My Lords of Strogue. Volume 3 of 3

Every one was disgusted. Lord Cornwallis apologised for the muddle to the British Cabinet. Odd straitlaced people, he explained, rose all of a sudden to the surface, who, if they had appeared sooner, might have done much to stop the ball. It was like the legend of Sodom and Gomorrah. 'Peradventure three righteous men might be found,' and so on. The affair would have to be postponed for a few months in order that the three righteous men might be tampered with. Of course the three righteous men had their price. My Lord Powerscourt had emerged from his Wicklow mountains to protest from his place against the sinful measure, and a shamefaced knot rallied round him-a nucleus of lords who objected to the bartering of freedom against a cartload of cheap mirrors and bead-necklaces. But retribution fell upon that ill-advised Lord Powerscourt before the setting of the sun that day. A national rabble who sallied forth from the Liberties to wreak vengeance on those who dared to vote for union, by a trifling error attacked Powerscourt House in William Street, and broke its windows and smashed its sculptured ornaments. They did not desist till some one explained that it appertained to a peer who all along had steadfastly set his face against the orgies of his fellows; against bloodshed, murder, and torture; and against Lord Clare. But, arrah! what was broke could be mended, and it was good for trade. Three cheers for Lord Powerscourt! He must acknowledge the warmth of Pat's nature, and make the best of the mistake.

Terence learned with heartfelt satisfaction, mingled with surprise and contrition in that he had wronged his brother so, that Lord Glandore had not voted with Government. My lady, he knew, was shocked with the entire proceeding. Perchance to her influence was this happy result due? Be that as it might, the heart of the younger was drawn towards his brother. They never cared much for each other-they looked on the world from a different standpoint. Since the Hurry, a marked coldness and spitefulness was evident in Shane's demeanour. But he was not so bad as he seemed, or so selfish, Terence assured himself. At all events he was repentant-regretted doubtless the part he played with reference to Theobald, though too haughty to admit it. He, Terence, was going away so soon-never, in all probability, to look upon Ireland or his family again-that it behoved him to carry as few regrets as might be to his prison. He must bid adieu to the world with a clear conscience-at enmity with no man, least of all his brother. He resolved to make the first advance to Shane; to congratulate him on his conduct even at this eleventh hour-to exhort him to resist temptation 'twixt this and the next attempt-to beg him to take care that he, though the measure would of course be carried sooner or later, was in nowise mixed up with the Iscariots. To this laudable end he strove to throw himself upon his elder's path, and met him face to face in the stable-yard on the very next day after the first failure.

Shane tried to avoid the gloomy trouble-fête, but finding that impossible, came forward with as debonair a swagger as a racking headache and impaired digestion would permit. His aspect spoke more of claret and its effects than of repentance. The coat of cream-coloured cut velvet that he wore was rent in several places; two of the filigree gold buttons had been wrenched away; his satin pantaloons were smirched with dirt; his handsome face was inflamed and bloated. What a contrast between the brothers now! Their characteristics seemed inverted from those which marked them in former days. Then Terence had shown too much of the florid farmer, too much of the bovine contented animal breadth which men exhibit who live much in the open air and look on cattle. Then nothing could be more refined and elegant than Shane-with his miniature figure, his faultless limbs and tiny hands, his clean-cut features whereon sat the expression of command which marks a man for one to whom authority is an undisputed birthright. Now the pair had changed places. Shane's lineaments were losing their fine lines by reason of sucking at a bottle; the look of command was departing with his self-respect: whilst Terence, in a dress of studied simplicity, as upright and square as usual, had assumed a carriage of reserved haughtiness. His locks had lost their brilliant colour, so had his cheeks, through care. That silvery sheen from the other world still glittered in his eye. The rollick of exuberant good-humour and enjoyment of life was exchanged for a sober melancholy. His voice even was lowered a semitone. His individuality had slipped into the minor key.

'Shane,' he said, 'I am so very glad, old fellow. I should have felt it sorely if you had espoused this measure. Of course it's not my business to try to direct your opinions; but now that it's all over for the present, I can't help telling you I'm glad.'

