the door with one 
 hand, he laid the other gently on Lauty's shoulder. 
 
 "Come, Lanty," said he, jocularly, "I can afford to 
 sport ten pounds for a whim. Tell me who it was sent 
 you after me this evening, and I'll give you the money." 
 
 " Done, then ! " cried Lanty, grasping his hand ; " and 
 you'll ask no more than his name?" 
 
 " Nothing more. I pledge my word ; and here's the 
 money." 
 
 " Captain Hemsworth, the agent to the rich English- 
 man at Glenflesk." 
 
 " I don't think I ever saw him in my life^-I'm certain 
 I don't know him. Is he a tall dark man?" 
 
 "I'll tell you no more," said Lanty, "The devil a 
 luck I ever knew come of speaking of him." 
 
 " All fair, Lanty — a bargain's a bai'gain ; and so, good 
 night." And with a shake-hands of affected cordiality 
 they parted. 
 
 " Your conference has been a long one," said Mark 
 who waited with impatience until the silence without 
 permitted him to come forth. 
 
 " Not so long as I could have wished it," was Talbot's 
 reply, as he stood in deep thought over what had passed. 
 "It's just as I feared, Mark; there is danger brewing 
 for me in some quarter, but how, or in what shape, I 
 cannot even guess. This same ' horse-dealer, this Lanty 
 Lawler " 
 
 " Lanty Lawler, did you say ? " 
 
 " Yes. You know him, then ? " 
 
 '* To be sure I do. We've had many dealings together. 
 He's a shrewd fellow, and not over-scrupulous in the way 
 of his trade ; but, apart from that, he's a true-hearted, 
 honest fellow, and a friend to the cause." 
 
 "You think so, Mark," said Talbot, with a smile of 
 significant meaning. 
 
 " I know it, Talbot. He is not an acquaintance of 
 yesterday with me. I have known him for years loni;.
 
 810 THE o'dONOGHUE. 
 
 He is as deep in tlie plot as any, and jierhaps has run 
 greater risks than either of us." 
 
 " Well, well," said Talbot, sighing, as either weary of 
 the theme or disinclined to contradict the opinion ; " lefc 
 us think of other matters. Shall we go to this ball or 
 not? I incline to say nay." 
 
 "What! Not go there?" said Mark, starting back in 
 astonishment. " Why, what in" Heaven's name have we 
 been waiting for but this very opportunity ? — and what 
 reason is there now to turn from our plans ? " 
 
 " There may be good and sufficient ones, even though 
 they should be purely personal to myself," said Talbot, 
 in a tone of ill-dissembled pique. " But come ; we will 
 go. I have been walking over a mine too long to care 
 for a mere petard. And now, let us lose no more time, 
 but dress at once." 
 
 " Must I really wear this absurd dress, Talbot ? For 
 very shame's sake, I shall not be able to look about me." 
 
 " That you must, Mark. Eemember that your safety 
 lies in the fact that we attract no notice of any kind. 
 To be as little remarked as possible is our object ; and for 
 this reason I shall wear the uniform of an English militia 
 regiment, of which there are many at every levee. We 
 shall separate on entering the room, and meet only from 
 time to time ; but as we go along, I'll give you all your 
 instructions. And nov/ to dress as quickly as may be."
 
 811 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 
 THE ST, Patrick's ball. 
 
 Much as O'Donoghue marvelled at the change effected in 
 his own appeai'ance by the court dress, he was still more 
 surprised at finding what a complete transformation his 
 friend Talbot had undergone. The scarlet uniform seemed 
 to make him appear larger and fatter ; while the assump- 
 tion of a pair of dark whiskers added several years to his 
 apparent age, and totally changed the character of his 
 countenance. 
 
 "I see by your face, Mark," said he, laughing, "that 
 the disguise is complete. You could scarcely recognize 
 me — I may safely defy most others." 
 
 " But you are taller, I think ? " 
 
 " About an inch and a half only — false heels inside my 
 boots give me a slight advantage over you. Don't be 
 jealous, however ; I'm not your match on a fair footing." 
 
 This flattery seemed successful, for Mark smiled and 
 reddened slightly. As they drove along, Talbot entered 
 minutely into an account of the people they should meet 
 with — warning Mark of the necessity there existed to 
 avoid any, even the most trivial, sign of astonishment at 
 anything he saw — to mix Avith the crowd, and follow the 
 current from room to room, carefully guarding against 
 making any chance acquaintance — and, above all, not to 
 be recognized by his cousin Kate, if by any accident he 
 Bhould be near her. 
 ^ In the midst of these directions, Talbot was interrupted 
 by the sudden stoppage of the carriages in the line, already 
 extended above a mile from the Castle gate. 
 
 " Here we are at last, Mark, in the train of the courtiers 
 — does your patriotism burn for the time when your 
 homage shall be rendered to a native sovereign ? Ha ! 
 there goes one of the privileged class — that carriage, with 
 the two footmen, is the Lord Chancellor's ; he has the
 
 812 THE o'DONOGnUE. 
 
 riglit of the private entree, and takes tiae lead of such, 
 humble folk as we are mixed up with." • 
 
 A deep groan from the mob burst forth as the equipage, 
 thus noticed, dashed forward. Such manifestations of 
 public feeling were then frequent, and not always limited 
 to mere expressions of dislike. The very circumstance of 
 quitting the regular line and passing the rest, seemed to 
 evoke popular indignation, and it was wonderful with 
 what readiness the mob caught up allusions to the public 
 or private life of those thus momentarily exposed to their 
 indignation. Some speech or vote in Parliament, some 
 judicial sentence, or some act or event in their private 
 history, was at once recalled and criticized in a manner far 
 more frank than flattering. None escaped this notice, 
 for, notwithstanding the strong force of mounted police 
 that kept the street clear, some adventurous spirit was 
 always ready to rush forward to the carriage window, and 
 in a moment announce to the others the name of its 
 occupant. By all this Mark was greatly amused ; he had 
 few sympathies with those in little favour with the multi- 
 tude, and could afford to laugh at the sallies which assailed 
 the members of the Government. The taunting sarcasms 
 and personal allusions, of which the Irish members were 
 not sparing in the House, were here repeated by those 
 ■who suffered the severity to lose little of its sting in their 
 own version. 
 
 " Look at Flood, boys — there's the old vulture with 
 broken beak and cadaverous aspect — a groan for Mood !" 
 And the demand was answered by thousands. 
 
 " There's Tom Connolly," shouted a loud voice ; " three 
 cheers for the Volunteers — three cheers for Castle- 
 town ! " 
 
 "Thank you, boys, thank you," said a rich, mellow 
 voice, as in their enthusiasm the mob pressed around the 
 cari'iage of the popular member, and even shook hands 
 with the footmen behind the carriage. 
 
 "Here's Luttrel, here's Luttrel ! " cried out several 
 together ; and in a moment the excitement, which before 
 was all joy, assumed a character of deepest execration. 
 
 Aware of the popular feeling towards him, this gentle- 
 man's carriage w;is guarded by two troopers of the 
 horse police. Kor was the precaution needless, for no
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 313 
 
 Booner was lie recognized, than a general rush was made 
 by the mob, and for a moment or two the carriage was 
 separated from tlie rest of the line. 
 
 " Groan him, boys, groan him, but don't touch the 
 traitor ! " shouted a savage-looking fellow, who stood a 
 head and shoulders above the crowd. - 
 
 " Couldn't you afford to buy new liveries with the 
 eighty thousand pounds the Government gave you ? " 
 yelled another ; and the sally was responded to with a 
 burst of savage laughter. 
 
 " Throw us out a penny," called a third ; " it will treat 
 all your friends in Ireland. Let him go, boys, let him go 
 — he's only stopping the way of his betters!" 
 
 " Here's the man that knows how to spend his money — 
 three cheers for the Englishman from Stephen's Green — 
 three cheers for Sir Marmaduke Travers ! " And the 
 cheers burst forth with an enthusiasm that showed how 
 much more a character for benevolence and personal kind- 
 ness conciliated mob estimation than all the attributes of 
 political partisanship. 
 
 " Bring us a lamp here, bring lis a lamp ! " ci'ied a 
 miserable object in tattered rags ; " take down a lamp, 
 boys, till we have a look at the two beauties;" and, strange 
 as the suggestion may seem, it was hailed with a cry of 
 triumphal delight, and in another moment a street lamp 
 was taken from its place and handed over the heads of the 
 mob to the very window of Sir Marmaduke's carriage ; 
 while the old baronet, kindly humouring the eccentricities 
 of the people, lowered the glass to permit them to see in. 
 A respectful silence extended over that crowd, motley and 
 miserable as it was, and they stood in mute admiration, 
 not venturing upon a word nor a remark, until, as it were, 
 overcome by a spontaneous feeling of enthusiasm, they 
 broke forth into one loud cheer that echoed from the 
 •College to the very gates of the Castle ; and with 
 blessings deep and fervent, as they would have bestowed 
 for some real favour, the carriage was allowed to proceed 
 on its way once more. 
 
 "Here's Morris, here's the colonel ! " was now the cry ; 
 and a burst of as merry laughter as ever issued from 
 happy hearts welcomed the new arrival. " Make him get 
 out, boys, make him get out, and show us his legs ; that'a
 
 814 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 the fellow ran away in Flanders ! " And before the mirth 
 had subsided, the unhappy colonel had passed on. 
 
 " Who's this in the hackney-coach ? " said one, as fJhe 
 carriage in which Talbot and Mark were seated came up. 
 The window was let down in a moment, and Talbot, lean- 
 ing his head out, whispered a few words in a low voice ; 
 whatever their import, their efiect was magical, and a 
 hurra, as wild as the war-cry of an Indian, shook the 
 street. 
 
 "What was it you said?" cried Mark. 
 
 " Three words in Irish," said Talbot, laughing ; " they 
 are the only three in my vocabulary, and their meaning is, 
 * Wait awhile ; ' and, somehow, it would seem a very signi- 
 ficant intimation to Irishmen." 
 
 The carriage moved on, and the two friends alighted in 
 the brilliantly-illuminated vestibule, now lined with battle- 
 axe-guards, and resounding with the clangor of a brass 
 band. Mixing with the crowd that poured up the stair- 
 case, they passed into the first drawing-room without 
 stopping to write their names, as was done by the others, 
 Talbot telling Mark, in a whisper, to move up and follow 
 him closely. 
 
 The distressing impression that he himself would be an 
 object of notice and remark to others, and which liad up 
 to that very moment tortured him, gave way at once, as 
 he found himself in that splendid asseml^lage, where 
 beauty, in all the glare of dress and jewels, abounded, and 
 where, for the first time, the world of fashion and elegance 
 burst upon his astonished senses. The courage that, with 
 dauntless nerve, would have led him to the cannon's 
 mouth, now actually faltered, and made him feel faint- 
 hearted, to find himself mixing with those among whom 
 he had no right to be present. Talbot's shrewd intelli- 
 gence seemed to divine what was passing in Mark's mind, 
 for he took him by the arm, and as he led him forward, 
 whispered, from time to time, certain particulars of the 
 company, intended to satisfy liini that, however distin- 
 guished by rank and personal appearance, in reality their 
 characters had little claim to his i^espect. With such 
 success did he demolish reputations — so fatally did his 
 sarcasms depreciate those against whom they were directed 
 —that, ere long, Mark moved along in utter contempt for
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 315 
 
 that gorgeous tlirong, wliicli at first had impressed him so 
 profoundly. To hear that the proud-looking general, his 
 coat a blaze of orders, was a coward; that the benign and 
 mild-faced judge was a merciless, unrelenting tyrant; that 
 the bishop, whose simple bearing and gentle quietude of 
 manner were most winning, was in reality a crafty plaee- 
 tunter and a subtle intrigant — such were the lessons Tal- 
 bot 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, 
 bitterly. " There never was a land nor an age when pro- 
 fligacy stood so high in the rharket. It remains to be seen 
 if our friends will do better — for a time, at least, they ave 
 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 rallying spot. 
 Whenever you want me, come here ;" and so saying, and 
 with a slight pressure of his hand, Talbot mixed with the 
 cx'owd, 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 splen- 
 dour 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 and madly. 
 All the bitter thoughts he had harboured against his coun- 
 try's enemies could not stand before his admiration of that 
 gorgeous assemblnge, and he felt ashamed to think that he, 
 and such as he, should conspire the downfall of a system 
 whose very externals were so captivating. 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 familiar circles, all in the full enjoyment of the brilliant 
 festivity. Like a child roaming at will through some 
 beauteous garden, heightening enjoyment by the rapid 
 variety of new pleasures, and making in the quick transi-
 
 816 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 tion of sensations a source of more fervid deligbt, So did 
 he pass from place to place, and in this way time stole by, 
 and he utterly forgot the rendezvous he had arranged v?ith 
 Talbot. At last, suddenly remembering this, he endea- 
 voured 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 
 v?hat, if he were to judge from the heap of gold before 
 Jiim, 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 winner 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 docs. 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 tal)lc. Very much 
 stooped in the shoulders, and with snow-white hair. Lord 
 Clangoff still preserved the remains of one who in his 
 youth had been the handsomest man of his da}^ 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 magnificence for which he was celebrated. There 
 was an air of dignity with which he took his seat, saluting 
 the acquaintances he recognized about him, very strikingly 
 in contrast with the familiar manners then growing into 
 vogue, while in the courteous urbanity of his bow to 
 Talbot, his whole breeding was revealed.
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 317 
 
 " It is a proud thing even to encountei' such an adver- 
 sary, 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 undeserving," said Talbot, with a gesture of extreme 
 humility. 
 
 " Your success should be small at play, if the French 
 adage have any truth in it," said his lordship, alluding 
 to Talbot's handsome features, which seemed to indicate 
 favour with the softer sex. 
 
 "According to that theory, my lord,. I have the advan- 
 tage over you at present." 
 
 This adroit flattery at 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 simi- 
 larly disposed with himself, and drew out. his pocket-book 
 with an air of palpable satisfaction ; while in the looks of 
 increased interest among the bystanders could be seen the 
 anxiety they felt in the coming struggle. 
 
 "You have the deal, my lord," said Talbot, presenting 
 the cards. " Still, if any gentleman cares for another fifty 
 on the game " 
 
 " I'll take it, sir," said a voice from behind Lord Clan- 
 goff's chair ; and Mark, struck by 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 recognized himself 
 was merged in the savage pleasure he felt in staring fixedly 
 at the man he hated. 
 
 He would have given much to be able to whisper the 
 name into Talbot'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
 
 318 THE O DONOGHUE. 
 
 tlie game. Meanwhile Hemsworth, whoso whole attention 
 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 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 could 
 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. 
 
 " 1 should have gone to see you, cousin Kate," said 
 Mark, after a momentary struggle to seem calm and col- 
 lected, " but I feared' — that is, I did not know " 
 
 " But Mark, dear Mark, why arc you here ? " said she, 
 in a tone of heartfelt terror. " Do you know that none 
 save those pi-esented 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 rose from his seat ; 
 *'I hate accepting 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've lost my money, Mark," said Talbot, coming for- 
 ward, and perceiving with much anxiety that his young 
 friend was engaged in a conversation. " Let us move 
 about and see tlie dancers." 
 
 " Wait a few seconds first," said IMark, sternly, " and
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 319 
 
 satisfy this gentleman that I'm 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 x'equire 
 the explanation ? " 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, with a smile, "it is the 
 mere impertinence of office." 
 
 Travers's face flushed up, and his lips quivered, as, in 
 an equally low tone of voice, he said, — 
 
 " Where and when, sir, will you dare to i-epeat 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, Mai'k. It is all settled. 
 We meet to-morrow." 
 
 Mark turned one look towards Kate, who was just in the 
 act of accepting Travers's 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 fi-iend 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 Mark, 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 
 ah^eady the two young men were regarded on all sides as 
 they -passed^the difierent persons in their way retiring as 
 they approached.
 
 820 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " How do you do, my lord ? I hope I sec you well," 
 Ba d Talbot, bowing familiarly to a venerable old man who 
 stood neai", 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 recon;nition 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 Mark to follow how he could. 
 This was, however, a task of more difficulty than it seemed, 
 for already a number of persons blocked up the doorway, 
 eager to hear something which a gentleman 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 Emperor of Austria presented him with — lie 
 missed it after leaving the card-table — the presumption is, 
 that we are favoured with somewhat doubtful company." 
 
 " Carysford 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 eye was directed to Mark O'Donoghue. The 
 young man sustained their looks with a fi'own of resolute 
 daring, turning from one to the otlier to see if, perchance, 
 by any gestui-e or expression, he could single out one to 
 pay the penalty for the rest : his blood boiled at the in- 
 sulting 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 v/ill cease their scandal 
 when they see us together;" and, affecting an air of easy 
 intimacy, he led Mark through the crowd, which even 
 already bestowed very altered glances as they passed. 
 
 "Good night, sir," said Mark, abruptly, as they arrived
 
 THE ST. PATRICK*S BALL. 821 
 
 at the room by wliicli ho remembered to have entered; "I 
 see my friend yonder, 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 
 lonsfer would have suffocated me." 
 
 " It was with Travers you parted at the head of the 
 stairs ? " said Talbot, inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes ; he was polite enough to come up when you left 
 me, and the company and myself have reason to be thank- 
 ful 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 questionable 
 civility, and I, I greatly fear, was scarcely more polite. It 
 would seem, Talbot, that some swindlers or pickpockets 
 had introduced themselves at the assembly, and we had 
 the honour of beins: confounded with them — so much for 
 the prudence of our first step." 
 
 " 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 temptation 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 expended 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 Travers; 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 
 
 T
 
 822 THE o'donoguue. 
 
 know well " — here lie 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 ]\Iark, 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 ensure you the posses- 
 sion 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 money can buy — the reckless courage of 
 men willing to devote themselves to a cause which they 
 must never hope to live to see successful, but whoso 
 graves must be the ramparts over which others will 
 achieve liberty. No, my hopes for you point other- 
 wise. I wish to see you as the head and representativo 
 of an ancient name and house, with the influence pro- 
 perty and position would confer, taking your place iu 
 the movement, 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 brilliant picture of 
 coming greatness produced upon the youth, and then 
 went on, " Such a place I can ofier you, Mark." 
 
 "How, and on what terms?" cried Mark, bursting 
 with impatience. 
 
 " 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 chfcjace 
 arose." 
 
 Mark stood in mute amazement, while Talbot, unlock-
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 823 
 
 hag his writing-desk, drew forth a dark leather pocket- 
 book, tied with a string, and laid it leisurely on the tabla 
 before him. 
 
 " There is a condition I will bargain for, Mark," said 
 Talbot, after a pause, " although I'm sure it is a weak- 
 ness 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 unworthy of 
 one who has been your friend, laying to my charge acts 
 of dishonour " 
 
 " Who will dare to do so before me?" said Mark, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " 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. I have 
 told you enough of my life to let you know in what cir- 
 cumstances of difhculty 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 suspicion. I know it 
 has already happened ; bear it well in mind, and when 
 your friend Henry Talbot is assailed, remember the ex- 
 planation 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 read this." 
 
 With these words he unfastened the string of the 
 pocket-book, and took forth a small paper from an en- 
 velope, of which the seal was already broken. 
 
 " This is addressed to your father, Mark," said he, 
 showing him the superscription. 
 
 " I know that handwriting," said Mark, gazing fixedly 
 at it ; " that is Father Rourke's." 
 
 " Yes, that's the name," said Talbot, opening the letter. 
 " Eead this," and he handed the paper to Mark, while he 
 himself read aloud: — 
 
 " ' Mark O'Donoghue, son of Miles O'Donoghue, and 
 Mary his wife, born 2oth December, 1774, and chris- 
 tened on the morning of the 27th of December, same 
 year, by me, Nicholas Eourke, P.P., Ballyvourney and 
 
 Y 2
 
 824 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Glengariff. "Witnessed by us, Simon Gaffney, steward, 
 and Sam. Wylie, butler.' " 
 
 " And what of all that?" said Mark, with a voice of 
 evident disappointment. *' Do you think 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 — 1774 — and that you only attained your 
 xnajority 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 
 Hemsworth 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 more than nineteen at the time. Here's 
 the certificate of your mother's marriage, and the date is 
 February, 1773." 
 
 Mark's countenance became perfectly bloodless, his lips 
 grew livid, while his nostrils were alternately distended 
 and contracted violently as he breathed with a heaving 
 effort. 
 
 " You have your choice, therefore," said Talbot, flip- 
 pantly, " to believe your father a man of honour, or your 
 mother " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Mark, as he seized his arm and shook it 
 in his strong grasp ; " speak the word, and, by Heaven, 
 you'll never leave this spot alive !" 
 
 Talbot seemed to feel no anger 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 bii'th 
 and baptism enabled your father to raise a considerable sum 
 of money 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 un-
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 825 
 
 just. If Ilemswortli be the rightful owner of that estate, 
 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 was 
 surrounded with difficulties on eveiy hand. There seemed 
 no escape from the dangers around him — inevitable ruin 
 was his lot. He doubtless intended to apply a consider- 
 able portion of this money to the repair of his shattered 
 fortunes. Of his affection for you there can be no ques- 
 tion " 
 
 " There, there," said ]\Tark, 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 
 io 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 withhis accustomed 
 energy, he said, — 
 
 " If I had thought, Mark, that you had neither ambition 
 for yourself, nor hatred for an enemy, I would never hava 
 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 forgetfulness. 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 ? " 
 
 " Not so, Mark ; many other courses are open to you.
 
 326 THE o'doxogiiue. 
 
 The knowledge of this fact by you places you in a position 
 to make your own terms with Hemsworth. lie who has 
 spent thirty thousand pounds on the 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 much ; 
 you know little of the kind of vengeance my 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 him. But I have done ; kcejj the paper, 
 Mark ; there might come a time when it should prove 
 useful to you. Hark ! — what's that noise below ? Don't 
 you hear that fellow Lawler's voice in the court-j-ard ? " — 
 and, as he spoke, the voice of the host, Billy Crossley, 
 raised very high above its usual pitch, called out, — 
 
 " I tell you, gentlemen, Mr. Talbot is not in the house ; 
 he dined out to-day, and 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 warn- 
 ing 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 the sentence was cut short by the 
 hui'ryiug sounds of feet upon the stairs, and Crossley's 
 voice, whicli 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,
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 327 
 
 but wlien lie turned round Talbot was gone ; a tremulous 
 motion of the tapestry on tlie wall seemed to indicate that 
 liis escape had been madetln-ough some secret door behind 
 it. He had no time, however, to think further of the cir- 
 cumstance, 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 Lawler, entered the 
 room, while Crossley, whom he had pushed roughly aside, 
 stood without, on the lobby, still talking 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 ? " replied ]\Iark, as he continued to feed the 
 flames with the letters and papers before him. 
 
 " You shall see my warrant when you have answered 
 my question. Meanwhile these may be of some conse- 
 quence," said the other, as, approaching 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 his threat might have been followed 
 by ill consequences, had not Lanty sprung hastily forward, 
 and, catching the constable by the arm, cried out, — 
 
 " It is the O'Donoghue of Grlenflesk, a young gentleman 
 of rank and fortune." 
 
 " What do we care for his rank or fortune ? " said 
 the other, passionately. "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 1 know, might thi'ow light on the 
 whole plot." 
 
 *' They are at your service, now," said Mark, as with
 
 823 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 a kick ot his foot he dashed the blackened embers from 
 him, and sent them in floating fragments through the 
 room. 
 
