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.
Madam Gillin, in her amazement, swept down the jam-pots which she was stowing in a cupboard when Norah tore breathless up the stairs to announce that a leedy was coming up the walk who was no other than the Countess of Glandore.
'Holy Mother!' she ejaculated. The moment was come then--at last! and the two were to speak out, face to face. It could only be on one subject--an unpleasant interview. What could induce the countess now to strike her colours, and come of her own accord, who for years had declined to acknowledge her neighbour's existence? The haughty countess must be hard pressed indeed to humble herself in this wise. Peeping through shutter-chinks, she beheld the stately figure of my lady--as straight as an arrow, shrouded in a silken wrapper, moving slowly towards her door, and screamed out orders to Jug to get out her best gown instantly, and place some wine on the parlour table.
My lady was kept waiting for fully half an hour, while the mistress of the Little House was arranging her war-paint, during which time she had leisure to glance round the adornments of the chamber--bright, big, showy, glowing and rubicund, blatant with varnished newness--so different from the cobwebbed dignity of the black oak and tapestry at the Abbey. The ceiling was painted in the Italian style, with clouds on cerulean ether like bits of cotton-wool. The floor was thickly carpeted, the windows heavily curtained--for the judges, when they came to carouse with their gay hostess, liked what was snug and cosy. Over the chimney-piece were two portraits, side by side, at which my lady frowned--the late Lord Glandore and Norah. The woman was evidently shameless, to place my lord's portrait soen evidence. This long delay was, no doubt, a premeditated insult. The original of the second portrait, conscious that it was rude of her mamma to be so long in dressing, skimmed down the stairs and banged open the door to make a good-humoured apology, but closed it quickly and retreated--the aspect of the old lady was so forbidding as she stood upright in the centre of the floor, with thin nose pinched and bent brows scowling. If the squireens of Letterkenny had been frightened by the gorgon's stony face when she strove to be gracious, how much more awful did she appear now, when grilling on the coals of humiliation.
By-and-by, with a prodigious rattle, Madam Gillin swam in and curtseyed. If there was to be a passage of arms, she was determined not to be taken at a disadvantage. Fortune had denied her the grand air which goes with blue blood and coronets, but she was resolved to make up for the want of it by a display of external magnificence. Though warm and moist with the exertion of plunging into grandeur at so short a notice, she looked mighty fine in her best red satin, made very tight and short, with a Roman emperor in cameo grinning on the high waistband, and another nodding from her hair. The ruddy tint of her mature charms vied with the ruby of the satin and the redness of the turban, and came by no means badly out of the conflict.
When arrayed in the garments of ceremony, Madam Gillin, despite the stoutness of her figure, could be extremely dignified. With a second curtsey and a sweep round of the left foot, she bade the visitor welcome to her poor home, and pointed a mittened forefinger at a chair.
'It's honoured that I am entirely, by your leedyship's condescension,' she said, wagging the turban affably. 'Might I offer some sherry-wine, or would your leedyship prefer clart? or a dhrop of prime poteen? The judges, bless you, prefer clart. Sure, Jug'll bring a cake in a jiffy, for drink's bad on an empty stomach.'
The countess responded by a freezing bow. How hard it was to begin! Yet, having come, she must needs speak out. This ungenerous foe was exaggerating her own defects with intention, in order to make the task more difficult; was pretending to believe that her neighbour had 'dropped in' by a friendly impulse, just to scrape a tardy acquaintance over a glass of wine. The next words of the enemy showed that it was so.
'Your leedyship's sons are quite old cronies here,' she remarked. 'They often honour my tipple, and find it good; faith, it's the same as their dear papa used to like, poor fellow!' Here she nodded solemnly at the portrait, lest my lady should not have noticed it. 'And fine boys they are, though the eldest is a bit skittish. Your leedyship has reason to be proud of them--specially the younger.'
It was as the countess expected. The woman was brutal and pitiless and devoid of shame. Each word, each movement, was an outrage, a barb hurled with studied purpose. Nothing could come of an interview begun upon these lines; it would be better to cut it short, ere self-control was lost. My lady had not moved from her position on the centre of the floor, not choosing to notice the invitation to be seated. Gathering her wrapper close, with a haughty movement of white fingers, she said abruptly, as she turned to go:
'Woman! I have lowered myself in order to conjure you to consider what you do. You have harmed me, Mrs. Gillin, as much as you could ever since I first set eyes on you, although I never did you hurt. You robbed me of my husband, and flaunted your prize all over Dublin, and I bore my cross without a word, because one may not touch pitch without being one's self defiled. You encouraged my second son in his folly; pushed him down the incline till you nearly brought him to the gallows; and now you are determined, if you can, to bring young Glandore to ruin. You are a devil--not a woman! Hate me, if you will, for I would prefer your hatred to your friendship; but surely you cannot hatehim, or you would not hang his portrait there. Even if he did you any wrong, of which I am ignorant, forbear to wreak vengeance on his children. I never understood your motives. What can you gain by compassing all this mischief?'
'Whom did yon say I wished to bring to ruin?' sneered the scarlet lady, unabashed.
The pale face of the countess flushed crimson, and she proceeded as if the words stuck in her throat:
'This hideous marriage must be prevented; you know why as well as I do. Think of the wreck to which you would bring these innocent lives. Remember, at least, that the girl is your own child, poor thing. Feel pity for her, if you can summon none for the other.'
'I have as much pity for my child as you for yours!' Madam Gillin retorted, with meaning. 'When his neck was in danger, you never stirred a finger-nail.'
My lady stopped at the door to make one more effort.
'You have deliberately brought those two together, though I have strained every nerve to keep them apart. Dare you stand by and see them married?'
'If the childer like each other, faix, it's not me as'll spoil the fun!' returned her tormentor.
My lady groaned and made as if she would speak again, but Mrs. Gillin's fat back was turned; she was improving the position of the cameos, by means of a mirror on the wall.
Lady Glandore adjusted her hood on her white hair, and moved swiftly, with bowed head, away from the Little House; while Madam Gillin, detaching her gorgeous turban, turned quickly round with a grin, so soon as she was fairly gone, and watched her from behind a shutter. The good lady was troubled in her mind, and stood staring down the walk, as the grin faded, long after the muffled figure had departed. At length she clapped the errant comb into its place upon her head, and murmured:
'I'm a devil, not a woman, am I? Sure that cap fits best on your own pate. Rather than speak out, you'd let that lad be whipped off to Fort George, would you? Just as you would have let him be hanged--mother without a heart! It's Lucifer's pride ye have, every ha'porth of it. Well, my lips have been closed long enough.' Then, nodding to the picture over the chimney-piece, she added aloud: 'Have I kept my word with ye? Ye wished it all set right, bad man, when Satan pinched ye. Who was it that was always bidding ye to see to it yourself, and ye wouldn't? And her pride is as great as yours. Never fear; it shall be set right by me; for I like the boy for himself as well as for my oath. Before the sun's set I'll go to Ely Place and tell my Lord Clare something that'll astonish him.'
