CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI.The Rector of Belfont had willingly permitted the little Zerbellini to be placed under his wife’s care. The distance from thence to the castle was short; and Calantha had already sent her children there for the benefit of sea-bathing. On returning one day thence, she called upon Gerald Mac Allain, who had absented himself from the castle, ever since Mr. Buchanan had appeared there. She found him mournfully employed in looking over some papers and drawings, which he had removed to his own habitation. Upon seeing Lady Avondale he arose, and pointing to the drawings, which she recognized: “Poor Alice,” he said, “these little remembrances tell me of happier days, and make me sad; but when I see you, my Lady, I forget my sorrows.”Linden’s cottage was at a very little distance from Gerald Mac Allain’s. Calantha now informed him that she had met young Linden at the fair, and had wished to speak to him; but that she did not immediately remember him, he was so altered. Gerald said “it was no use for her to speak to him, or for any one else, he was so desperate-like; and,” added he, “Alice’s misconduct has broke all our hearts: we never meet now as formerly; we scarce dare look at each other as we pass.”“Tell me, Gerald,” said Calantha, “since you have spoken to me on this melancholy subject, what is the general opinion about Alice? Has Linden no idea of what has become of her?—had he no suspicion, no doubt of her, till the moment when she fled?” “Oh yes, my Lady,” said the old man, “my poor girl estranged herself from him latterly; and when Linden was obliged to leave her to go to the county of Leitrim for Mr.O’Flarney, during his absence, which lasted six weeks, he received a letter from her, expressing her sorrow that she never could belong to him. Upon his return he found her utterly changed; and in a few weeks after, she declined his further visits; only once again consenting to see him. It was on the very morning before my Lady Margaret conveyed her away from the castle.”“But did you never suspect that things were going on ill before?—did Linden make no attempt to see her at the Doctor’s? It seems strange that no measures should have been taken before it was too late.” “Alas! my dear young lady, you do not know how difficult it is to suspect and chide what we love dearly. I had given up my child into other hands; she was removed entirely from my humble sphere; and whilst I saw her happy, I could not but think her deserving; and when she became otherwise, she was miserable, and it was not the moment toshew her any severity. Indeed, indeed, it was impossible for me to mistrust or chide one so above me as my Alice. As to young Linden, it turned his mind. I walked to his father’s house, ill as I was, just to shake hands with him and see him, as soon as I was told of what had passed. The old gentleman, Cyrel’s father, could not speak. The mother wept as soon as she beheld me; but there was not one bitter word fell from either, though they knew it would prove the ruin of the young man, their son, and perhaps his death.”“From that time, till the present,” continued Gerald, “I seldom see Linden; he always avoids me. He altered very much, and took to hard drinking and bad company; his mind was a little shaken; he grew very slack at his duty; and listed, we suppose, with that same gang, which seduced my two poor boys from their allegiance and duty. He was reprimanded and punished by his commander;but it seems all one, for Mr. Challoner was telling me, only a few days since, that in the last business there with Squire O’Flarney, Linden was taken notice of by the justice. There’s no one can save him, he seems so determined-like on his own ruin; and they say, it’s the cause why the old father is on his death-bed at this present time. There is no bitterness of heart like that which comes from thankless children. They never find out, till it is too late, how parents loved them:—but it was not her fault—no—I don’t blame her—(he knit his brow)—no—I don’t blame her.—Mr. Buchanan is no child of our own house, though he fills the place of that gracious infant which it pleased the Lord to take to himself. Mr. Buchanan is the son of a strange father:—I cannot consider him as one of our own—so arbitrary:—but that’s not the thing.”