The O'Donoghue Part 39

And now he was on the very threshold of that career his heart was centred in. No wonder is it, then, if his spirits were high, and his pulse throbbing. Sir Archy's eyes seldom wandered from him; he seemed as if reading the accomplishment of all his long teaching; and as he watched the flashing looks and the excited gestures of the boy, appeared as though calculating how far such a temperament might minister to, or mar his future fortune.

The O'Donoghue was more thoughtful than usual. The idea of approaching solitude, so doubly sad to those advanced in life, depressed him. His evenings, of late, had been pa.s.sed in a happy enjoyment he had not known for years before. Separation to the young is but the rupture of the ties of daily intercourse--to the old, it has all the solemn meaning of a warning, and tells of the approach of the last dreadful parting, when adieux are said for ever. He could not help those gloomy forebodings, and he was silent and depressed.

Kate's attention wandered from the theme of Herbert's antic.i.p.ated pleasures, to think again of him, for whom none seemed now interested.

She had listened long and anxiously for some sound to mark his coming, but all was still without, and on the road, for miles, the moonlight showed no object moving; and, at last, a deep reverie succeeded to this state of anxiety, and she sat lost to all around her. Meanwhile, Sir Archy, in a low, impressive voice, was warning Herbert of the dangers of involving himself in any way in the conflicts of party politics, then so high in Dublin.

He cautioned him to reject those extreme opinions so fascinating to young minds, and which either give an unwarrantable bias to the judgment through life, or which, when their fallacy is detected, lead to a reaction as violent, and notions as false. "Win character and reputation first, Herbert: gain the position from which your opinions will come with influence, and then, my boy, with judgment not rashly formed, and a mind trained to examine great questions--then, you may fearlessly enter the lists, free to choose your place and party. You cannot be a patriot this way, in the newspaper sense of the term.--It is possible, too, our dear Kate may deem your ambition a poor one----"

"Kate, did you say?--Kate, uncle," said she, raising her head, with a look of abstraction.

"Yes, my dear, I was speaking o' some of the dangers that beset the first steps in political opinion, and telling Herbert that peril does not always bring honour."

"True, sir--true: but Mark----" She stopped, and the blush that covered her face suffused her neck and shoulders. It was not till her lips p.r.o.nounced the name, that she detected how inadvertently she had revealed the secret of her own musings.

"Mark, my sweet Kate is, I trust, in no need of my warnings; he lives apart from the struggle, and were it otherwise, he is older, and more able to form his opinions than Herbert, here."

These words were spoken calmly, and with a studious desire to avoid increasing Kate's confusion.

"What about Mark?" cried the O'Donoghue, suddenly aroused by the mention of the name. "It's very strange he should not be here to say 'good-bye'

to Kate. Did any one tell him of the time fixed for your departure?"

"I told him of it, and he has promised to be here," said Herbert; "he was going to Beerhaven for a day or two, for the shooting; but, droll enough, he has left his gun behind him."

"The boy's not himself at all, latterly," muttered the old man. "Lanty brought up two horses here the other day, and he would not even go to the door to look at them. I don't know what he's thinking of."

Kate never spoke, and tried with a great effort to maintain a look of calm unconcern; when, with that strange instinct so indescribable and so inexplicable, she felt Sir Archy's eyes fixed upon her, her cheek became deadly pale.

"There, there he comes, and at a slapping pace, too!" cried Herbert; and, as he spoke, the clattering sound of a fast gallop was heard ascending the causeway, and the next moment the bell sent forth a loud summons.

"I knew he'd keep his word," said the boy, proudly, as he walked to meet him. The door opened, and Frederick Travers appeared.

So unexpected was the disappointment, it needed all Sir Archy's practised politeness to conceal from the young Guardsman the discomfiture of the rest: nor did he entirely succeed, for Frederick was no common observer, and failed not to detect in every countenance around, that his was not the coming looked for.

"I owe a thousand apologies for the hour of my visit, not to speak of its abruptness," said he, graciously; "but we only learned accidentally to-day that Herbert was going up to Dublin, and my father sent me to request he would join our party."

"He is about to enter college," said Sir Archy, half fearing to direct the youth's mind from the great object of his journey.

"Be it so," said Fred, gaily; "we'll talk Virgil and Homer on the road."

"I'm afraid such pleasant companionship may put Greece and Rome in the background," said Sir Archy, drily.

"I'll answer for it he'll be nothing the worse for the brief respite from study; besides you'd not refuse me his company, when I tell you that otherwise I must travel alone. My father in his wisdom having decided to despatch me half a day in advance, to make preparations for his arrival. Is that quite fair, Miss O'Donoghue?"

