The O'Donoghue Part 64

As Hemsworth flattened out the letter before him on the bed, his eyes glistened and sparkled with the fire of aroused intelligence: the faculties which, during his long illness, had lain in abeyance, as if refreshed and invigorated by rest, were once more excited to their accustomed exercise; and over that face, pale and haggard by sickness, a flush of conscious power stole, lighting up every lineament and feature, and displaying the ascendancy of mental effort over mere bodily infirmity.

"And so this Scotchman dares to enter the list with _me_," said he, with a smile of contemptuous meaning; "let him try it."

CHAPTER XLIV. THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISE.

A little lower down the valley than the post occupied by Terry as his look-out, was a small stream, pa.s.sable by stepping-stones; this was the usual parting place of the two brothers, whenever Herbert returned home for a day or so, and this limit Mark rarely or never transgressed, regarding it as the frontier of his little dominion. Beside this rivulet, as night was falling, Mark sat, awaiting with some impatience his brother's coming, for already the third evening had pa.s.sed in which Herbert promised to be back, and yet he had not come.

Alternately stooping to listen, or straining his eyes to see, he waited anxiously; and while canva.s.sing in his mind every possible casualty he could think of to account for his absence, he half resolved on pushing forward down the glen, and, if necessary, venturing even the whole way to Carrig-na-curra. Just then a sound caught his ear--he listened, and at once recognized Terry's voice, as, singing some rude verse, he came hastening down the glen at his full speed.

"Ha! I thought you'd be here," cried he, with delight in his countenance; "I knew you'd be just sitting there on that rock."

"What has happened, then, Terry, that you wanted me?"

"It was a message a man in sailor's clothes gave me for your honour this morning, and, somehow, I forgot to tell you of it when you pa.s.sed, though he charged me not to forget it."

"What is it, Terry?"

"Ah, then, that's what I misremember, and I had it all right this morning. Let me think a bit."

Mark repelled every symptom of impatience, for he well knew how the slightest evidences of dissatisfaction on his part would destroy every chance of the poor fellow regaining his memory, and he waited silently for several minutes. At last, thinking to aid his recollection, he said--

"The man was a smuggler, Terry?"

"He was, but I never saw him before. He came across from Kinsale, over the mountains. Botheration to him, why didn't he say more, and I wouldn't forget it now." "Have patience, you'll think of it all by-and-by."

"Maybe so. He was a droll-looking fellow, with a short cutlash at his side, and a hairy cap on his head; and he seemed to know yer honour well, for he said--

"'How is the O'Donoghues--don't they live hereabouts?"

"'Yes,' says I, 'a few miles down that way.'

"'Is the eldest boy at home," says he.

"'Maybe he is, and maybe he isn't,' says I, for I wouldn't tell him where you were.

"'Could you give him a message,' says he, from a friend?'

"'Av it was a friend,' says I.

"'A real friend,' says he. 'Tell him--just tell him----'

"There it is now--divil a one o' me knows what he said."

Mark suffered no sign of anger to escape him, but sat without speaking a word, while Terry recapitulated every sentence in a muttering voice, to a.s.sist him in remembering what followed.

"I have it now," said he at last; and clapping his hands with glee, he cried out, "them's the very words he said--

"'Tell Mr. Mark, it's a fine sight to see the sun rising from the top of Hungry Mountain; and if the wind last, it will be worth seeing tomorrow.'"

"Were those his words?" asked Mark eagerly.

"Them, and no other--I have it all in my head now."

"Which way did he take when he left you?"

"He turned up the glen, towards Googawn Barra, and I seen him crossing the mountain afterwards; but here comes Master Herbert;" and at the same instant he was seen coming up the valley at a fast pace.

When the first greetings were over, Herbert informed Mark that a certain stir and movement in the glen and its neighbourhood far the last few days had obliged him to greater caution; that several strangers had been seen lurking about Carrig-na-curra; and that in addition to the military posted at Mary's, a sergeant's guard had that morning arrived at "the Lodge," and taken up their quarters there. All these signs of vigilance combined to make Herbert more guarded, and induced him to delay for a day or two his return to the shealing.

