My Lords of Strogue Volume I Part 8

'You dared to speak to her?'

'No; I retired. But she looked after me with such a strange pity.

Aunt, why do you object to my knowing this lady, though all the world speaks well of her? Shane goes to the Little House, and Norah makes him welcome. He told me so. I have seen Norah often, and she is very pretty. What does it all mean? Is Shane going to marry her? May I speak to her when she's Shane's wife? If he knows and likes the Gillins, why should not I, who, as a Catholic, have a sort of right to cherish them?'

My lady started and stood still, as if she had seen an adder in her path, and said in an altered voice:

'Have I not commanded you never to mention that woman's name before me? Shane is more wild than I could wish. He does what he chooses; and, besides, a man may do what a woman may not. If he were well married, he would grow quieter, no doubt. Your father's wish is the same as mine. You know it, and are obstinate.'

Doreen was astonished, for Lady Glandore was not given to displays of emotion; and now she was much agitated, while her features worked as if in physical pain. Kissing her niece on the forehead, she gathered up her skirts and walked rapidly back towards the house.

For an hour and more the girl wandered in the pleasaunce, taking no heed of dew, though her high-waisted dress was of the thinnest muslin.

She was weighing her aunt's hints, and the strange complications of her own position.

There could be no further doubt that my lady desired to unite her niece to Shane. Doreen had suspected it before, but the idea seemed too preposterous. What motive could be strong enough to bring about so amazing a desire on the part of the proud chatelaine, as a union between one of the hated faith, whose mother was of doubtful origin, and the dearly-loved head of the Glandores, who was young, rich, Protestant, good-looking? That she should ever come to permit a match even with the poor younger son, whom she did not love, would be surprising enough; but a motive might be found for that in his poverty and extravagance, and her trifling nest-egg. The blot on the escutcheon would not have mattered so much in his case, for he was unlikely ever to wear the coronet, and the attorney-general's sc.r.a.pings would have gilded a more unpleasant bolus than his handsome daughter.

But Shane, who by reason of his wealth and position was a great catch, who might throw his handkerchief to whom he pleased! What could be the reason? Was it that his mother dreaded his being caught by some low and penniless adventuress--he who was so self-willed and given to low company? It could hardly be that; for in the eyes of the chatelaine, Doreen herself was little better, save in the way of money; and where the young earl was himself so wealthy, her little fortune could not be taken into consideration. If he would only go into good society, Shane might aspire to the most brilliant match.

It was a riddle to which the damsel could find no solution, so she began calmly to consider how she should act herself. Should she yield to her aunt's wishes, and a.s.sume the high position of the young earl's bride? If she said 'Yes,' would Shane indeed take her to his bosom, or would he be disobedient in this as other things? If he came and asked her, would she say 'Yes,' or 'No?' She was amazed to find that she was by no means sure. He was an ign.o.ble sot, a drunkard, and a debauchee; but, in the eyes of most young ladies, such qualities were rather admired than not. It was thought fine for a spark's eye to have a n.o.ble fierceness which softened to the mildness of the dove when contemplating 'the s.e.x.' But then Doreen's education had been peculiar--different in many ways to that of other young ladies--partly on account of her motherlessness, partly because of the faith she professed. The Penal Code had eaten into her soul--she was more thoughtful and sober than girls of her age usually are; was given to day-dreams and impracticable heroic longings, tinged, all of them, by a romance due to her Irish nature and the romantic conditions of her time.

She had never thought much of marrying or giving in marriage, and it came upon her now as a new light, that by a marriage she might benefit the 'cause.' As she sauntered up and down, she reflected that, by espousing Shane, she might make of herself a Judith for her people's sake. Shane was already sodden and sottish, given to excessive tippling. She, Doreen, was of a masculine strength of character, and knew it. Once established at the Abbey as its mistress, why should she not take on herself the control of the estates, as the present countess did, and manage them according to her liking? The United Irishmen were sadly in need of funds. Tone had said that a bloodless revolution was impossible. Arms and powder would be required when the struggle came. Why should not she provide a portion of it out of the wealth of the lord of Strogue? It seemed an ign.o.ble thing to do; yet, for the cause's sake, was not anything justifiable? Did not Judith, the n.o.blest of women, the purest of patriots, lower herself to the disguise of a harlot for the saving of her people? Doreen felt the holy flame burning within her, which goes to the making of Judiths.