"I protest I think not, as regards us. As for you," added she, archly, "I should say, so accomplished a traveller always finds sufficient to amuse him on the least interesting journey. I remember a little theory of yours on that subject; you mentioned it the first time I had the pleasure to meet you."

The allusion was with reference to the manner in which Travers made her acquaintance in the Bristol packet, and the cool a.s.surance of which, she, with most womanly pertinacity, had not yet forgiven. Travers, who had often felt ashamed of the circ.u.mstance, and had hoped it long since forgotten, looked the very picture of confusion.

"I perceive Sir Archibald has not taught you to respect his native proverb, Miss O'Donoghue, and let 'by-gones be by-gones.'"

"I hae taught her nothing Scotch, sir," replied Sir Archy, smiling; "but to love a thistle, and that e'en, because it has sting."

"Not from those that know how to take it, uncle," said she, archly, and with a fond expression that lit up the old man's face in smiles.

The Guardsman was less at his ease than usual; and, having arranged the matter of his visit satisfactorily, arose to take his leave.

"Then you'll be ready for me at eight, Herbert. My father is a martinet in punctuality, and the phaeton will not be a second behind time; remember that, Miss O'Donoghue, for he makes no exception, even for ladies."

He moved towards the door, then turning suddenly, said--

"By-the-bye, have you heard any thing of a movement in the country here about us? The Government have apparently got some information on the subject, but I suspect without any foundation whatever."

"To what extent does this information go?" said Sir Archy, cautiously.

"That I can't tell you; all I know is, that my father has just received a letter from the Castle, stating that we are living in the very midst of an organised rebellion, only waiting the signal for open revolt.

"That same rebellion has been going on, to my knowledge, something more than forty years" said the O'Donoghue, laughing; "and I never knew of a Lord Lieutenant or Chief Secretary who didn't discover the plot, and save the kingdom: always leaving a nest egg of treason for his successor to make a character by."

"I'm no' so sure it will not come to a hatching yet," said Sir Archy, with a dry shake of the head.

"If it is to come, I wish with all my heart it might while I have a chance of being a spectator," said Travers; then suddenly remembering that the levity of the remark might not please the others, he muttered a few words about a hope of better prospects, and withdrew.

During this brief colloquy, Kate listened with breathless interest to learn some fact, or even some well-grounded suspicion which might serve to put Mark on his guard; but nothing could be more vague and indecisive than Travers's information, and it was evident that he had not concealed any thing he knew. Was he in a position to learn more, was the next question to herself--might he not be able to ascertain where the suspicion of Government rested, and on whom? Her decisions were seldom but the work of a second, and as soon as this thought struck her, she determined to act upon it. Slipping noiselessly from the room, she hastily threw a shawl around her, and hurried from the house by a small postern door, which, leading down to the high road, was considerably shorter than the causeway by which Travers must pa.s.s.

It was no time for the indulgence of bashfulness, and indeed her thoughts were far too highly excited by another's destiny to leave any room to think of herself; and short as the path was, it sufficed to let her arrange her plan of procedure, even to the very words she should employ.

"I must not tell him it is for Mark," said she; "he must think it is a general desire to save any rash or misguided enthusiast from ruin. But, here he comes;" and at the same instant the figure of a man was seen approaching, leading his horse by the bridle. The dark shadow of the castle fell across the road at the spot, and served to make the form dim and indistinct. Kate waited not for his coming nearer, but advancing hastily towards him, cried out--

"Captain Travers, I have a favour to ask of you--one, which my coming thus to seek----"

"Say no more, Kate, lest I hear what was never intended for my ears,"

said a low, deep voice.

"Mark--cousin Mark, is this you," cried she, with mingled pleasure and shame.

"Yes," replied he, in a tone of still deeper gravity; "I grieve to disappoint you--it is me."

"Oh, Mark, mistake me not--do not wrong me," said she, laying her hand affectionately on his arm. "I have longed so much to see you--to speak to you, ere we went away."

"To see _me_--to speak to _me_," said he, stepping back, and letting the moonlight fall full upon his features, now pale as death; "it was not _me_ you expected to meet here."

"No, Mark, but it was for you I came; I wished to serve--perhaps to save you. I know your secret, Mark, but it is safe with me."

"And I know yours, young lady," retorted he, bitterly. "I cannot say how far my discretion will rival your own."

[Ill.u.s.tration: 259]

As he spoke, a horseman darted rapidly past, and as he emerged from the shadow, turned round in his saddle, stared fixedly at the figures before him, and then taking off his hat, said--

"Good-night, Miss O'Donoghue."