 Unwilling as he seemed to continne a contest in which 
 his authority had met only defiance, the constable gave 
 the order to his nnderlings to make a strict search of the 
 apartment and the bedroom 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 ho was a friend of yours, Master 
 
 Mark But it's no matter — I know he's off. I heard 
 
 the gallop of a beast on the stones since we came in. 
 Well, well, I never expected to see you here." 
 
 ]\Iai'k 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 man was here a 
 few minutes since, and equally so that you know of his 
 place of concealment. I tell you plainly, sir, if you con- 
 tinue 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." 
 
 " Why the devil have you no informations sworn against 
 him for murder? " said Mark, insolently, for the language 
 of the bailifi' had completely aroused his passion. " Who- 
 ever 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 Middlctonin Herts, Godfrey 
 Middleton in Surrey, the Chevalier Duchatcl in France, 
 Harry Talbot in Ireland, but who is better known in the 
 police sheet ; " and here he opened a printed paper, and 
 pointed to the words, " full description of John Barrington,
 
 THE ST. Patrick's ball. 829 
 
 convicted at tlie Maidstone assizes, and sentenced to 
 fifteen years' ti'ansportation." 
 
 The smile of insolent incredulity with wLich 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 turning to Lanty, he talked to him in a low 
 whisper for several minutes. 
 
 " I tell ye," said Lanty, eagerly, in reply to some remark 
 of the other, " his 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 collected 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 information 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 camo 
 here. I didn't want to harm or hurt anybody, 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 whispering — " are you aware that Talbot 
 is an ao-ent of the French Government — that he is over 
 here to report on the condition of our party, and ai-range 
 for the rising ? " 
 
 " Is it in earnest you are ? " cried Lanty, with an ex- 
 pression of admirably 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 
 ehoulder. The horse-dealer looked confused, and for a
 
 380 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Becond seemed undetermined how to act ; but suddenly 
 recovering liis composure, he smiled significantly at Mark, 
 wished him a good night, and departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IHE DAIBREAK ON THE STRAND. 
 
 It was with an impatience almost amounting to madness 
 that Mark O'Donoghue awaited the dawn of day ; long 
 hefore that hour had arrived he had made every preparation 
 for joining his friend. A horse stood ready saddled await- 
 ing 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 anxietj 
 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 wai'n 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 
 Mm in his real character of a French spy ? Mark's was 
 not of a character long to brood over doubtful circum- 
 stances, and seek an explanation for difficulties which only 
 assumed the guise of suspicions. Too prone always to be 
 led by first impressions of everybody and everything, he 
 hated and avoided whatever should disturb the opinions 
 he thus hastily formed. When matters too complicated 
 and knotty for his immediate compi'chcnsion crossed him, 
 he turned from them without an effort, and rather satisfied 
 himself that it was a point of honour to " go on believ- 
 ing," than harbour a doubt even where the circumstances 
 were calculated to suggest it. This frame of mind 
 saved him from all uneasiness on the score of Talbot's 
 honour; he had often heard how many disguises and
 
 TUE DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND, 331 
 
 masks his friend liad worn in the events of Lis wild and 
 dangerous career, and if he felt how incapable he hini- 
 eelf would have been to play so many different parts, the 
 game reason prevented his questioning the necessity of such 
 subterfuges. 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 cleverness ; but 
 that his character was in the least involved was a supposi- 
 tion that never once occurred to him. Amid all his anxie- 
 ties 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 conflicting feelings were here ! At one moment 
 a sense of savage, unrelenting 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 Ins 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 Qmbittered 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 way- 
 ward temper and natural excitability gave additional poig- 
 nancy ; while jealousy, a passion that fed and ministered 
 to his hate, lived through every sentiment and tinctured 
 every 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 pal- 
 pable to his mind before ; his very patriotism, the attachment
 
 332 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 he tliouglit he felt to his native country, his ardent desire 
 foi' liberty, bis aspirations for national greatness, all sprang 
 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 
 soui-ces of sufiTei'lng, and in the bewildered frame of mind 
 to which 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 nioments of quiet 
 reflection, and then pursue the career they have fixed upon. 
 His course was rather to throw 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 sujDplied 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 favour 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 himself — "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 you were put to it." 
 
 " And if I were, Billy," said Mark, for a sudden thought 
 just flashed across him — " if I Avere, and if I should not 
 bring him 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
 
 THE DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND. 333 
 
 question of saving liim from danger, or any man lie deems 
 his friend, tlien, then, sir, I tell you fairly, Billy Crossley 
 isn't so poor a man but he can afford to do a generous 
 thing. Take him. I see you 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 Billy, " for 
 I see two fellows at the gate, who appear listening atten- 
 tively to our conversation." 
 
 " Take that, in any case, as a pledge," said Mark, as he 
 pitched a purse, containing above a hundred pounds in 
 gold, towards Crossley ; and, before the other could inter- 
 pose to restore it, Mark had dashed his spurs into the 
 beast's flanks, and in another minute was hastening down 
 Thomas Street. 
 
 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 
 husbanded the qualities of the noble animal he bestrode. 
 Whether it was that, as the moment approached which 
 should solve some of the many difficulties that beset him, 
 or that the free air of the morning, and the pleasure he 
 felt on being once more iu 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 re- 
 volving other ones, if not happier 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 
 Mark turned from side to side to gaze on the stately public 
 edifices, now sleeping in their own shadows, he thought of 
 the dreadful conflict which, perchance, 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-pent-up but 
 now loosened fury they poured into the devoted streets — 
 he fancied the swelling clangor which denoted the approach 
 of troops, ringing through the various approaches, and 
 the clattering sounds of distant musketry as post after post 
 in different parts of the town was assailed. He halted 
 before the Castle gate, where a single dragoon sat motion-
 
 334 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 less 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 scai'ce moved with the 
 breath of morning. " Plow soon may we see a national flag 
 replace it ! " were the words he muttered, as he resumed 
 his way as slowly as before. \. few minutes after brought 
 him in front of the College. All was still silent in that 
 vast area, along which at noonday the wealth and the life 
 of the city poured. A single figure here appeared — a 
 poor miserable object in tattered black, who was occupied 
 in fixing a placard on the front of the Post-office. Mark 
 stopped to watch him — there seemed something sad and 
 miserable in the lot of this one poor creature, singled 
 out, as it wei*e, 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 apostrophized his 
 handiwork. 
 
 " And why so, my good fellow ? " said Mark, replying to 
 his words. 
 
 He turned round rapidly, and pulling off his hat, ex- 
 claimed, in an accent of unfeigned delight, " Tear an' 
 ages, captain, is it yourself? Och ! och ! no," added he, 
 in a tone of great despondency ; " it is the black horse 
 that deceived me. I beg your honour's pardon." 
 
 "And you know this horse?" said Mark, with some 
 anxiety of manner. 
 
 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 pre- 
 pared to move on. 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Mark ; " I know what you 
 mean, this horse belonged to " and hu pointed with
 
 THE DAYBKEAK ON THE STRAND. 335 
 
 his wliip to tlie 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 there beyant. The 
 polis wanted to take me up for a bit of a ballad I was 
 singing about Major 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 — I'un 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 jjardon 
 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 he had i-esisted before 
 were now shaken by this chance meeting. The recogni- 
 tion of the horse at once identified Talbot with Barrington, 
 and although Mark rejected altogether any thought which 
 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 per- 
 sonage. The very fact of his rescuing the bill-sticker 
 strengthened this impression. Such an act seemed far 
 more in unison with the wayward recklessness of Talbot's 
 chai'acter than with the bearing of a man who might thus 
 expose himself to capture. With the subtlety which the 
 will supplies to furnish arguments 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 ruminated, he reached the sea-shore, and 
 could see before him that long bleak track of sand, which, 
 uncovered save at hiijh 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 "
 
 836 THE O'DONOGHUE. 
 
 from the mainland, readied the place over wliicli, for 
 above two miles in extent, his e^-e could range freely. 
 Still no one was to be seen ; the light ripple of the ebbing 
 tide was the only sound in the stilhiess of the morning ; 
 there was a calmness over the surfoce of the sea, on which 
 the morning sunbeams wei'e slanting faintly, and glittering 
 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 smuggling life taught him 
 at once to recognize these signs as signals, and he tux'ned 
 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 JMark 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 sj)read 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 ob- 
 served before, bending his course directly towards him. 
 Supposing it must be Talbot, Mark turned to meet him, 
 and the horseman, who never slackened his speed, came 
 quickly within view, and discovered the features ot 
 i^rederick Ti-avers. He was unaccompanied by friend oi 
 servant, and seemed, from the condition of his horse, to 
 have ridden at the top of his speed. Before Mark could
 
 THE DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND, 337 
 
 think of what apology lie should make for, or how explain 
 Talbot's absence, Travers addressed him : — 
 
 " 1 half feared that it might not be you, Mr. O'Donog- 
 hue," 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 yoa saw the 
 signal yonder." 
 
 " What !— Talbot's signal ! Was that his ? " 
 
 " Talbot, or Barrington," said Travers, smiling ; " per- 
 haps we should better call him by the name he is best 
 known by." 
 
 " And do you concur in the silly 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 confederated — 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 prin- 
 ciples of honour. This very day a warrant for your own 
 arrest will be issued from the Privy Council, on the in- 
 formation of a man whom, I believe, you never suspected. 
 He is a horse-dealer named Lawler — Lanty Lawler." 
 
 " And he has sworn informations against me ? " 
 
 " He has done more ; he has produced letters written 
 by your hand, and addressed to different leaders of the 
 United Irish party — letters whose treasonable contents do 
 not admit of a doubt." 
 
 " And the scoundrel has my letters ? " said Mark, as 
 his face grew purple with passion. 
 
 "He has them no longer," said Travers. "Here they
 
 838 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 are, sir. They were shown in confidence to my father, 
 by one who certainly is not your friend. Sir Marmaduke 
 asked permission to let me see them, and I have taken 
 on myself, without permission, to give them back to 
 yon." 
 
 "At whose suggestion," said Mark, proudly, " comc3 
 this act of grace ? Is it your father, who extends lii3 
 protection to a tenant, or is it yourself, whose wish is to 
 humble me by an obligation ? " 
 
 " There is none," said Travers, frankl}-. " 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 
 lis as two gentlemen of equal place and standing may 
 demand or exjwct 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 friend or 
 foe!" 
 
 Mark grasped his hand, and wrung it with a convulsive 
 pressure. 
 
 " Then you are aware that you owe me sucli a repara- 
 tion ? " said he in a voice tremulous Avith emotion. "Toa 
 do not forget the day at Carrignacurra — 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 speech, 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 bleed- 
 ing 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,
 
 THE DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND. 339 
 
 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 than this. My 
 father will be able to defer the issue of the warrant against- 
 you for three days, when the Privy Council will again oe 
 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 Government are in possession of the secret details of 
 this plot, and thoroughly aware of the men engaged in it, 
 and what their objects ave, to persist in it would be hope- 
 less folly. Believe 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 enterpi'ising spii'its 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 sinking into his heart, with a persuasive 
 power went on to repicture the adventurous life which 
 should open to him if he would consent to leave his 
 country, and seek fortune beyond the seas. As he con- 
 tinued to speak, they rode along side by side, and at last 
 came to that part of the shore where a road branched oflP. 
 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 
 
 z 2
 
 840 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 hope. Betrayed and cheated by those I trusted, I have 
 little care for the future, because I have no confidence in 
 anything. 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 epau- 
 lette which yoxi, 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 forboi'c to press him further. He wisely judged 
 that enough had been done for the present, and that his 
 safety being provided for, time and opportunity would 
 both present themselves for the remainder-. He shook 
 his proffered hand with cordiality, and they separated, 
 Frederick to return to Dublin, Mark to wander wherever 
 chance might incline him. 
 
 " He said truly," exclaimed Mai^k, as soon as he once 
 more found himself separated from his companion — " he 
 said truly, the chances were never in our favour, and at 
 present we have not a single one left. The cause which 
 depends upon such elements as these is worse than hope- 
 less," 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 to 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, cai'ing little which way, so long as ho 
 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 Barvington, 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 moment, and niingled itself with every other thought: 
 " What would their noble-hearted friends in France say
 
 THE DAYBEEAK ON THE STKAND, 841 
 
 of tliem? — liow 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 forborne all ebullitions of 
 momentary passion, in expectation of the day of a greater 
 reckoning — with what trust they obeyed their leaders — 
 how implicitly they confided in every direction given for 
 their guidance. Can patriotism like this survive such a 
 ti'ial ? 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 devoted to the " United party." It was as much 
 to rescue his own character from any false imputations 
 that might be cast on it, as from any hope of learning 
 favourable tidings, that he turned hither. The mountain 
 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 Ii-eland 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, 
 
 2 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
 
 842 THE o'donoghub. 
 
 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 rebellion 
 died not out, but smouldered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE WANDERER S RET0RN. 
 
 It was about two months after the events detailed in the 
 last chapter, on the evening of a bright day in midsummer, 
 that a solitary traveller was seen descending one of the 
 mountain passes which lead from Macroom to Glengariff, 
 and which were only known to those well acquainted with 
 the place. He led his horse by the bridle, for the ground 
 did not admit of riding ; but were it otherv/ise, 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 athletic, was 
 emaciated and weary- looking. His clothes, once good, 
 seemed neglected, and his beard, unshaven and uncared 
 for, gave an air of savage ferocity to a face pale and care- 
 worn, while his horse, with as many evidences of better 
 days, exhibited unquestionable signs of fatigue and liad 
 feeding. The path by which he descended was the cleft 
 worn by a mountain torrent, a rough and rugged road, 
 with many spots of didiculty 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 
 werg fairer to look upon. The sun Avas just setting, and
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 843 
 
 its last glories were lighting up the purple tints upon tit" 
 mountains, and shedding a flood of golden hue over laK, 
 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 foliage 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. From the spot 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 habitation the traveller's eyes were 
 fixedly bent, until their gaze was dimmed by a passing 
 emotion. He drew his hand roughly over his face, as it 
 angry at his own weakness, and was about to proceed on 
 his way, when a shrill whistle from a clifl' above his head 
 arrested his step. It was a mountain recognition he well 
 knew, and was about to reply to, when suddenly, with a 
 bounding speed that seemed perilous in such a place, a 
 creature clad in the most tattered rags, but with naked 
 legs and bare head, came springing towards him. 
 
 " I knew you from the top of Goorhaun Dhub — I knew 
 you well, Master Mark. There's not many with a good 
 coat on their back could venture over the way you came, 
 and I said to myself it was you," cried Terry the Woods, 
 as, with his pale features lit up in smiles, he welcomed the 
 young O'Donoghue to his native hills. 
 
 " How are they all yonder ? " asked Mark, in a voice 
 scarcely above a whisper, pointing with his finger up the 
 glen in the direction of Carrignacurra, but which was not 
 visible from where they were. 
 
 *' I saw the master yesterday," replied Terry, who ap- 
 plied to the O'Donoghue the respected title by which he 
 was known in his own household. " He was sitting on a 
 big chair at the window, and the young girl with the black
 
 844 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 eyes was reading to him out of a book ; but sorra much 
 he was mindin' it, for when he seen me he beckoned this 
 way, and says he, ' Terry, you villain, why don't you ever 
 come up here now and talk to me ? ' ' 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 the young girl made a sign to me not to speak about 
 that any more." 
 
 "And who is at the Lodge now?" asked Mark, endea- 
 vouring to restrain any semblance of emotion even before 
 Terry. 
 
 " There's nobody but the agent. The fimily is over in Eng- 
 land till the house is ready I'or them. Oh, then, but you'll 
 wonder to see the illigant place it is now, wid towers and 
 spires all over it — the ground all gardens, with grass walks 
 as fine as a carpet, and the beautifullest flowers growin' 
 against the walls and up against the windows, and a 
 fountain, as they call it, of cool water spouting up in the 
 air, and coming down like rain." 
 
 " And my brother — where is he ? " 
 
 " He's over in England with the family from the Lodge ; 
 the black-eyed girl, Miss Kate, wouldn't go. They saj' — 
 but there's no knowing if it's true — they say she likes 
 Hemsvvorth better than the captain — and, truth, if she 
 does, it's a dhroU choice." 
 
 " Likes Hemsworth ! Do they say that my cousin likes 
 Hemsworth ? " said Mark, whose anger was only kept down 
 by gazing on the tranquil features of the poor witless object 
 before him. 
 
 " They do," said Terry, quietly, " and it's rasonable, too, 
 seein' that he's never out of the house from morning till 
 night." 
 
 " What house — where do you mean?" 
 
 " What house but Carrignacurra — your father's house." 
 
 Mark passed his hand across his 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 as 
 Hemsworth, 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,
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 345 
 
 by those he so long pursued with insult and oppression. 
 He paid no attention to Terry as he continued to narrate 
 the changes effected in his absence, and the various sur- 
 mises current among the people to account for his long 
 absence, when at length they approached the high road 
 that led up the valley. Here Terry halted, and pointing in 
 the direction of Mary's cabin, about half a mile distant, 
 said, — 
 
 " I can't go any farther with you. I dar'n't go there." 
 
 " And why not, my poor fellow ? " said Mark, compas- 
 sionately, for the terror depicted in his face too plainly 
 indicated the return of some hallucination. _„ _ 
 
 " They're there, now," said Terry, in a faint whisper, 
 *' watching 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 divil 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 then she's 
 pining away every day ; 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 Rpeech, but with the agility of his 
 wild life, sprang lightly up the mountain, from whence 
 his voice was heard gaily carolling as he went, long 
 afterwards. 
 
 ]\Iark looked after him for a few moments, and probably 
 8 mid the compassionate feelings with which he regarded 
 the poor creature, there were mingled others of actual 
 envy, so light-hearted and happy did he 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
 
 846 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 lie "watclied the light that streamed from the windows 
 across the road. Many an evening of his happy boyhood 
 had been passed beside that hnmble hearth — many a thril- 
 ling tale and many a merry story had he listened to there. 
 Beneath that roof it was he first imbibed the proud 
 thoughts of his house and family, and learned to know 
 tlie estimation in which men held his name. It was there 
 he first felt the spiiit of chieftainship, 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 ; false- 
 hood 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 revelry 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 liis 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 owi. 
 faults and follies, his fatalism urged him to a recklessness 
 of the future, and in place of hope there sprang 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 he 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 knowing 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 coui-se 
 would entail. 
 
 At last he reached the old gateway, and often as it had 
 been his lot to bi^.g beneath its shadow a heavy and 
 eorrow-struck heart, never had he passed it so deeply 
 depi-essed as now.
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 347 
 
 " Come on, good beast," lie said, patting the wearied 
 horse, " you shall have rest here ; and that," said he, 
 with a sigh — " that is more than I can pi'omise to 
 myself." 
 
 With these sad words he toiled up the steep ascent, and 
 gained the terrace in front of the castle. There were 
 licrhts burnino: 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 mellow 
 sounds of a harp which came floating 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 ! " 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, hastily fastening 
 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. 
 
 " They have little sorrow for the outcast, that is cer- 
 tain," 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 distinctly perceive the others, they could but 
 dimly discern the outline of his figure, without being able 
 to recognize him. His father and Sir Archy 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, Avas Hemsworth himself, the man of all 
 others he least wished to see at such a moment, 
 
 "Who is that?" cried the O'Donoghue— " who 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 Mai'k 
 you bring me ? " 
 
 *' Even so, sir," responded the other, as he slowly ad-
 
 848 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 vanced into the strong light, his arms folded upon hia 
 breast, and his brow stern and contracted. 
 
 "Mark! — my boy! my child!" cried the old man, 
 springing from his chair, and, with a strength that seemed 
 at once to defy age and infirmity, 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 seemingly apathetic. His eyes bent 
 on vacancy, and his features devoid of all expression 
 of passion, he turned from Sir Arch}?-, who grasped one 
 hand, and looked at Kate, who held the other between 
 l)ei\s, but in his gaze there was rather the look of one sud- 
 denly recalled to consciousness 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. 
 
 Mark started as he felt the drop, and looked at her with 
 a searching glance ; then turned his eyes towards Hems- 
 worth, 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 influenced 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 remember me," said Hemsworth, with a deferential 
 bow. " And I hope the time is coming Avhen I may 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 feeling than by taking my leave." 
 
 So saying, he courteously saluted the O'Donoghue, Sir
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 349 
 
 Archy, and Kate ; while, turning to Mark, lie 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 savage reply, while he folded his arms upon his 
 breast, and measured Hemsworth with a glance of wither- 
 ing scorn. " I'm beneath my father's roof. It is not for 
 a stranger to bid me welcome here." 
 
 Hemsworth smiled and muttered 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 indicate the 
 absence of any feeling of offence, withdrew. 
 
 " You are unco severe on Mister Hemsworth, Mark," 
 said Sir Archy, gravely. " If his politeness was na alto- 
 gether correct, it was weel intended," 
 
 " Mark was all right, whatever he said," cried the old 
 man, exultingly. " Egad ! I'll not dispute with the boy 
 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. 
 Hemsworth, we understand each other. He neither thinks 
 better nor worse of me than he did before." 
 
 " D— n Hemsworth ! " said the O'Donoghue. " Why 
 are we talking of him at all ? Sit down beside me, Mark. 
 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 di^eam to me ! " said Mai'k, 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 door, 
 " Is Master Mark to go supperless to bed ? " 
 
 *' Master Mark ! " shouted Kerry. " Oh, murther alive ! 
 and is it himself that's in it? Oh, blessed hour ! but I'm 
 glad to see you home again, and your honour looking so
 
 350 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 ■well and hearty. Maybe wo won't have bonfires 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, suddenly 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'Donogliue, "how pale and 
 careworn he looks — he appears to have suffered heavily." 
 
 " Depend upon it," said Sir Archy, gravely, " the lad 
 has learned much since we saw him last. I dinna mislike 
 the look his features have, although it be one of sorrow. 
 What says Kate ? " ]S"o answer followed this appeal, but 
 the young girl turned away her head, and affected to assist 
 in arranging the table. 
 
 " Mind, Archy," said the O'Donoghue, eagerly ; " re- 
 member, not a word about his absence — no questioning 
 whatever ; the boy has gone through too many troubles 
 already to bear the penalty of relating them. Take care, 
 too, that there be no allusion to Hemsworth ; 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 Hems- 
 worth's presence thi'ew over him had passed away, and 
 he felt anxious to show himself in more favourable colours 
 than his first appearance had displayed. While, there- 
 fore, 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'Donog- 
 hue ; but Sir Archy was 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.
 
 THE wandbker's eeturn. 851 
 
 and soon afterwards wislied 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 pounds 
 upon my own bond, Archy being a co-surety, which you 
 well know was a matter of foi'm. This, besides saving us 
 from any proceedings the Travei'ses might have taken, in 
 revenge for their disappointment about Kate " 
 
 " Speak more plainly, I beg you, sir, and, above all, 
 please to remember 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 marriage. Young Travers made your cousin 
 a brilliant offer, as far as money was concerned, v/hich 
 Kate refused. There was some negotiation about leaving 
 the thing open. Something about the future — I forget 
 exactly what — but I only know she was peremptory and 
 decided, as she always is, and wrote to me to take her 
 home. Archy went up for her to Dublin, and the Tra- 
 verses soon after left Irclaud in high indignation with us, 
 and determined, as we soon found, to let us feel their 
 enmity. Then it was that we leaimed to appreciate 
 Hemsworth, whom all along we had so completely mis- 
 taken ; and, indeed, but for him, we should never ha 
 heard of you." 
 
 " Of me ! What did he know of me ? " 
 
 " Everything, Mai'k — all," said the old man, in a low
 
 352 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 wliisper, as Be stole a prying glance through the room to 
 satisfy himself that they were not overheai'd. 
 