Shane passed across his throbbing temples a hand which was soiled with the dust of last night's cards, and shrank backward from his brother's advance. 'You are a nice one,' he sneered, 'to direct my opinions. You-who but for an accident would have danced the minuet like a peasant! We've been starting a new club-the Blazers-two days and nights! I'm losing my nerve. This won't do. Too young to be so shaky. I'll go to bed.'

He endeavoured to escape. His two pet pointers, Eblana and Aileach, came bounding towards him with yelps which woke the echoes of the yard. Terence felt that there was a mistake somewhere. His brother was upon his guard, as though he expected to be reviled.

'Am I wrong, Shane?' he cried, as the blood bubbled to his face. 'You didn't-did you vote with Government yesterday?'

'What if I did, Croppy?' was my lord's surly rejoinder.

Terence winced. 'Do not use harsh words,' he implored. 'Remember that where I go my life must be passed in retrospect. Pray do not let me carry away any memories of you but kind ones.'

'Why gibe at me then?' said sulky Shane.

'I-gibe? Is it likely I should jest?'

'Yes, gibe?' repeated Shane, his anger kindling, while the cicatrice stood forth purple upon his forehead. 'You know that I've been tricked. I was at the new club among a set of merry dogs, and gave orders to a porter at the house to fetch me when I was wanted. He didn't come; I didn't vote; and when I offered just now to run him through, he pleaded that he was a follower of yours, and could not possibly do that to which you would object. You! And now you come preaching like a parson! Curse you!'

Terence was deeply moved. His own brother, then, was itching for his share of the silver pieces. It was due to accident alone that he had not disgraced himself. Lord Glandore growled out in exasperation: 'The chancellor will not speak to me!' and, raising the toy-whip he held, made as though he would strike his brother, giving at the same moment a kick which sent Eblana howling to the kennels. Terence recoiled from the threatened blow. At the same instant the lattice of my lady's chamber was flung open, and she, in the imperious voice of other days, cried, 'Shane! come here at once!'

Now the first-born whom she adored so fondly was accustomed to yield to her when in an imperious mood. He felt guilty now and out of sorts, knowing that he was desperately in the wrong. In a sneaking manner, therefore, he threw away his switch, and, kicking aside the other hound, entered his mother's presence, clasping his splitting temples with both his palms.

She was sweeping up and down as she used to do, before she took to feeble blinking in the great chair. Emotion of some kind troubled her so much that she could scarcely speak. Half frightened, Shane asked if he should fetch some water.

She shook her head and muttered 'No.' Then, finding voice, she adjured him in jerky sentences which burned her tongue, to treat his brother with kindness during the short time they could be together. 'A time may come,' she said, 'when you will bitterly regret idle taunts. Do not lay up for yourself the fruits of remorse. I have eaten of them all my life, and know what they are like.'

'What nonsense!' Shane exclaimed fretfully. 'You're always blowing bladders into balloons! Don't bother. The Croppy and I will soon part to meet no more. Then perhaps you'll put aside these foolish terrors! I think your brain is softening.'

'Foolish terrors!' wailed the countess.

After a moment of reflection she turned sharply round as though urged by a power beyond control. 'Shane!' she cried, stretching out her arms lest he should stop her; 'oh! if you only knew what I have endured for your sake! Listen to me-' then, sinking back on the window-seat, she drew up her limbs together, murmuring in a tone of such anguish as fairly alarmed her first-born: 'No, no! I cannot! I will not! It is too much!'

Shane recovered his self-possession. 'The poor thing's head's deranged,' he thought; and feeling that he had been wanting in respect just now, he stooped down and kissed her as she crouched like a bundle on the cushions.

This unusual display of affection seemed to revive his mother. She twined her quivering arms about him, and, dragging him to her side, whispered: 'My darling-for my sake who have gone through sore travail on your account-oh! be kind to Terence-be very, very kind. If you knew all, you would be-but you shall never know. I will bear all myself. My hand shall never pour sorrow on your head!'

The words of mystery perplexed my lord, who, never very bright, was still confused with drink. He was about to ask questions; perceiving which my lady spoke abruptly. 'Shane,' she whispered, stroking his hair with clinging affection, 'do you know what is the fondest wish of your old mother? If I saw you well married I could die content. When you were so infatuated with that horrid girl down yonder, you did not know what pain you gave me.'