“Gerald,” said Calantha, “you are not sure that Buchanan is the culprit: weshould be cautious in our judgments.” “Oh, but I am sure, and I care not to look on him; and Linden, they say, menaces to revenge on the young lord, my wrongs and his own; but his old father begs him for God’s sake to be peaceable. Perhaps, my Lady, you will look on the poor gentleman: what though ’tis a dying man—you’ll be gratified to see him, there is such a calm upon his countenance.” “Must he die?” “Why, he’s very precarious-like:—but your noble husband, the young Lord Avondale, is very good to him—he has done all a man and a soldier could do to save him.” “I too will call,” said Calantha, to hide from Gerald how much she was affected; “and, as to you, I must entreat as a favour, that you will return to the castle: to-morrow is Harry’s birth-day; and it will not be a holiday, my father says, if you are not, as you were wont to be, at the head of the table with all the tenants.” “I will come,” said Gerald, “if it were only onaccount of my Lord’s remembering me: and all the blessings of the land go with him, and you, and his noble house, till the end of time, and with the young Lord of Glenarvon beside, who saved Roy and Conal from a shameful death—that he did.”“But you forget,” said Calantha, smiling, “that, by your own account, he was the first to bring them there.” “By my heart, but he’s a noble spirit for all that; and he has my good wishes, and those of many beside.” As he spoke, his eye kindled with enthusiasm. Calantha’s heart beat high: she listened with eager interest. “He’s as generous as our own,” continued he; “and if he lets his followers take a pig or two from that rogue there, Squire Flarney, does not he give half he has to those in distress? If I could ever meet him face to face, I’d tell him the same; but we never know when he’s among us; for sure, there’s St. Clara the prophetess, he went to see her once, they say, and sheleft her aunt the Abbess, and the convent, and all the nuns, and went off after him, as mad as the rest. Och! you’d bless yourself to see how the folks crowd about him at the season, but they’re all gone from these parts now, in hopes of saving Linden, I’m told; for you know, I suppose, that he’s missing, and if he’s deserted, it’s said they are sure to shoot him on account of the troubles.”“Three times there have been meetings in that cleft there,” continued Gerald, pointing towards the Wizzard’s Glen: “it was that was the first undoing of Miss St. Clare: they tell me she’s all for our being delivered from our tyrants; and she prophecies so, it would do you good to hear her. Oh, they move along, a thousand at a time, in a silence would surprise you—just in the still night, and you can scarce hear them tread as they pass; but I know well when they’re coming, and there is not one of us who live here about the town, would betraythem, though the reward offered is very stupendous.”“But see, here are some of the military coming” ... “That officer is General Kennedy,” said Lady Avondale, approaching towards him: “he is not a tyrant at least.” As she said this, she bowed to him, for she knew him well. He often dined at the Castle. He was saying a few words to her upon common uninteresting topics, when, a soldier beckoning to him, two horsemen appeared.—“He’s found,” said one: “there is no doubt of his guilt; and twenty other names are on the list.” “I trust in God it is not Linden, of whom you are speaking,” said Calantha. General Kennedy made no answer: he only bowed to her, as if to excuse himself; and retired.Calantha observed a vast number of people assembled on the road, close to the village. Gerald Mac Allain could scarcely support himself. She enquiredwhat they were waiting for. “To see the deserters,” they answered. It was women, children, parents who spoke: some wept aloud; others stood in silent anguish; many repeated the name of him in whom they took deepest interest, asking if his was of the number. Linden’s she heard most frequently. “Ill luck to the monsters!—ill luck to the men of blood!” was vociferated the whole way she went. “This will kill the old man,” said Gerald: “it will be his death: he has been all night fearing it, ever since Linden has been missing.”The crowd, seeing Calantha, approached in all directions. “Oh beg our king, your father, to save them,” said one: “Jesus reward you:” and they knelt and prayed to her. She was too much affected to answer. Some of the officers approached her, and advised her to retire. “The crowd will be immense,” they said: “your Ladyship hadbetter not remain to witness this heartbreaking scene.” “Twenty names are on the list,” continued the officer, “all deserted, as soon as Linden did. Mercy, in this instance, will be weakness: too much has already been shewn.”