 " Once more, sir, speak out, and intelligibly — say what 
 this man assumes 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 Sue and Cry. A reward for your appre- 
 hension was actually deliberated at the Privy Council. 
 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 deplored the fatal accident of your intimacy 
 with Barrington — a man twice convicted and sentenced — • 
 that in company with this man you frequented certain 
 houses of high play, where more than one largo robbery 
 was effected. Then came the Castle ball — was it not 
 true that you went there ? Well, the diamond snuff-box 
 stolen from Lord Clangoff, 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 foi'bid, boy, but that you lived on terms of 
 closest friendship with one branded as a felon, and that 
 information of your intimacy 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, writ- 
 ten by you, 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 Hems- 
 Worth had played ; " and so, he burned my letters? " 
 
 " You know now, tlien, something of the services ho
 
 THE wanderer's RETURN. 853 
 
 rendered you," said the old man, wlio began at last to be 
 satisfied that conviction was coming home to Mark's 
 mind. 
 
 " I do," replied he, calmly; " I believe that I can ap- 
 preciate his kindness, and I believe also I may promise 
 that I shall not prove ungrateful. 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 everything amiable and 
 high-minded ; indeed, he forced me to let Herbert accom- 
 pany them to England — for I 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 O'Donoghue, grasping his 
 son's arm — " remember, I am solemnly pledged to Hems- 
 worth 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, smiling 
 dubiously, and left the room. 
 
 A A
 
 854 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 SUSPICIONS ON EVERY SIDE, 
 
 Early on the following morning Mark O'Donoghne was 
 on his way to the Lodge. To see Hemsworth, and dare 
 him to a proof 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 weariness and 
 exhaustion could induce sleep. He did not, indeed, know 
 the 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 villany. 
 The more Mark reflected on these things, the more he 
 saw the importance of proceeding with a certain caution. 
 Hemsworth's position at Carrignacurra, the advances he 
 had made in his lather's esteem, the i)lace he seemed to 
 occupy in Kate's good graces, were such that any alterca- 
 tion which should not succeed in unmasking the infamy of 
 his conduct would only be regarded as a burst of boyish 
 intemperance and passion ; 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 consequence of a sense 
 of rivalry on his part, and auger that his cousin had pre- 
 ferred him to himself. This thought was intolerable ; the 
 great effort he proposed to his heart was to eradicate every 
 sentiment 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 be- 
 come a question of self-esteem and pride. To return her 
 indifference as haughtily as she bestowed it, was a duty 
 ho thought he owed to himself, and therefore he shrank 
 from anything which would have the faintest semblance 
 of avenging his own defeat. 
 
 Such were some of the difficulties of his present posi- 
 tion, and he thought them over long and patiently, weigh-
 
 SUSPICIONS ON EVERY SIDE. 355 
 
 ing well the consequences eacli 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 uj^on Hemsworth, was changed for what 
 seemed a better line of procedure — which was simply to 
 see that gentlemau, to demand an explanation of the state- 
 ments 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 calculated 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 contemptible 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 
 savom'ed 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 aflTection ; 
 and then, when his treachery is open as the noonday, 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." 
 
 ]\Iark had a certain pride in thus conducting himself on 
 this occasion ; to show that he possessed other qualities 
 than those of rash and impetuous courage, that he could 
 reason 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 circumstances more favourable than 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 Hems- 
 worth to escape his difiiculties, 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 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 Mark had 
 adopted a more pacific line of conduct, 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 
 thoufrhts were of a nature that left him little room for 
 other considerations, he could not help standing in sur- 
 prise and admiration at the changes effected in his absence. 
 The neat but unpretending cottage had now been converted 
 into a building of Elizabethan 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 plate glass, reflecting the mountain 
 scenery in every variety of light and shadow. The rarest 
 flowers, the most costly shrubs, brought from long dis- 
 tances, at gi'eat risk and price, were here assembled to 
 add their beauties to a scene where nature had already 
 been so lavish. 
 
 While Mark was yet looking aboat in quest of the 
 entrance to the building, he saw a man approach, with 
 whose features he was well acquainted. This was no 
 other than Sam Wylic, 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, with 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 see him ? " 
 
 " Master ! " said Wylie, and his sallow face grew sal- 
 lower and sicklier. " If ye mean Mr. Hemsworth, 
 sir " 
 
 "Of course I do. If I spoke of Sir Marmaduke 
 Travcrs, I should mean Ids master. Is he at home ?" 
 
 " No, sir; he has left the Lodge."
 
 SUSPICIONS ON EVERY SIDE. 357 
 
 " Left it ! — since wlien ? I saw him last niglit at ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 " He left here before eleven," was Wylie'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 ! " exclaimed Mark, in bitter disappoint- 
 ment, 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 office 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 wnl he 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." 
 
 " Tell me the words, Pat — I'd like to hear them." 
 
 " 'Tis what he said — ' He's escaped me this time ; but, 
 by Gr — , 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 
 "jare 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. 
 
 Mark moved homewards in deep thought. There was 
 a time when disappointment would have irritated him 
 rather than have suggested any new expedient for success.
 
 358 THE o'donogdue. 
 
 Now lie was clianged in this respect. If baffled, he did 
 not feel defeated. His fii'st anger over, he began to think 
 how best he should obtain a meeting with Hemsworth, 
 and a retractation 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 cap- 
 ture. In Glenflesk alone was he safe ; so long as ho 
 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 dis- 
 closing 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 explana- 
 tion 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 
 Carrignacurra. Slight 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 with which his name 
 was associated — she whose spirit no sordid bait could 
 tempt, nor any mean object of personal ambition bias — 
 this was, indeed, inexplicable. Twice or thrice a thought 
 flashed across him, if it should not bo true — if it was 
 merely one of those rumours which the world builds on 
 circumstances — 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 Mark ; " it may not be too 
 late to save her. I may have come back in the very nick
 
 SUSPICIONS ON- EVERY SIDE, 359 
 
 of time, and, if so, I shall deem this piece of fortune 
 more than enough to requite all the mischances of my 
 life." 
 
 As he spoke thus he had reached the little flower- 
 garden, which, in front of the tower, was the only spot of 
 cultivation around the old building. 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 eai-ly." 
 
 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 expei-ience has 
 told you how unworthy we are of your afi'ection, how 
 much beneath your esteem. The cold realities that strip 
 life of its ideal happiness are only endurable when age 
 has blunted our afi'ections 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 affection 
 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 happiness ; never did I feel before 
 the ecstasy of being able to make joy more pleasure- 
 able, and sorrow less afflicting. The daughter feeling has
 
 860 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 filled up what was once a void in 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 valley 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 — ambitions which would take the 
 shape, not of personal aggrandizement, but high hope 
 for objects that come not within a woman's sphere. 
 Here, affection 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 affection 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 ? " 
 
 " 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, con- 
 fessedly, the most distinguished youth of his day; disap- 
 pointment only nerved his courage. There was a failure 
 to avenge, as well as a goal to win, and he has accom- 
 plished both."
 
 SUSPICIONS ON EVERY SIDE. 361 
 
 " Happy fellow, tliat 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 in- 
 trigue around him." 
 
 " Yery true, Mark ; the prizes of intellectual ambition 
 have this advantage, that they are self-won ; but, bethink 
 you, are not other objects equally noble — are not the 
 efforts we make for others more worthy of fame than those 
 ■which are dictated by purely personal desire of distinction ?" 
 
 Mark almost started at the words, whose direct appli- 
 cation to himself 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 upwards, 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 have found them so ? " cried 
 Mai'k, in amazement at the words. 
 
 " i mean what I have said, Mark, that betrayal and 
 treachery have tracked you for many a day. You would 
 not trust me with your secret, Mark, nor yet confide in 
 me, when an accident left it in my possession. Chance 
 has revealed to me many circumstances of your fortune, 
 and even now, Mark, I am only fearful lest your own 
 prejudices should hazard your safety. Shall I go on ? 
 May I speak still more plainly ? " 
 
 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 much truth and honour were 
 involved in the struggle, has long watched over you, 
 stretching out, unseen, the hand to help, and the shield to 
 protect you. He saw in you the generous boldness of one 
 whose courage supplies the nerve, that mere plotters trade 
 upon 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 feelings of friendship swayed him, 
 he came forward to save you.' 
 
 »>
 
 362 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " And tbis 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 — evci'y thing, Mark.'' 
 
 *' No, Kate, no," said he, smiling dubiously; " I have no 
 right to ask— perhaps not to accept of such a confidence." 
 
 " Be it so, then,'' said she, proudly, " we will speak of 
 this no more ; " and, with a slight bow, and a motion of 
 her hand, she turned into another alley of the garden, 
 and left Mark silently musing over the scene. Scarcely, 
 however, had she screened herself from his view by the 
 intervening trees, than she hastened her steps, and soon 
 gained the house. Without stopping to take breath, she 
 ascended tbe 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 handkerchief ; "this will 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 adjusted his spectacles to read. " When did you 
 receive it ? " 
 
 "About an hour ago," answered Kate, half impatient at 
 the unhurried coolness of the old man's manner, who at 
 last proceeded to examine the epistle, but without the' 
 slightest show of anxiety or eagerness. His apathy was, 
 however, short-lived ; short expressions of surprise broke 
 from him, followed by exclamations of terror and dismay, 
 till at length, laying down the letter, ho said, — 
 
 " Leave me, sweet Kate — leave mo 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 hira, and sat down diligently 
 to reconsider its contents.
 
 863 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 hemsworth's letter. 
 
 The letter over which Sir Archy bent in deep thought 
 was from Hemsworth. It was dated the night before, 
 and addressed to Kate O'Donoghue, and, although pro- 
 fessing 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 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 address- 
 ing Miss O'Donoghue, but pleading that the urgency of the 
 case, and the motives of the writer, might be received as 
 a sufficient excuse. After stating, in suflB.ciently vague 
 terms to make the explanation, capable of a double mean- 
 ing, 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 
 pei'sonal, 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 im- 
 partial judgment I certainly look to from you^ and I confess 
 myself at liberty to lay less store by the opinions 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 alternative but to venture on this correspon- 
 dence, whatever the consequences — consequences which,
 
 364: THE o'donoghue. 
 
 the writer palpa1)ly inferred, might prove of the last 
 moment to himself. The explanation — and for the reader's 
 Bake it is better to spai-e him Hemsworth's involved nar- 
 rative, and merely give its substance — was chiefly that 
 information of Mai'k O'Donoghue's complicity in the plot 
 of the United Irish party had been tendered to Govern- 
 ment, and suppoi'ted by such evidence that a judge's war- 
 rant 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 j^outh and ignorance of the 
 real views of the insurgents were pleaded in his favour, 
 the executien 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 line 
 to be followed. He was immediately to be 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 well 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 convicted felon. To found a hope upon his inno- 
 cence was thus shown to be perfectly impossible. His most 
 trusted associates were the evidence against him ; docu- 
 ments in his handwriting 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 reappear in his 
 native country. The orders of the Pinvy Council on this 
 Bcore were positive and clear, and admitted of no possible 
 misconception.
 
 hemswokth's letter. 365 
 
 " You may judge, then," continued he, " what were my 
 feehugs 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 oflBcial 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 kindness and goodwill. 
 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, nominally to attend the 
 Cotmcil, but in reality to escape the necessity my onei-ous 
 position would impose. None save those beneath your 
 roof know that I have met Mr. Mark 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 in- 
 terested, 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 influ- 
 ence to obtain. The other mode is, by a temporary exile, 
 to withdraw himself from the notice of the Government, 
 until the danger having perfectly passed over, political 
 acrimony will have abated, and the necessity for making 
 severe examples of guilt be no longer urgent. This latter 
 course I 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 the 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
 
 866 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 banishment 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 lengthened 
 an absence from his native land. 
 
 " Above all things, however, remember that not an hour 
 is to be lost. Any moment may disclose to the Crown 
 some new feature of the plot, and may call forth measures 
 of stringent severity. The proclamation ofiering a reward 
 for the apprehension of four persons, of whom your cousin 
 is one, is already printed, and in the office of the Secretaiy. 
 An hour would see it all over the walls of the capital, in 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. Reflect on this. It is not a 
 mere question of fine or even imprisonment. It is life 
 itself is on the issue, and life which, in suiTcndering, 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 foreign help ; no 
 self-reliance, no patriotism, which, if mistaken, was still 
 sincere and manly. Reflect on all this, and think a life 
 offered up in such a cause has no martyrdom to throw 
 lustre on the grave shared with the felon and the high- 
 wayman. 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 
 heart. 
 
 " I have written hurriedly, and I doubt not, in some 
 respects, unadvisedly ; but the sincerity of my purpose 
 will plead for me, should the indiscretion of my zeal
 
 hemsworth's letter. 367 
 
 require apology. You will, perhaps, ask wlij I should 
 have iraposed a task difficult as this upon you — why I 
 should have loaded you with a responsibility so weighty ? 
 ]\Iy answer is simply I dared not write to the O'Donoghue 
 on the subject of his son's indiscretion — 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 con- 
 siderable risk. This is a period when loyalty cannot 
 afford to be even suspected ; yet have I jeoparded mine 
 in defending 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 
 unworthily of 
 
 " "William Hemsworth." 
 
 Sir Archy studied this letter with the patient care a 
 lawyer bestows upon a brief. He tliought over each sen- 
 tence, and weighed the expressions in his mind with deep 
 thought. It had been his fortune, in early life, to have 
 been thrown into situations of no common difiiculty, 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, 
 Hemsworth'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 atti-ibuting to motives of 
 friendship. Sir Archy well knew the feelings of dislike 
 which subsisted between these two men — how then account
 
 SC8 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 for this sudden change on Ilemsworth'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 the terms he offers ; 
 such are the alternatives his kindness suggests. Might 
 these have no other motive than friendship ? — might they 
 not be the off'spring of feelings very diff'erent indeed ? 
 What benefit might he derive from Mark's expatriation ? — 
 that is the question. Does he anticipate 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 brilliancy 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 mys- 
 terious good-nature? " 
 
 This suspicion no sooner occurred to him than Sir 
 Archy recalled to mind all the circumstances of Hems- 
 worth's recent behaviour — the endeavours 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 dis- 
 parity of years was 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 mei'c diffidence. 
 Mark was himself conscious of the disadvantages he 
 laboured under, and although Sir Archy had few fears
 
 HEMSWORTn'S LETTER. 359 
 
 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 dif- 
 ferently, 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 Plemsworth's 
 ambition ; and when already he had absorbed so large a 
 portion of the family estates, this additional lien wou.ld 
 nearly make him master of the entire. It was, then, per- 
 fectly possible that this was his game, and that in with- 
 drawing 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 not neglect the more pressing considera- 
 tion of Mark's danger. It was evident that he had taken 
 an active part in the insurrectionary movement, and with- 
 out the slightest 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. 
 
 B B
 
 870 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVni. 
 
 TAMl'ERINd AND PLOTTING. 
 
 While they who meditated the invasion of Ireland were 
 thoroughly informed on the state of parties and the con- 
 dition of public opinion in that kingdom, the English 
 Government were satisfied with vague and insufficient 
 rumours of those intentions, derived from sources of 
 questionable accuracy, or communicated by persons in the 
 pay of their opponents. Certain it is, neither the magni- 
 tude of the peril was appreciated, nor its nearness sus- 
 pected. 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 
 guai'antce 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 witli their demands. The event 
 itself was to show how unfounded were all these calcula- 
 tions, and how little reason we had to regard our security 
 as derived from our oyfb. measures of foresight and pro- 
 caution. 
 
 Constituted as the French Government of the day was, 
 nothing would have been easier than to have ample know- 
 ledge of all the projects. The men in high situations were 
 newly elevated to power from positions of very humble 
 pretension, with no habits of public business, no expe- 
 rience of the mode of conducting difficult affairs, and 
 many of them of very questionable character for integrity; 
 and yet, with these opportunities at our disposal, a few 
 9cattered facts, ill-authenticated and vague, were all that
 
 TAMPERING AND PLOTTING. 371 
 
 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-oflBcio informa- 
 tions seemed the safeguard of the empire. 
 
 On occasions of this kind the activity of the Govern- 
 ment was most remarkable, and while the great question 
 of national security was overlooked, no pains were spared 
 to track out the narrow path where some insignificant 
 treason was plodding, and bring the plotter to the scaffold. 
 Large sums of money were spent in obtaining secret infor- 
 mation, and the whole science of government was reduced 
 to a system of espionage. This little-minded and narrow 
 policy was, in a great measure, the consequence of entrust- 
 ing 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 for- 
 ward the catastrophe for which he was interested. 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 history of Mark O'Donoghue's complicity. The 
 information came well-timed. The Crown lawyers 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 repeat- 
 edly examined by the Attorney 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 
 
 B B 2
 
 372 THE o'DONOGnUE. 
 
 — and the several places of rendezvous agreed upon ■wlieiw 
 ever the rising should take place. He also revealed many 
 facts of t'he feeling prevalent among the people, and exem- 
 plified 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 contidence, eager for the time to 
 come, and ready to incur any peril. While in all these 
 disclosures he was most candid and explicit, he never once 
 betrayed the name of Mary M'Kelly, nor even alluded iu 
 any way to her cabin as a resort of the French spies and 
 the secret depot of arras and ammunition. 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 
 explanation of his conduct, for, strange as it may seem, 
 the vilest actions are sometimes conceived with a reserve 
 of conscience that shows what casuistry guilt requires, 
 and how much the spirit of evil lacks of courage, when it 
 has to borrow the energy to act from even the semblance 
 of something good. 
 
 It was not without reluctance at first that Lanty ven- 
 tured 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 evidence 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 poi'portion 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 
 cliuraeter suflicient 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
 
 TAMrERING AND PLOTTING. 373 
 
 disclosure to Government, and only bargain for his own 
 life. Hemswortli's absence from Dublin afforded the 
 oppox'tunity, 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 
 special leave of the law ofiBcers of the Crown. Now, 
 although Hemsworth had personally little to fear from any 
 disclosure Lanty might make, yet his information might 
 thwart all the plans he had so artfully devised regarding 
 the O'Donoghues, the events impending that family being 
 up to that moment perfectly at his own discretion and 
 disposal, to delay or precipitate which constituted the 
 essence of his policy. Mai'k could not be brought to trial, 
 he well knew, without exhibiting himself in the light of 
 an enemy and an accuser, he being the person to whom 
 Lanty originally communicated his informations. This 
 hostile part would form an impassable obstacle to any 
 success with Kate, and consequently to his great plan of 
 obtaining the Glenflesk estate. 
 
 Hemsworth lost not a moment, after his arrival in town, 
 in his endeavours to have an interview with Lanty ; and, 
 being on 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 reluc- 
 tantly acceded. It was near nine o'clock — the latest hour 
 at which the visit to the gaol 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 gaoler 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 jDcrfected, 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 coufased.
 
 37-1 THE o'donogiiue. 
 
 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 any more 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 his finger across his brow, 
 and seemed to reflect; then added, " Y"es, that will do — open 
 it now, and I shall l)e ready to retire whenever yoa please." 
 
 Whether the sound without had drowned the noise, or 
 that his attention was too much engaged to notice it, 
 Lanty never stirred nor looked round, as the heavy door 
 was unbarred and fastened again behind Hemsworth. 
 Seated in a recess of the window, and with his face pressed 
 against th.e iron bars, he was watching with interest the 
 movement 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 him. 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 
 are 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, afiecting astonish- 
 ment ; " they are the approvers against Bond. The Go- 
 vernment 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, Mr. Hemsworth, they'll never treat their 
 own friends that way?" 
 
 " Wouldn't they, Lanty ! You don't know them as well
 
 TAMPERING AND PLOTTING. 375 
 
 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. Haven't you given information to the Attorney- 
 General against the young O'Donoghue?" 
 
 Lanty nodded, and he went on. 
 
 " Haven't you confessed the whole of the plot, and told 
 them everything?" 
 
 " Very nearly, faix ! " 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 are bringing yourself to ? 
 What will be your claim when the trial of the young 
 O'Donoghue is over ? The Crown lawyers will have yon 
 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." 
 
 Hemsworth permitted the words to sink into his heart 
 for a few seconds 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. He said 
 that all they wanted was my information on oath." 
 
 " And you gave it ! " exclaimed Hemsworth, in a voice 
 of ill-dissembled anxiety. 
 
 "Not all out, sir," said Lanty, with a shrewd glance of 
 malicious intelligence. " 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 from his breast-pocket and 
 .^jhowed it to Hemsworth—" and I'm to give it back to- 
 morrow, with my name to it."
 
 876 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' They've played you off well, Lanty," said Hemsworth, 
 while, carelessly 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 evidence, so long as it was your own, was 
 worth five thousand pounds, 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, w' ould you ? " said Hems- 
 worth, with a smile of deadly malice ; " but I've thought 
 of that part, my honest Lanty. I've already given in- 
 formation 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, them and 
 you ; you, a paid spy of France, a sworn United Irishman, 
 who have administered the oaths to eighteen soldiers of 
 the Roscommon 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 m^re matters of 
 fancy?" 
 
 " I'm a Crown witness," said Lawler, sturdily, "and 
 if I speak out all I know, they're bound to protect me." 
 
 " AVho is to bind them? " said Hemsworth, jeeringly; 
 " is it your fi'iends, the United Irishmen, that you be- 
 trayed — 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'if 
 the sympathy and pi-otcction to come from ? Tell me that 
 for I'm curious on the point." 
 
 Lanty turned a fierce look upon him — his eyeballa 
 glared, and his nether lip shook convulsively, while his 
 hands were firmly clenched together. Hemsworth watched 
 these evidences of growing anger, but without seeming 
 to regard them, when the key grated roughly in the lock,
 
 TAMPERING AND PLOTTINa. 377 
 
 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 
 band. 
 
 " 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 oppor- 
 tunity to Hemsworth 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 befriend 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 perilous 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 deter- 
 mine 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 nothing 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 to convict young O'Donoghue, 
 and warn all the others not to go forward. I don't sup- 
 pose you want that ; the young fellow never did you any 
 harm." 
 
 " i!Tever," said Lanty, dropping his head with shame, 
 for even in such a presence his conscience smote him. 
 
 " 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 Attor- 
 ney-General and the others come for me to write my
 
 378 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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.' They'll 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 they 
 won't make we." 
 