'Why?' demanded Shane, the scar on his brow deepening in hue. 'She's a good girl, and I like her still. There's nothing against her that I'm aware of. I hate your bread-and-butter misses!' Had the young man been sober he would not have dared so to speak; but wine gave him courage to say that to which Norah urged him daily. 'I'll marry Norah if I like,' cried her stout champion. 'I know you've got some silly notion about Doreen. Why, I can't think. I don't want to marry her, and she doesn't want to marry me; and I won't do it-that's flat. Is it you or I who would marry her? I suppose I may follow my own wishes on the subject.'

His mother crouched down on the cushions again and moaned, while her first-born stopped short in wonderment. What a pother, to be sure! Her nerves must be the centre of some disease, for he had said naught to warrant such an access of pain! He could not make it out. At length, by way of applying a soothing plaster, he said: 'There, there! don't fret so. Maybe I'll die a bachelor, and the Croppy'll inherit. Will that please you? Come, sit up and smile at me.'

CHAPTER VII.

SUSPENSE

Doreen was a fine subject, truly, for matrimonial scheming! Sara, faithful little nurse, hovered round her bed while she battled with delirium-spoke words of encouragement to Lord Kilwarden, who watched his daughter's state with grief. What was the use of all his trimming-his cautious steering-his dallying with Apollyon, if she for whose sake alone he desired wealth and titles was beyond caring for the treasures of this life? But the fond father's prayers were answered. Her splendid constitution soon brought her back to health-she was not one of those who die broken-hearted; but it was soon manifest to all who watched her that she, like Terence, looked on her life as done. She spent her time in watching the boats on Dublin Bay-aware, in hazy fashion, of Sara's prattle. She asked after Tom Emmett and the others, as one might after old friends who are crippled for life-who are labouring under some incurable malady. Terence spent many moments of placid enjoyment, conversing with his cousin in the little bedroom which overlooked the rosary; but neither ever spoke a word of love. The brief interval of freedom was speeding quick away. The works at Fort George were progressing rapidly. A very few weeks and the prisoners would depart, to begin a new existence in a howling wilderness. She told him her plans, with such details as he might ponder over in his solitude, promising to carry them out to the letter as a sacred duty, in order that he might calculate with certainty what she was doing at such and such an hour. The notion of taking the veil was in a calmer moment given up. What need to take the veil? What difference could a vow make to one whose heart was dead? Her vigorous energy must find scope; in tending others she would forget herself. She would, thanks to Lord Kilwarden's savings, play the Lady Bountiful in Dublin, for the benefit of the sufferers from the Reign of Terror. Scarce a family of the lower class but the yeomanry had left their brand on it. Fatherless children-widowed wives-cried out from the Vale of Tears. Sure, those who were taken-who had been shot down like dogs or had perished under torture in the Riding-school-were better off than they, if their end was to be starvation in a gutter! Lord Kilwarden murmured that it should be as she wished. She should return and live with him in town, and do with his money as she listed. The subject of the union interested Doreen deeply. She could talk of it without rancour as a thing that was inevitable. Her life was done because that of Mother Erin was over, and of her faithful sons. So she discussed the prospects of the union as she would have discussed a funeral. Kilwarden and his child were not agreed upon the subject. Her father, after serious deliberation, was in favour of the measure, and thus expressed himself, while Curran, pretending to be buried in a book, sniffed and hemmed.

'Events,' he said, 'have clearly shown how unstable is our nature. Only twenty years ago we showed a serried front, and were as one in the cause of freedom; but a little wedge was inserted-and see! To what an end we've come! For we have come to an end-there is no use discussing that. The one drop of satisfaction which is given to us in the goblet of gall is that an assembly will vanish into space which has reached the lowest depth of human degeneracy. Its members-as all Europe knows-consider the station they hold as a portion of private property, not as a public trust. The scorn of Lord Cornwallis is not undeserved.'

To this Curran objected with vehemence: 'My good friend! is that a reason why your union should answer? You cannot glue two pieces of board together unless the joint be clean. You cannot unite two men indissolubly, unless the cement be virtue. How then two countries, between which rolls a sea of blood more wide than the Atlantic?'