"Hemsworth has been twice over at our house," continued Herbert, "and seems most anxious about you; he cannot understand why we have not heard from my uncle. It appears to me, Mark, as if difficulties were thickening around us; and yet this fear may only be the apprehension which springs from mystery. I cannot see my way through this dark and clouded atmosphere."

"Never fret about the dangers that come like shadows, Herbert.

Come up the mountain with me to-morrow at sunrise, and let us take counsel from the free and bracing air of the peak of old Hungry."

Herbert was but too happy to find his own gloomy thoughts so well combatted, and in mutual converse they each grew lighter in heart; and when at last, wearied out, they lay down upon the heather of the shealing, they slept without a dream.

It was still dark as midnight when Mark awoke and looked at his watch--it wanted a quarter of four. The night was a wild and gusty one, with occasional showers of thin sleet, and along the sh.o.r.e the sea beat heavily, as though a storm was brewing at a distance off.

The message of the smuggler was his first thought on waking, but could he venture sufficient trust in Terry's version to draw any inference from it? Still, he resolved to ascend the mountain, little favourable as the weather promised for such an undertaking. It was not without reluctance that Herbert found himself called upon to accompany his brother. The black and dreary night, the swooping wind, the wet spray, drifting up to the very shealing, were but sorry inducements to stir abroad; and he did his utmost to persuade him to defer the excursion to a more favourable moment.

"We shall be wet through, and see nothing for our pains, Mark," said he, half sulkily, as the other overruled each objection in turn.

"Wet we may possibly be," said Mark; "but with the wind, northing by west, the mist will clear away, and by sunrise the coast will be glorious; it is a spring-tide, too, and there will be a sea running mountains high."

"I know well we shall find ourselves in a cloud on the top of the mountain; it is but one day in a whole year any thing can be seen favourably."

"And who is to say this is not that day? It is my birth-day, Herbert--a most auspicious event, when we talk of fortunate occurrences."

The tone of sarcasm he spoke these words in, silenced Herbert's scruples, and without further objection he prepared to follow Mark's guidance.

The drifting rain, and the spongy heavy ground in which at each moment the feet sank to the very instep, made the way toilsome and weary, and the two brothers seldom spoke as they plodded along the steep ascent.

Mark's deep pre-occupation of mind took away all thought of the dreary road; but Herbert followed with reluctant steps, half angry with himself for compliance with what he regarded as an absurd caprice. The way was not without its perils, and Mark halted from time to time to warn his brother of the danger of some precipice, or the necessity to guard against the slippery surface of the heather. Except at these times, he rarely spoke, but strode on with firm step, lost in his own reflections.

"We are now twelve hundred feet above the lake, Herbert," said he, after a long silence on both sides, "and the mountain at this side is like a wall. This same island of ours has n.o.ble bulwarks for defence."

Herbert made no reply; the swooping clouds that hurried past, heavily charged with vapour, shut out every object; and to him the rugged path was a dark and cheerless way. Once more they continued their ascent, which here became steeper and more difficult at every step; and although Mark was familiar with each turn and winding of the narrow track, more than once he was obliged to stop, and consider the course before him.

Herbert, to whom these interruptions were fresh sources of irritation, at length exclaimed--

"My dear Mark, have we not gone far enough yet, to convince you that there is no use in going farther. It is dark as midnight this moment--you yourself are scarcely certain of the way--there are precipices and gulleys on every side--and grant that we do reach the top for sunrise, what shall we be able to see amid the immense ma.s.ses of cloud around us?"

"No, Herbert, that same turning back policy it is, which thwarts success in life. Had you yourself followed such an impulse, you had not gained the honours that are yours. Onward, is the word of hope to all. And what if the day should not break clearly, it is a fine thing to sit on the peak of old Hungry, with the circling clouds wheeling madly below you, to hear the deep thundering of the sea far, far away, and the cry of the curlew mingling with the wailing wind--to feel yourself high above the busy world, in the dreary region of mist and shadow. If at such times as this the eye ranges not over leagues of coast and sea, long winding valleys and wide plains, the prophetic spirit fostered by such agencies looks out on life, and images of the future flit past in cloudy shapes and changing forms. There, see that black ma.s.s that slowly moves along, and seems to beckon us with giant arm. You'd not reject an augury so plain."

"I see nothing, and if I go on much farther this way, I shall feel nothing either, I am so benumbed with cold and rain already."