 " That thought was worthy of you, Lanty," said Hems- 
 worth, laughing, " 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 tes- 
 timony. Of course, they'll threaten you with the worst 
 consequences. You'll be told of prosecutions for perjuiy, 
 and all that. Never mind — wait patiently your time. 
 When the hour arrives, Til make your bargain for you, 
 and it will not be merely the evidence against an indi- 
 vidual, 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 advice. 
 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 expected of him by the con- 
 sideration 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 Hcrasworth, as ho 
 slowly returned to his hotel. " They'll stop at nothing to 
 terrify him into signing the informations, and if the pro- 
 secution goes on, and the young O'Douoghue 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 conse-
 
 ta:mpeeing and plottikg. 379 
 
 queiice. It was to little moment that I prevented a maiv 
 riage between Travcrs and the girl if I cannot make her 
 my own ; but yet that alliance should have been thwarted 
 on every ground of policy. It would have been to plant 
 the Traverses 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 will prove 
 a strong obstacle to their returning." Thus did he re- 
 view 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 
 negotiations- — 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 Hemsworth loitered in one of the offices 
 of the Castle, where the gossip of the morning was dis- 
 cussed, in no common anxiety to hear how his protege had 
 acquitted himself. As the clerks and underlings con- 
 versed among themselves on the dress or equipage of the 
 officials who at intervals drove oflP 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 ISTewgate 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 
 'md 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 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. Curran 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 himself as an
 
 380 THE o'dokoghue. 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 Among the unexplained phenomena of the period is one 
 very remarkable 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 high and expectations confident. 
 Tone's letters from Paris breathed encouragement ; the 
 embarrassments of England promised favourably for their 
 cause ; and many who wavered before were found now 
 willing to embrace the enterprise. To this state of ardent 
 feeling succeeded an interval of doubt and uneasiness ; 
 conflicting statements were circulated, and men's minds 
 were shaken, without any apparent cause. A vague fear 
 of betrayal and treachery gained ground ; yet no one was 
 able to trace this dread to any definite source. The result, 
 however, was evident in the greater caution of all con- 
 cerned in the scheme — a reserve which seemed to threaten 
 a total abandonment of the undertaking ; such, at least, 
 it appeared to those who, like Mark O'Donoghue, having 
 few or no opportunities of intercourse 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,
 
 THE BROTHERS. 381 
 
 and had not a single acquaintance to whom he could look 
 for advice and assistance. 
 
 All Sir Archy's endeavours to win 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 con- 
 cerned ; and however disposed to seek advice for himself, 
 he would not compromise their safety for the sake of his 
 own advantage. Unable to extort a confidence by entreaty, 
 and well aware how little efliciency there lay in menace. 
 Sir Archy abandoned the attempt, and satisfied himself 
 by placing in Mark's hands Hemsworth's letter, signifi- 
 cantly hinting his own doubts of the writer's integrity. 
 
 Mark sat himself down in the garden to study the 
 epistle, and however artfully conceived, the experience 
 his own career opened displayed the dishonesty of the 
 writer at every sentence. 
 
 " 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 Hems- 
 worth who captures me here." 
 
 Guided by this one determination, and trusting that 
 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 appear- 
 ing 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 in 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
 
 882 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 fatigues of the hunting-field. His mtanner, too, was no 
 longer the same. Calmer, and more self-possessed than 
 before, he neither seemed to feel momentary bursts of high 
 spirits nor depression. The tone of his mind was indeed 
 Bad, but it was the sadness that indicated strength and 
 constancy to endure, fully as much as it betrayed the pain 
 of suffering. The altered features of his character im- 
 pressed themselves on everything 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 disappoint- 
 ment, 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 were open to him now — some great path in 
 life : she did not fear its dangers or its trials — his natui-e 
 suggested anything save fear ! How sad to think that 
 energy like his should be suffered to wane, and flicker, 
 and die out for want of the occasion to display its blaze. 
 She could not avoid communicating these thoughts to Sir 
 Archy, who for some time past had watched the growing 
 change in the youth's manner. The old man listened 
 attentively as she spoke, and his glistening eye and height- 
 ened colour showed how her girlish enthusiasm moved 
 him ; and while some reminiscence of the past seemed to 
 float before him, his voice trembled, as he said, — 
 
 "Alas! my sweet child, the world offers few opportu- 
 nities 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 purposes of
 
 THE BBOTHEKS. 383 
 
 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 ability, if he but suffer himself to rely upon it, 
 rather than on the casual accidents of fortune. 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 happy 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 determination 
 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 attain- 
 ments 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 slight tinge of red coloured Mark's cheek, and his 
 eye was lighted with a look of pleasure. He felt the 
 flatteiy in all its force, but did not dare to trust himself 
 with a reply. 
 
 "1 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 ever, or will the 
 habits of the life he has left cling to him still, and mako. 
 him think this grandeur only desolation ? "
 
 884 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 " 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-sought-for haven. I came not hero 
 from the gay and brilliant world, rich in fascinations and 
 pleasures. I had not lived among the gi^eat and learned, 
 to hear the humble estimate they have of our poor land. 
 I came back hei-e like the mariner whose bark puts back 
 shattered by the storm and baffled by the winds, unable to 
 stem the tide that leads to fortune. Yes, shipwrecked in 
 everything." 
 
 " Herbert, Herbert ! " cried Kate. 
 
 At the same moment a chaise, advancing at full gallop, 
 turned from the road into the avenue towai'ds 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 affectionately ; his next, in a tone of un- 
 qualified surprise, was, " What a fine fellow you have 
 grown, Mark ! " And the two brothers were locked in 
 each other's arms. 
 
 The sentiment which thus burst from him in the first 
 moment of surprise Avas 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- 
 posure to his air ; while with Herbert, his career of study 
 alternatingwithalife passed among cultivated and polished 
 circles, had converted the unformed stripling 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 
 different features Avere distinguishable. His thoughts, his 
 expressions, his very accent were changed ; yet through 
 this his old nature beamed forth, bright, joyous, and affec- 
 tionate as ever. It was the same spirit, although its 
 flights were bolder and more daring — tlie same mind, but 
 its workings more powerful and more free. The one had 
 placed his ambition so high he scarcely dared to hope; the
 
 THE BROTHERS. 385 
 
 otlier had already tasted some of the enjoyments of suc- 
 cess — 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 experienced 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, bashful boy, that scarcely dared to make an 
 effort from very dread of failure. His flashing 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 Herbert, 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 ? " 
 
 Mark coloured and looked confused, when Kate, comino- 
 to the rescue, replied, — 
 
 "How can you ask such a question, Herbert ? What 
 V^ariety does life afford in this quiet valley ? Is it not the 
 I'cry 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? Tl.ea I must gie 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, everything about it." 
 
 C C
 
 886 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 And the youth, with bent-down head and rapid utter- 
 ance, related in a low voice the event of his examination. 
 
 " Go on, go on," said Sir Archy M'Nab, aloud — " tell 
 me Avhat followed." 
 
 And Herbert resumed in the same tone as before. 
 
 " Ha ! " cried Sir Archy, in an accent of irrepressible 
 delight, " so they said your Latin smacked of Scotland. 
 They scented Aberdeen in it. 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, while Herbert poui-ed 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 undis- 
 guised 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 ai'm in arm 
 took their way towards the house.
 
 887 
 
 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 
 wcio-hed upon her mind, did her utmost 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 unruffled 
 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 his most pressing embar- 
 rassments, and left him money enough to keep other 
 creditors at bay. Sir Archy felt already he had received 
 the earnest of that success he so ardently desired for 
 Herbert, and in the calm of political life hoped that the 
 rash scheme in which Mark had embarked 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 the failures and checks of youthful 
 ambition, and in the changed features of Mark's character 
 he argued most favourably for the future. But of all those 
 on whom happier prospects shone, none revelled in the 
 enjoyment so much as Herbert. The fascinations of that 
 
 c c 2
 
 388 THE 0*DONOGnUE. 
 
 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 pei'ceive the lurking secret of his thoughts, and soon 
 led him to confide them to lier. Hei'bert 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 fiunily 
 was a mystery he could not solve, and he referred to Kate 
 for the explanation. 
 
 " How strange, Kate," said he, one day, as they wan- 
 dered along the glen somewhat I'arther than usual — " how 
 singular is this silence respecting the Traverses ! 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 inten-upted her 
 quickly, saying,— 
 
 " This can scarcely be the reason ; at least their feel- 
 ings show nothing of the kind towards us. Sybella talks 
 of you as a sister nearest to her heart. Sir Marmaduko 
 never spoke of you but with the warmest terms of affec- 
 tion, and if the gay Guardsman did not express himself 
 on the subject, perhaps it was because he I'elt the more 
 deeply." 
 
 Kate's check grew deeper scarlet, and her breathing 
 more hurried, but she made no reply. 
 
 " Mij explanation," continued Herberf, 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 lleniswortli is somehow at 
 the bottom of it all. Sybella told me what persuasions 
 he employed to prevent her father returning to Glenllesk; 
 and when everything like argument failed, that he actu- 
 ally, under ])reteuce of enlarging the house, rendered the 
 existing part uninhabitable." 
 
 " But what object could he have in tliis ? " said Kate, 
 who i'elt that Herbert was merely nourishing the old preju- 
 dices of his family against Hemsworth. " He is anxious for
 
 THE LULL BEFORE THE STORM, 389 
 
 the peace and welfare of this country — he grieves for the 
 poverty and privations of the people — and, whether he be 
 correct or not, deems the remedy the residence among' 
 them of a cultivated and wealthy proprietar,' with intelli- 
 gence to perceive and ability to redress their grievances." 
 
 " Very true, Kate," replied Herbert; " but dou't you 
 see that in these very requisites of a resident gentry he 
 does not point at the Travers family, whose ignorance of 
 Ireland he often exposed when affecting to eulogize their 
 kuowledge. 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 influence which pro- 
 perty confers, benefits from his hands became suspected, 
 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 land was let at a nominal rent, as being 
 almost 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 Hemsworth 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 Hems- 
 worth, Kate. Sybella said as much to me herself." 
 
 " Sybella said so ? " said Kate, as a flush, half of shamr, 
 half of displeasure, mantled her cheek. 
 
 " Yes," cried Herbert, for he felt that he was in a diflB- 
 culty, and there was no way out save the bold one, of 
 right through it — "yes, she saw what you did not, that
 
 390 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Hemswortli had dared to lift his eyes to you — that all 
 his displays of patriotic sentiment were got up to attract 
 your favourable 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 
 impressions." 
 
 " 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 Hemsworth contrived it ! " cried Herbert, eagerly, 
 for it was a subject of which he had long been anxious to 
 speak, and one he had heard much of from Sybella. 
 " I know well the game he played, and how success- 
 fully too." 
 
 Kate blushed deeply. For a moment she believed that 
 her own secret was known to Herbert, but the next in- 
 stant she was reassured that all was safe. 
 
 " Sybella told me how he actually lay in wait for oppor- 
 tunities to entice Frederick into discussion before you, 
 well knowing the theme that would irritate him, and 
 calculating how far petty refutations and half-suppi'cssed 
 sneers would embarrass and annoy him — the more, because 
 Frederick saw how much more favourably you regarded 
 Hemsworth's sentiments than his own ; and, indeed, some- 
 times I fancied, Kate, it was a point the Guardsman was 
 very tender about ; — nay, sweet cousin, I would not say a 
 word to offend 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 are, 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 iu 
 expedients than their fathers." 
 
 " A luckless land, indeed ! " said Mai'k, who, coming up 
 at the moment, had overheard the last words. " You 
 were right to call it so — where the son of an O'Donoghue
 
 THE LULL BEFORE THE STORM. 391 
 
 sees no more glorious path to follow than that ot a hollow 
 compi'omise ! " 
 
 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. 
 
 " Forgive me, Herbert," said Mark, in a voice of deep 
 melancholy. " ISTot even this theme should sow a difi'erence 
 between us. I came to bid you good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, Mark! " cried Kate, starting with terrified 
 surprise. 
 
 *' 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 intelli- 
 gence that makes it necessary for me to remain in con- 
 cealment for a short time. You see, Herbert," said he, 
 laughing, " that your theory has the advantage on the 
 score of prudence. 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 apprehension 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 
 anything more is meant than to threaten ? " said Kate. 
 
 " I believe that Carrignacurra 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 
 60 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
 
 892 THE o'donogiiue. 
 
 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 
 anything of his brother's intrigues, " this must proceed on 
 mere falsehood. There is no charge against you — you, 
 ■whose life of quiet retirement here can defy any calumny." 
 
 " But not deny the truth," said Mark, with a sorrowful 
 smile. " Once for all, I cannot speak of these things now. 
 My time is running fast ; and already my guide 5'Onder 
 looks impatient at my delay. Remember the shcaling 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 invitation 1 have received for Christmas, and I 
 accept it most willingly, I assure you." 
 
 An impatient gesture of Terry's hand, as he stood on a 
 small pinnacle of rock, about fifty feet above the road, 
 attracted Mai-k's attention, and he called out, — 
 
 "Well!— what is it?" 
 
 "The dragoons!" shouted Terry, in a terrified voice. 
 *' They're ci'ossing 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 another. Wait ! they're 
 asking the way : that's it, I'm sure. Well done ! — my 
 blessing be an ye this day, whoever 3^0 are. May I never ! 
 if he's not sending them wrong ! They're down the 
 glen towards Killarney ;" and as he finished speaking ho 
 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 unnoticed, when again he cried out "Fai-e- 
 well ! Remember the west side of Hungry ! " and waving 
 his cap, disappeared, while Herbert and his cousin wended 
 their sorrowful way homeward.
 
 893 
 
 CHAPTER XLT. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 When Kate arrived at home, she found a note awaiting 
 her, in Herasworth's handwriting, and marked " Haste." 
 Guessing at once to what it must i-efer, she broke tlie seal 
 with an anxious heart, and read : — 
 
 " My dear Madam, — I have been unable to retard any 
 longer the course of proceedings against your cousin. It 
 would seem that the charges against him are 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 was determined on arresting him 
 at once. Orders to support the warrant 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 scarcely 
 observe the implicit faith I repose in the use you make of 
 it. It is intended to be the means of providing for your 
 cousin's safety — but should it, by any accident, fall under 
 other eyes than yours, it would prove the inevitable ruia 
 of your very devoted servant, 
 
 "Wm. Hemsworth." 
 
 " And they will not believe this man's integrity ! **
 
 894 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 exclaimed Kate, as she finished reading the note. *' He 
 who jeopardies his own station and character for the sake 
 of one actually his enemy ! Well, their injustice shall not 
 involve my honour. — 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. Hemsworth ? " 
 
 " At Macrcom. There was a meeting of magistrates 
 there, which delayed 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, hui-riedly, and turned back again into the house. 
 
 Through all the diflflculties 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 must she act 
 independently of his aid, but, perhaps, in actual opposition 
 to his views — taking for her guidance one distrusted by 
 almost every member of her family. Tet what alternative 
 remained ? — how betray Hemsworth's conduct in a ease 
 which, if known, must exhibit him as false to the Govern- 
 ment, and acting secretly against the very orders that were 
 given to him ? This she could not think of ; and thus, by 
 the force of circuinstances, was constrained to accept of 
 Hemsworth as an ally. Her anxious deliberations on this 
 score were suddenly interrupted by the sound of horses 
 galloping on the road, and as she looked out the individual 
 in question rode up the causeway, followed by his groom. 
 
 The O'Donoghue was alone in the drawing-room, musing 
 over the sad events which necessitated Mark's conceal- 
 ment, when Hemsworth entered, heated by a long and 
 fust ride. 
 
 " Is your son at home, sir — your eldest son ? " said he, 
 as soon as a very brief greeting was over. 
 
 " If you'll kindly ring that bell, which my gout won't 
 permit mc to reach, we'll inquire," said the old man, with 
 a well-affected indiiferencc. 
 
 "I must not create any suspicion among the servants," 
 said Hemsworth, cautiously ; " I have reason to believe 
 that some danger is impending over him, and that he had 
 better leave this house for a day or two."
 
 A DISCOVERY. 395 
 
 The apparent frankness of the tone in which he spoke, 
 threw the O'Donoghue completely off his guard, and taking 
 Hemsworth's hand, he said, — 
 
 " Thank you sincerely for this, the poor boy got wind of 
 it this morning, and I trust before now has reached some 
 place of safety for the present. But what steps can we 
 take ? Is there anything you can advise us to do ? I'm 
 really so bewildered by all I hear, 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 affair of Mark's — will you and Sir Archy 
 talk it over with liim ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir, but I must 
 recall to your memory that I am a magistrate, chai'ged 
 with your son's arrest, and if by an unguarded expression," 
 here he smiled significantly, " I have betrayed my instruc- 
 tions, I rely on your honour not to expose me to the con- 
 sequences." 
 
 The O'Donoghue listened without thoroughly compre- 
 hending the distinction the other aimed at, and then, as if 
 disliking the trouble of a thought that puzzled him, he 
 shook his head and mutterred, "Ay, very well — be it so — 
 my niece knows these matters better than I do." 
 
 " I agree with that opinion perfectly," said Hemsworth, 
 in an undertone, " and if Miss O'Donoghue will favour me 
 with her company for a few minutes in the garden, I may 
 be able to assist her to a clear understanding of the case." 
 Kate smiled assentingly, and Hemsworth moved towards 
 the door and opened it ; and then, as if after a momentary 
 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 magistrates, has stimu- 
 lated 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
 
 896 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 even if he should get to scca, there are two cruisers on the 
 look-out for any suspicious 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 intercourse 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 1 heard a member of the Coun- 
 cil say, ' Jackson's blood is dried up already,' I guessed 
 the dreadful result of this young man's capture." 
 
 Kate shuddered at these words, which were uttered in a 
 faint tone, tremulous through emotion. " O 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 away, 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, tuiming on him a glance of imploring 
 meaning, "can you not think of anything? Is there no 
 means, however difficult and dangerous, by which he 
 might be saved ? Could not the honour of an ancient 
 house plead for him ? Is there no pledge for the future 
 could avail him ? " 
 
 " There is but one such pledge — and that " — here ho 
 stopped and blushed deeply, and then, as if by an effort, 
 resumed — " do not, I beseech you, tempt me to utter what, 
 if once spoken, decides the destiny of my life ? "
 
 A DISCOVEEY. 397 
 
 He ceased, and she bent on him a look of wondering 
 astonishment. She thought that she had not heard liim 
 aright, and amid her fears of some vague kind, a i'aint 
 hope struggled that a chance of saving Mark yet remained. 
 Perhaps, the mere expression of doubt her features 
 assumed, was more chilling than even a look of dis- 
 pleasure, for Hemsworth's self-possession, for several 
 minutes, seemed to have deserted 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, 1 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 parent," 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. "Mark 
 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'Donoghue," said he, " that my hope was 
 but like the straw which the drowning hand will grasp at ; 
 but, tortured as my mind has been by expedients, which 
 more mature thought has ever discovered to be imprac-
 
 398 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 ticable, I suflfered myself to believe that possible 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 Govei-nment stands above suspicion; 
 one, whose services have met no requital, but whose reward 
 only awaits the moment of demanding it ; such a one as 
 this might make his own character and fortune the recog- 
 nizance for this young man's conduct, and truck the pay- 
 ment of his own services for a free pai-don.'' 
 
 " And who is there thus highly placed and willing to 
 befriend us ? " 
 
 Henisworth 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 ecstasy, 
 she fixed her tearful eyes upon him — " you would do that ? " 
 Then growing suddenly pale, as a sick shudder came over 
 her, she said, in a deep and broken voice, " At what price, 
 sir?" 
 
 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 lifelong could not re- 
 pay. 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 fortunes 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 glimmer 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 effort of his will, almost uncon- 
 sciously 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.
 
 A DISCOVERS. 399 
 
 " And this, then, is the price you hinted at — this was to 
 be the compact." 
 
 The proud look of scorn she threw upon him evoked no 
 angry feeling 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 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 intervention 
 available, I should show myself linked with the fortunes of 
 that house I tried to save — it should be a case where, 
 personally, my own interest was at stake, and where my 
 fortune — all I possessed 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, 
 resumed 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 — forget that, even in 
 a moment so unguarded, I dared to lift my eyes to the 
 shrine my heart has worshipped. I ask no pledge, no 
 compact ; I will do my utmost to save this youth ; I will 
 spare no exertion or influence I possess with the Govern- 
 ment ; I will make his pardon the recompense due to my- 
 self, 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 shealing at the foot of Hungry Mountain, he men- 
 tioned to Herbert as the rendezvous for the present." 
 
 " Is he alone — has he no companion ? ' 
 
 '* None ; save, perhaps, the idiot boy who acts r.j his 
 guide in the mountains." 
 
 "Farewell, then," said Hemsworth; "you shall soor 
 hear what success attends my effort — farewell ;" and, with
 
 400 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 out waitinf^ 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 herself, " It was nobly done ! " re- 
 turned with slow steps to the house. 
 
 As Hems worth spurred his horse, and urged him to his 
 fastest speed, expressions of mingled triumph and ven- 
 geance 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 despised for my poverty and my 
 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 full 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 re- 
 turned as that he felt his accident was attended with no 
 serious injury ; the shock of the fall was the only circum- 
 stance of any gravity. 
 
 The medical man of Macroom was soon with him, and 
 partly confirmed his own first impressions, but strictly en- 
 joining rest and quiet, as, in the event of any unusual excite- 
 ment, 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?" cried he, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 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 ph^-sician, gravely. 
 
 "A month! Great Heaven! — a mouth! And what 
 are the dangers you apprehend, in the event of my not 
 BuJjmittinc: ? "
 
 A DISCOVERY. 401 
 
 '' There are several, and very serious ones — inflamma- 
 tion of the brain, fever, derangement even. 
 
 "Yes, and are you sure this confinement will not drive 
 me mad?" cried he, passionatel3^ "Will you eno-ao-e 
 that my brain will hold out against the agonizing thouo-lit& 
 that will not cease to torture me all this while? — or can 
 you promise that events will stand still for the moment 
 when I can resume my place once more anions men ? " 
 
 The huri'ied and excited tone in which he spoke was 
 only a more certain evidence of the truth of the medical 
 fears ; and, without venturing on any direct reply, the 
 doctor gave some directions for his treatment, and with- 
 drew. 
 
 The physician's apprehensions were well founded. The 
 first few hours after the accident seemed to threaten 
 nothing serious, but, as night fell, violent headache and 
 fever set in, and before daybrealc he was quite delirious. 
 
 No sooner did the news reach Carrignacurra, than 
 Kerry was despatched to bring back tidings of his state ; 
 for, however different the estimation in which he was held 
 by each, one universal feeling pervaded all — of sorrow for 
 his disaster. Day after day Sir Archy or Herbert went 
 over to inquire after him ; but some chronic feature of 
 his malady seemed to have succeeded, and he lay in one 
 unvarying condition 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 apathy. The pursuit of Mark, so 
 eagerly begun, had, as it were, died out. The proclama- 
 tions of reward, torn down by the country people 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 taught 
 him caution, rarely ventured near Carrignacurra, and 
 never passed more than a few moments beneath his father's 
 roof. 
 
 While each had a foreboding that this calm was but th& 
 lull that preludes a storm, their apprehensions took very 
 different and opposing courses. Kate's anxieties increased 
 with each day of Hemsworth's illness. She saw the time 
 
 D D
 
 402 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 gliding past in whicli escape seemed practicable, and yet 
 knew not how to profit by the opportunity. Sir Archy, 
 coupling 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 accident, felt strong 
 suspicion that the agent was the prime mover in the 
 ■whole affair, and that his former doubts were well founded 
 regarding him ; while Herbert, less informed than either 
 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 threaten- 
 ing, 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 jiart he was 
 acting, and how far his motives tallied with honourable 
 intentions, the old man plodded wearily on, weighing eveiy 
 word he could remember that boi'e upon events, and care- 
 fully endeavouring to divest his mind of everything like a 
 prejudice. Musing thus, he accidentally diverged from the 
 regular approach, and turned oif into a narrow path which 
 led to the back of the Lodge ; nor was he aware of his 
 mistake till he saw, at the end of the walk, the large 
 window of a room he remembered as belonging to the 
 former building. The sash was open, but the curtains 
 were drawn closely, so as to intercept any view from 
 within or without. He observed these things as, fatigued 
 by an unaccustomed exei'tion, he seated himself for some 
 moments' rest on a bench beneath the ti'ces. 
 
 A continuous low moaninff sound soon caught his ear. 
 