The Rector of Belfont had willingly permitted the little Zerbellini to be placed under his wife’s care. The distance from thence to the castle was short; and Calantha had already sent her children there for the benefit of sea-bathing. On returning one day thence, she called upon Gerald Mac Allain, who had absented himself from the castle, ever since Mr. Buchanan had appeared there. She found him mournfully employed in looking over some papers and drawings, which he had removed to his own habitation. Upon seeing Lady Avondale he arose, and pointing to the drawings, which she recognized: “Poor Alice,” he said, “these little remembrances tell me of happier days, and make me sad; but when I see you, my Lady, I forget my sorrows.”Linden’s cottage was at a very little distance from Gerald Mac Allain’s. Calantha now informed him that she had met young Linden at the fair, and had wished to speak to him; but that she did not immediately remember him, he was so altered. Gerald said “it was no use for her to speak to him, or for any one else, he was so desperate-like; and,” added he, “Alice’s misconduct has broke all our hearts: we never meet now as formerly; we scarce dare look at each other as we pass.”

“Tell me, Gerald,” said Calantha, “since you have spoken to me on this melancholy subject, what is the general opinion about Alice? Has Linden no idea of what has become of her?—had he no suspicion, no doubt of her, till the moment when she fled?” “Oh yes, my Lady,” said the old man, “my poor girl estranged herself from him latterly; and when Linden was obliged to leave her to go to the county of Leitrim for Mr.O’Flarney, during his absence, which lasted six weeks, he received a letter from her, expressing her sorrow that she never could belong to him. Upon his return he found her utterly changed; and in a few weeks after, she declined his further visits; only once again consenting to see him. It was on the very morning before my Lady Margaret conveyed her away from the castle.”

“But did you never suspect that things were going on ill before?—did Linden make no attempt to see her at the Doctor’s? It seems strange that no measures should have been taken before it was too late.” “Alas! my dear young lady, you do not know how difficult it is to suspect and chide what we love dearly. I had given up my child into other hands; she was removed entirely from my humble sphere; and whilst I saw her happy, I could not but think her deserving; and when she became otherwise, she was miserable, and it was not the moment toshew her any severity. Indeed, indeed, it was impossible for me to mistrust or chide one so above me as my Alice. As to young Linden, it turned his mind. I walked to his father’s house, ill as I was, just to shake hands with him and see him, as soon as I was told of what had passed. The old gentleman, Cyrel’s father, could not speak. The mother wept as soon as she beheld me; but there was not one bitter word fell from either, though they knew it would prove the ruin of the young man, their son, and perhaps his death.”

“From that time, till the present,” continued Gerald, “I seldom see Linden; he always avoids me. He altered very much, and took to hard drinking and bad company; his mind was a little shaken; he grew very slack at his duty; and listed, we suppose, with that same gang, which seduced my two poor boys from their allegiance and duty. He was reprimanded and punished by his commander;but it seems all one, for Mr. Challoner was telling me, only a few days since, that in the last business there with Squire O’Flarney, Linden was taken notice of by the justice. There’s no one can save him, he seems so determined-like on his own ruin; and they say, it’s the cause why the old father is on his death-bed at this present time. There is no bitterness of heart like that which comes from thankless children. They never find out, till it is too late, how parents loved them:—but it was not her fault—no—I don’t blame her—(he knit his brow)—no—I don’t blame her.—Mr. Buchanan is no child of our own house, though he fills the place of that gracious infant which it pleased the Lord to take to himself. Mr. Buchanan is the son of a strange father:—I cannot consider him as one of our own—so arbitrary:—but that’s not the thing.”

