The O'Donoghue Part 47

If Mark O'Donoghue enjoyed heartily the story, he was not the less surprised that Harry Talbot was the hero of it--all his previous knowledge of that gentleman leading him to a very different estimate of his taste and pursuits. Indeed, he only knew Talbot from his own lips, and from them he learned to regard him as the emissary despatched by the Irish party in France, to report on the condition of the insurgents in Ireland; and, if necessary, to make preparations for the French landing on the Irish sh.o.r.es. Mark could not well understand how any one charged with such a mission, could have either wasted his time or endangered his safety by any ridiculous adventures, and did not scruple to show his astonishment at the circ.u.mstance.

Talbot smiled significantly at the remark, and exchanged a glance with Crossley, while he answered--

"Placed in such a position as I have been for some years, Mark, many different parts have been forced upon me; and I have often found that there is no such safe mask against detection, as following out the bent of one's humour in circ.u.mstances of difficulty. An irresistible impulse to play the fool, even at a moment when high interests were at stake, has saved me more than once from detection; and from habit I have acquired a kind of address at the practice, that with the world pa.s.ses for cleverness. And so, in turn, I have been an actor, a smuggler, a French officer, an Irish refugee, a sporting character, a man of pleasure, and a man of intrigue; and however such features may have blended themselves into my true character, my real part has remained undetected. Master Crossley here might furnish a hint or two towards it; but--but, as Peachem says, 'we could hang one another'--eh, Bill?"

A nod and a smile, more grave than gay, was Crossley's answer; and a silence ensued on all sides. There was a tone of seriousness even through the levity of what Talbot said, very unlike his ordinary manner; and Mark began, for the first time, to feel that he knew very little about his friend. The silence continued unbroken for some time; for while Mark speculated on the various interpretations Talbot's words might hear, Talbot himself was reflecting on what he had just uttered.

There is a very strange, but not wholly unaccountable tendency in men of subtle minds, to venture near enough to disclosures to awaken the suspicions, without satisfying the curiosity of others. The dexterity with which they can approach danger, yet not incur it, is an exercise they learn to pride themselves upon; and as the Indian guides his canoe through the dangerous rapids of the St. Lawrence--now bending to this side and to that--each moment in peril, but ever calm and collected--so do they feel all the excitement of hazard in the game of address. Under an impulse of this kind was it that Talbot spoke, and the unguarded freedom of his manner showed even to so poor an observer as Mark, that the words contained a hidden meaning.

"And our gay city of Dublin--what of it, Billy?" said he, at length rallying from his mood of thought, as he nodded his head, and drank to Crossley.

"Pretty much as you have always known it. 'A short life and a merry one,' seems the adage in favour here. Every one spending his money and character--"

"Like gentlemen, Bill--that's the phrase," interrupted Talbot; "and a very comprehensive term it is, after all. But what is the Parliament doing?"

"Voting itself into Government situations."

"And the Viceroy?"

"Snubbing the Parliament."

"And the Government in England?"

"Snubbing the Viceroy."

"Well, they are all employed, at least; and, as the French say, that's always something. And who are the playmen now?"

"The old set. Tom Whaley and Lord Drogheda--your old friend, Giles Daxon--Sandy Moore----"

"Ah, what of Sandy? They told me he won heavily at the October races."

"So he did--beggared the whole club at hazard, and was robbed of the money the night after, when coming up through Naas."

"Ha! I never heard of that, Billy. Let us hear all about it."

"It's soon told, sir. Sandy, who never tries economy till he has won largely, and is reckless enough of money when on the verge of ruin, heard, on leaving the course, that a strange gentleman was waiting to get some one to join him in a chaise up to Dublin. Sandy at once sent the waiter to open the negociations, which were soon concluded, and the stranger appeared--a fat, unwieldy-looking old fellow, with a powdered wig and green goggles--not a very sporting style of travelling companion; but no matter for that, he had a dark chestnut mare with him, that looked like breeding, and with strength enough for any weight over a country.

"'She'll follow the chaise--my son taught her that trick,' said the old fellow, as he hobbled out of the inn, and took his place in the carriage.

"Well, in jumped Sandy, all his pockets bursting with guineas, and a book of notes crammed into his hat--very happy at his adventure, but prouder of saving half the posting than all besides.

"'Keep to your ten miles an hour, my lad, or not a sixpence,' said the old gentleman, and he drew his night-cap over his eyes, and was soon snoring away as sound as need be.

"That was the last was seen of him, however, for when the postillion drew up for fresh horses at Carrick's, they found Sandy alone in the chaise, with his hands tied behind him, and his mouth gagged. His companion and the dark chestnut were off, and all the winnings along with them."

"Cleverly done, by Jove," cried Talbot, in an ecstacy of admiration.

"What a contemptible fellow your friend Sandy must be," exclaimed Mark, in the same breath. "Man to man--I can't conceive the thing possible."

"A bold fellow, well armed, Mark," observed Talbot, gravely, "might do the deed, and Sandy be no coward after all."

Chatting in this wise, the first evening was spent; and if Mark was, at times, disposed to doubt the morality of his new friend, he was very far from questioning his knowledge of mankind; his observations were ever shrewd and caustic, and his views of life, those of one, who looked at the world with a scrutinizing glance, and although the young O'Donoghue would gladly have seen in his young companion some traces of the enthusiasm he himself experienced in the contemplated rising, he felt convinced that a cooler judgment, and a more calculating head than his, were indispensable requisites to a cause beset with so many dangers. He, therefore, implicitly yielded himself to Talbot's guidance, resolving not to go anywhere, nor see any one, even his brother, save with his knowledge and consent.