 O CD 
 
 He listened, and could distinctly hear the heavy breathing 
 of a sick man, accompanied as it was by long-drawn sighs. 
 There were voices, also, of persons 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 
 Reemcd to bode the ebb of life made his own strong heart
 
 A DISCOVERY. 403 
 
 tremble, for he thouglit 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 — for- 
 give me, Heaven ; even now, my own heart is half my 
 accuser ; " and his lips murmured a deep and fervent 
 prayer for that merciful benevolence which, in his frail 
 nature, he denied to another. He arose from his knees 
 with a spirit calmed, ana a coarage stronger, and was 
 about to retire, when a sudden 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 are the anguish-wrung notes of 
 suffering, 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 ;" and again the savage laughter rang out. "Yes, 
 madam," continued he, in a tone of insolent sarcasm, 
 *' every respect shall be shown him — a chair in the dock — 
 a carpet ou 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 — ay, 
 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 acknowledg- 
 ment 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 bed, shouted, — 
 
 " It is, it is the King's warrant — who dares to oppose it? 
 Ride in faster, men — faster ; keep together here, the west 
 side of the mountain. There, there, yonder, near the beach. 
 Who was that spoke of pardon? Never; if he resists, 
 cut him down. Hide for it, men, ride ! "' and in his mad 
 excitement he arose from his bed and gained the floor. 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " There — that's Mm yonder ; he has taken to the moun- 
 tains ; five hundred guineas to the hand that grasps him 
 first ! " And he tottered to the window, and tearing aside 
 the curtain, looked out. 
 
 Worn and wasted, with beard unshaven for weeks long, 
 and eyes glistening with the lustre of insanity, the expres- 
 sion of his features actually 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 Hcmsworth gazed on 
 the other, as if some struggling efi'ort 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 fear- 
 ful 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 everything 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 
 bestowing a thought on the sufferer, he hastened down the 
 path, and with all the speed of which he was capable, 
 returned to Carrignacurra.
 
 4U5 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE SHEALING. 
 
 Sir Archy's manner, so precise and measured in every 
 occasion of life, had undergone a very marked change 
 before he had arrived at Carrignacurra ; exclamations 
 broke from him at every moment, mingled with fervently 
 expressed hopes that he might not be yet too late to rescne 
 Mark from his peril. The agitation of his mind and the 
 fatigue of his exertions completely overcame hira ; 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. 
 
 " 1 see, my dear uncle," whispered Kate, with a tremu- 
 lous accent — "I see you have bad tidings for us this 
 morning — he is worse." 
 
 " Waur he canna be," muttered Sir Archy, with a sig- 
 nificance 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 twen- 
 tieth day since his relapse." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said the old man, who, not noticing her 
 remark, pursued 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."
 
 40G THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " But tliis delirium may pass away, uncle," said Kate, 
 who, puzzled at his vague expressions, sought to bring him 
 again to the theme of Hemsworth's illness. 
 
 " Then comes the penalty, lassie," cried he, energeti- 
 cally. " The Government 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 overjoyed by them ; and taking Herbert's arm, he 
 hurried from the room, leaving the O'Donoghue and Kato 
 in a state of utter bewilderment. 
 
 " I'm afraid, my sweet niece, that Hemsworth's disease 
 is a catchiug 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. lie is seldom 
 so agitated as this. But what can this mean ? Here 
 comes a chaise up the road. See, it has stopped at the 
 gate, and there is Keriy hastening down with a portman- 
 teau." 
 
 Sir Archy entered as she spoke, dressed for the road, 
 and approaching his brother-in-law's chair, whispered a 
 few words in his ear. 
 
 " Great Heaven protect us!" exclaimed the O'Donoghue, 
 falling back, half unconscious, into his seat. While, turn- 
 ing to Kate, Sir Ai-chy took her hand in both of his, and 
 said, — 
 
 "My ain dear bairn, I have no secrets from you, 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 Seci'etary, 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 ho 
 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 Macroom, or Cork, mind that, and to be 
 back to-morrow evening, or next day." 
 
 A gesture from Kerry, who stood on the rock above the 
 road, warned him that all was ready ; and, with an affec- 
 iionate but hurried adieu, he left the room, and gaining
 
 THE SHEALING. 407 
 
 the high road, was soon proceeding towards Dublin, at the 
 fastest speed of the postei^s. 
 
 " 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 movements. 
 
 " 'Twas with Dr. Dillon from Macroom 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 concurred in believing had been 
 communicated to Sir Archy by Hems worth, we must 
 follow Herbert, who was now on his way to the mountains, 
 to apprise 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 
 Hemsworth's treachery, lest, in the event of his recovery, 
 their manner towards him would lead him to a change of 
 tactique. Hemsworth was too cunning an advei-sary to 
 concede any advantage to. Indeed, the only chance of 
 success against him lay in taking the opportunity of his 
 present illness to anticipate his movements. Sir Archy, 
 therefore, left the family at Carrignacurra in ignorance of 
 this man's villany, as a means of lulling him into security. 
 The expressions that fell from him half unconsciously in 
 the drawing-room, fortunately contributed to this end, and 
 induced both the O'Donoghue and Kate to believe 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 under- 
 value the efi'ect his principles might produce upon his
 
 408 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 actions. He knew him to be intrepid, fearless, and deter- 
 mined ; and be also knew bow tbe want of some regular 
 pursuit or object in life bad served furtber to unsettle bis 
 notions and increase tbe discontent be felt witb bis con- 
 dition. If Herbert did not look up to Mark witb respect 
 for bis superior qualities of mind, there were traits in his 
 nature that inspired tbe sentiment fully as strongly. The 
 bold rapidity witb which he anticipated and met a danger, 
 tbe fertile resources be 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 dis- 
 position. 
 
 Herbert foresaw that such a character bad but to find 
 tbe 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 tbe 
 glen which wound along the base of tbe mountain, and as 
 he was endeavouring to decide on the path, a low whistle 
 attracted him. This, remembering it was the signal, he 
 replied to, and tbe 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 Herbert," cried he, " for I couldn't see your 
 face, tbe way yom* bead was banging down. Take the 
 little path to the left, and never tui-n till you come to 
 the white-thorn tree— then straight up tbe 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, inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes ; be never leaves it long now ; and be got a bit 
 of a fright the other evening, when the French schooner 
 came into the bay." 
 
 " A French schooner here, in the bay?" 
 
 "A}', just so; but with an English flag flying. She 
 landed ten men at the point, and then got out to sea as 
 fast as she could. She was out of sight before dark."
 
 THE SHEALING. 409 
 
 *' Aud the men — what became of them?" 
 
 " They stayed 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 — I don't know 
 what was in it — and then they struck off towards Ken- 
 mare 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 
 Fi'ench one, yet the event seemed not insignificant, as 
 showing that Mai'k had friends who were aware of his 
 present place of concealment. Without wasting further 
 time, however, he bade Terry good-bye, and 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 prevent detection by strangers, and 
 at last, having gained the ridge of the mountain, per- 
 ceived the little shealing at the 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 
 tim would have engrossed Herbert's entire attention. 
 The calm sea, over which night was slowly stealing — the 
 jutting pi^omontories 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 bounding steps he huri'ied 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 which, in many 
 places, the dry sods had fallen, he discovered his brother 
 stretched upon the earthen floor of the hut, intently 
 gazing on a large map which lay wide-spread before him. 
 The figure was indeed Mark's. The massive head, on 
 either side of which, in flowing waves, the long and locky 
 hair descended, there was no mistaking. But the cos-
 
 410 THE O'DONOGHUE. 
 
 tume was one Herbert saw for the first time. It was a 
 simple uniform of blue and white, with a single silver 
 epaulette, and a sword, hilted with the same metal. The 
 chako was of dark fur, and ornamented with a large 
 bouquet of tri-coloured ribbons, whose gay and flaunting 
 colours streamed with a strange contrast along the 
 dark earthen floor. Amid all his terror for what these 
 emblems might portend, his heart bounded with pi-ide 
 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 dis- 
 covered the path." 
 
 " All's well, then. Until I hear a certain signal from 
 him, I fear nothing. The fellow seems neither to eat nor 
 to sleep. At least, since I've been here, he has kept 
 watch night and day in the mountains." 
 
 " He always loved you, 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 Mark, 
 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, Avith streamings 
 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 Carrignacurra ? " 
 
 " Well, and I would say happy, Mark, were it not for 
 their anxieties about you. My uncle heard some news 
 to-day so threateuiiig in its nature that he has set out for
 
 THE SIIEALING. 411 
 
 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 teai'ing it, 
 threw the fragments 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 oath, 
 forbids me — but hei'e I must remain." 
 
 " And this dress, Mark — why increase the risk you ruu 
 by a uniform which actually designates treason ? " 
 
 " Who will dare tell me so ? " cried Mark, impetuously. 
 *' The uniform is that of a French grenadier, the service 
 whose toil is glory, and whose cause is liberty. It is 
 enough that I do not wear it without authority. Yon can 
 satisfy yourself on that head soon. Read this ;" and he 
 unfolded a paper which, bearing the arms and seal of the 
 French Republic, purported to be a commission as lieu- 
 tenant in Hoche'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 
 low as 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 
 false, Ireland has friends as true ; and then, woe to them 
 who have betrayed her. Oh, my brother, the brother of 
 ray 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 countiy ; if we could go forth together, hand 
 in hand, and meet danger side by side, as now we stand."
 
 412 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " My love for you would make the sacrifice, Mark," 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." 
 
 Mark fell back as his brother spoke; a cold leaden tinge 
 spread over his features, and he seenafed 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 
 ns to the land should ta rent asunder ! Rank, place, 
 wealth, and power they have despoiled us of; our faith 
 degraded, our lineage scoifed ; 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. 
 
 " Who will tell me I have not been tried now ? " con- 
 tinued 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 suffer us to be divided. Can you 
 remain a while with me, Herbert? I know you don't 
 mind a rough bivouac." 
 
 " Yes, Mark, 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 with hands 
 clasped firmly in each other, remained sunk in silent 
 thouglit. 
 
 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 v/ere revealed, 
 save one topic only, of which neither dared to speak, and 
 while each incident of the past was recalled, and friends 
 were mentioned, Mark never once alluded to Kate, nor did 
 Herbert utter the name of SybeHa Travers. .
 
 THE SHEALING. 413 
 
 Of his plans for the future Mark made no secret ; he 
 had accepted a commission in the French army, on the 
 understanding that an invasion of Ireland was determined 
 on, in the event of which his services would be of somo 
 value. He hoped to reach France by the schooner, which, 
 after landing 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 persuade 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 
 in sorrow, he knew too well his brother'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 plans for the future, where another and a very different 
 ambition was displayed. Herbert had entered the lists 
 where intellect and genius are the weapons, and in his 
 early triumphs had conceived that passion for success 
 which, once indulged, only dies with life itself. The day 
 broke upon them thus conversing, and already the sunlight 
 was streaming over the western ocean, as they lay down 
 Bide by side, and slept.
 
 414 THE o'donoghub 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 THE CONFEDERATES. 
 
 The paroxysm -wbicli 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 excessive 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 excite- 
 ment of the theme seemed rather to serve than be hurtful 
 to him ; and the consciousness of returning health gave a 
 spring to his recovery ; fatigue of thought induced deep 
 Bleep, and he awoke on the following day refreshed and 
 recruited. 
 
 The lapse of time in illness is, probably, one of the most 
 painful thoughts that await upon recovery. The Ictliargy 
 in which we have been steeped simulates death ; while the 
 march of events around us shows how insignificant our 
 existence is, and how independently of us the work of life 
 goes on. 
 
 When Wylie was summoned to his master's bedside, 
 the first question put to him was, what day of the month 
 it was ? and his astonishment was, indeed, great, as he 
 licard 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 hap- 
 pened since?" 
 
 " Scarcely anything, sir," said Wylie, well knowing the 
 meaning of the question. " The countiy is quiet — the 
 people tranquil. Too much so, perhaps, to last. The 
 young O'Donoghue has not been seen up the glen for 
 several weeks past ; but his brother passes frequently from 
 Carrignacurra to the coast, and back again, so tli;it there
 
 THE CONFEDERATES. 415 
 
 is little doubt of his still being in his old hiding-place. 
 Talbot — Barrington, I mean — has been here again, too." 
 
 " Barrington ! — what 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 Hems- 
 worth. " What of the others ? Who has called here from 
 Carrignacurra ? " 
 
 " 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 ? " 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 postboy 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 go over to 
 Scotland for a while." 
 
 " That's folly ; what is the other rumour?" 
 
 " A more likely one," said Wylie, as he threw a shrewd 
 glance beneath his half-closed eyelids. " 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 sprang up in the bed at these words, as if 
 he had been stung. 
 
 "And who says this, Wylie?'* 
 
 "I believe I was the first that said 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 ? "
 
 416 THE o'DONOanUB. 
 
 " Five weeks on Tuesday last." 
 
 " Five weeks ; — five weeks lost already ! And have yon 
 heard what has been done by him ? — what success he's 
 met with ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; but you can soon know something about it 
 yourself." 
 
 " 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 before the bag came in, and 
 as she could not read over well, I soi^ted the letters for her 
 myself, and slipped in these among your own." 
 
 Hemsworth and his companion exchanged looks. Pro- 
 bably never did glances more rapidly reveal the sentiments 
 of two hearts. Each well knew the villany of the other; 
 but Hemsworth, for the first time, saw himself in another's 
 power, and hesitated how far tiie advantage of the dis- 
 covery was worth the heavy price he should pay for it ; 
 besides 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, pur- 
 posely occupying himself with the letter to avoid noticing 
 Hemsworth's hesitation. 
 
 " You have not broken the seals, I hope," said Hems- 
 worth, 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 suspected the correspondence was trea- 
 Bonable, because you're in the commission, and it's your 
 duty, but I couldn't venture it of myself." 
 
 " I'm afraid your law is not very correct, Master Wylie," 
 said Hemsworth, who felt by no means certain as to the 
 sincerity of the opinion. 
 
 " It's good enough for Glenflesk, anyhow," said the 
 fellow, boldly ; for he saw that in Hemsworth's present 
 nervous condition audacity might succeed where sub- 
 serviency 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 
 cann- t break open a letter."
 
 THE CONFEDERATES. 417 
 
 " Well, then, I'm not so scrupulous when my 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 whenever 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 perused 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 excitement about the United party. 
 What tidings has the other? Ha ! what's this ? " and his 
 thin and haggard face flushed scarlet. " Leave 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 invigo- 
 rated 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 linea- 
 ment and feature, and displaying the ascendency of mental 
 effort over mere bodily infirmity. 
 
 " And so this Scotchman dares to enter the list with 
 *«e," said he, with a smile of contemptuous feeling; "let 
 him try it." 
 
 E B
 
 418 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISK. 
 
 A LITTLE lower down the valley than the post occupied by 
 Terry as his look-out, was a small stream, passable by 
 stepping-stones ; this was the usual parting-place of the 
 two brothers whenever Herbert returned home for a day 
 or so, and this limit Mark rarely or never transgressed, 
 regarding it as the frontier of his little dominion. Beside 
 this rivulet, as night was falling, Mark sat, awaiting with 
 some impatience his brother's coming, for already the 
 third evening had passed in which Herbert promised to 
 be back, and yet he had not come. 
 
 Alternately stooping to listen, or straining his eyes to 
 see, he waited anxiously; and while canvassing in his 
 Baind 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 Garrignacurra. 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 countenance; " 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
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNKISE. 419 
 
 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, he said, — 
 
 " The man was a smuggler, Terry?" 
 
 " He was, but I 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." 
 
 " Maybe so. He was a droll-looking fellow, with a 
 short cutlash at his side, and a hairy cap on his head, and 
 he seemed to know your honour well, for he said, — 
 
 " 'How is the O'Donoghues — don't they live hereabouts ?' 
 
 "'Tes,' says I, ' 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 you 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 out o' me knows what he said." 
 
 Mark suffered no sign of anger to escape him, but sat 
 without speaking 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. 
 
 " Therh, 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 hira t<J 
 greater caution; that several strangers had been seen 
 
 S £ 2
 
 420 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 lurking about Carrignacurra ; 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. 
 
 " Hemsvvorth has been twice over to our house," con- 
 tinued Herbert, " and seems most anxious about you ; he 
 cannot understand why we have not heard from my uncle. 
 It appears to me, Mark, as if difficulties wei'e thickening 
 around us ; and yet this fear may only be the apprehen- 
 sion 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. Come up the mountain with me to-morrow at 
 sunrise, and let us take counsel from the free and bracing 
 air of the peak of old Hungry." 
 
 Herbert was but too happy to find his own gloomy 
 thoughts so well combated, and in mutual converse they 
 each grew lighter in heart ; and when at last, wearied out, 
 they lay down upon the heather of the shealing, they 
 slept without a dream. 
 
 It was still dark as midnight when Mark awoke and 
 looked at his watch — it wanted a quarter to four. The 
 night was a wild and gusty one, with occasional showei'S 
 of thin sleet, and along the shore the sea beat heavily, as 
 though a storm was brewing at a distance off. 
 
 The message of the smuggler was his first thought on 
 waking, but could ho venture sufficient trust in Terry's 
 version to draw any inference from it ? Still, he resolved 
 to ascend the mountain, little favourable as the weather 
 promised for such an undertaking. It was not without 
 reluctance that Herbert found himself called upon to 
 accompany his brother. The black and dreary night, the 
 swooping wind, the wet spray, drifting up to the very 
 shealing, were but sorry inducements to stir abroad ; and 
 he did his utmost to persuade him to defer the excursion 
 to a more favourable moment. 
 
 " We shall be wet through, and see nothing for our 
 pains, Mark," said he, half sulkily, as the other overruled 
 each objection in turn. 
 
 " Wet we may possibly be," said Mark j " but with the
 
 TfiK MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISE. 421 
 
 wind, northing by west., the mist will clear away, and hy 
 sunrise the coast will be glorious ; it is a spring tide, too, 
 and there will be a sea runningf mountains hifjh." 
 
 " I know well we shall find ourselves in a cloud on the 
 top of the mountain ; it is but one day in a whole year 
 anything can be seen favourably." 
 
 "And who is to say this is not that day? It is my 
 birthday, Herbert — a most auspicious event, when we talk 
 of fortunate occurrences." 
 
 The tone of sarcasm he spoke these words in silenced 
 Herbert's scruples, and without further objection he pre- 
 pared to follow Mark's guidance. 
 
 The drifting rain, and the spongy heavy ground in 
 •which at each moment the feet sank to the very instep, 
 made the way toilsome and weaiy, and the two brothers 
 Beldom spoke as ti^ey plodded along the steep ascent. 
 
 Mark's deep preoccupation of mind took away all thought 
 of the dreary road ; but Herbert followed with reluctant 
 steps, half angry with himself for compliance with what 
 he regarded as an absurd caprice. The way was not with- 
 out its perils, and Mark halted from time to time to warn 
 his bi^other of the danger of some precipice, or the neces- 
 sity to guard against the slippery surface of the heather. 
 Except at these times he rarely spoke, but strode on with 
 firm step, lost in his own reflections. 
 
 " We are now twelve hundred feet above the lake, 
 Herbert," said he, after a long silence on both sides, " and 
 the mountain at this side is like a wall. This same island 
 of ours has noble bulwarks for defence." 
 
 Herbert made no reply ; the swooping clouds that hur- 
 ried past, heavily charged with vapour, shut out every 
 object ; and to him the rugged path was a dark and cheer- 
 less way. Once more they continued their ascent, which 
 here became steeper and more difficult at every step ; and 
 although Mark was familiar with each turn and winding 
 of the narrow track, more than once he was obliged to 
 stop and consider the course before him. Herbert, to 
 whom these interruptions were fresh sources of irritation, 
 at length exclaimed, — 
 
 "My dear Mark, have we not gone far enough yet, to 
 convince you that there is no use in going farther ? It is 
 dark as midnight this moment — you yourself are scarcely
 
 422 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 certain of the "way- — there are precipices and gullies on 
 every side— and grant that we do reach tlie top for suuriso, 
 what shall we be able to see amid the immense masses of 
 cloud around us ? " 
 
 "No, Herbert, the same turning-back policy it is which 
 thwarts t^uccess in life. Had you yourself followed such, 
 an impulse, you had not gained the honours that are yours. 
 Onward, is the word of hope to all. And what if the day 
 should not break clearly, it is a fine thing to sit on the 
 peak of old Hungry, with the circling clouds wheeling 
 madly below you, to hear the deep thundering ot the sea, 
 far, far away, and the cry of the curlew mingling with the 
 wailing wind — to feel yourself high above the busy world, 
 in the dreary region of mist and shadow. If at such times 
 as this the eye ranges not over the leagues of coast and 
 sea, long winding valleys and wide plans, the prophetic 
 spirit fostered by such agencies looks out in life, and 
 images of the future flit past in cloudy sliapes and 
 changing forms. There, see that black mass that slowly 
 moves along, and seems to beckon us with giant arms. 
 Tou'd not reject an augury so plain." 
 
 " I see nothing, and if I go on much farther this way, I 
 shall feel nothing either, I am so benumbed w'ith cold and 
 rain already." 
 
 " Here, then, taste this — I had determined to give you 
 nothing until we reached the summit." 
 
 Herbert drained the little measure of Avhisky, and re- 
 sumed his way more cheerily. 
 
 " Tliei-e is a bay down here beneath where we stand — a 
 lovely little nook in summer, with a shore like gold, and 
 waves bright as the greenest emerald. It is a wild and 
 stormy spot to-day — no boat could live a moment there ; 
 and so steep is the cliff, this stone will find its way to the 
 bottom within a minute." 
 
 " And as Mark spoke he detached a fragment of rock 
 from the mountain, and sent it bounding over the edge of 
 the precipice, while Herbert, awe-struck at the nearness of 
 the peril, recoiled instinctively from the brink of the cliff. 
 
 " There was a ship of the Spanish Armada wrecked in 
 that little bay — they show you still some mounds of earth 
 upon the shore they call the Spaniards' graves," said Mark, 
 as he stood peering through the misty darkness into the
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISE. 423 
 
 deptli below. " The peasantry had lighted a fire on this 
 rock, and the vessel, a three-decker, decoyed by the signal, 
 held on her course, in shore, and was lost. Good Heavens ! " 
 cried he, after a brief pause, " why has this fatality ever 
 been our lot ? Why have we welcomed our foes with 
 smiles, and our friends with hatred and destruction ? 
 These same Spaniards were our brethren and our kindred, 
 and the bitter enemies of our enslavers ; and even yet we 
 can perpetuate the memory of their ruin, as a thing of 
 pride and triumph. Are we for ever to be thus, or is a 
 better day to dawn upon us ? " 
 
 Herbert, who by experience knew how much more 
 excited Mark became by even the slightest opposition, for- 
 bore to speak, and again they pursued their way. 
 
 They had continued for some time thus, when Mark, 
 taking Herbert's arm, pointed to a dark mass, which 
 seemed to loom straight above their heads, where, tower- 
 ing to a considerable height, it terminated in a sharp 
 pinnacle. 
 
 "Yonder is the summit, Herbert— courage for a quarter 
 of an hour more, and the breach is won." 
 
 The youth heaved a sigh and muttered, — 
 
 " Would it were so," 
 
 If Herbert became dispirited and worn out by the dark 
 and dreary way, where no sight nor sound relieved the 
 dull monotony of fatigue, Mark's spii'it seemed to grow 
 lighter with every step he went. As if he had left his 
 load of care with the nether world, his light and bounding 
 movement, and his joyous voice, spoke of a heart which, 
 throwing olf its weight of sorrow, revelled once more in 
 youthful ecstasy. 
 