But Arthur Lord Kilwarden had followed events with a keen scrutiny, and none were more appalled than he at the way the senate had jigged to my Lord Clare's piping. 'Whichever way,' he affirmed sadly, 'you look at the proceedings of your parliament, the sight is equally distressing. If the English parliament could be convinced that our interests are really bound up with theirs, they would come to look on us in time as part and parcel of themselves, instead of treating us like savages. Indeed, the Irish Lords and Commons are showing clearly that the English estimate of them is the right one. Practically their birthright is disposed of. It is merely a matter of terms.

Then Curran murmured doleful things about the extinction of the Irish name and the days of the Round Towers, and the parties, as usual, agreed to differ.

There was one side of the matter which was gratifying to Doreen, namely, the conduct of her own people. The Viceroy was undisguisedly in favour of inserting in this Union Bill a clause for the abrogation of the penal statutes; but, as might have been expected, the King dashed his pen through it. The Catholics emancipated indeed? Fiddle-de-dee! Never, while that large-minded monarch should survive. His stupidity produced a hitch. Then the Catholic lords came forward-there were but seven-and begged that state interests should be consulted before that of their own faith. The effect produced was good, for the dignity of the situation lay not with stupid George. Although they seemed to be sacrificing themselves unduly, yet they scored one in the eyes of Europe, and public opinion decided that their attitude of noble neutrality would reap its reward ere long. Doreen was glad of this, although for her part she would wish to struggle against union to the last. If it must take place, it must; but she agreed with Terence that eternal obloquy would be the portion of those who were responsible for the end. It was with dissatisfaction, then, that she listened to his tidings about Shane. It was by an accident, due to the involuntary influence of his younger brother, that he escaped degradation at the first voting? This was terrible news! The duty of the younger man was plainly written, she pointed out with a spark of her old animation. Before withdrawing to consummate his martyrdom, he must speak earnestly, seriously, to the misguided earl-implore him on his knees, if need were, not to disgrace the name which had descended unsullied from Sir Amorey. 'If you show him,' she said, 'the chasm into which he is about to fall, his better instincts will drag him back. Neither his vanity nor avarice must be played on by the chancellor for the furtherance of that wicked end.

Terence replied that not only had he no influence over his brother, but that the latter might be goaded by his interference into doing precisely that which they all deprecated, out of spite. It would be better to trust to Providence. 'How can I bid him not disgrace the family?' he concluded, gently smiling. 'Would he not retort that I have done worse than he can do, by placing my neck within the halter?'

There was something in this, certainly, Doreen admitted. But it was not a moment for petty vanity-it was a time for general humiliation. Terence must humble himself to bear meekly the taunts of Lord Glandore, content in that he was doing his duty. In the solitude of Fort George it would be a comforting episode to dwell upon-instead of brooding always over Erin's death-throes.

One evening, at this point of the discussion, which was renewed again and again before Terence could make up his mind to risk a storm, blonde Sara, who, sitting hard by, was wont to listen to pros and cons which dazed her in respectful silence, laid down her needle, and startled the disputants by saying, 'Are you quite sure that she is in her death-throes?'

Doreen patted her arm as you might that of a precocious child, and said, with her moonlit smile, 'Have you a doubt, dear Sara?'

'I have no opinion,' responded the simple maid; 'but Robert does not think so, and he knows.'

The curiosity of her listeners was aroused. The ardent young enthusiast was about to return, in spite of Curran's wishes to the contrary, to take a last look at Tom ere he sailed away. What were these opinions of his that imparted so grandmotherly an air to the gentle Primrose?

'I've had another letter,' quoth the sapient maiden. 'He doesn't agree with you at all. Hark. He says: "Notwithstanding the darkness of our prospect, I seem to see a light. We must rise to the level of the situation, as our fathers did in '82. We are unworthy of the name of nation if by combination we cannot frustrate the Sassanagh's designs. Other and better men have pioneered the way; be mine the bright result: there shall be no union. The more I see of the English, the more I detest them. In coffee-houses they elbow me to the wall. If I were a red Indian they could not treat me and my country with greater disdain!"'