“Gerald,” said Calantha, “you are not sure that Buchanan is the culprit: weshould be cautious in our judgments.” “Oh, but I am sure, and I care not to look on him; and Linden, they say, menaces to revenge on the young lord, my wrongs and his own; but his old father begs him for God’s sake to be peaceable. Perhaps, my Lady, you will look on the poor gentleman: what though ’tis a dying man—you’ll be gratified to see him, there is such a calm upon his countenance.” “Must he die?” “Why, he’s very precarious-like:—but your noble husband, the young Lord Avondale, is very good to him—he has done all a man and a soldier could do to save him.” “I too will call,” said Calantha, to hide from Gerald how much she was affected; “and, as to you, I must entreat as a favour, that you will return to the castle: to-morrow is Harry’s birth-day; and it will not be a holiday, my father says, if you are not, as you were wont to be, at the head of the table with all the tenants.” “I will come,” said Gerald, “if it were only onaccount of my Lord’s remembering me: and all the blessings of the land go with him, and you, and his noble house, till the end of time, and with the young Lord of Glenarvon beside, who saved Roy and Conal from a shameful death—that he did.”

“But you forget,” said Calantha, smiling, “that, by your own account, he was the first to bring them there.” “By my heart, but he’s a noble spirit for all that; and he has my good wishes, and those of many beside.” As he spoke, his eye kindled with enthusiasm. Calantha’s heart beat high: she listened with eager interest. “He’s as generous as our own,” continued he; “and if he lets his followers take a pig or two from that rogue there, Squire Flarney, does not he give half he has to those in distress? If I could ever meet him face to face, I’d tell him the same; but we never know when he’s among us; for sure, there’s St. Clara the prophetess, he went to see her once, they say, and sheleft her aunt the Abbess, and the convent, and all the nuns, and went off after him, as mad as the rest. Och! you’d bless yourself to see how the folks crowd about him at the season, but they’re all gone from these parts now, in hopes of saving Linden, I’m told; for you know, I suppose, that he’s missing, and if he’s deserted, it’s said they are sure to shoot him on account of the troubles.”

“Three times there have been meetings in that cleft there,” continued Gerald, pointing towards the Wizzard’s Glen: “it was that was the first undoing of Miss St. Clare: they tell me she’s all for our being delivered from our tyrants; and she prophecies so, it would do you good to hear her. Oh, they move along, a thousand at a time, in a silence would surprise you—just in the still night, and you can scarce hear them tread as they pass; but I know well when they’re coming, and there is not one of us who live here about the town, would betraythem, though the reward offered is very stupendous.”

“But see, here are some of the military coming” ... “That officer is General Kennedy,” said Lady Avondale, approaching towards him: “he is not a tyrant at least.” As she said this, she bowed to him, for she knew him well. He often dined at the Castle. He was saying a few words to her upon common uninteresting topics, when, a soldier beckoning to him, two horsemen appeared.—“He’s found,” said one: “there is no doubt of his guilt; and twenty other names are on the list.” “I trust in God it is not Linden, of whom you are speaking,” said Calantha. General Kennedy made no answer: he only bowed to her, as if to excuse himself; and retired.

Calantha observed a vast number of people assembled on the road, close to the village. Gerald Mac Allain could scarcely support himself. She enquiredwhat they were waiting for. “To see the deserters,” they answered. It was women, children, parents who spoke: some wept aloud; others stood in silent anguish; many repeated the name of him in whom they took deepest interest, asking if his was of the number. Linden’s she heard most frequently. “Ill luck to the monsters!—ill luck to the men of blood!” was vociferated the whole way she went. “This will kill the old man,” said Gerald: “it will be his death: he has been all night fearing it, ever since Linden has been missing.”

The crowd, seeing Calantha, approached in all directions. “Oh beg our king, your father, to save them,” said one: “Jesus reward you:” and they knelt and prayed to her. She was too much affected to answer. Some of the officers approached her, and advised her to retire. “The crowd will be immense,” they said: “your Ladyship hadbetter not remain to witness this heartbreaking scene.” “Twenty names are on the list,” continued the officer, “all deserted, as soon as Linden did. Mercy, in this instance, will be weakness: too much has already been shewn.”

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