 " You are a poet, Herbert — tell me if you have faith 
 in those instinctive fancies which seem to shadow forth 
 events ? " 
 
 " If you mean to ask me whether, from ray present 
 sensations, I anticipate a heavy cold, or a fit of rheu- 
 matism, I say, most certainly," replied Herbert, half 
 doggedly. 
 
 Mark smiled, and contintied, — 
 
 " No, those are among the common course of events. 
 What I asked for was an explanation of my own feelings 
 at this moment. Why, here upon this lone and gloomy
 
 424 THE o'donoghue, 
 
 mountain, a secret whispering at my heart tells me to 
 hope — that my days and nights of disaster are nigh over 
 ~ -and that the turning point of my life is at hand, even 
 as that bold peak above us." 
 
 " I must confess, Mark, this is a strange time and place 
 for such rose-coloured visions," said Herbert, as he shook 
 the rain from his soaked garments ; " mi/ imagination 
 cannot carry me to such a lofty flight." 
 
 Mark was too intent upon his own thoughts to bestow 
 much attention on the tone and spirit of Herbert's 
 remark, and he pressed forward towards the summit with 
 every effort of his strength. After a brief but toilsome 
 exertion he reached the top, and seated himself on a little 
 pile of stones that marked the point of the mountain. The 
 darkness was still great; faint outlines of the lesser moun- 
 tains beneath could only be traced through the masses of 
 heavy cloud that hung, as it were, suspended above the 
 earth ; while over the sea an unusual blackness was spread. 
 The wind blew with terriHc force around the lofty peak 
 where Mark sat, and in the distant valleys he could hear 
 the sound of crashing branches as the storm swept through 
 the wood ; from the sea itself, too, a low booming noise 
 arose, as the caves along the shore re-echoed to the 
 swelling clangor of the waves, 
 
 Herbert at last reached the spot, but so exhausted by 
 the unaccustomed fatigue, that he threw himself down at 
 Mark's feet, and with a wearied sigh exclaimed, — 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! there is no more of it." 
 
 " Day will not break for half an hour yet," said Mark, 
 pointing westward ; " the grey dawn always shows over 
 the sea. I have seen the whole surface like gold, before 
 the dull mountains had one touch of light." 
 
 The heavy breathing of the youth, as he lay with liis 
 head on Mark's knees, attracted him ; he looked down, 
 and perceived that Herbert had fallen into a calm and 
 tranquil sleep. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " cried Mark, as he smoothed the hair 
 upon his brow, " this toil had been too much for him." 
 
 Placing himself in such a position as best to shelter his 
 brother from the storm, Mark sat awaiting the breaking 
 dawn. The hopes that in the active ascent of the moun- 
 tain were high in his heart, already began to fail ; exertion
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNEISE. 425 
 
 bad called tliem fortli, and now, as he sat silently amid 
 the dreary waste of darkness, his spirit fell with every 
 moment. One by one the bright visions he had conjured 
 np faded away, his head fell heavily on his bosom, and 
 thoughts gloomy and dark as the dreary morning crowded 
 on his brain. 
 
 As he remained thus deep sunk in sad musings, the 
 grey dawn broke over the sea, and gradually a pinkish 
 hue stained the sky eastward. The rain, which up to this 
 time drifted in heavy masses, ceased to fall ; and instead 
 of the gnsty storm, blowing in fitful blasts, a gentle breeze 
 rolled the mists along the valleys, as if taking away the 
 drapery of Night at the call of Morning. At first the 
 mountain peaks appeared through the dense clouds, and 
 then, by degrees, their steep sides, begirt with rock, and 
 fissured with many a torrent. At length the deep valleys 
 and glens began to open to the eye, and the rude cabins 
 of the peasants, marked out by the thin blue wreath of 
 smoke that rose into the air ere it was scattered by the 
 fresh breeze of morning. Over the sea the sunlight 
 glittered, tipping the glad waves that danced and sported 
 towards the shore, and making the white foam upon the 
 breakers look fairer than snow itself. Mark looked upon 
 the scene thus suddenly changed, and shaking his brother's 
 arm, he called out,-r— 
 
 " Awake, Herbert ! see what a glorious day is breaking. 
 Look, that is Sugarloaf, piercing the white cloud ; and 
 yonder is Castletown. See how the shore is marked out 
 in every jutting point and cliff. I can see the Kenmare 
 river as it opens to the sea." 
 
 " It is indeed beautiful ! " exclaimed Herbert, all 
 fatigue forgotten in the ecstasy of the moment. " Is not 
 that Garran Thual, Mark, that rears its head above the 
 others ? " 
 
 But Mark's eyes were turned in a different direction, and 
 he paid no attention to the question. 
 
 " Yes," cried Herbert, still gazing intently towards 
 the land, " and that must be Mangerton. Am I right, 
 Mark?" 
 
 " What can that mean ? " said Mark, seizing Herbert's 
 arm, and pointing to a distant point across Bantry Bay. 
 *' There, you saw it then."
 
 426 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Yes, a bright flash of flame. See, it burns steadily 
 
 now." 
 
 " Ay, and there's another below Beerhaven, and another 
 yonder at the Smuggler's Rock." 
 
 And while he was yet speaking, the three fires blazed 
 out, and continued to buni brilliantly in the grey light of 
 the morning. The dark mist that moved over the sea 
 gave way before the strong breeze, and the tall spars of a 
 large ship were seen as a vessel rounded the point, and 
 held on her course up Bantry Bay. Even at the distance 
 Mai'k's experienced eye could detect that she was a ship of 
 war ; her ports, on which the sun threw a passing gleam, 
 bristled with guns, and her whole trim and bearing bespoke 
 a frigate. 
 
 " She's a King's ship, Mark, in pursuit of some smug- 
 gler," said Herbert ; "and the fires we have seen were 
 signals to the other. How beautifully she sails along ! 
 and see, is not that another ? " 
 
 Mark made no replj^, but pointed straight out to sea, 
 where now seven sail could be distinctly reckoned, stand- 
 ing towards the bay with all their canvas set. The report 
 of a cannon turned their eyes towards the fi'igate, and 
 they perceived that already she was abreast of Whitty 
 Island, where she was about to anchor. 
 
 " That gun was fired by her ; and see, there goes her 
 ensign. What does that mean, Mark ? " 
 
 " It means Liberty, my boy ! " screamed Mark, with a 
 yell that sounded like madness. " France has come to 
 the rescue ! See, there they are — eight — nine of them ! — • 
 and the glorious tricolor floating at every mast ! Oh, 
 great Heaven ! in whoso keeping the destinies of men and 
 kingdoms lie, look favourably upon our struggle now ! 
 Yes, my brother, I was right— a brighter hour is about 
 to shine upon our country ! Look there — think of tliose 
 gallant fellows that have left home and country to bring 
 freedom across the seas, and say if you will be less warm 
 in the cause than the alien and the stranger. How nobly 
 they come along! Herbert, be with us — be of us now! " 
 
 "Whatever be our ills here," said Herbert, sternly, "I 
 know of no sympathy to bind us to France ; nor would 
 I accept a boon at such hands, infidel and blood-stained 
 as she is."
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISE. 427 
 
 " Stop, Herbert, let us not here, where we may meet 
 for the last time, interchange aught that should darken 
 memory hereafter. My course is yonder." 
 
 "Farewell, then, Mark ; I will not vainly endeavour to 
 turn you from your rash project. The reasons that seemed 
 cold and valueless in the hour of tranquil thought, have 
 few chances of success in the moment of your seeming 
 .triumph." 
 
 " Seeming triumph ! " exclaimed IMark, as a slight 
 change coloured his cheek. " And will you not credit what 
 your eyes reveal before you ? Are these visions ? Was 
 that loud shot a trick of the imagination ? Oh ! Herbert, 
 if the loyalty you boast of have no better foundation than 
 these fancies, he with your country — stand by her in the 
 day of her peril." 
 
 " I will do so, Mark, and with- no failing spirit either," 
 said Herbert, as he turned away, sad and sorrow-struck. 
 
 " Tou would not betray us," cried Mark, as he saw his 
 brother pi'eparing to descend the mountain. 
 " Oh, Mark, you should not have said this." 
 And in a torrent of tears he threw himself upon his 
 brother's bosom. For some minutes they remained close 
 locked in each other's arms, and then Herbert, tearing 
 himself away, clasped Mark's hand in both of his, and 
 kissed it. The last " Good-bye " broke fx-om each lip 
 together, and they parted. 
 
 Mark remained on the spot where his brother had left 
 him, his eyes fixedly directed towards the bay, where 
 already a second ship had arrived — a large three-decker, 
 with an admiral's pennon flying from the mast-head. The 
 first burst of wild enthusiasm over, he began to reflect on 
 what was next to be done. Of course, he should lose no 
 time in presenting himself to the ofiicers in command of 
 the expedition, and making known to them his name, and 
 the place he occupied in the confidence of his country- 
 men. His great doubt was, whether he should not pre- 
 cede this act by measures for assembling and rallying the 
 people, who evidently would be as much taken by surprise 
 as himself at the sudden arrival of the French. 
 
 The embarrassment of the position was great ; foi', 
 although deeply implicated in the danger of the plot, he 
 never had enjoyed intimacy or intercourse with its leaders.
 
 428 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 How, then, shoukl lie satisfy the French that his position 
 was such as entitled liim 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 
 hundred men at my back," exclaimed Mark, aloud, as he 
 descended the mountain with rapid strides. " I know 
 every road through these valleys— every place where a 
 stand could be made, or an escape elfected. We will 
 surprise the 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 
 different farmers whom he remembered as true to the 
 cause, and on whose courage and readiness he depended at 
 this moment, he hastened on. 
 
 " Holt at the cross-roads promised eighteen, all armed 
 with firelocks. . 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 come out, and they must — ah ! hand in hand, too, 
 though they have been enemies this twelvemonth. Black 
 O'Sullivan numbers nigh eighty — pikemen every one oi 
 them. Our French friends may smile at their ragged 
 garments, but our enemies will scarce join in the laugh. 
 Carrignacurra 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 servant 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 cruelt3^" 
 
 Now, muttering these short and broken sentences, now, 
 wondering what strength the French force might be— how 
 armed — how disposed for the enterprise — what spirit pre- 
 vailed among the officers, and what hopes of success 
 animated the chiefs — Mark moved along, eager for the 
 hour to come when the green fiag should he displayed, and 
 the war-cry of Ireland ring in her native valleys.
 
 429 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE PROaRESS OF TREACHERY. 
 
 Leaving, for the present, Mark O'Donogliue to the duties 
 he imposed on himself of rallying the people around the 
 French standard, we shall turn to the old castle of 
 Carrignacurra, 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 although 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 
 traits of deference and respect, that, however little she 
 might be disposed to encourage his addresses, the diffi- 
 culty of repelling them without offence was great indeed. 
 This delicacy on her part was either mistaken by Hems- 
 worth, 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 many aids and allies. His illness alone had dis- 
 concerted his plans ; but now, once more well, and able to 
 conduct his schemes, he had no fears for the result. Up 
 to this moment, everything promised success. It was more 
 than doubtful that the Traverses would ever return to 
 Ireland. Frederick would be unwilling to visit the neigh- 
 bourhood where his afi"ections had met so severe a shock. 
 The disturbed state of the country, and the events which 
 Hemsworth well knew must soon occur, would in all like- 
 lihood deter Sir Marmaduke from any wish to revisit his 
 Irish property. This was one step gained. Already he 
 was in possession of a large portion of the Glenflesk estate, 
 of which he was well aware the title was defective, for he
 
 430 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 had made it a ground of considerable 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 to any other. Nothing, then, remained incom- 
 plete 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 instrumen- 
 tality of Lanty Lawler, 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 I'en- 
 dezvous, their hopes, their fears, and their difficulties. He 
 was aware of the views of France, and had in his posses- 
 sion copies of several letters which passed between members 
 of the French executive and the leaders of the United 
 party in Ireland. Far from communicating this informa- 
 tion to the Government, he treasured it as the source of 
 his own future elevation. From time to time, it is true, 
 he made known 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 groundwork of his fortune. 
 
 " Twenty-four hours of rebellion," said he — "one day and 
 night of massacre and 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 march 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 sliow where arms are collected and 
 ammunition stored — when I can tell the plan of their 
 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 recovery, and such were the thoughts which 
 engrossed the first days of his returning health.
 
 the; progress of treachery. 431 
 
 The latest letters he had seen from France announced 
 that the expedition 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 moi-ning 
 when the vessels anchored in Bantry Bay, he was himself 
 a visitor beneath the roof of Carrignacurra, 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 disconcert and destroy them. 
 
 The family were seated at breakfast, and Hemsworth, 
 whose letters had been brought over from the Lodge, was 
 reading aloud such portions 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 deepest consequence. 
 
 "This is his way ever," said Hemsworth, rising from 
 the table. "If a tenant has broken down a neighbour's 
 ditch, or a heifer is impounded, he always comes with this 
 same pressing urgency;" and, angry at the inten-uption, 
 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 Mark. 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 consola- 
 tion to her uncle than satisfied in her own mind as to the 
 state of matters. " He is in constant correspondence with 
 Government. The only difficulty is, they demand dis- 
 closures my cousin neither can, nor ought to make. A 
 pardon is no grace, when it commutes death for dishonour. 
 This will, I hope, be got over soon."
 
 432 ' THE o'donoghue. 
 
 While she was yet speaking, the door softly opened, an(?, 
 Kerry, with a noiseless step, slipped in, and, a]iproaching 
 the table unseen and unheard, was beside the O'Donoghue's 
 chair before he was perceived. 
 
 " Whisht, master dear — whisht, Miss Kate," said he, 
 with, a gesture of warning towards the 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 Wylie was telling Hemsworth ; I 
 was inside the pantry door." 
 
 " The French landed ! " cried the O'Donoghue, in whom 
 amazement overcame all sensation of joy or sorrow. 
 
 " The French here in Ireland ! " cried Kate, her eyes 
 sparkling with enthusiastic delight ; but before she could 
 add a word, Hemsworth re-entered. Whether his efforts 
 to seem calm and unmoved were in reality well devised, 
 or that, as is more probable, Hemsworth 's own preoccupa- 
 tion 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 atten- 
 tions about the table, at last left the room, with a sigh 
 over his inability to protract his departure. 
 
 Hemsworth's eye wandered to the door to see if it was 
 closed before he spoke ; and then leaning forward, said, in 
 a low, cautious voice, — 
 
 " I have just heard some news that may prove very 
 important, A number of the people have assembled in 
 arms in the glen, your son Mark at their head. What 
 their precise intentions, or whither they are about to direct 
 their steps, I know not ; but I see clearly that young Mr. 
 O'Donoghue will fotally compromise himself, if this rash 
 step become known. The Government never could forgive 
 such a proceeding on his part. I need not tell you that 
 this daring must be a mei'e hopeless exploit ; such enter- 
 prises have but one termination — the scaffold." 
 
 The old man and his niece exchanged glances — rapid, 
 but full of intelligence. Each seemed to ask the other, 
 " Is this man false ? Is he suppressing a part of the 
 truth at this moment, or is this all invention ? Why has 
 he not spoken of the great event — the arrival of the 
 French ? "
 
 THE PROGEESS OF TREACHERY. 433 
 
 Kate was the first to venture to sound him, as she 
 asked, — 
 
 " And is the rising some mere sudden ebullition of dis- 
 content, or have they concerted any movement with others 
 at a distance?" 
 
 " A mere isolated outbreak — the rash folly of hair- 
 brained boys, without plan or project." 
 
 "What is to become of poor Mark?" cried the 
 O'Donoghue, all suspicions of treachery forgotten in the 
 anxiety of his son's safet3% 
 
 " I have thought of that," said Hemsworth, hastily. 
 " The movement must be put down at once. As a magis- 
 ti-ate, and in the full confidence of the Government, I have 
 no second course open tome, and therefore I have ordered 
 up the military from Macroom. There are four troops of 
 cavalry and an infantry regiment there. With them in 
 front, this ill-disciplined rabble will never dare to advance, 
 but soon scatter and disband themselves in the mountains 
 — the leaders only will incur any danger. But, as regards 
 your son, you have only to write a few lines to him, and 
 despatch them by some trusty messenger, saying that you 
 are aware of what has happened — know everything — and 
 without wishing to interfere or thwart his designs, you 
 desire to see and speak with him, here, at once. This he 
 will not refuse. Once here safe, and within these walls, 
 I'll hasten the pursuit of these foolish country fellows ; 
 and even should any of them be taken, your son will not 
 be of the number. You must take care, however, whea. 
 he is here, that he does not leave this until I return." 
 
 "And are these brave fellows, misguided though they 
 be, to be kidnapped thus, and by our contrivance, too? " 
 said Kate, on Avhom, for the first time, a dread of Hems- 
 worth's duplicity was fast breaking. 
 
 " I did not know Miss O'Donoghue's interest took so 
 ■wide a range, or that her sympathies were so catholic," 
 said Hemsworth, with a smile of double meaning. " If 
 she would save her cousin, however, she must adopt my 
 plan, or at least suggest a better one." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Kate, Mr. Hemsworth is right," said the 
 *0'Donoghue, in whom selfishness was always predominant ^ 
 " we must contrive to get Mark here, and to keep him 
 when we have him." 
 
 F F
 
 434 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 "And you may rely upon it, Miss O'Donoghue," said 
 Hemsworth, in a whispei', " that my pursuit of the others 
 will not boast of any excessive zeal in the cause of loyalty. 
 Such fellows may be suffered to escape, and neither 
 King nor Constitution have any ground of complaint 
 for it." 
 
 Kate smiled gratefully in return, and felt angry with 
 herself for even a momentary injustice to the honourable 
 nature of Hemsworth 's motives. 
 
 " Mr. Hemsworth's horse is at the door," said Kerry, at 
 the same moment. 
 
 " It is, then, agreed upon that you will write this letter 
 at once," said Hemsworth, leaning over the old man's 
 chair, as he whispered the words into his ear. 
 
 The O'Donoghue nodded an assent. 
 
 " Without knowing that," continued Hemsworth, " I 
 should be uncertain how to proceed. I must not lot tho 
 Government suppose me either ignorant or lukewarm. 
 Lose no time, therefore ; send off the letter, and leave the 
 rest to me." 
 
 " You are not going to ride, I hope," said Kate, as she 
 looked out of the window down the glen, where already 
 the rain was falling in torrents, and the wind blowing a 
 perfect hurricane. Hemsworth muttei'cd a few words in a 
 low tone, at which Kate coloured and walked away. 
 
 " Nay, Miss O'Donoghue," said he, still whispering, " I 
 am not one of those wlio make a bargain for esteem ; if I 
 cannot win regard, I will never buy it." 
 
 There was a sadness in his words, and an air of self- 
 respect about him, as he spoke them, that touched Kate 
 far more than ever she had been before by any expression 
 of his feelings. When she saw him leave the room, her 
 first thought was, " It is downright meanness to suspect 
 him." 
 
 " Is it not strange, Kate," said the O'Donoghue, as he 
 took her hand in his, " he never mentioned the French 
 landing to us ? Whnt can this mean ? " 
 
 " 1 believe I can understand it, sir," said Kate, musingly; 
 for already she had settled in her mind, that while Hems- 
 worth would neglect no measures for the safety of Carrig- 
 uacurra, he scrupled to announce tidings which might 
 overwhelm them with alarm and terror, " But let ua
 
 THE PROGRESS OP TREACHERY. 435 
 
 think of the letter ; Kerry, I suppose, is the best person 
 to send with it." 
 
 " Yes, Kerry can take it ; and as the way does not lead 
 past Mary's door, there's a chance of his delivering it with- 
 out a delay of three hours on the road." 
 
 "Thei^e, sir, will that do?" said Kate, as she handed 
 him a paper, on which hastily a few lines were written. 
 
 " Perfectly — nothing better ; only, my sweet Kate, when 
 a note begins ' My dear son,' it should scarcely be signed 
 'Tour own affectionate Kate O'Donoghue.' " 
 
 Kate blushed deeply, as she tore the paper in fragments, 
 and without a word reseated herself at the table. 
 
 " I have done better this time," said she, as she folded 
 the note and sealed it ; while the old man, with an energy 
 quite unusual for him, arose and rang the bell for Kerry 
 
 " Did I ever think I could have done this ? " said Kate 
 to herself, as a tear slowly coursed along her cheek and 
 fell on the letter ; " that I could dare to recall him, when 
 both honour and country demand his services ? that I could 
 plot for life, when all that makes life worth having is in 
 the opposite scale ? " 
 
 "You must find out Master Mark, Kerry," said the 
 O'Donoghue, " and give him this letter ; there's no time to 
 be lost about it." 
 
 " Sorra fear ; I'll put it into his hand this day." 
 
 "This day! " cried Kate, impatiently. "It must reach 
 him within three hours' time. Away at once — the foot of 
 Hungry Mountain — the shealing — Bantry Bay — you can- 
 not have any difficulty in finding him now." 
 
 Kerry waited not for further bidding, and though not 
 by any means determined to make any unusual exertion, 
 left the room with such rapidity as augured well for the 
 future. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Branaghan, whose anxiety for news 
 had led her to the head of the kitchen stairs, an excursion 
 which, at no previous moment of her life, had she been 
 known to take — "TVell, Kerry, what's going on now? " 
 
 " Faix, then, I'll tell ye, ma'am," said he, sighing ; " 'tis 
 myself they're wanting to kill. Here am I setting out wid 
 a letter, and where to, do you think ? the top of Hungry 
 Mountain, in the Bay of Bantry, that's the address — divil a 
 lie in it.'' 
 
 F F 2
 
 436 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " And -vvlio is it for ? " said Mrs. Branaghan, who, affect- 
 ing to bestow a critical examination on the document, was 
 inspecting the superscription wrong side up. 
 
 " 'Tis for Master Mark ; I heard it all outside the door ; 
 they don't want him to go with the boys, now that the 
 French is landed, and we're going to have the country to 
 ourselves. 'Tis a dhroll day when an O'Donoghue wouldn't 
 have a fight for his fathers' acres." 
 
 " Bad cess to the weak-hearted, wherever they are," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Branaghan ; " don't give him the letter, 
 Kerry avich ; lie quiet in the glen till evening, and say you. 
 couldn't find him by any manner of means. Do that, now, 
 and it will be a good sarvice to your country this day." 
 
 " I was just thinking that same myself," said Kerry, 
 whose resolution wanted little prompting ; " after I cross 
 the river, I'll turn into the Priest's Glen, and never stir 
 out till evening." 
 
 With these honest intentions regarding his mission, 
 Kerry set out, and if any apology could be made for his 
 breach of faith, the storm might plead for him ; it had now 
 reached its greatest violence ; the wind, blowing in short 
 and frequent gusts, snapped the large branches like mere 
 twigs, and covered the road with fragments of timber ; the 
 mountain rivulets, too, were swollen, and dashed madly 
 down the rocky cliff's with a deafening clamour, while the 
 I'ain, swooping past in torrents, concealed the sky, and 
 covered the earth with darkness. Muttering in no favour- 
 able spirit over the waywardness of that sex, to whose 
 peculiar interposition he ascribed his present excursion, 
 Kerry plodded along, turning, as he went, a despairing 
 look at the barren and bleak prospect around him. To 
 seek for shelter in the glen he knew was out of the question, 
 and so he at once determined to gain the priest's cottage, 
 where a comfortable turf fire and a rasher of bacon were 
 certain to welcome him. 
 