'Tell him what, mamma?' asked Norah, who was dying to learn what had taken place.
'Never mind, child!' grunted madam, as she squeezed the impudent young lady's peachen cheek. 'What d'ye think that stiff old bag-o'-bones said just now? That I didn't love my girl; and that I'd do her wanton harm.'
'She lied!' retorted prompt Norah.
'Faith, ye're right!' agreed her mother, with a smacking kiss. 'Order round the shay, and come and help me to take off my toggery.'
My lady sped rapidly away. The ordeal--short and sharp--more bitter even than she dreamed--was over; the draught was swallowed--in vain. Gillin's taunts had shrivelled her soul like branding-irons. It behoved her to arrange her features before returning to the Abbey, lest some one should detect the troubled aspect of the chatelaine and make guesses at its cause, which might possibly come near the truth. As courage failed and resolution waned, her secret struggled the harder to come forth. With the self-consciousness of guilt she seemed to feel it emblazoned on her forehead, where all who ran might read.
Instead of returning by the grand drive which was but at the distance of a stone's-throw, she followed the main road, skirted the wall that bounded her rival's grounds, and re-entered Strogue from the back, by the wooden postern which gave access to the rosary.
The thrusts of the full-blown champion in red satin were few; but they went home, and smarted still. My lady's ears tingled yet as she walked between the tall beech hedges. We are conscious often of doing wrong, but decline to look upon our fault, and coax ourselves to disbelieve in its existence by persistently turning our attention to more pleasing objects. But when another individual, whose human voice we can't shut out, brays forth the story of the sin with trumpet clearness, we seem to wake up as to a new appreciation of its enormity, which comes like a fresh revelation of turpitude. Thus was it with my lady in this instance. She was well aware that her treatment of Terence, from the beginning, was below the level of just solicitude; that latterly, though his position as a traitor awaiting punishment had weighed her down, yet she had acquiesced, with a weakness which was itself a fault, in the prejudged sentence, and had been prepared to hear that the scrag-boy's work was done without attempting personally to move in the matter. Conscience whispered once or twice that by virtue of her rank she ought to force admittance to the Castle. Nay! that she ought to have hurried long ago to London, and have wrested her boy's life from the King's clemency; have dogged his Majesty to Weymouth; have stormed him in retirement; and have even tossed the sprats that he was frying into the flames if he took refuge in his wonted obstinacy. In a hazy way she knew all this full well. She knew, indistinctly, that the scrag-boy had become to her warped soul a harbinger of peace; and afraid of seeing too much on the glass which conscience held, had shut her eyes and breathed on it till the Present should become Past, and thereby irretrievable. But Gillin's words could not be shut out after so simple a fashion. She had hinted a few moments since, with scathing irony, that even if she sacrificed her own child in cold blood on the altar of Nemesis, her conduct would be no worse than my lady's had been to her second son. And my lady's conscience echoed the speech with loud applause. She looked now straight into her own heart, and was appalled at what she saw there; she hearkened to the upbraidings of the monitor, and admitted that his reproaches were deserved--that even the travail of an embittered life was not an atonement sufficient for its crime.
It is an awful moment when a nature built on pride begins to crumble. The crash follows swiftly on the warning. Extremes tumble together; the loftier the edifice the more complete its collapse. The upbraidings of the monitor--harsh, unrelenting, awfully distinct--dinned in my lady's ears as she paced with muffled head between the hedges of the rosary. Presently she heard a murmur. No! That was not conscience. Those were human voices--the voices of her sons--arguing in a high key. Great heavens! they were quarrelling.
With a stealthy step, holding her mantle in close folds lest its rustle should betray the presence of an eavesdropper, she stole along under the lofty hedge.
Shane was in his hunting-suit. He was surrounded by his hounds. They sniffed about and rolled on the damp grass, making their toilet in dog fashion, to clean their muddy backs. Eblana and Aileach sat on their hams gazing at their master with wistful heads poised on one side. Shane stood facing his mother, who marked that the muscles of his face were twitching, while his limbs shook with passion. Terence had his back to her--a tall, quiet figure, distinct against a faded sky which was faint with the glare of a departed sun. His broad, square shoulders stood out distinctly from a light background of misty hedge, of blotted, translucent pink, and pale yellow, and blue-green, across which streamed a troop of darkling phantoms--crows cawing off to roost.
Shane's hunting-whip sawed the air, as he passed it from one nervous hand to the other. He was always so ready with his whip. It seemed as much as he could do to withhold its sinuous thong from off his brother. Terence was speaking. My lady held her breath to listen.
'I speak to you as from the grave,' he said. 'My life is done. A week or two at most, and my place will be vacant--my shadow will darken the threshold of my ancestors no more. Take care, my brother! When you look on my empty seat let the sad memory of me be precious on your hearth, untarnished by regret. You are the head of the house. Do not forget the responsibilities to which you are born. Look at the tapestry in the drawing-room, and follow the example of your fathers. Do your duty by them; be without fear and without reproach. Do not earn for yourself among the family pictures an empty frame from which posterity shall have wrenched the portrait.'
'Peace! I will not bear your prosing!' hissed the young earl. 'You are no better than a felon. You've wrecked yourself through your own folly, and now would inflict your broken-backed morality on me. I told you once you were no better than a "half-mounted." Ye're not so good. As for your insolent advice,thatfor it! I'll tell you this much, to set your mind at rest. I've made it up with my Lord Cornwallis by explaining that the mistake was due to you. I've pledged my own vote to Government, and all the influence that I can bring to bear. Two of the boroughs I hold will be disfranchised, in return for which I am to have money down.'
'Oh, remember!' broke in Terence. 'That it's blood-money, which carries a curse with it. That it will come out of Irish coffers. By a refinement of barbarity it is Erin who will have to pay the ruffians who will slay her!'
'Pooh!' retorted Shane, with a finger-snap. 'Whatever your worship's views may be, I will votefor union--there! Not that it can signify to yon one way or t'other, so soon as you have been carted off to Scotland.'
'Then after this,' returned Terence, with hot reproach, 'you should quarter an auctioneer's hammer with the arms of old Sir Amorey; since, like a superannuated chest of drawers, you are to be knocked down to the lowest bidder!'
My lady could endure the spectacle no longer of her two sons threatening each other in the gloaming with swollen veins, face close to face. With a ghostly sigh which startled the disputants she hurried towards the house. The brothers searched but found no one, and cast uneasy glances at each other. What was it? Could it be the banshee--messenger of ill?
Terence, regretting his sharp speech, strode with abrupt strides away, lest he might be provoked to still more regretable discourse, across the little flower-plot, past the sun-dial, through the hall, to his own chamber, wherein he locked himself, among the guns and fishing-rods; while Shane, who was athirst, followed more slowly, like a shepherd with his flock, and turned into the dining-room in search of drink.