Her father, though she loved him fondly, could never be of real service to her. What would he think of such a wedding? It mattered not, situated as she was. Her battle of life must be fought alone, without help from any one. She was fully aware of that, and was prepared to fight it--to the end--after her own fashion.

She was startled from her reverie by the banging of doors and shouts of discordant laughter. Ca.s.sidy had been singing some time since in the young men's wing, trolling out pathetic ballads for the edification of Terence and his chief--but these had retired to rest long since. This must be the young lord and his boon companions--come to finish the night in wine and play as joyous gallants should. It would be awkward to meet them in their cups; so she stole as noiselessly as might be through the golden gate, past the sun-dial among the flowers, and reached her chamber, which was over the chintz drawing-room (her own boudoir), just as there came a crash and awful din in the hall. Then followed a babel of angry voices. Lights appeared in the dining-hall opposite, the blinds of which were not drawn down, and a posse of young n.o.bles--their clothes muddy and disarranged; their hair dishevelled; their action wild and excited--crowded in around their host. She could distinguish my lord by the glistening of his diamond coat-b.u.t.tons as he was held back by four companions, from whose grasp he strove to free himself. One of them, whose brain was less heated than the rest, had removed his _couteau de cha.s.se_ from its sheath, and was expostulating with him; but he was evidently not to be appeased without a scapegoat, for he kept pointing angrily at a broken bust of William III. which my lady had crowned with laurel that very day.

She could see that somebody had upset the bust, and that my lord wished to wipe out the insult to the Protestant champion with the blood of the offender. My lady did not appear. She had been well broken to orgies of the kind by the late lord, and took no heed of the uproar; but the aged butler, who, as a matter of course, had produced magnums of claret in tin frames upon the appearance of the party, seemed to be coaxing his young master into good temper, and with some success apparently, for by-and-by the _couteau de cha.s.se_ was given back and the party settled down amicably, having first tossed the offender out of window, who lay snoring upon the flower-beds till morning, wrapped in the sound sleep of drunkards.

Doreen sat at the open window, her chin buried in her hand, watching the proceedings of her cousin. His cravat was gone; his fair young chest exposed; his velvet surtout torn and stained; his striped silk stockings in tatters; the bunches of ribbon wrenched from off his half-boots. His face was blotched and bloated; his forehead disfigured by an ugly cicatrice which turned of a bright red when he was far gone in liquor or in pa.s.sion. She saw him rise on his unsteady legs and wave a goblet at the fractured bust, while he clung with the other arm round the neck of the youth next to him. Then all the rest rose and bowed as well as they were able; some falling on the floor in the attempt and remaining there, while the others sat down to their drink again and clamoured for cards, shouting the while a chorus, which came m.u.f.fled to her through the window-gla.s.s.

'And it's ho! ro! the sup of good drink-- And ho! ro! the heart would not think; Oh, had I a shilling lapped up in a clout, It's a sup of good drink that would wheedle it out!'

Doreen sat staring till the chill of morning penetrated to her bones through the light robe of muslin. Then she crept stiff and weary into bed, while her teeth chattered and alternate douches of hot and cold water seemed pouring down her back. She had been studying Shane with a new interest, and trembled for her future peace, for, as she watched with senses sharpened, she was dismayed at the hideous preponderance of the animal in her cousin's nature. Never had she looked at him so earnestly before. It was like binding one's self to a hog for life.