 Dreadful as the weather was, Kerry wondered that he 
 met no one on the I'oad. He 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 human 
 being appeared, nor could he hear a signal nor a sound 
 .*iiat betokened a gathering.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF TREACHERY. 437 
 
 *' I wouldn't wonder, now, if it was a lie of Sam Wylie's, 
 and tlie French wasn't here at all," said he to himself; " 'tis 
 often I heerd that Hemsworth could have the rebellion 
 break 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 them." 
 
 This reflection of Kerry's was scarcely conceived, when 
 it was strengthened by a boy who was coming from Glen- 
 gariflp with a turf car, and who told him that the ships 
 which 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 Kei'ry. 
 
 " 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 intel- 
 ligence 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.
 
 438 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE priest's cottage. 
 
 When Mark and Herbert separated on the mountain, each 
 took a different path downward. Mark, bent on assembling 
 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, engaged in the 
 plot. Herbert, uncertain how to proceed, was yet equally- 
 anxious to lose no time, but coukl form no definite re- 
 solve what course to adopt amid his difficulties. To give 
 notice of the French landing, to apprise the magistrates of 
 the approaching outbreak, was, of course, his duty ; but, 
 in doing this, migbt 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 helu dear, and the source, perhaps, of the 
 most dreadful evils to his country. Where, too, should he 
 seek for counsel or advice? His fother, he well knew, 
 would only regard the means of his brother's safety, reck- 
 less of all other consequences ; Kate's opinions, vague and 
 undefined as they were, would be in direct opposition to 
 his own ; Hemsworth 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 lloiirkc. Unwilling to inflict pain 
 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 Ibr 
 many a year, had only reached its accomplishment when 
 absent from home. He was aware how such a disclosure 
 would attiict 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 f o
 
 THE priest's cottage. 439 
 
 save himself the indignitj of defence from sucli an accusa- 
 tion, 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 parties. These considerations, 
 important enough as they regarded his own happiness, had 
 little weight with him now. The graver questions had 
 swallowed up all others — the safety of the 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 
 prescience stronger from his age, anticipate the dreadful 
 miseries of a land devastated by civil war ? Was it not 
 possible that he might judge unfavourably 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, be- 
 cause Mark had himself often avowed that the French 
 would only consent to the enterprise on the strict under- 
 standing of being seconded by the almost unanimous voice 
 of the nation. Their expression was, " We are ready and 
 willing to meet England in arms, provided not one Irish- 
 man be in the ranks." Should Father Rourke, then, 
 either from motives of policy or prudence, think unfavour- 
 ably 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 afibrd time for the Government to take 
 measures of defence. This alone might have its efiect on 
 Mark, and perhaps be the means of saving him. 
 
 Whether because he caught at this one chance of suc- 
 cour, 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 preci- 
 pice intervened, and stopped all farther progress. The 
 storm, increasing every minute, made the way slow and
 
 440 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 perilous, for around the different peaks the wind swept 
 with a force that carried all before it. Vexed at his' mis- 
 take, he resolved, if possible, to discover some new way 
 down the mountain ; but, in the endeavour, he only wan- 
 dered still fiirther from his course, and finally found him- 
 self in front of the sea once more. 
 
 The heavy rain and the dense drift shut out for some 
 minutes the view ; but when, at last, he saw the bay, what 
 was his surprise to perceive that the French fleet was no 
 longer there. He turned his eyes on every side, but the 
 storm-lashed water 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 the cliflf, and bent his gaze steadily on the 
 bay ; and when, at length, reassured and certain that no 
 deception existed, he began to doubt whether the whole 
 had not been unreal, and that the excitement of his inter- 
 view with Mark had conjured the images his wishes 
 suggested. The faint flickering embers -of an almost ex- 
 tinguished fire on the Smuggler's Rock decided the ques- 
 tion, 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, he sped 
 down the mountain in reckless haste, and never halted 
 till he reached the glen beneath. The violence of the 
 storm, the beating rain, secmea to excite him to higher 
 efforts of strength and endurance, and his courage ap- 
 peared to rise as difficulties thickened around him. Jt 
 was late in the day, 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 scat. The energy that had sustained him hitherto 
 seenu'd 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
 
 THE 
 
 priest's cottage. 441 
 
 some time from liearin^^ voices in the little parlour beside 
 him ; but, after a bi-ief space, lie became aware of this 
 vicinity, when suddenly the well-known accents of Mark 
 struck upon his ear. He was speaking louder than 
 was his wont, and evidently with an effort to control his 
 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 unbe- 
 lieving 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 — we should 
 hear less of such Christian doubts." . 
 
 " You are unjust, Mark," said the priest, calmly. " You 
 know me too well and too long to put any faith in your 
 reproaches. I refuse to address the people, because I 
 would not see them fall, or even conquer, in an unjust 
 cause. Raise the banner of the Church " 
 
 " The banner of the Church ! " said Mark, with a 
 mocking laugh. 
 
 "What does he say?" whispered a third voice, in 
 French, as a new speaker mingled in the dialogue. 
 
 " He talks of the banner of the Church ! " said Mark, 
 SCoflB.ngly. 
 
 " Oui, parbleu, if he likes it," replied the Frenchman, 
 laughingly ; " it smacks somewhat of the middle ages ; 
 but the old proverb is right, * 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. 
 
 " Here me out, Mark," interrupted the priest ; *' I 
 didn't say that we were yet prepared even for this ; there 
 is much to be done — far more, indeed, than you wot of. 
 Every expedition insufficiently planned and badly sup- 
 ported must be a failure ; every failure retards the ac- 
 complishment of our hopes ; such must this enterprise be, 
 if now "
 
 442 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' 'Now, or never ! " interposed Mark, as he struck the 
 table violently with his clenched hand ; " now, or never — ■ 
 for me, at least. You have shown me to these Frenchmen 
 as a fool, or worse — one with influence, and yet without a 
 man to back me — with courage, and you tell me to desert 
 them — with the confidence of my countrymen, and I come 
 alone, unaccompanied, unaccredited, to tell my own tale 
 amongst them. What other indignities have you in store 
 for me, or in what other light am I next to figure ? But 
 for that, and perhaps you would dare to go farther, and 
 say I am not an O'Donoghue ;" and in his passion Mark 
 tore open a pocket-book, and held before the old man's 
 eyes the certificate of his baptism, written in the priest's 
 hand. " Yes, you have forced me to speak of what I ever 
 meant to have buried in my own heart. There it is, read 
 it, and bethink you how it becomes him who helped to 
 rob me of my inheritance to despoil me of my honour 
 also." 
 
 " You must unsay these words, sir," said the priest, in 
 an accent as stern and commanding as Mark'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. 
 *' When my own father could do this thing, it matters little 
 to me who were his accomplices ;" and he tore the paper in 
 fragments, and scattered them over the floor. " Another 
 and a veiy different cause brought me here. The French 
 fleet has arrived." 
 
 The priest here muttered something in a low tone, to 
 which Mark quietly replied, — 
 
 -' And if they have, it is because their anchors were 
 dragging; you would not have the vessels go ashore on 
 the rocks ; the next tide they'll stand up the bay again. 
 The people that should have been ready to welcome them 
 hold back. The whole country round is become suddenly 
 craven ; of the hundreds that rallied round me a month 
 since, seventeen a])peared this morning, and they were 
 wretches more eager for pillage than the field of honour- 
 able warfare. It is come then to this : you either come 
 at once to harangue the people and recall them to their 
 sworn allegiance, or the expedition goes on without you — 
 go on it shall." 

 
 THE piuest's cottage. 443 
 
 Here lie 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, ay, and all 
 night, too : the blazing chapels shall light the way ! " 
 
 *' Take care, rash boy, take care ; the vengeance of out- 
 raged Heaven is more terrible than you think of. What- 
 ever 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 moment was come, when, should the priest falter 
 or hesitate, Mark 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, reproachfully, 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 scornful laugh. " Herbert is a Protestant." 
 
 "What! — did I hear aright?" said the old man, as, 
 with a face pale as death, he tottered forwards, and caught
 
 441 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 tlie youth by either arm. " Is this true, Herbert ? Tell 
 me, boy, this instant, that it is not so." 
 
 " It is true, sir, most true ; and if I have hitherto 
 Bpared you the pain it might occasion you, believe me it 
 was not from any shame the avowal might cost oneP 
 
 The priest staggered back, and fell heavily into a chair; 
 a livid hue spread itself over his features, and his eyes 
 grew glassy and lustreless. 
 
 " We may well be wretched and miserable," exclaimed 
 he, with a faint sigh. " When false to Heaven, who is to 
 vsronder that we are traitors to each other ? " - 
 
 The French officer — for such he was — muttered some 
 words into Mark's ear, who replied, — 
 
 " I cannot blame you for feeling impatient. This is no 
 time for fooling. 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 than survive in dishonour," said the 
 priest, snatching 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 with 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 heai^ts, direct and guide 
 yours, and bring you back from your wanderings, if you 
 nave strayed from ti'uth." 
 
 He kissed the young man's forehead, and then, covering 
 his eyes with his hands, sat lost in his own sorrowful 
 thoughts.
 
 THE priest's cottage. 445 
 
 At this moment Herbert heard his name whispered by a 
 voice without : he stole silently from the room, and, on 
 reaching the little porch, found Kerry O'Leary, who, wet 
 through and wearied, had reached the cottage, after 
 several hours' endeavour to cross the watercourses, swollen 
 into torrents by the rain. 
 
 " A letter from Carrignacurra, 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 thug 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 in- 
 clination called him, and, without a moment's delay, left 
 the cottage, and, accompanied by Kerry, set out for 
 Carri gn acurra. 
 
 The night was dark and starless as they plodded on- 
 ward, 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 occu- 
 pied 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 disguise it. That's Sam Wylie, and it's not 
 for anything 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 j 
 " but secure the other also." 
 
 Herbert's resistance was vain, although spiritedly made, 
 and, stifling bis 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.
 
 446 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " You know your orders if a rescue be attempted," said 
 a voice Herbert at once knew to be Hems worth'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. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 THE DAT OP REOKONINO. 
 
 Never had the O'Donoghue and Kate passed a day of 
 more painful anxiety, walking from window to window, 
 whenever a view of the glen might be obtained, or listcn- 
 insf to catch amons: the sounds of the storm for somethintj 
 that should announce Mark's return ; their fears increased 
 as the hours stole by, and yet no sign of his coming 
 appeiired. 
 
 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 masonry would be heard high 
 above the roaring wind — while in the road beneath were 
 scattei-ed branches of trees, slates, and tiles, all evidencing 
 the violence of the hurricane. Under shelter of the great 
 rock a shivering flock of mountain sheep were gathered, 
 with hero and there amidst them a heifer or a wild pony, 
 all differences of habit merged in the common instinct of 
 safety. Within doors everything looked sad and gloomy ; 
 the kitchen, where several country people, returning from, 
 the market, had assembled, waiting in the vain hope of a 
 favourable moment to proceed homeward, did not present 
 any of its ordinary signs of gaiety. There was no pleasant 
 sound of happy voices ; no laugliter, no indulgence in the 
 huudi-ed little narratives of personal adventure by which 
 the peasant can beguile the weary time. They all sat
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 447 
 
 around tlie turf fire, either silent, or conversing in low, 
 cautious whispers, while Mrs. Branaghan herself smoked 
 her pipe in a state of moody dignity, that added its shade 
 of awe to the solemnity of the scene. 
 
 It was a strange feature of the converse, nor would it 
 be worth mentioning here, save as typifying the wonderful 
 caution and reserve of the people in times of difficulty, 
 but no one spoke of the "rising," nor did any allude, 
 except distantly, to the important military preparations 
 going forward at Macroom. 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 stranger, or of a man from a 
 distant part of the country, was always enough to silence 
 all free and confidential intercoui'se. So it was now — 
 none spoke of anything but the dreadful storm — the 
 injury it might do the country — how the floods would 
 carry away a bridge here, or a mill there — 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 callow, 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 suspense 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 humble obeisance, a muttered sound ran through 
 them, in Irish, of wonder and astonishment at her grace 
 and beauty ; for, whatever be the privations of the Irish 
 peasant, however poor and humble his lot in life, two 
 facvilties pertain to him like instincts — a relish for drollery, 
 and an admiration for beauty ; these are claims that ever 
 find acknowledgment 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 something more 
 than mortal ; the character of her features, heightened by
 
 448 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 costume strange to their eyes, seemed to astonisli 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. Branaghan, 
 at the same time, throwing a proud glance ai-ound, as 
 though 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 hfindsome. With a coquetry it is not necessary 
 to explain, she had dressed herself most becomingly, and 
 in that style which distinctly marks a Frenchwoman. 
 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 again. Well, 
 then, I must leave you, if you won't. Every one lets 
 me have my own way — is it not true, Mrs. Branao-- 
 han?" 
 
 Mrs. Branaghan'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 ground, 
 and cried out in his enthusiasm, — 
 
 " Let me see the man that would say a2:in it — that's 
 all." 
 
 Kate smiled at the speaker, not at all ungrateful for such 
 rude chivalry, and went on : "I wanted to know if you 
 have any news from the town — was there any stir amono- 
 the troops, or anything extraordinary going forward 
 there ? " 
 
 Each looked at the other as if unwilling to take the 
 reply upon himself, when at last an old man, with a head 
 as white as snow, answered, — 
 
 " Yes, my lady, the soldiers is all under arms since nine 
 o'clock ; then came news that the French was in the bay, 
 and tlie army was sent for to Cork." 
 
 " No, 'tis Limerick, I heerd say," cried another. 
 " Limerick, indeed ! sorra bit ; 'tis from Dublin they're 
 comin', wid cannons; but it's no use, for the French is 
 sailed off again as quick as they come."
 
 THE DAY OF EECKONING. 449 
 
 *' 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 seen them going away, a little after twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 The man thus appealed to seemed in no wise satisfied 
 with the allusion to him, and threw a quick, distrustful look 
 around, as though far from feeling content with the party 
 before whom he should explain, — a feeling that increased 
 considerably, as every eye was now turned towards him. 
 
 Kate, with a ready tact that never failed her, saw his 
 difficulty, and approaching close to where he stood, said, 
 in a voice only audible by himself, — 
 
 " Tell me what you saw in the bay — do not have any 
 fear of wze." 
 
 M'Carthy, who was dressed in the coarse blue jacket ot 
 a fisherman, possessed that sharp intelligence so often 
 found among those of his calling, and seemed at once to 
 have his mind relieved by this mark of confidence. 
 
 "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 him back. He was more than an hour 
 on board talking with the officers, sometimes down in the 
 cabin, and more times up on the quartei*-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 voyage made it bad again, but, for all that, he 
 laughed and joked away like the others." 
 
 "And they were laughing, then, and in good spirits?" 
 said Kate. 
 
 " 'Tis that you may call it. I never heerd such pleasant 
 gentlemen before ; and the sailors, too, were just the same 
 — sorra bit would sarve them, 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 by token, he flung 
 the glass overboard when he finished it. And to be sure 
 the Frenchmen weren't in fault — they treated him like a 
 brother. One would be shaking hands wid him — another 
 
 G G
 
 460 THK o'donoghue. 
 
 •wid his arm round his shoulders, and " Here Torn 
 
 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 presence, 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 tirst 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 with gould 
 epaulets, and a sword on him, that came too. I heerd them 
 call him Mr.Morris, but sorraword of English or Irish he had.'* 
 
 " And where did they land and which way did they take 
 afterwards ? " 
 
 '• I put them ashore at Glengariff, and they had horses 
 there to take them up 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 the 
 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, and 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 from Castletown, and down thereabouts, 
 but the O'Learys and the Sullivans, the M'Carthys — my 
 own people — and 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,' says 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 come forward^
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 451 
 
 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 eye, " 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 M'Carthy, in a low, cautious 
 whisper — " there's traitors, that would rather earn blood- 
 money than live honestly ; there's many a one among 
 them scheming to catch Master Mark himself, and he's 
 lucky if he escapes at last." 
 
 " There's horses now coming up the road, and fast 
 they're coming, too," said one of the country people; and 
 the quick clattering of a gallop could be heard along the 
 plashy road. 
 
 Kate's heart beat almost audibly, and she bounded from 
 the spot, and up the stairs. The noise of the approaching 
 horses came nearer, and at last stopped before the door. 
 
 " It is him — it is Mark," said she to herself, in an 
 ecstacy of delight ; 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 Hemsworth, 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 
 tid ngs of him — can you tell if he is safe ? " 
 
 " I expected to have heard this intelligence from you," 
 said he, as, recovering from the chagrin of his disappoint- 
 ment, 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 away, 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 Banty Bay with eleven 
 
 G G 2
 
 452 THE o'doxoghue. 
 
 vessels, unprepared 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 already heavy, but I must tell you, Miss 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 worth his while to trick and deceive him ; 
 he believed himself in the confidence 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 any ; unnoticed by his own party, 
 and unacknowledged 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 meaning, as though the speaker were sorrowing 
 over the mistaken opinions of a dear friend, cut deeply 
 into Kate's heart; bhe 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. Hemsworth saw the effect his words had 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 
 store for us," cried Kate, in a voice of heart-rending 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 sti'anger 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 ])oor dear uncle, overwhelmed with many calami- 
 ties, has borne up patiently and nobly, but of any par- 
 ticipation in schemes of danger or enterprise he is in- 
 capable ; think of his age — his infirmity." 
 
 " I am aware of both, young lady, but I am also aware 
 that for years past his jjecuniary difficulties have been
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 453 
 
 sucli that he would hesitate at nothing which should pro- 
 mise the chance of extrication. Many have imagined, 
 like him, that even a temporary triumph over England 
 would lead to some new settlement between the two 
 countries — concessions of one kind or other, laws revoked 
 and repealed, and confiscations withdrawn ; nor were the 
 expectations, perhaps, altogether unfounded. Little has 
 ever been accorded to Ireland as a grace — much has been 
 obtained by her by menace." 
 
 " He never calculated on such an issue to the struggle, 
 sir; depend upon it, no unworthy prospect of personal 
 gain ever induced an O'Donoghue to adopt a cause like 
 this. You have convinced me, now, that he is uncon- 
 nected with this plot." 
 
 " I sincerely wish my own convictions could follow 
 yours, madam ; but it is an ungrateful office I have under- 
 taken. Would to Heaven I knew how to discharge it 
 more fittingly. To be plain, Miss O'Donoghue, the statute 
 of high treason, which will involve the confiscation of 
 your uncle's estate, will, if measures be not speedily 
 
 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 uncle's estate." 
 " Pardon me, young lady, but the circumstance of my 
 position has made me acquainted with mattei'S connected 
 with your family ; your claim extends to a very consider- 
 able, and a very valuable property." 
 
 " 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 level bear him." 
 " You gave over your claim to your uncle ! " said Hems- 
 worth, leaving a pause between every word 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
 
 454 THE o'donoghde. 
 
 unaccustomed as he ever was to be overreached, felt all the 
 poignancy of a deception in his disappointment. 
 
 Kate made no answer, but moved towards the door, 
 while Hemsworth 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. 
 " May I ask, was this transfer of property made legally 
 and formally ? " 
 
 " Sir ! " said Kate, as, drawing herself up, she stared 
 full at him, without another word of reply. 
 
 " I see it all," said Hemsworth, rapidly, and as if 
 thinking aloud. " This was the money that paid off 
 Hickson — in this way the mortgage was redeemed, and 
 the bond for two thoQ»'jr:d also recovered — duped 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 with 
 thwarting my views, you have endeavoured to sap the 
 source of my fortune. Yes, you need not affect ignor- 
 ance ; I know of Sir Archibald's kind interference in my 
 behalf. Sir Marmaduke Travei-s has withdrawn his agency 
 from me ; he might have paused to inquire where 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 Secre- 
 tary of State, whose warrant 1 possess. The young 
 officials of the Home Office will, doubtless, thank me for 
 the amusement I have afforded them in its contents. The 
 match-making talents of Sir Archy, and his niece's fasci- 
 nations, 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 family, I have at least one debt of grati- 
 tude to acknowledge. But for your note, written by your 
 own hand, I should scarcely have succeeded in capturing a
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 455 
 
 rebel, whose treason will not long await its penalty ; but 
 for your able assistance, your cousin miglit have escaped. 
 Indeed, it may be worth while to inform you that Sir 
 Archibald had good hopes of obtaining his pardon — a 
 circumstance which will, doubtless, be satisfactoiy to the 
 surviving members of his family." 
 
 " My cousin Mark taken ! " cried Kate, as he clasped her 
 hands to either side of her head in a paroxysm of agony. 
 
 "Taken, and on his way to Dublin under a miHtary 
 escort. On 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 support herself by a 
 chair ; but a sickness like death crept over her, and, with 
 a faint, low sigh, she sank lifeless on the floor ; at the same 
 instant the door was burst open by a tremendous efiort, 
 and Hemsworth sent forward into the room. It was 
 Mark, splashed and dripping, his face flushed with violent 
 exertion, that entered. With one glance at Hemsworth, 
 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 
 Hemsworth, with a forced calmness, "I am ready, at a 
 proper time and place, to ofier you every satisfaction."^ 
 
 " That time and place is here, sir," said Mark, as, with- 
 out the 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 ; I am armed," said 
 Hemsworth, as he threw a quick glance around, to see if 
 any hope of escape should present itself 
 
 '• And so am I," said Mark, coolly, who still busied him- 
 self in removing every object from the middle of the room, 
 while, gently lifting Kate, he laid her, still unconscious 
 as she was, upon 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
 
 LO 
 
 6 THE o'dONOGIIUE. 
 
 of lightning, PTemsworth seized the moment, and, drawing 
 a pistol Irom his bosom, aimed and fired. The ball grazed 
 Mark's shoulder, and made him stagger forwards ; but in 
 a moment he recovered himself. The casualty saved him, 
 for, while falling, a second bullet whizzed after the fii'st. 
 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. Mark, superior in youth, 
 strength, and activity, 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 tliroat, 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 trig- 
 ger ; the cock snapped, but the priming burned. He flung 
 the weapon from him in passion, and drew another; but, 
 ere he could adjust it, Hemsworth ceased to breathe ; a 
 cold, livid colour spread over his features, and a clammy 
 ^weat bedewed his forehead — he had fainted. 
 
 Mark dropped the uplifted weapon as he muttered, " Ifc 
 was a fitting fate — the death of a coward." Then, stand- 
 ing up, he approached the window that overlooked the 
 road, and threw it wide open. The storm still blew with 
 all its force, and in a second extinguished the lights in the 
 room, leaving all in darkness. With cautious steps, Mark 
 moved towards where the bod}'- lay, and, lifting it in hia 
 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 
 brushwood that covered the precipice. 
 
 Mark gazed for a few seconds into the black 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- 
 whore Kate lay. 
 
 " Have 1 been ill, Mark? " said she, as she touched his 
 hand — " have I been ill, and dreaming a horrid dream ? 
 I thought Hemsworth was here, and that — that — But ho
 
 THE DAY OF BECKONING. 457 
 
 was here — I know it now — you met Lim here. Oh, 
 
 Mark! dearest Mark! what 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 
 theme ? The French are in the bay — as 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 
 ia against us ; but against all we might succeed if we had 
 not traitors amongst us." 
 
 " The Government is aware of the plot, Mark — 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 be- 
 trayal. Lanty Lawler, the fellow who should have sup- 
 plied horses for the artillery, is an informer ; so are half 
 the others. There's nothing for it but a bold plunge-— 
 something to put every neck in the halter, and then will 
 come the spirit to meet all difficulties. So thinks Tone, 
 and he's a noble-hearted fellow, and ready for any peril.'' 
 