Now Miss Wolfe, whose bedroom, it will be remembered, overlooked the flower-plot, and was opposite to the dining-room, was sitting at her window awaiting Terence's return with tidings of a successful ambassage. Of course Shane would be persuaded to see the error of his ways, and agree not to vote with Government. She was no little surprised to behold my lady, usually so majestic, hurry in a scared manner through the golden grille; then Terence; then Shane with all his hounds about him. Something was afoot; what could have happened? All three seemed strangely troubled. No! It was but a coincidence exaggerated by the distorted fancy of a convalescent into something serious. She was about to close the curtains when she was further astonished by seeing my lady rush into the dining-room with frantic gestures and fall prostrate on the ground before her son. She saw Lord Glandore turn round and try to raise his mother, but she only wrung her hands and wept, while her lips moved quickly. Two lighted candles were on the table; the winter evening was shadowing in with a blue glamour; the small flower-plot was packed with hounds that sniffed about with uneasy muzzles, for Shane had slammed-to the golden grille after him and forgotten them.
What were they talking about down there?--only some burning question could engross them thus. It was more than the curiosity of a daughter of Eve might resist. Snatching up a cloak Doreen stole downstairs, out into the garden, hushing the dogs in a whisper that their noisy greetings might not betray her presence.
My lady's subdued words came dimly to her through the glass. She cowered close to the window, nursing Eblana's head in her lap with furtive pats, for that pampered beast was importunate in his demonstrative caresses, and whined a protest against neglect. What my lady said sent a sharp thrill through Miss Wolfe. Forgetting all caution in astonishment, she rose and pressed her scared face against the pane, but mother and son were too fully occupied to heed any but themselves, as my lady poured forth at last the pent-up gall which had poisoned a life of promise, and her helpless first-born sat in a stupor, thunderstruck.
'Do not curse your old mother!' my lady implored, with a humility which jarred upon his nerves. 'Have pity on her that she should have to tell her shame. I would gladly have gone to the tomb as your father did, carrying my secret--I would have hugged it close for your sake. But the hand of God is heavy on me--it will out! You must know the truth--alas, alas!--even if you curse me! It was not my fault--indeed it was not--it was all your father's; and he went to his rest, whilst I remained to bear the penalty. He carried me off; you know that much. He was a member of the abduction-club. Placing me in a coach with a scarf about my mouth, he threatened me with a pistol if I should let down the glass and scream. Then I was borne away to Ennishowen, to the islet of Glas-aitch-é. Oh, Shane! I endured the pang of living there again for your sake--do not judge me harshly! We dwelt there a year, then returned to Dublin to assume our position in society. We were married in the blue bedroom by the parson of Letterkenny; but, Shane, it was not my fault! Your father was fierce as you are--you are his image, but more unstable. I was as an infant under his iron will; how could I resist him? The parson of Letterkenny married us--the night before we came back to Dublin.'
My lady buried her face in her thin hands and sobbed, while Shane looked on. He could not comprehend.
Finding that her son said no kind word to ease the bitter task, his mother went on in a hoarse voice--even and unbroken now by sobs--with eyes fixed doggedly upon the ground.
'I implored him--oh! how I implored him--again and again, I did indeed--to send for the parson before your birth. He was reckless. At length he seemed touched by my distress, and sent. The parson was laid up with gout, but promised to be with us on the morrow. Then--it was too late--and my lord put it off again, saying that it didn't matter, and that nobody would know. I hoped that he was right, and was comforted. When, six years later, Terence was born, the case was altered. We both saw it--alas! too late; he felt it as much as I. But after all, you were the first-born--a ceremony delayed could not alter that. It was not fair that you should suffer for what was but an act of negligence. We discussed the matter anxiously, and my lord decided to bury the secret. No one would suspect, or think to examine the date of the register, if we agreed to hold our peace. We never spoke of it--never--but we saw it in each other's eyes; and from that moment I lost his love--he was always looking with regret on Terence in a way which maddened me, while I clung to you. You were the child of sorrow. I suffered much for you on that accursed island; and then that--that woman cast her meshes over him. My lord changed his mind before he died--desired me to noise the tale abroad to all the world. I could not--my pride revolted--and my love for you. None knew the secret except one--that harlot!--my lord was faithless in that as in all other things!'
My lady's voice died away, as a host of grim recollections crowded on her memory. Presently she looked up in alarm, for Shane had made no comment. The cicatrice upon his brow stood out. She put forth her hands; he seized her by the wrists and flung her down. Without resistance she sank moaning backwards on the floor. Turning on his seat, he poured out a tumblerful of wine and drank it off; then--the whole truth breaking at last upon his slow intellect--he tore his hair, growling, and smote himself upon the head, and staggered round the room with reeling steps. Doreen did not try to hide herself, she was transfixed with wonder; yet though she showed like a vision in hoar-frost, impressed upon the casement, he saw her not. He was only aware that there was another Lord Glandore--who would return his contumely with interest--that his own portion was beggary and a bend-sinister. No wonder if the phantom of this new prospect churned and curdled his besotted brain.
'He'll hate me and take my property and title!' he muttered through his teeth again and again, in querulous cadence. 'What's to become ofme--what's to become ofme?I might as well be shot as beggared.'
My lady rose from the floor, haggard and gaunt, and passed her long fingers through her hair. The selfish cruelty of him for whose sake she had gone through the torture was better for her than kindness would have been. A little sympathy and she would have become hysterical. Like a sharp fillip, it strung her nerves. That from which she had shrunk so long was here in all its accumulated fulness. Well! it was part of a penance; so much was past that the remainder could matter little.
'Not so,' she said mournfully; and Shane, clinging to a reed, returned to his seat and drew her towards him.
'The secret may rest where it is,' she continued, placing a loving hand upon his head. 'No one living knows of it save you and I and--and that woman. If she meant to speak, she would have spoken long since. It may come out some day, and Terence will claim what the law will call his own, and possibly revenge himself on you for having kept him unwittingly from its enjoyment. But you shall not be brought to beggary. Alas! my deary, you are unfitted to battle with the world. Two things must be done--and done at once--betide afterwards what may. You must marry Doreen. She is an heiress, and the only one available. Your own mode of life has kept others from your path, though you might have chosen among hundreds. Her father would be glad, I know, and she is too much broken by recent afflictions to offer resistance when strong pressure is brought to bear on her.'
'Government has offered me forty-five thousand pounds for my vote and influence in the coming contest,' Lord Glandore observed presently, with a sinister smile. 'It is imminent. If Croppy can only be kept in the dark till then!'