Sure Holofernes was not so degraded, or the fort.i.tude of Judith would have given way. He was a warrior, mighty in battle, who, though an enemy, commanded respect. A glorious athlete such as 'tis woman's prerogative to outwit--as Delilah outwitted Samson, as Omphale conquered Hercules. Her ordeal too was of short duration. How differently severe would be the self-appointed task of this modern Judith, who contemplated tying herself deliberately for the whole of her life to a man who disgusted her in spite of his good looks; who, when shorn of the vulgar halo of animal courage, was no better than a brawler and a bravo. She might not strive to reform him, for with his reformation he would of course take the reins of his affairs, and the power of his wife would end, for which alone she married him. It would be her duty rather to encourage him in evil ways, and coax him down the ladder. Was she capable, she kept asking herself, as shuddering she drew the sheets around her, of so tremendous a sacrifice as this?

Tone's, sublime as she considered it, was nothing to what hers would be. He had thrown away earthly pelf, was a fugitive and an outlaw; but he retained his self-respect. Could she retain hers if Shane became her husband? No. Doreen confessed to herself that the position would be impossible. If it had been Terence, now! He was foolish and gay and distressingly healthy; under no pressure whatever could he bud into a hero. He was humdrum, and her native romance revolted from the humdrum. A fine grown man with a good temper and a prosaic appet.i.te.

Why, if he were to occupy Shane's shoes, all Dublin would be envying her luck and remarking how brazenly she had set her cap at him. Horror of horrors! How terribly commonplace! Then the girl upbraided herself for such foolish thoughts. Terence would never become Lord Glandore, and as a simple fisherman and sportsman could never win his cousin.

Perhaps my lady was right in warning her to remember that he was grown up. He was a dear good boy, but wofully prosaic. But what had such as she to do with unmaidenly meditations anent marrying and giving in marriage? Sackcloth and ashes were the portion of the Catholics, who were treated as the Jews had been by the Crusaders. The sooner they died out the better. What a wonderful idea that was of Aunt Glandore's! If she were seriously bent on anything, she was not easy to baffle. Would it be best to speak out at once and brave a certain storm, or to let things be, hoping to be delivered by some unexpected means? While she was debating this knotty question, her thoughts became gradually confused, and she sank into troubled slumber.

CHAPTER VII.

TRINITY.

Mr. Curran took the bait tendered to him by the chancellor. He made inquiries, sorted the fragments of his puzzle after his own fashion, and, filled with suspicions, became anxious to unveil without delay the fresh dangers which menaced his friends. And dangers so easy to unveil! The fowler cared not, it seemed, to mask his engines of destruction. Mr. Curran, from his place in the senate, publicly warned ministers of the iniquity of their proceedings, but n.o.body troubled to listen. The friends of government gaped, vowing that the orator was a maniac, that he had the secret society on the brain, and ought to be carted to the madhouse; the few who were on the other side laughed, declaring that Mr. Curran was misinformed. What could he do then but sigh and hold his peace? At least he would speak to the Emmetts and adjure them to be cautious, for the sake of all concerned.

When Tone's society for the promotion of universal concord was driven by artful goading to become a secret one, the conspirators met to discuss their grievances in a cellar in Backlane, near the corn-market; but when the time came for extinguishing Tone and others, Sirr, the captain of Lord Clare's sbirri, swept them thence, and they were forced to find another trysting-place. Pending final decision on this point, it was arranged as a miracle of cleverness that the younger Emmett should suddenly become hospitable. Trinity was always celebrated for its rollicking wine-parties. What more natural than that young Robert should do as others did; that he, hitherto so studious, should be led astray a little by the contagious force of bad example? A good cellaret of claret was provided at the common expense; songs were sung with open windows, at all hours of the day and night, of a convivial and baccha.n.a.lian character. There was no end to the shifts to which the patriots resorted, under the belief that they were hoodwinking Major Sirr. There arose a mania for ball-playing. Clerks, shopkeepers, attorneys, would meet of an afternoon at a hall taken for the purpose, and emerge thence in an hour or two singularly cool and fresh for men who had been practising athletics. There was also a rage for fencing--a plausible excuse enough for meeting in numbers, considering that the fire-eaters of the south had just revised the laws of the duello. The youthful aristocracy, in accordance with one of the new rules, had already formed themselves into a club, called the Knights of Tara, whose members met three times a week in the theatre at Capel Street to display their prowess with the rapier before an audience of Dublin belles. What then should there be suspicious if the middle cla.s.s followed their example?