 A loud knocking at the door of the tower now broke in 
 upon the converse, and Kerry O'Leary called aloud, — 
 
 " Open the door, Master Mark ; be quick, the soldiers is 
 comin'." 
 
 Mark speedily withdrew the heavy table from its place 
 across the door, and opened it. Kerry, his clothes re- 
 duced to rags, and his face and hands bleeding, stood 
 before him, terror in every feature. " They took me pri- 
 soner at the gate there, but I contrived to slip away, and 
 took to the mountain, and a fine chase they gave me for 
 the last hour."
 
 458 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 *' But the soldiers — wtere 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 bloodhounds ! " 
 
 " 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 Hemsworth say to Sam Wylie that Captain Travers 
 is up at Macroom 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 Mark, 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 endea- 
 vouring 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 eflbrts to arouse his mind to what was going for- 
 ward, " and I must be off. Hemsworth has a strong party 
 in the glen ; but fear nothing ; he cannot molest you ; and, 
 besides, his time is brief now."
 
 THE DAY OF EECKONIN(J. 459 
 
 **And will you leave me, Mark — will you desert me, 
 now?" said the old man, with all the selfishness of age 
 forgetting everything save his own feelings. 
 
 " Not if you wish me to remain ; if you think there ia 
 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 ! they're landing — they're coming. 
 You'll see me again before daybreak, father," said he, 
 embracing the old man tendei-ly, while he turned to bid 
 Kate adieu. She stood with her hands before her eyes, 
 her bosom heaving violently. Mark gazed at her for a 
 moment, and, pressing his lips to her cheek, merely 
 whispered one word, and was gone. 
 
 Hemsworth's horse, which Kerry had found in the 
 stable, stood ready awaiting Mark, and without a moment's 
 loss of time he sprang on the animal's back, and dashed 
 down the road at full speed. Meanwhile 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 
 Bet his heart bounding with eager hope, and forward he 
 rode through the storm.
 
 460 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIII. 
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAT. 
 
 Kerry O'Leary's intelligence was correct in every par- 
 ticular. Hemsworth was not only living, but, save some 
 bruises and a cut upon his forehead, was little the worse 
 for his adventure. The brushwood had caught him in his 
 descent, and broken the fall ; and although the height was 
 considerable, when he reached the ground he was merely 
 stunned, and not seriously injured. After a little time he 
 was able to walk, and had succeeded in advancing about 
 half a mile up the glen when he was met by Wylie and a 
 party of his followers, returning after escorting the chaise 
 some miles on the road. 
 
 Neither our space nor our inclination permib us 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 whole 
 house of O'Donoghue. 
 
 Seated on Wylie'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. He 
 would not listen to Wylie's proposal of returning to the 
 Lodge, but constantly called out — " To Keim-an-eigh as 
 fast as possible — to the dragoons !" And at last passion 
 had so far supplied energy that he was able to press on 
 faster, when suddenly a twinkling light tlu'ough the gloom 
 apprised him that he was near the little wayside inn. 
 
 " Get me some wine, Wylie, and be quick ! " cried he, as 
 they reached the door. 
 
 " You had better gel ofi" and rest a few moments, sir,'* 
 said the other. 
 
 " llest ! — I'll never rest," shouted he, with an infamous 
 oath, " till I see that fellow waving from the gallows I 
 Some wine this instant ! "
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAT. 461 
 
 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 ! B — t you ! what do you delay 
 about ? " shouted Hemsworth. " There are some rebel 
 tricks at work here." 
 
 At the same instant the light reappeared, and Mary's 
 voice was heard from withi"u. 
 
 *' Who's that, at this hour of the night, making such a 
 noise ? " 
 
 " Open the door, and be d — d to you ! " cried Hems- 
 worth, who, having got off" his horse, was now endeavour- 
 ing with his foot to foi-ce the strong door. 
 
 " It will take a better man than you to stave that panel 
 in," said 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 Indiaman, 
 and was strong oak belted with iron. 
 
 " Put a light in the thatch ! Snap your pistol, "VVylie, 
 and set fire to it ! " cried Hemsworth, savagely ; for any 
 opposition to him at this moment called forth all the 
 malignity of his nature. 
 
 " 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 knocking 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 I 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 innocent — you know well what
 
 462 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 expression 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 bonfire, 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, throwing herself on her knees, " and 
 there's the curse of the lone woman that you turn out this 
 night upon the 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 Hemsworth, with a brutal laugh ; for in this ebullition 
 of the woman's passion was the first moment of his 
 enjoyment. 
 
 With a gesture of menace, and a denunciation uttered 
 in Ii'ish, with all the energy the native language possesses, 
 Maiy 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, tliat it
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY, 463 
 
 isn't them that lights a bonfire that waits to dance round 
 the ashes." 
 
 " Ha ! that was a threat, then ! She will bring the 
 rebels on us ; but 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 Carrignacurra and Bantry Bay ? " 
 
 " I did, sir, and he set off the moment I gave the letter." 
 
 " Then the fellow Mark cannot escape me," said Hems- 
 worth. " 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 Wylie, " the young gentle- 
 man 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 off 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 — your's, Wylie's, and 
 mine own — will that satisfy you ? " 
 
 The fellow stared at the speaker, and then looked at 
 Wylie, 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, however," said Hemsworth, with a bitter laugh — 
 " I didn't boast much about the roof ;" and at the same 
 moment he took a lighted turf from the hearth, and 
 thrust it into the thatch, while Wylie, to curry favour 
 with his patron, imitated his example.
 
 464 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " 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 whisky for a blaze," said Hems- 
 worth, with a half-drunken laugh. " Burst open that 
 door ! " But all their ofForts 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, " thex-e'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 liffhtnine: flash 
 itself, a noise burst forth louder than thunder, and at the 
 same moment the house, and all that were in, were blown 
 into the air, while the massive rock was shattered from 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 cliff was 
 rent asunder, and scattered in huge fragments across the 
 road, where, amid the crumbling masonry and the charred 
 rafters, lay four black and lifeless bodies, without a trait 
 which should distinguish one from the other. 
 
 All was silent on the spot, but through every glen in 
 the mountains the echoing sounds sent back in redoubled 
 peals the thunder of that dreadful explosion, and through 
 many a far-ofl' valley rung out that last requiem over the 
 deed.
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 465 
 
 For some time the timbers and the thatch continued to 
 burn, emitting at intervals lurid bursts of flame, as more 
 combustible matter met the fire, while now and then a 
 great report, and a sudden explosion, would announce that 
 some hitherto 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 memo- 
 rials 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 defeaning 
 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 clangor, and sending their solemn din into 
 many z, far-ofi" glen. 
 
 " They are coming — they are coming ! " cried Mai-k, as 
 he bounded madly in his saddle. " What 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 recognized the youth ; " the French are 
 lauding ! " 
 
 " They are not ! " cried Terry, with a yell of despair ; 
 " they are going off, leaving us for ever, and the glen is 
 fall of soldiers. The dragoons 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 ofi" the road, but went on to the gap 
 of the glen, and there they are now, waiting, I suppose, 
 for the French to go." 
 
 "The French are not going, fool! — they are landing! 
 
 H H
 
 466 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 Don't you hear the guns — there ! and there again ! There 
 is but one way now, but a bold heart needs no more. Let 
 go the bridle, Terry." 
 
 " 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 
 recklessness ! " 
 
 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 accui*ate. 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 thorough-bred, trained and managed to per- 
 fection. 
 
 Without the slightest noise Mark dismounted, and un- 
 girthing his saddle, readjusted and fastened it further back. 
 He then looked carefully 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 advanced, 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 mountain would delay him a day 
 at least, and a day now was a lifetime. Creeping noise- 
 lessly forward, he came within a few yards of the outposts, 
 and could distinctly hear the voices as they talked together.
 
 
 —a 
 
 A 
 
 a-aa^fz^a^-6/2^
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 467 
 
 He halted for a second or two, and looked back down the 
 glen. It was 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 rang out at the instant, and, taking it 
 for a signal, Mark reined in his horse sharply, and then, 
 dashing the spurs to his sides, made him plunge madly 
 forward, and, with the bound, shot through the space 
 between the two sentinels, each of whom presented, but 
 feared to fire, lest he should injure his comrade. 
 
 **Come on — follow me!" cried Mark, waving his hand 
 as if encouraging others on ; and the action turned every 
 look down the glen in the direction from whence he came, 
 and whence now came a wild, shrill yell, the most savage 
 and appalling. 
 
 " Fire ! — down with him ! — fire ! " shouted the soldiers 
 to one another as Mark, leaning flat on his horse's mane, 
 rode on ; and the balls whistled quick, above and around, 
 but not one struck him. " After him, Jack — after him ! " 
 cried one of the sentinels, who, perceiving that Mark 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 ! " and Terry, waving his cap, bounded forward, 
 and called out unceasingly for others to oome 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 ! 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 farther on, and his horse, 
 twice wounded, was at last struck in the shoulder, and 
 fell headlong to the ground, pinioning the rider beneath 
 him. With a dexterity that seemed magical, Mark dis- 
 engaged himself from the wounded animal, and drawing 
 his pistols, prepared to sell his life dearly. 
 
 H H 2
 
 468 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " You are a prisoner, 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 tire, don't Hre, men ! " cried a voice, as the oflBcer 
 rode up at the speed of his horse, and then 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, approached Mark. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, Mr. O'Donoghue, you have not fired 
 at my men." 
 
 " Am I your prisoner, Captain Travers ? " said Mark, 
 replacing his weapon. 
 
 " No, far from it ; it was to serve you I accepted the 
 comn^and of this party. I knew of the plot by which you 
 ■were threatened. Hemsworth " 
 
 " He is gone to his reckoning now," said Mark, who 
 never gave credit to Kerry's story. 
 
 " Not dead — you do not mean that?" 
 
 " Even so, sir, but 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 charge of 
 treason itself Was there any witness to his death?" 
 
 "None," said Mark, for he remembered that Kate 
 was still fainting during the struggle he believed 
 fatal. 
 
 " You must escape at once," repeated Travers, for 
 without directly attributing guilt to Mark, he feared 
 the consequence of this dreadful event. " Keep in the 
 mountain for some little time, and when this mad enter- 
 prise has blown over " 
 
 " The country then will be in other hands," interrupted 
 
 Mark ; " ay, sir, you may look and feel incredulous, 
 
 but the time is, perhaps, not distant when I may b© 
 
 able to return your present courtesy. The French are 
 
 anding " 
 
 " They are putting out to sea — flying — not advancing," 
 Baid Travers, proudly. 
 
 "No, no, you mistake them," said Mark, with a smile
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 469 
 
 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. Eeach 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 difficulties my own way ; turn 
 your thoughts to your own — HeaveSi knows they are 
 enough." 
 
 The tone he spoke in appealed to Mark's feelings more 
 strongly than all he said before, and grasping Travers's 
 hand, he said, — 
 
 " Oh, if I had but had your friendship once, how 
 different 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 Travers inadvertently, and were uttered 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " There ! " cried Mark, as the loud report of several guns 
 pealed forth — " they have landed — they will soon be here." 
 
 As he spoke, a mounted dragoon rode up to Travers, and 
 whispered a few words in his ear. Frederick motioned the 
 man to fall back, and then, approaching Mark, said, — 
 
 " I was correct, sir — the French fleet is under weigh — 
 the expedition is abandoned. Away, then, before your 
 chance is lost — down to the bay, and get on board ; you 
 will at least find a path where there is glory as well as 
 peril ; there — away." 
 
 " They cannot have done this," cried Mark, 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's horse as he said this, all feel- 
 ing for his own safety merged in his anxiety for the issue 
 of e plot. 
 
 " 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, Travers "
 
 470 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Farewell — fixrewell ! " cried Travers ; " we shall never 
 meet as enemies." And lie hastened from the spot, while 
 Mark, bending forward in the saddle, pressed the spurs to 
 his horse, and started. 
 
 With the speed of one who cares for nothing less than 
 his own safety, Mark urged his horse onward, and, de- 
 serting the ordinary road, he directed his course to the 
 shore along the base of the mountain — a rough and dan- 
 gerous path, beset-with obstacles, and frequently on the 
 very edge of the cnff. 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 with fearful roar 
 through the caves and crevices of the coast. Riding 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 afflicting 
 dread of desertion. The vivid lighning 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, run- 
 ning 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 the bay beneath this, and, 
 plunging into the boiling surf, he urged his horse forward ; 
 now madly rearing as the strong sea struck him, now, 
 buffeting the white waves with vigorous chest, the noble 
 beast braved tlie storm-lashed water, and bore him, alter- 
 nately bounding and swimming, as the tide advanced or 
 receded. 
 
 The struggle, with all its peril to life, brought back the 
 failing courage to Mark'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. At the very same instant that 
 the animal touched the strand, a quick flash broke over
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 471 
 
 the sea, and then came the thundering report of a cannon. 
 This was answered by another farther 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 so4t was, as the light 
 went out, no trace of the vessel remained, nor was there 
 aught to mark the spot she had occupied. 
 
 From time to time the flash and the report of a gun 
 ■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 disembark- 
 ing, or the last signal before sailing. 
 
 In the low hut of a fisherman, not far from where he 
 was, 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. 
 As 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 fisher- 
 men standing over the lifeless body of a man in a French 
 uniform. 
 
 •' Who is this ? — what has happened ? " said Mark, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " It's one of the French officers, sir," said Tom M'Carthy ; 
 
 v^ *' he came ashore with us this morning, and to-night, when 
 
 j it came on to blow, and he saw the signals to sail, he 
 
 [ insisted on going on board again, 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 we found his body on the strand, about an hour 
 
 ago." 
 
 Mark held the light beside the pale features, and saw 
 that he was a youth of not more than eighteen years. 
 There was no distortion whatever, and the features were 
 calm and tranquil, as if in sleep. 
 
 " Let us lay him in the earth, boys," said Mark, as his
 
 472 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 voice trembled 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 carried 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 thundered over the 
 sea, and suddenly lights shone here and there through the 
 dark atmosphere. 
 
 " He has had a soldier's burial," said Mai'k ; " may his 
 rest be tranquil. And now " — and his voice assumed a 
 firm and determined tone at the moment — " and now, who 
 will put me on board of any ship in that fleet ? I have 
 neither gold to oflTer, 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 all for that one 
 service." 
 
 " No boat could live ten minutes in that surf. There's 
 a sea running there would swamp a schooner," said an old 
 man with white hair. 
 
 *' We'd never get outside the breakers yonder,'' said 
 another. 
 
 " I think we've had enough of it for one night," mut- 
 tered a third, with a sidelong glance towards the recent 
 grave. 
 
 " And you," said Mark, 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 oflP 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 me either," 
 
 "Well done, Tom," said a powerful -looking young 
 fellow beside him, " and I'll be the bow oar for you, an* 
 you'll take me." 
 
 " And here's two more of us," said another, as he held
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 473 
 
 a comrade by the hand, " that will never see his honour at 
 a loss, no matter how it blows." 
 
 The doubt and hesitation which prevailed but a moment 
 before were at once changed for confidence and resolution, 
 and eight men now hurried to the beach to launch the 
 boat, and make ready for the enterprise. 
 
 " If we could only see a flash, or hear a shot now, we'd 
 know which way 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. 
 
 " There'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 altogether ! " 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 perfectly delirious in the transport of his 
 
 joy- 
 
 " LufiTher — lufi" her — ^iiere 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 moonlight sea, 
 But the darkening squall, 
 And the sea-bird's call, 
 Are dearer far to me. 
 
 " To see on the white and crested wave 
 The stormy petrel float, 
 And then to look back 
 On the stormy track 
 That glitters behind our boat."
 
 474 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 " Avast, there, Master Mark ; there's wind enough with- 
 out 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. 
 
 " There they go," said one of the fisherman ; ''and that's 
 all the good they've done us." 
 
 "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 
 dangler forgotten ; and, at last, after an hour of desperate 
 exertion, with strength all but exhausted, and nearly over- 
 come 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 Mark, as the officers 
 crowded eagerly around him — " is the expedition aban- 
 doned ? " 
 
 " Don't you think the hurricane might answer the ques- 
 tion, young man?" said a weatherbeaten officer, who 
 appeared in command ; " or are you so ignorant of 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 person, 
 represent the alliance we seek for ?" 
 
 Mark hung down his head, abashed and ashamed. Too
 
 THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 475 
 
 well lie 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 indepen- 
 dence, 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 sufiered loss enough in some of the fineat 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 enterprise. There may be courage 
 enough among your countrymen, but they know not how 
 to act to gether. 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 ship. " If you are going back to 
 shore, 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 opportunity of showing it." 
 
 " I will 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 misfor- 
 tunes 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 difficulty, one of the fisher- 
 men reached the deck. 
 
 " I wish to bid you good bye, Tom," said Mark, as he 
 grasped the rough hand in his. *' Tou are the last thing 
 I shall see of my country. Farewell, then ; but remember, 
 that however deeply wrongs may gall, and injuries oppress
 
 476 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 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 alter, 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. 
 
 < ■ ■<
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 The storm of that eventful night 13 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, 
 nptorn trees and fallen rocks attested its power. 
 
 The old castle of Carrignacurra 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, seemed not to have 
 been limited to the mere material world, but to have 
 extended its traces over man. The hurricane was recog- 
 nized as the interposition of Heaven, and the disaster 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 too strongly corro- 
 borative not to enforce conviction on sterner imaginations, 
 and the very escape of the French ships from every por- 
 tion of our Channel fleet, which 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,
 
 478 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 and eacli speculated how far the anger of God might fall 
 npon a guilty nation. 
 
 There was no reason to doubt the fact that, whatever 
 the ultimate issue of the stru. gle, the immediate fate of 
 the country was decided on tliut night. Had the French 
 fleet an-ived in full force, and landed the troops, there was 
 neither preparation for resistance, nor means of defence, 
 undertaken by the Government. 
 
 How far the peasantry might or might not liave asso- 
 ciated themselves with a cause to which the Romish 
 clergy were then manifestly averse, may be a matter of 
 uncertainty; but there are a sufficient numhcr 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 tricolour 
 in thousands, and meet companions such would 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 " Artil- 
 lerie Legere," Wolfe Tone proposed to land ; and, as the 
 expedition had manifestly failed, any furtlier loss would 
 be inconsiderable ; and, as for the " Legion," he naively 
 remarked, " The Eepublic 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 Carrigna- 
 curra of Mark's rencontre witli the dragoons ; and while 
 the O'Donoghue and Kate were yet speculating in terror 
 as to the result, a small party of cavalry were seen 
 coming up the causeway at a lirisk trot, among whom 
 rode a person in coloured clotlies. 
 
 " It is Mark — my boy is t;ikcn ! " cried the old man, 
 in a burst of agony ; and he buried his head in his hands, 
 and sobbed 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 wa>< rung violently — every clank sent 
 a pang to her bosom. The door was opened, and now
 
 THE END. 479 
 
 gte heard Kerry's voice, but could not distinguisli the 
 words. Then there was a noise as of some one dismount- 
 ing, 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 again. 
 
 Kerry heard it not, but, opening the door cautiously, he 
 entered. 
 
 " 'Tis the captain, Miss Kate, wants to know if he could 
 see the master." 
 
 " Tes," 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 ! " cried Kate, a deep flush covering 
 her face. 
 
 " Yes, madam," said Frederick, as he entered at the 
 same moment. " I am but too happy to bear pleasant 
 tidings, to think of my want of courtesy in intruding 
 unannounced." 
 
 " Leave the room — shut the door, Kerry," said Kate, as, 
 with eyes fixed on Travers, she waited for him to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " Your cousin is safe. Miss O'Donoghue — he has 
 reached the fleet, and is already on his way to France." 
 
 "Thank God!" cried Kate, fervently, as she 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. 
 
 " My 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 j
 
 480 THE o'rCNOGHUE, 
 
 " his danger 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 tiiat his 
 conviction is certain. The sums he received from France 
 are all proved under his own hand, and now that Hems- 
 worth 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 Air. Mark O'Donoghue, for 
 whose capture a large reward was oifered." 
 
 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 
 cousin was associated. 
 
 " Yes," said she, at length, and speaking unconsciously 
 aloud, " no cause could prosper with supporters like these. 
 There must be rottenness 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. 
 
 "There was one," said Travers, modestly. "Mr. 
 O'Donoghue was noble-hearted enough, even in 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 Avc might have been such," continued Travers, 
 "had not deceit and malevolence sowed discord between 
 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 
 has 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 subject I ought never to recall.
 
 THE END, 481 
 
 It was Hemsworth persuaded me tliat my suit woiald 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 stoop- 
 ing 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 agreement aught else than a com- 
 promise between us." 
 
 " Might not time soften, if not obliterate, such differ- 
 ences ? " whispered 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 strongs 
 in regard because our affections have not overcome our 
 convictions." 
 
 " Do not speak 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 an expression of stupid fatuity, 
 sat with his hands clasped, and his eyes fixed on vacancy. 
 " Do 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 the moment after his horse was heard descending' 
 
 I I
 
 482 THE 0*DONOGHUE. 
 
 the causeway, as with desperate speed he hurried from the 
 jpot 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 pardoned, he's pardoned — a free pardon to 
 Mark !" 
 
 " 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 the less bold in 
 battle because no unforgiven 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 M'aSTab 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 
 postilion 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 characteristic 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 gazeJ on the 
 scene; and* although their looks met, and glance seemed 
 to answer glance, they neither of them spoke. From
 
 THE END. 483 
 
 their appearance, it might have been conjectured that 
 they were foreigners. The man, bronzed by weather and 
 exposure, possessed features which, in all their stern- 
 ness, 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 
 tail 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 sem- 
 blance of extreme poverty, sat crouching among the ruins. 
 She was an old, or at least seemed a very old woman. 
 Her hair, uncovered by cap or hood, was white as snow, 
 but her features still preserved an expression of quick in- 
 telligence, as, lifting her head from the attitude of moping 
 thought, she fixed her eyes steadfastly on the travellers. 
 
 " Give her something, mon clier,'"' said the lady to her 
 companion in French ; but the request was twice made 
 before he seemed conscious of it. The woman, mean- 
 while, sat still, and neither made any demand for charity 
 nor 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 P " 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 displeasui^e. " When I was a child 
 it was the O'Donoghue's, 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 fate ?" 
 
 "Is it the one that turned Protestant, you mean?" 
 
 I I 2
 
 484 THE o'donoghue. 
 
 said the woman, as an expression of fiendish malignity 
 sliot beneath her dark brows. " He was the onlv 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 Enghehman, 
 that lived thei'e beyant? and wasn't he a member of 
 Parlimint ? 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 remember ? " 
 
 " 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 stayed there 
 still alone by himself. The people used to see him settling 
 the room, and putting books here, and papera there, and 
 making all ready agin she came back — and that's the way 
 he spent his time to the day of his death. Don't cry, my 
 lady ; he w^as 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 tlie stranger — " is not that the 
 name they gave the pretty house beside the lake ?" 
 
 " 'Tisn't a pretty house now, then," said the hag, laugh- 
 ing. " 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.
 
 THE END. 485 
 
 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 remaining hand, she turned abruptly about, and, 
 staring him steadfastly in the face, said, — • 
 
 " 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'Donoghue — 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 very 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 wander- 
 ing ; and," added he, with a sigh, " she has met sore trials, 
 and may well be pardoned if, in the bitterness of her grief, 
 she looks at the world with little favour or forgiveness. 
 She has mistaken you for another, and hence the source of 
 her anger," 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Woodfall & Kinder Printers, 70 to 76, Long Acre, London, W.G.
 
 UNIVEIiSITY of CALIFORNIA. 
 
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