My lady bent down and kissed him, while lines of anxious thought gathered round her mouth. She was in the slough--up to the neck--out of which it was impossible to struggle. Under happier auspices she would have recoiled from the suggestion of cold-blooded barter. But helpless Shane's position must be assured by hook or crook while there was yet time. It struck his mother that Gillin--when she should discover that her outrageous designs for Norah were foiled--might blab the secret as a last shaft of vengeance. She determined that for the present, at least, the odious creature must be humoured for prudence' sake. It was with a dreary sort of satisfaction that she found her turbulent favourite was become suddenly so malleable. What signified the unsullied shields of departed Crosbies? Unblemished honour will not renew exhausted tissues. It is well for those to prate who have never been tempted. Shane, like the rest, must sell his mess of pottage at the best market--hisso long as it was not claimed. Then the idea flashed upon my lady as she meditated, 'Terence is marked out for an arch-traitor. He was not convicted--yet is he sentenced. If his claims were to be admitted now, his property (as that of one attainted) would be forfeit to the state! Better far that Shane should keep it.' Scruples were manifestly absurd. A brilliant suggestion of the devil this--which went far to reconcile my lady to existing circumstances.
There was silence between mother and son. The thoughts of both were best left unspoken. Both were absorbed in their own dreams. Eblana's cold muzzle awoke Doreen from her reverie. She glided up the steps into the hall, crept with caution past the door of the dining-room, made for the young men's wing, where, in his own nest, Terence was brooding in despondency over his blank future.
He had nothing wherewith to reproach himself. Nothing! Of that he was quite certain. It had been his duty to lay the question of union clearly before his brother, who, as head of the house, must adjudicate thereon upon his own judgment. The responsibility lay with him. Whichever way he chose to act, no dishonour could accrue to the younger from his decision, so long as he, Terence, had first registered his private protest. Shane had been most insulting--had stooped even to mock at his brother's deplorable condition. But that was of no moment. When we stand upon life's brink we can afford to contemn the foolish lapping of the waves. It mattered not a rush what Shane might say or think. Yet that scene in the rosary was not one of the rainbow-hued visions which were to fresco into warmth the cold walls of his prison-cell at Fort George. Knowing his brother's temper, it would have been more wise not to kick against the pricks. Perhaps, situated as Terence was, he would have done better not to speak at all--but it is difficult in the prime of life and manhood to accept at once your position as a corpse.
The handle of his door was turned and shaken. It was an agitated hand that shook it--a woman's hand--for his hearing, sharpened by excitement, detected the sough of silk, the unsteady grope of fingers fumbling above a handle's usual place. His heart beat fast. Was the yearning of his soul to be gratified? Was it his mother, who, so cold and forbidding hitherto, had selected the long wintry interval previous to the last meal of the day to come and whisper with kisses of how she loved and pitied him?
He turned the key. To his surprise Doreen, who entered swiftly, double-locked the door, and, tossing away her mantle, stood before him with a smile upon her lips, which he had supposed was gone for ever. Her bosom heaved as she held out her two brown hands to him.
'Terence, it'syouwho are Lord Glandore!' she panted. 'Shane repulsed you when you spoke to him. I know it! He is ready to accept their blood-money; he is scheming basely for it at this moment; but he shall be exposed in time. It is your duty to turn the bastard out!'
Terence deemed that his star had left its course; for she stood, like a distracted dark Ophelia, on the verge of laughter and of tears; dashing the drops from her cheek with one hand, while the other crept shyly into her cousin's and remained there.
She told him quickly all she had heard and seen--all that was made plain by the light of what she heard and saw. She told him, with disdainful lip, of how her cousin had repulsed the whitehaired suppliant; how he had whined, complaining; how his mother, fortified by that engrossing love--transfigured, ennobled by it despite her sin--had risen from her knees like a queen to comfort him.
Terence listened--one leg crossed over the other to support his elbow, while his chin rested on his hand--and instead of joining in her exultant joy, he only grew more gloomy. What was this will-o'-the-wisp that railed in such foolish fashion? Athimwhose heart was dead, whose career was done, upon whom the gate of a lifelong prison was about to close, who was too weary to be very sorry for his own undoing? Silly will-o'-the-wisp, who, clad in siren-guise, thought thus to lure him back to love of life! He listened to Doreen's narrative in moody thought, plucking no consolation thence. It was a poignant subject of regret that her usually incisive common-sense should be bewitched by this vulgar tempter. After all, a woman's judgment may never be relied on. It must be his office, then, to rebuke her folly, and show where his true duty lay.
A great love, indeed--a sublime love! A love which is a crown of glory, but which was in this instance a wreath doomed to be wasted on the sterile rock. Shane cared for no one but himself. Was inclined even to spurn this love--nay, had dared brutally to repulse it, because it could not accomplish impossibilities. Not a drop from the precious phial had ever leaked out for Terence--not a single drop. And he would have prized it so! Yet was his duty carved plainly out; and with the gaze of one who belongs to another world, he saw it--through foliage and matted briars--with clear vision.
'It appears that I might perhaps save our name,' he said slowly, while he nursed his knee, 'from being mixed up with those of the recreants. What is the price? Reflect, dear Doreen! If we were not beyond the influence of mundane hopes and longings, would you advise me to act thus? Would you----'
'Can there be any doubt?' cried impetuous Doreen, with flashing eyes. 'Did we not agree this very afternoon that Shane must be worked on not to disgrace his lineage. Now it is in your hands. Surely you could not----'
'Hush, hush, my dearest!' Terence responded gently. 'Remember that we are to lay up no store of evil memories! At Fort George I am to think of you as the star that has guided my thoughts upward. Reflect calmly now! In order that Shane--poor misguided fellow!--may not drag us into the ranks of the Iscariots, I should have to make good my rights before the world. To accomplish that, I should have to brand with obloquy my mother's fair fame, which in the world's eyes is spotless. Should I thus keep untarnished the honour of the Crosbies? No! The question of Ireland's fate is in God's keeping, not in ours. His decrees seem hard to our purblind vision, yet must we bow to them. Forget what you discovered. Let this be as though it had never been.'
The girl's colour went and came; she looked earnestly at her cousin, as with prosaic action he nursed his knee.
'You are right,' she murmured at length. 'Do you know, my love, that I dared to despise you once? I said you could never be a hero!'
'Hero!' Terence echoed, with a laugh. 'I have looked into the other world too closely to care now for this. We have passed through the fire, Doreen, have we not? and bear its traces on our flesh. God grant that it has purged away the worser part from both of us!'
Madam Gillin called many times at Ely Place in her anxiety to astonish the chancellor, but failed to find him--for the best of all reasons, that he was not there. Again and again she rapped with the big brass knocker--always to receive the same answer, 'His lordship is in England.' Time was moving on; reports arrived in succession that the works at Fort George were progressing; that they were well-nigh finished; that they were complete. The unhappy exiles would be drafted off directly, and Madam Gillin was determined to astonish Lord Clare before that moment came. What on earth could he be doing in England? He was an Irishman, if a bad one, and ought to stop at home. She was on the point of packing up a valise to pursue him across the Channel, when Jug brought the tidings that my Lord Clare's coach was on its way to Kingstown, and that therefore its master must be expected back.