The case was not quite the same, though; for while the Knights of Tara courted observation and loved to be seen lounging in cambric shirts and broidered slippers, with their hair in curl-papers, the members of the other fencing club kept rigorously closed doors, through which no one ever heard the familiar cry, sharp as a pistol-crack, of 'Ha! a hit!'

One evening, shortly after Tone's departure, there was a full gathering in the chambers on the second floor which looked on the grand quadrangle. It was necessary to instal with solemn rites a new chief in place of the wanderer, and to fix on a distinct plan of operations for enlarging the limits of the society. Tone had left his mantle to Thomas Addis Emmett as the oldest and wisest of the band--he was thirty-five--and so, in obedience to his last wishes, the editor of the _Press_ was duly elected to the dangerous pre-eminence.

Submitting to his brother's entreaties, he commenced his reign by administering the oath to young Robert, the dreamy lad of seventeen, which was done with awful ceremonies, as became the doings of conspirators. Blinds were drawn for a few minutes that no prying gaze might penetrate the Holy of Holies; then all sat down, with the neophyte standing in their midst, while their president read through the const.i.tution. Then the oath was administered upon the Scriptures, which, together with the const.i.tution, were clasped on the bared breast, and after that a lock of hair was cut away under the queue behind, and a formula learnt by heart, by means of which one member could recognise another. It was touching to look on these brothers standing side by side, the elder receiving the younger into a fraternity, each unit of which, before many months were out, might possibly be called upon to meet an ignominious death. Thomas was big and burly, with a sedate cast of countenance which betokened thought, whilst Robert was slight of build, and looked almost like a girl, as with eyes fixed on s.p.a.ce he repeated the strange sentences, his face aglow with enthusiasm, his body trembling like a leaf.

'Are you straight?'

'I am.'

'How straight?'

'As straight as a rush.'

'Go on then?'

'In truth and trust; in unity and liberty.'

'What have you in your hand?'

'A green bough.'

'Where did it grow?'

'In America.'

'Where did it bud?'

'In France.'

'Where will you plant it?'

'In the Crown of Great Britain.'

'G.o.d be with you then, and with us all,' Thomas concluded; 'and now a gla.s.s all round to the health of the new member.'

The pledge was gravely accepted, each one raising his beaker and saying: 'To the diffusion of light!' ere he drained its contents and replaced it on the table bottom upwards.

'Now, gentlemen,' pursued Thomas. 'We have serious business before us.

Theobald will be away a year at least before help can come, and it is his wish that we should without delay prepare to graft the military upon our civil functions. With arms and ammunition Tone will provide us if he can, but they will be of little service unless we know how to use them. In the halcyon days of the Volunteers every Irishman was a soldier. Let us show that the martial spirit of our ancient kings, which then for awhile revived, is not quite dead in us.'

'I will never consent to bloodshed,' shuddered young Robert.

'Internecine strife is too horrible!'

'You have been sworn in by your own desire,' returned his brother, sternly, 'and your first duty is blind obedience. It is Tone's conviction that we must fight, and fight we will when the time comes--to the death! In revolutions there is nothing certain but blood. The march of the captives is through a Red Sea. After forty years of seeking new abodes, which of those who lead them shall touch the Promised Land? Lord Clare shows us his cards, and a pretty hand it is. Sirr is organising his paid spies into a battalion who are to dwell at the Castle like pampered pets. It is hard to believe that Irishmen will be so base. These informers are to lie _perdu_ until wanted--are to worm themselves into the confidence of suspected persons, to eat of their bread and salt, to nurse their little ones upon their knees, and then, upon a signal, to give them over to the hangman.'

'But the Viceroy!' cried Ca.s.sidy in indignation. 'Lord Camden is a man of honour who would never consent to such a plan!'