Volume Ii Part 17 (1/2)

This was disheartening. Behaviour coa.r.s.e and rude. But duty is duty.

Sirr stooped to pick up the keys, which had been tossed to his feet, and, wrapping himself in a rag of dignity, proceeded to examine the premises. It was as she said. There was no one there, though there were signs of recent occupation. Ruefully the major looked into the dining-parlour. There were no nice things laid out for his behoof.

'I've only done my duty,' he urged, as he clutched the virtuous lady's fat hand. 'Don't be cross with me. I'm glad my mission's failed, though I should have won a thousand by it--there!'

But she shook him off and swept away, murmuring over her shoulder, with sniffing nostrils, that she had done with him; would never meet him as a friend again (though her house was open to examination whensoever he was anxious for an outrage); that she would take it as a personal favour if he would save her the pain of cutting him dead in public; for under no conditions whatsoever would she consent to condone this insult.

Sirr was sorry, but shrugged his shoulders. He ordered his men to march on to Strogue. Perhaps the culprit was not gone to Wexford, but was lying perdu in the vaults of the ancient Abbey. Mrs. Gillin screamed to old Jug, from an upper window, to run round to Larry in the farm-buildings, and bid him bring out the carriage. She must go to Dublin to the doctor. Her nerves were rooned now, as well as her spirits and poor arm.

Then, closing the window, she called on the fugitives to come forth.

'There's no time to be lost,' she said. 'Sirr suspects nothing, but the other will. The serpent! He is capable of coming down himself, in a friendly way, to spend the evening; and that's more than I could endure, even for you.'

'Of whom do you speak?' asked Terence, bewildered.

'Don't chatter!' interrupted the kind lady. ”Twill be twilight in an hour or so. You must get out of this before Sirr gets back, and reports to the other what he's done. Then the brute may come, and welcome. It'll be a pleasure to laugh at him. Sirr'll be an hour or so rummaging through the Abbey. Meanwhile you'll take my place in the coach. You're just my size and figure. Your arm looks awful bad. You want a doctor sadly. But that gossoon there; he can't go too, as I've always gone alone. Unlucky! He can't stay, either; that's certain.

What'll we do at all?' She tore off the soiled turban to rub her head, for the better coaxing of her ingenuity. Presently she clapped her hands. 'That's it. Ye'll go separate to the same rendezvous. You, Phil, shall go first, for ye must walk. It's like a masquerade in the good old times; yet my heart is dreadful sore--ochone!'

Rapidly Madam Gillin produced some sailor-slops which her own boatman used to wear when she took her pleasure on the bay. 'Phil will wear these and start at once,' she explained. 'His face must not be seen; it's too well known. In the boathouse yonder he'll find a coil of rope. He must bear it on his shoulders as a motive, and let a loop or two fall over his forehead. Be off now, and be careful. Take a knife, in case of accidents. Ye must be clear off before Sirr returns from the Abbey. If by ill-luck ye were to come face to face, stab at his legs. He wears a coat of mail. _I felt it with my scissors_. Away!'

Phil departed, quite glad of the excitement, delighted to break through his long and weariful incarceration.

Terence was packed in the celebrated wrapper, which once to see was never to forget. A beaver bonnet and veil covered his head. An arm was deftly bandaged. He stepped into the coach, drew up the gla.s.ses, and leaning back in the shadow as the coachman whipped his horses, began to collect his thoughts. Whew! What a whirl it was! Why dear Madam Gillin should suddenly become nervous, and wag her plumes so, he could not imagine. Unpleasant things are ofttimes for the best. Concealed in the capital itself he would be all the better able to superintend in person the proceedings of New Year's Eve. Yes! It was quite fortunate that she should thus have sent him off. He would see some of the delegates that very evening; concert pa.s.swords and signals. Five minutes' talk is worth a dozen letters. He would send round for Ca.s.sidy, who, faithful to his _role_, should be able to unravel for them the ins and outs of the Castle tactics, some of which seemed hazy. He would---- What was that? Sirr and his men! Then they had not lingered at the Abbey, but had started Dublinwards before him? No matter. All was right. The major had peered into the carriage, and, perceiving the wounded arm and well-known wrapper, had turned away his head abruptly. How cleverly Mrs. Gillin had managed the whole thing!

Why had she taken such a fancy to him? If he were her own son, she could not be more loving and considerate.--What was that? A man bending under a load. Phil, of course. How slow he walked! Sirr's men seemed stepping out. Please Heaven they would not overtake him. No.

And if they did, what then? A boor with a burthen of rope. A guilty conscience; how it racks and torments us about nothing!

Hark! a sound--audible through the rumbling coach-wheels. A shout--a cry! Unable to resist the impulse, Terence lowered a gla.s.s and protruded his head, with the beaver bonnet and veil. Great heavens!

The soldiers had gained on Phil, whose burthen impeded movement; had, from sheer brutality, torn it from him and disclosed his features. He had been recognised! Sirr saw through the trick, and shook his fist with balked fury. He was gesticulating in the road. Some soldiers were hailing the coach from afar, but Larry whipped his horses with a will.

Some more, jumping a ditch, had broken through a hedge and vanished.

Poor Phil! he would be murdered. Was it not base to leave him thus unaided? Yet--the Cause. Terence felt that his life was not his own.

Eagerly he looked backwards as the road took a loop-turn. He must see the last of poor Phil--probably the very last of his faithful henchman. Phil had ceased struggling. Terence drew in his head, and, man though he was, burst into a flood of tears. Poor, faithful Phil!

What a sad end!

Half-way betwixt Strogue and Dublin the road leaves the sh.o.r.e, and winds inland with an intricate series of doubles--arranged so for the benefit of certain small villa-holders, round whose tiny properties the way meanders. Terence forgot this fact, so absorbed was he in the fate of his attached servant, otherwise he would have seen his danger, and, throwing off his disguise, would have trusted to a hare's tactics in the open. But, clad in woman's attire, he was weeping like a woman, and bemoaning his fate, when the carriage came to a standstill with a shock. A detachment of soldiers, taking a short cut, had come upon the carriage, and, springing on the bits, had thrust back the horses on their haunches.

Deception was futile now. Dragging off the ign.o.ble bonnet and wrapper, Terence sprang lightly out, and drawing a pistol, prepared to barter his life against as many of the foe as possible.

One man shot poor Larry on his box, lest he should take part in the scuffle; another hamstrung the off-horse, which whinnied, and leaped up with pain. The shot was answered by a hulloo and rush of feet.

Through the hedge-gap appeared Sirr, breathless but foaming, urging on his men, two of whom dragged Phil, an inert ma.s.s, between them.

'Murther!' groaned Phil. 'That the masther should be tuk, and through me!'

'Yes,' jeered Sirr; 'we have him now. Having detected you, I knew at once that he could not be far off!'

Terence discharged his pistols with good effect. A man fell to each of them. Then, drawing a dagger, he leaned his back against a tree.