The chancellor frowned ominously when he beheld his eccentric acquaintance ensconced in his favourite chair. The butler apologised. The lady would take no denial, he explained. She had nearly worn out the knocker. He could not turn out one of the sex by neck and shoulders. Maybe it was really something of weight that made her so persistent. But my Lord Clare was quite another man from when he went to London, and was in no mood to brook liberties. He had seen Mr. Pitt there; had, much to the amusement of that gentleman, reviled my Lord Cornwallis, his policy, and his blunt manner; had explained away the fiasco at the first voting for union, and had been graciously received. Mr. Pitt had smiled on him while Mr. Fox sneered; had hinted that if he and Lord Castlereagh did their work cleverly there would be no end to the honours which his Majesty would heap on them. They must not be discouraged, but slave away--hammer and tongs--till the object was achieved. After all, it was at this juncture merely a matter of a little tact. As an earnest of future favour, my Lord Clare was created Baron Fitzgibbon in the Peerage of England, and returned home an inch taller and three times as overbearing as he had shown himself before.
Once the union arranged, Lord Cornwallis would depart; Lord Clare would resume his lofty position in Irish politics, and from his new place in the English House of Lords would coerce British politicians on special subjects, as he had browbeaten a succession of British viceroys. But before this delicious dream could be realised there was much to be done, which required careful manipulation. Lord Castlereagh had kept himau courantduring his absence of what passed in Dublin. He was aware that, fired by indignation at the breaking of the compact and the condemnation of his brother, untried, to penal servitude, young Robert had left London abruptly and gone home. The young cockatrice, as he elected to call him, meant mischief--would certainly give trouble--and at an inconvenient moment. He must be watched--bagged--gagged--swept away like a tiresome fly. It would not do to have insurrections now. He was aware that the Irish parliament--servile hitherto--was playing pranks and kicking up its heels, raising the price of its suicide, to the annoyance of Lord Castlereagh and the rage of Lord Cornwallis. He had seen a letter from the Viceroy to the Duke of Portland, wherein the former pleaded once more for the emancipation of the Catholics, declaring that if they were kept out in the cold, the important measure which was to be a new bulwark to England would have a foundation of sand; vowing that he was sick of dirty water; that if there was no prospect of getting out of the country he would offer earnest prayers to Heaven for immediate death. Mr. Pitt, when he showed this letter to Lord Clare, spoke openly without mincing matters. The King was obdurate about the Catholics. Lord Clare knew that. They must be cajoled, however; led on by specious promises and then betrayed; treated in fact after the ingenious fashion in which Lord Clare had shown himself so consummate a master in the matter of the compact with the state prisoners. The Irish Chancellor, primed by Lord Castlereagh, explained the difficulties of the situation with crystal clearness to Mr. Pitt. It was now merely a matter of £ s. d. How much or how little didn't signify, since the blood-money was to be supplied by the victim herself. The Lords and Commons having made the plunge, were totally divested of all shame. They made use of a small party of anti-unionists as a lever to dig out more gold; swearing that they would all go over to that party unless their demands were complied with in all their greed. Thus was it with the upper class. The lower class was apathetic and hopeless--all except a few United Irishmen, who were making a new attempt to attain their ends by stirring up discord and division. The anti-unionists were leaving no stone unturned to inflame the spirit of the people. But the spirit was gone out of them. There would be a tussle for it, no doubt. It would be well for decorum's sake to postpone the conclusion of the business for a few months, for it would look bad for the senators who were to be freshly bought to seem to change their opinions too suddenly. Europe would laugh if men who declared in April that union meant destruction were in May to turn round and vote in favour of it. Finally Mr. Pitt sent his tool home again, bidding him be discreet and diligent, and laughed in his sleeve so soon as his back was turned.
Lord Clare was puffed out with self-importance when he strutted into his house and found Madam Gillin ensconced there as though she were its mistress. Taking no heed of his frowns, she wagged her feathers with satisfaction, and straightway unfolded her budget. He was as much astonished as she could possibly desire. Shane then was illegitimate, and Terence the true Lord Glandore! This was the clue to much which had seemed inexplicable in my lady. Poor old friend! how she must have suffered--and she innocent, except in aiding and abetting her husband when it was too late to do anything else. It was evident that, born of the same parents, it was a cruel law which would treat one brother (and the elder one too) as a pariah for lack of a few sentences droned through the nose. It was natural that a mother should feel this strongly, and in a wrong-headed feminine way make difficulties greater in her efforts to gloze them over. But the old lord was right when he spoke the warning. His sons were only boys; they might have stepped into their legal places then without much harm resulting. But now after the long lapse of years, the situation wore another aspect. Shane had grown to manhood--to the prime of life--under the impression that he was true master of wealth and broad acres. His life had taken its permanent shape. It would be a smashing blow to him were his brother to come forward and claim his own. The position of Terence too was a singularly unhappy one. He had been bitterly wronged. Of that there could be no doubt, and his mother must have walked on red-hot ploughshares when she beheld him going straight to ruin. If he had been acknowledged as 'my lord' he would have done, of course, as the majority of lords did--would never have thought of joining the popular party, would not now be preparing to leave his country--a brokenhearted exile. For even the most virtuous in the Upper House were content at this juncture to remain neutral. Poor, poor old friend! What anguish must have been hers when she contemplated all this, as she must have done daily, without having strength to say the words she should have said! Actually she had been doomed to watch her own son drifting into the dark waters, and with her own hands to cut the rope which might have saved him. No wonder if her hair was white--her face of ashen pallor. No wonder if she was haunted by a ghost who never left her side. Mrs. Gillin's story actually took away the breath of the chancellor as his mind wandered through the fields of the past, putting this and that together, fitting pieces of a puzzle into their places which hitherto had defied his skill.
In the first place he was moved with pity for the Countess of Glandore. Sure, her sufferings--dragged out and intensified instead of being healed by Time--would have turned long ago a less steady brain than hers. Poor lady! at this very moment her trials were at their acme. The son who had been so much wronged was about to depart on his sad journey. Would she have the courage to let him go without speaking the truth? And if she spoke the truth, what line would he take? It was a pity he had not been hanged in the ordinary course of events. He would then have gone to his grave in ignorance of the wrong done to him. The knot would have been severed. For, failing Terence, the title would be extinct; and, bastard or not, my lady's conscience would have been at rest with regard to Shane's inheriting. As he turned over the tangled mass he could not decide for which of the three he ought to be most sorry. Their cruel case touched the good portion of his heart--in which there was room for compassion for these three persons, whom he had known intimately for years; two of whom had grown up before his eyes. Shane's case was a most dreadful one. But not more cruel than Terence's. All things considered, it would be best that Terence should never learn the truth, or Shane either. Things had gone so far that nothing but evil could come of their positions being reversed.