The idea that her Robert was not appreciated imbued the maid with such indignation as sat in comical fashion on her sweet, soft features. The hearts of both those who looked at her yearned towards this fragile flower. They had been strong and sturdy, yet were they utterly undone. Was this girl to pass, too, under the yoke? Doreen, in a gush of compassion, seized her slight figure in her arms and strained it to her breast, murmuring, as she did so, 'No, child; oh no, no! Not you too! Surely the pyre is piled high enough; the smoke of it blackens the heavens. The land is drenched; it can drink no more. Write to him, my dearest, and adjure him not to hope. Write and forbid his coming.'

Both Terence and Doreen were painfully aware that the element of sedition was dormant, not conquered. They were convinced, too, that the struggle was useless-were ready to bow to the consummation of Lord Clare's strategy, provided that they might stand aloof from among the traitors. If it were useless, why renew the struggle? Why help to bring upon the land again the horrors of the Hurry? Both Terence and Doreen saw through the cloak of Robert's mysterious words, though Sara apparently did not. Yet surely he could not be so utterly distracted as to intend again to raise the standard of revolt? The whole aspect of the case was changed since '98. Napoleon was too much bent on Continental laurels to allow France to think of Ireland. Money was scarce; merchants cautious; the people cowed. The Presbyterians were irritated by the Wexford massacre; the Catholics indignant at the supposed desertion of the northerners. A pretty time to think of flying to arms! No; Robert could not be so mad. But what did he mean, then? Was his combination to be a bloodless contest, such as was brought to a successful issue by the Volunteers? Combination, forsooth! It was not possible for Irishmen ever to combine for more than a few minutes together. Sara evidently had no notion that her Robert could imply a resort to arms, or she would not be purring in this kittenish fashion. As it was, she shook off the embrace of her dear friend, and was very angry in that she showed anxiety to keep Robert away, now that all danger to his sacred head, was past. She waxed exceeding wroth, begging to know why Doreen presumed to question Robert's wisdom; then, scalded by her own tears, she drooped into the arms of the older girl, registering a desire to be dead-a petition with which Heaven has been wearied by natives of Ireland time out of mind.

'I will see to her,' Doreen whispered. 'Now, do you go down, to please me, Terence. You will never regret having done your best to turn Glandore. If you succeed, what blessed visions will paint the walls of your prison-cell! Go and speak seriously to Shane, for all our sakes.'

Terence pressed his cousin's hand and promised. If it was his fate to languish through a long life on the cold crags of Moray Firth, that placid air of calm, the light of those solemn eyes, should soothe him to the last upon his pilgrimage. He was greedily laying up a store of precious memories. The time was growing very short. Orders must come very soon for that final parting. Whate'er befel, he promised himself to follow to the end his guiding star. Heaven would inspire him with words which should save his brother from himself. Doreen was right, as she always was. He strolled leisurely across to the stable-yard to inquire whether my lord had returned from hunting.

CHAPTER VIII.

EAVESDROPPING

The Eumenides galloped in full cry after my lady. Their quarry was run down, scrambled up and staggered on again-was near the end of the run now. When Shane, apple of his mother's eye, gave the last unconscious stab, she bore it without wincing, and sat up and attempted a wintry smile, as he had bidden her. The goblet which, through her strength of character, she had been able to push aside during many years, was held at her lips by a ruthless hand, and must be drained. There was no help for it. She must go and grovel before the hated Gillin, and pray her in mercy to remove the obnoxious Norah. There was nothing else for it. Schemes had miscarried, plots had fallen through. What a sorry spectacle is a harried mortal in the death-grip of the hags of Até!

Even a year's absence at Glas-aitch-é had not blurred the memory of Norah in the heart of the young prodigal. Gillin still beguiled him to the Little House-the knavish, cruel woman! What steadiness of purpose she had shown all through her relentless course! And now she was waiting in her den with cool assurance to consummate her fiendish work. What a terrible thing to have to bow down and implore mercy from this common, vulgar wretch! Would she even now, with her rival at her feet, be merciful? Or would she, with the inherent ungenerosity of a low nature, spurn and deride the victim? Be that as it might, the ordeal must be assayed. It was no use to shake the fist at serene heaven in the impotence of rage. That would in nowise mend matters, and was silly besides. My lady resolved at last to take her cup and drink the draught, since there was no avoiding it. For several days she waited, hoping against hope for a means of escape. None came. She accepted the position, put on her hood, and sallied forth on the self-same afternoon upon which Terence decided to speak out to Shane.