If the scenes into which Talbot introduced Mark O'Donoghue were not those of fashionable life, they were certainly as novel and exciting to one so young and inexperienced. The taverns resorted to by young men of fashion, the haunts of sporting characters, the tennis court, but more frequently still the houses where high play was carried on, he was all familiar with--knew the precise type of the company at each, and not a little of their private history; still it seemed as if he himself were but little known, and rather received for the recommendation of good address and engaging manners, than from any circ.u.mstance of previous acquaintance. Mark was astonished at this, as well as that, although now several weeks in Dublin, Talbot had made no advance towards introducing him to the leading members of the insurgent party, and latterly had even but very rarely alluded to the prospect of the contemplated movement.

The young O'Donoghue was not one to harbour any secret thought long unuttered in his breast, and he briefly expressed to Talbot his surprise--almost his dissatisfaction--at the life they were leading. At first Talbot endeavoured to laugh off such inquiries, or turn them aside by some pa.s.sing pleasantry; but when more closely pressed, he avowed that his present part was a duty imposed upon him by his friends in France, who desired above all things to ascertain the feeling among young men of family and fortune in the metropolis--how they really felt affected towards England, and with what success, should French republicanism fail to convert them, would the fascinations of Parisian elegance and vice be thrown around them.

"There must be bribes for all temperaments, Mark," said he, at the end of a very lengthened detail of his views and stratagems. "Glory is enough for such as you, and happily you can have wherewithal to satisfy a craving appet.i.te; but some must be bought by gold, some by promises of vengeance upon others, some by indemnities for past offences, and not a few by the vague hope of change, which disappointed men ever regard as for the better. To sound the depths of all such motives is part of my mission here, and hence, I have rigidly avoided those by whom I am more than slightly known; but in a week or two I shall exchange this part for another, and then, Mark, we shall mix in the gayer world of the squares, where your fair cousin shines so brilliantly. Meanwhile have a little patience with me, and suffer me to seem sometimes inconsistent, that I may be least so in reality. I see you are not satisfied with me, Mark, and I am sorry to incur a friend's reproach even for a brief season; but come--I make you a pledge. To-day is the 12th; in five days more the Viceroy gives his St. Patrick's ball, at which I am to meet one of our confederates. You seem surprised at this; but where can man speak treason so safely as under the canopy of the Throne?"

"But how do you mean to go there? You do not surely expect an invitation."

"Of course not; but I shall go notwithstanding, and you with me. Ay, Mark, never frown and shake your head. This same ball is a public a.s.sembly, to which all presented at the Levees are eligible, without any bidding or invitation. Who is to say that Harry Talbot and Mark O'Donoghue have not paid their homage to mock royalty? If you mean that there is some danger in the step, I agree with you there is; but you are not the man, I take it, to flinch on that account."

This adroit stroke of Talbot's settled the matter; and Mark felt ashamed to offer any objection to a course, which, however disinclined to, he now believed was accompanied by a certain amount of peril.

CHAPTER x.x.xII. A PRESAGE OF DANGER

When the long-wished-for evening drew nigh, in which Talbot had pledged himself to reveal to Mark the circ.u.mstances of their enterprise, and to make him known to those concerned in the plot, his manner became flurried and excited;--he answered, when spoken to, with signs of impatience, and seemed so engrossed by his own thoughts, as to be unable to divert his attention from them. Mark, in general the reverse of a shrewd observer, perceived this, and attributing it to the heavy losses he had latterly incurred at play, forebore in any way to notice the circ.u.mstance, and from his silence Talbot became probably more indifferent to appearances, and placed less restraint on his conduct.

He drank, too, more freely than was his wont, and appeared like one desirous by any means to rid himself of some unwelcome reflections.

"It is almost time to dress, Mark," said he, with an effort to seem easy and unconcerned. "Let us have another flask of Burgundy before we go."

"I'll have no more wine, nor you, if you will be advised by me, either,"

said Mark, gravely.

"Ha! then you would imply I have drank too much already, Mark? Not far wrong there, perhaps, and under ordinary circ.u.mstances such would be the case; but there are times when the mind, like the body, demands double nourishment, and with me wine strengthens, never confuses thought.

Do you know, Mark, that I have a presentiment of some evil before me;--whence, and in what shape it is to come, I cannot tell you; but I feel it as certain as if it had been revealed to me."

"You are despondent about our prospects," said Mark, gloomily.

Talbot made no answer, but leaned his head on the chimney-piece, and seemed buried in deep thought;--then recovering himself, he said, in a low, but distinct accent--

"Did you take notice of a fellow at the tennis-court the other day, who stood beside me all the time I was settling with the marker? Oh!

I forgot--you were not there. Well, there was such a one--a flashy-looking, vulgar fellow, with that cast of countenance that betokens shrewdness and cunning. I met him yesterday in the Park, and this evening, as I came to dinner, I saw him talking to the landlord's nephew, in the hall."

"Well, and what of all that? If any one should keep account of where and how often he had seen either of us, this week past, might he not conjure up suspicions fully as strong as your's? Let us begin to take fright at shadows, and we shall make but a sorry hand of it, when real dangers approach us."

"The shadows are the warnings, Mark, and the wise man never neglects a warning."

"He who sees thunder in every dark cloud above him, is but the fool of his own fears," said Mark, rudely, and walked towards the window. "Is that anything like your friend, Talbot?" added he, as he beheld the dark outline of a figure, which seemed standing, intently looking up at the window.

"The very fellow!" cried Talbot; for at the moment a pa.s.sing gleam of light fell upon the figure, and marked it out distinctly.

"There is something about him I can half recognize myself," said Mark; "but he is so m.u.f.fled up with great-coat and cravat, I cannot clearly distinguish him."

"Indeed! Do, for heaven's sake, think of where you saw him, and when, Mark; for I own my anxiety about him is more than common."