This was the verdict of the chancellor, and a worldly-wise one too. For he knew not that my lady's overburthened soul had already vomited forth the truth; that she had confessed to Shane, now, several weeks ago. This was his verdict, and Mrs. Gillin was reluctantly compelled to admit that he was right. But he, on the other hand, fully agreed with her that something must be done forthwith for Terence. The Viceroy must be spoken to, the King even must be interviewed--a pardon gained for the doomed exile without telling him the cause of it. By being deprived of a fortune which was legally his, he had been fearfully wronged. For the sake of others it would be well that he should never know how much. All things considered, his was a case for clemency. His Majesty, who was jealous of the ermine, and loved not to see it dragged through the mud, would appreciate at once the peculiarities with which the case was invested. But to hoodwink suspicion he must be advised to avoid too abrupt a pardon, such as should set the tongues of busybodies clacking. Terence must in a careless way be left behind when the vessel sailed, which was now lying ready in the Liffey. He must be made to promise to conspire no more, and then be given to understand quietly that his misdeeds would be graciously forgotten.
Gillin went away content, and with a light heart. She had fulfilled her promise of protecting the son of her old lover. Shane, it was decided, was still to be Lord Glandore. Norah's mamma might now, with an easy conscience, set about the clinching of that match which she considered would be beneficial to her child. My lady's reluctant consent could be wrung from her by fear of her secret becoming known. She might even be told in plain words that her own evil imagination had conjured up baseless phantoms--that Norah was born two months before her mother made the acquaintance of the late lord, and that she had been brought up a Protestant by his desire simply for the sake of evading certain clauses in the Penal Code, which might jeopardise his legacy to a Catholic.
Madam Gillin had seen through my lady's terrors upon this point all along, and had played on them to revenge herself for the stern chatelaine's contemptuous airs. For the same cause she had first imagined a match between the two young people, which their own inclinations seemed inclined to ratify. It would be rare sport to bring the haughty woman to the dust, and compel her to accept Norah as a daughter! It would be, too, a spectacle of ineffable delight to see Norah make her appearance at a drawing-room by theentréeby virtue of her rank as countess! The fascinating idea took possession of the worthy woman; yet shrank she not from that to which she considered herself bound by oath. She would have kicked over with her own fat foot, if need were, the palace she had built, and have thought no more of Norah as mistress of Strogue Abbey and the possible intimate friend of a lady-lieutenant; but she was none the less charmed to find that duty and delight were not incompatible, that Lord Clare was decided in his opinion that Shane must still wear the coronet.
Lord Clare considered and reconsidered the strange embroglio whilst refreshing his inner man with chicken-pasty for a long business talk with Castlereagh. There were several reasons why Shane must not be ousted now. What with pugnacious waifs and strays from the broken ranks of the United Irishmen; what with the honesty of a small band of senators, and the rapacity of the remainder, there would be a very pretty fight ere this union could be jotted down in history. To make success certain consummate tact would be required, as well as a full purse. Every vote would be of enormous worth; Castlereagh in his latest bulletin had computed the votes of ordinary M.P.'s at £5000 a head. The title of Glandore carried with it parliamentary pressure of many kinds; direct or indirect influence over constituencies, as well as weight in the Upper House. If all this influence were transferred from Shane to Terence, it would be used on the wrong side. He would certainly join Lords Downshire and Powerscourt and other troublesome persons, who dared to flout the King; would sneer at English marquisates and be faithful to the errors which beset an heir-presumptive. It behoved the chancellor to be cunning on this as on other points. There was no telling what might happen next, in so singularly involved a complication as this of the Glandore family. Two points only were quite apparent. Terence, the real earl, must not go into captivity. Shane, the sham earl, must be retained in his position, at least until he had borne his share in securing the success of the Great Measure.
When Castlereagh arrived presently at Ely Place, he disturbed his colleague's complacency by hints of difficulty independent of money or of votes. Not only was the scatter-brained school-lad Robert Emmett back in Ireland (this was no news); but he was showing that he was a cockatrice indeed. All his acts were watched, his intentions known; but he was doing considerable damage already to the cause of Government, and bade fair to make himself still more objectionable. He was actually starting the foolish old plots again which had only been allowed to run their course at all for state reasons, and which were now altogether preposterous and out of date. He prated of tying together the ravelled strands of the confederacy. Major Sirr had intelligence of midnight meetings of the good old kind, with passwords which everybody knew. Had even seen a wonderful green uniform, with a cocked hat like a merry-andrew's at a fair, which was being manufactured for the younger Emmett.
'The boy is an honest boy,' Lord Castlereagh averred. 'He is simply running his head against a wall. It would be well to save him from the effects of his own lunacy, if possible; a strait waistcoat would fit him better than his fancy dress.'
This was annoying news, but it was not all. The state of the country was unsafe, and Lord Cornwallis was of opinion that, unless the measure could speedily be finished off, difficulties might arise which it was the interest of all parties to avoid. Time was when the lash and halter were salutary instruments; but now it was essential that they should be used no more. Agrarian outrages were becoming ominously frequent. Not only property was in danger, but life too. Not merely the life of the low scum, which of course didn't matter, but the precious lives of lords and ladies. Some lords, indeed, the remembrance of whose performances on the triangle made them specially unpopular, had been obliged to surround their mansions with foreign troops, and were delighted to escape from the homes of their forefathers to the safer atmosphere of Dame Street and the Castle. Was not that awkward? Even that was not all! Here was something worse. At the time when the English militia regiments were drafted into Ireland for the protection of the proprietors, it was agreed that their enforced stay should not exceed a certain period, with option of eventually returning home or lingering on as might be deemed convenient. The specified time was up now. In a wild chorus--as eager as the Viceroy's private solo--they all declared that they would not remain on Irish soil a moment longer than they could help. Even the strong influence of Lord Cornwallis, who kept his solo for his private bedchamber when his nightcap was on, could only obtain a month or two's delay. Things were shaky. Another Hurry might be brought about unless those in office were careful and it would be monstrous inconvenient if such a contingency were to take place.
This, according to Lord Castlereagh's account, was in the future. Let us look at the present, which was sad enough.
The melancholy convoy started for Fort George. Women, children, and strong men crowded to the quay, and wept as the martyrs were wafted to their prison. Young Robert Emmett was seen to wave his hand from a window towards Tom, who stood at the ship's bows to take his last look at Erin. So soon as the vessel was out of sight, the young man kneeled down by the open casement with both arms aloft, and swore an oath there to repel the Sassenagh yet, or perish in the attempt. Many of those who were wearily plodding homeward recognised his figure and his action, and, kneeling too, registered their vows in concert. All the first leaders of the United Irishmen who were not dead were on board that transport; and Robert, left alone, set to work with a will (as Castlereagh graphically put it) to batter his head against a wall. He engaged mysterious premises, decayed warehouses in back slums, from out of which came by-and-by the hum of many voices, the clang of many anvils. The Battalion of Testimony peeped through the keyholes, and were mightily amused. This infantile echo of the preparations of '96 and '97 was diverting--a right jovial jest--a jolly jape! They related to Major Sirr and his crony, Cassidy, all they had seen and heard, and those worthies roared too, till tears of exhausted merriment ran down their cheeks.
The young enthusiast's guileless arrangements for driving the Englishry into the sea were ridiculous, no doubt. He kept the details of them to himself, never telling those who loved him of them. As they were not in the habit of looking through keyholes, they knew not that he was working in earnest; that he had determined in his own mind, should the union pass, to make the first shaking out of the united flag upon the Castle his signal for attack; when a handful of scatter-brains, as unpractical as himself, should storm the Castle, kill the Viceroy, proclaim Ireland free, and the Act of Union a valueless piece of dirty parchment. Jack Cade's rabblement was no whit more laughable an assemblage than the army which Robert proposed to lead to victory. The authorities consulted as to what should be done with him, and decided that it would be safer to allow him to stir up a little dust in the metropolis than to drive him into the provinces, where he really might give serious trouble. It would be better to let the affair come to a head at once, while the English militia and my Lord Cornwallis were still at hand. It was fortunate for Government that Robert kept his secret so well; for if his friends had been aware of his guileless plots, they would have applied at once to the Viceroy, who would have had no alternative but to lock up the firebrand and allow the coals to smoulder. Not even to Sara did he speak openly; though he certainly did let out vague hints which frightened the damsel not a little; not even to Terence did he speak at all--to Terence, who remained quietly in seclusion at the Abbey for months after the vessel sailed, wondering if he was forgotten, or whether he was set apart to head a second convoy.
As for Doreen, so soon as her amazement had abated (which resulted from the eavesdropping), it gave place to a feeling of uneasiness. Her aunt had spoken of the disposal of her hand as a matter of convenience, for the benefit of Shane; and she now deciphered all the riddle which had seemed so crabbed and contradictory. With apprehension she awaited a change in the young lord's demeanour, expected him to play the lover, and be miserable, as orthodox suitors are. He was undoubtedly most miserable, but he made no attempt to play the lover. Although she knew it not, her own manner was the maiden's safeguard. Cousin Shane, who had always been repelled by her cold ways, felt that he might as well try to make love to a dead body as to this full-blooded girl, who, like Terence, announced that her life was done. Have we not read somewhere of a certain prince who espoused an ice-maiden for the sake of her dowry? She clasped him in her arms, and froze him slowly. Just such a bride would Miss Wolfe be to Shane. And yet he saw that his mother was right. If Terence were somehow to learn the secret, and to claim his own, what would become of his illegitimate brother? His mother was right, as she always was. Lord Kilwarden's nest-egg would keep the wolf from the door. What a pity it could not be his without the burthen of the accompanying ice-maiden! As he looked round he decided reluctantly that there was no other rock to make for; that he must force his inclinations, give up Norah, possess himself of Doreen; but the sight of her dreary face and listless demeanour was always enough to put to rout his most firm resolve--the while he cursed himself for his repulsion. My lady's ghost was his companion now as well as hers. It communed with him in the night; it whispered to him by day. The countess perceived the leaven of fear working within him, and her burthen became, if possible, more heavy on her back. Irresistible impulse had impelled her to confess. An indistinct dread of open rupture between the brothers had forced her to give Shane a reason for more considerate behaviour towards Terence. But the shot, she found, had entirely missed its mark. Shane was not a good man; he was gross, brutal, and endowed with none of the attributes of the serpent. He was not like Cassidy, for instance. If he hated a person, all the world might know it. By virtue of his bringing-up as Chief of Blasters and King of Cherokees, he was terribly handy with rapier and pistol; could send his closest friend to Hades without compunction; but then it must be done according to the rules set down by the Knights of Tara, and in open battle, with paces marked out and seconds looking on. Like many selfish men, he could be good-natured so long as affability was cheap. But how grievously had my lady been mistaken in supposing that fear would induce civility to Terence, in proportion to the wrong that he was doing him. On the contrary, by the light of my lady's confession, he saw Terence from such an aspect, that his hitherto colourless dislike was turned, at once to fiercest hate. Terence was his junior--one, too, who had brought himself, by his own acts, to shipwreck, and had done much besides to spoil his elder's prospects. And this fellow--six years younger than himself--was to take the bread out of his mouth, because, forsooth, their father and mother had postponed the mouthing of a few words!
From Shane's point of view it was monstrously unjust. By right of father and of mother he was Lord Glandore. He could not--would not--be commonly civil to this fellow, who might, some of these days, eject him from all that made life pleasant. Vainly his unhappy mother argued. The case, he persisted, stood thus, and no otherwise. She could not alter what was done, if she talked till Doomsday. Vainly she vowed that the secret lay between him and her and Mrs. Gillin. He must not be rude to Mrs. Gillin, or jilt her daughter, all at once. That amourette must be allowed to dwindle by slow degrees, till it should fade out from sheer lack of sustenance. Meanwhile he must make up to Doreen and be civil to Terence, trusting that events would shape themselves rightly after all. If the worst came to the worst, his mother would speak solemnly to Terence, reminding him of the oath he made by his father's death-bed that he would be loyal to the elder-born, and adjure him not to stain his soul by perjury. At mention of that circumstance Shane pished and pshawed, for at best it was an oath wrung wrongfully from a little lad; and he felt with dismay that if she was inclined to cling to such broken reeds as that, her hopes could not be so rosy as she pretended. Sometimes, in despair, he determined to throw up the game; to seek better fortune in some foreign service; to offer his sword and courage to Austria or Prussia; then, in reckless mood, he would veer round, swearing that he would hold by his coronet till it was torn out of his grasp; that the grave would be preferable to disgrace and beggary. This mood assumed after a while the upper hand; and under its influence he did things which capped his earlier fame as King of Cherokees, and bade fair to land him in a madhouse.
He gave way more and more to drink. His conduct became daily less trammelled by accepted rules. He took up a passion for hunting in the night. To his dogs, who followed their noses, it was all one whether they tracked their prey by rays of sun or moon. To carry out my Lord Glandore's conceit, however, it was necessary to provide flambeaux. A number of servants, well mounted, led the way with torches over drain and wall, and the shuddering cottiers, startled from sleep by a nocturnal 'Tallyho!' turned round again to resume their broken rest, muttering that it was not hell let loose, only mad Glandore.
Perhaps his uncertain future urged him to break his neck like a gentleman; perhaps he only sought in oddity a refuge from his muddled thoughts. At any rate, he soon became the talk of Dublin, and his mother grew daily more haggard and more wan.
Among the men whom Shane met every day in the capital was Mr. Cassidy, who, by dint of haymaking during the brief time when the sun shone, had materially improved his position in life. Hand and glove with Major Sirr, who watched young Robert like a lynx, and whose private duties on behalf of union were no less important than they had been in preceding years, he managed to stuff his nest with comfortable wadding, manufactured chiefly from bank-notes. He took care that Government should know that but for him Tone would have escaped, and Terence possibly, and many others. He cultivated the powerful, bullied the timid, flattered the vain, duped the credulous, amused the convivial. He received a handsome pension (as depository of awkward secrets), which raised him for ever above the rank of a half-mounted to that of a gentleman to the backbone; received splendid presents from suspected persons who quaked before a vision of Fort George; laid money by; was altogether a prosperous individual, with a band of spies under his own orders--the flower and pride of the Staghouse garden. And prosperity sat well upon his jolly features. Impunity gave himaplomb. His clothes were handsome, his entertainments festive. He could sing a song or crack a bottle against any man alive. He was not puffed up by success. It was but natural that he should be elected by acclamation a Cherokee; a Blaster; that he should be welcomed among the set of drunken, swearing, fighting daredevils by Shane, their leader, who had always been his patron. The influence of so merry a blade was sure to become great amongst the rackety M.P.'s, who would shortly be called upon to vote. Promises of great things to come were freely made by the chancellor and his colleague Castlereagh, if those who inclined to backsliding were well kept to the sticking-point.
Now a very brilliant idea burst at the right moment from the brain of Mr. Cassidy--an idea which showed that he understood the foibles of his countrymen, and well knew how best to play on them. Watchful Europe decided some time before that the Irish senate was hopelessly disgraced, and branded its members with a verdict of moral cowardice. They could not with truth deny the soft impeachment, yet they attempted to justify themselves by showing that physically at least they were no cowards. Shane was but one example out of many. 'Fighting Fitzgerald' was even more wild than he. The palm of perfect Cherokeeism was awarded to Lord Glandore in some measure from consideration of his rank. The Lords and Commons made up for the moral cowardice, of which they were notoriously guilty, by an extra amount of blustering and ruffling. They were aristocratic bravoes. Their hands were always on their swords. What better opportunity for a little 'play' than diversity of political opinion? Mr. Cassidy (newly elected to Daly's, hard by the senate-house) proposed that covers should be laid there every day, at Government expense, for--say--thirty or forty guests at least, who could thus be counted upon, on an emergency, to swell the ranks of the Government party in either House; and who, inflamed with wine and enthusiasm, would be delighted to shoot down, or spit, on shortest notice, any unwise person who should disagree from the opinions of their amphitryon. This project was thought ingenious, and was acted on. The feasts were known as 'pistol-dinners,' and took place--either at Daly's or in a committee-room adjoining, until theirraison d'êtrehad ceased--under the superintendence of Mr. Cassidy, who, wise enough to assume for a purpose a lower seat, placed this or that lorden evidence, as circumstances seemed to dictate. It was only natural that he should push forward as much as possible his patron, Lord Glandore; and the latter, as he grew more reckless and more claret-stained, came to glory in the unenviable privilege, and to put trust in the cheery friend who once was proud to be his slave.
He told him his passing woes, asked his advice, and sometimes took it. If you are sorely troubled, and in your anxiety to conceal that you are losing your nerve, force yourself on to preposterous deeds of prowess, there is much comfort to be obtained from the sympathetic ring of a jolly voice, the warm clasp of a shoulder-of-mutton hand. Cassidy, too, was so open and so innocent--so easily seen through. Lord Glandore felt a sort of disdain for him, dubbing him, with patrician condescension, a big grown-up baby, and so forth--even whilst he clutched for support the giant's burly arm. And Cassidy was no whit offended, laughing more loudly than ever as his patron's jests waxed broader--till the windows shook again, and the sound-waves carried a shimmer of his braying from Daly's to the House of Peers.
Sometimes Lord Clare deigned to encourage his satellites by appearing in person, during an interval of debate, at a pistol-dinner, whilst Lord Castlereagh was entertaining on a grand scale at home. Then were toasts drunk with three times three--Government toasts, to which the chancellor responded in a voice broken by emotion, with a lowly visage and hand pressed on heart; toasts which were borne on the air out of open windows to the ears of passers-by, who, scowling, hurried away. Then, fired by his hints, the pot-valiant heroes would rush forth and run a-muck--a right jovial way of finishing an evening from the point of view of a Cherokee; and the chancellor, protesting that the boys really were too lively and amusing, would return to the House alone by the private covered way.
One evening, when appearing amongst them to announce that the crisis was close at hand, he professed to be mightily alarmed by the proceedings of the opposition party. These were in the habit of meeting at my Lord Charlemont's, and on this occasion, he said with sorrow, they had dared to insult the King, in the person of his ministers, by burning himself and Lord Castlereagh in effigy in the middle of Stephen's Green. The chancellor said that it was most unkind and inconsiderate. Yet with Christian meekness he implored the faithful servants of his Majesty to take no notice of the outrage. The result was as he intended. With a wild war-whoop the lords and M.P.'s rose up from dinner, dragging the tablecloth with them in their zeal, and rushed off to Stephen's Green to fight it out. The anti-unionists were speedily put to flight, for they were few. By this means, and such tricks as this, did the crafty minister strive to browbeat the timid, many of whom, unassailable from any other point, were to be coerced into submission by the bullet-test.
Two only of the diners remained behind--both of whom were usually in the very van--Lord Glandore and Cassidy. The former was much out of sorts. The latter, certain that there was something on his mind, lay in wait to discover what it could be. He was very fond of penetrating other people's mysteries, was Mr. Cassidy--for it is astonishing how an ingenious mind can turn them to its own advantage--and Mr. Cassidy was always on the prowl to pick up stray wadding for his nest. He therefore, with a look of concern, sat down beside my lord, whose face lay on his arms upon the table, and rallied him about his evident depression.
'Come, come!' he cried, with a pat of his great hand. 'Sure your lordship's head was not well seasoned in its youth. What ails ye? The claret's good enough.'
'I wish I could be drowned in it!' Shane muttered with despondency; 'and then there'd be an end. There was a Duke of Clarence killed that way, you know--lucky fellow!'
'Is it kilt? 'Deed and your lordship won't come to so mean a death, I'll warrant; though ye're mighty careless of your life--more than I'd be if all you have was mine.'
Shane started up with a fierce glare. Everybody's chance arrows seemed winged to stick into his flanks. But he saw nothing in the giant's flat, round visage but an engaging air of humour and unguarded openness. What a good-natured face! Shane, weaker than his mother, yearned for sympathy and consolation; the secret she had carried so long with heroic fortitude ate into his softer fibre, and devoured him. He was at his small wits' end to know how to act. Cassidy's warm heart and kindly friendship might perchance suggest something. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings wisdom has come ere now. Acting on the impulse, Shane, with maudlin tears, swore his dear friend to solemn secrecy, and amidst a coruscation of cries and curses, blurted out the story which we wot of.
'What a cruel, cruel world it was!' he wailed, 'and what a bitter fate was his! He would certainly come to be a beggar--would be thrown out upon the world an outcast, he, who was not fitted to battle with it--for my lady was very queer in her ways, would be certain to tell Terence some day, just as she had told him. Why had she ever told him? wicked and unnatural mother to cause him such harrowing grief! Why was not Terence hanged? Why didn't they send him to Fort George? Once taken out of sight, the chances of my lady's blabbing would be lessened.'
Cassidy sat listening to his rambling lamentations, with his china-blue eyes staring vacantly; then hummed to himself the words of the old song while his nimble brain was working: