Volume Iii Part 14 (1/2)

So the hours waned, and it was night ere Doreen's father arrived at Strogue. He was deeply, miserably dejected. So much so, that his daughter marvelled at him.

'It's all over!' he cried, in indignation mingled with contrition.

'The men who forgot their country have slain _her_, that she may not survive to remember _them_. The slave's collar has been slipped on--its lock snapped to for ever! But there's something yet to come. I have a hint from Clare that there will probably be more trouble to-morrow. Glandore told me the same thing just now, who has it, he says, from the Staghouse people, who are sure to know. Lord Cornwallis will have taken his measures, doubtless, for as a soldier he is above praise. I have business with him to-morrow, so we had better return at once to Dublin.'

'Now?' Doreen said, in wonder.

'You are not afraid?' her father asked, with a weak smile. 'My coach is below. Its liveries are well known. No one would harm me, thank Heaven!'

Afraid? Doreen was not given to physical fear. Then her father explained that Shane was coming home, and with him Ca.s.sidy and some more choice spirits, who were to close the lower rooms of the Abbey and remain on the defensive, lest the anti-unionists should attempt revenge.

'You will be equally safe here or in Dublin, dear,' Lord Kilwarden said. 'But I seem to think that you would prefer my company to that of cousin Shane.'

Locked up with Shane--and Ca.s.sidy! No, indeed. Knowing what she knew, that would be too dreadful. Thanking her father with a look, she fetched a shawl, kissed pale Sara, and, bidding her be of good cheer, for the Abbey would be well protected, climbed into the coach, which started forthwith for Dublin.

'If Glandore is cautious, so will we be,' remarked Lord Kilwarden, with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'Wanderers may be hanging about the high-road, waiting for a signal in the morning. See, the beacons are all alight along the hilltops! Do they not remind you of the time--not so long ago--when we were expecting a French invasion? I trust the Viceroy has been warned, for he does not comprehend our mercurial temperament, and Sirr's people are strangely apathetic. A new regime has begun to-night, my love, which I hope may in time bring peace to our distracted land. My vote went for union, for I know that we are unstable, but excellent if wisely controlled. The Scotch, you will remember, hated their union at first. England has her way at last, so her rule will soften, and Erin will be at peace. I know you are too Irish to agree with me, Doreen. The young are always apt to judge hastily of their elders, without considering that the gulf that divides them is one of experience as well as years.'

It was seldom that Lord Kilwarden became expansive on this delicate subject with his daughter. Even between those who love each other much, there are subjects that are best left alone. But he was loquacious this evening, seeming anxious to deprecate a harsh verdict on her part. His recent emotion set loose his tongue, and he chatted softly on, explaining his motives and his views--he who was usually so silent and reserved--as the coach rumbled over the rough by-road, which led to the capital by a circuitous route.

When its wheels died away in the distance, Sara sat down to meditate.

Robert, then, who had spoken in parables, was planning something which would place him in peril. Perhaps she would look on him no more. She tried to realise what that would mean for her. During the months when he was in England she was glad not to see him, looking forward to a happier day when he would be all hers, as side by side and hand in hand they would stroll down the hill's shadowed side to the churchyard at its base. She had often wondered which of them would first be summoned hence--picturing a cosy hearth with two aged figures in the chimney-corner, who, their career over, were awaiting a release. On such occasions she had always decided that they would be so old--so old--that a day or two only could possibly intervene between their flitting. After clinging so closely one to the other, in joy and sorrow, through a prolonged probation, but a brief s.p.a.ce could keep the pair asunder ere they were joined again for all eternity. So had the simple damsel dreamed, and had been happy in her castle-building, withdrawing her mind to the love-labour of that delicious task, from the tragic scenes in which she wandered--in them, not of them--like one in a mesmeric trance. But now, in the oppressive stillness, she sat resolutely down to look upon herself as a possible actor in the tragedy; to look for her own image among the troop of women who importuned Heaven to call them hence. She tried to think of herself as she had seen the widows whilst gazing on their swinging husbands--as she had seen the mothers--stony, tearless, with their murdered sons across their knees. But it was not possible. There are situations so opposed to the order of things that we cannot realise them. Her mind's retina declined to accept the image--threw it back again as one contrary to nature; and yet it was all but certain that Robert--the sensitive, the ardent, the enthusiastic--had deliberately placed his foot upon the bridge of stars which conducts by a track of light to the Walhalla--which leads by the rugged path of torment and of martyrdom to the platform of immortality. She strove, with all the resolution she could muster, to conjure up the dreadful picture, but succeeded only in making her head spin round. Taking up a taper--nervous by reason of the silence of night and her lugubrious mental exercise--she thought she would pay a visit to her father, and look in at my lady's door to announce Doreen's abrupt departure, and prepare the invalid for the noisy coming of Shane and of his guests.

She moved through the chintz sitting-room--past the dark staircase, grim in the flicker of her candle with the panoplies of swords and antique armour--into the great hall with its black oak panels, and was turning to the left, where a rise of a few sculptured steps led into my lady's bedchamber, when her attention was arrested by a noise. What was that? A hum and subdued clatter--growing louder--louder--as it approached. It must be Shane and his convoy--many hors.e.m.e.n, judging by the sound. Was the danger then so pressing? Her heart beat fast. They would bring certain news, that was some comfort; anything was better than lying on this rack.

Yes, it was Shane's party. There was a ring of many hoofs as the riders wheeled round the turn of the avenue on the crisp gravel under the ancient archway into the stable-yard. Shane's voice could be plainly detected adjuring his guests to abstain from needless noise, since the countess lay ill. Leaving their horses there, they came round to the front on foot, where Sara met them, unbarring the door herself, an apparition of innocence against the background of that gloomy hall. There was Shane, somewhat the worse for liquor, flushed and wild, his hair unribboned, his boots caked thick with mud; and Ca.s.sidy smart and neat in a riding-coat, with capes of many colours, and a high-peaked hat of silvery beaver--wondrous fine; and half a dozen followers, evidently not of gentle birth, who bowed with servility to the young lady and sidled cringing along the wall.

The vision of Sara surprised them not a little. 'This was not proper in ticklish times,' Ca.s.sidy cried out, after the authoritative manner of a parent. 'Young ladies should not open doors alone at night.

How did she know that the party were not Croppies, intent on murder--villainous rapscallions who ought to be strung up, every man jack of 'em? There were hosts of such about. What was Miss Wolfe thinking of--she who had a head upon her shoulders--to permit of such imprudence?'

'Where were the servants?' Shane shouted, forgetful of his mother's health. 'Wine, wine! at once; and beds for these honest gentlemen.

They were come to stop for a few days, and must be treated well.'

Sara struck the bell to summon the servants, and said that Doreen had started an hour since for Dublin--with her father.

Shane and Ca.s.sidy exchanged glances, and both looked put out. 'Gone to Dublin! where--what for?' stammered Shane, disconcerted. 'I told my uncle this very day that I intended to bring some friends to help to defend the house, that his anxiety on her account might be at rest.

How imprudent--how silly--how provoking--when the Croppies are mustering along the quays!'

Ca.s.sidy frowned him to silence. Where did her father take her? Sure, he would bring her back again? How was it they had not met his carriage on the road?

'They were gone to the Castle,' responded Sara, beginning to be frightened, 'where they would doubtless be quite safe. What was this about Croppies along the quays? Oh! would they please tell her something? People seemed all agreed to keep things back, as if she were a child. Croppies, did he say? Were not Croppies put down long since? Who was their leader?'

'Croppies 'tis,' grunted Ca.s.sidy. 'They'll be at it by this time, the fools! Who's their leader? That young donkey Emmett, who'll swing for it--the idiot!'

Sara clung to a heavy piece of furniture. Like cold steel the certainty cut through her brain that her edifice of cards, erected in simple faith, would fall--had tumbled ere this perhaps; that the tender intercourse of years was not to be; that she was destined to bear her portion of the common cross. She was all at once convinced that Robert and she would never meet upon this globe again. She essayed to speak, but her head whirled; lights danced with s.h.i.+fting colours before her eyes; the floor seemed to heave and rise in billows--yet she did not faint. The servants had brought candles which burned blue and dim and danced up and down, changing to red and green and violet a long way off. She was aware somehow that after a brief consultation Shane had countermanded the claret--that his obsequious friends had received new orders--that the party, donning cloaks again, had mounted and gone clattering away by the unused by-road. The hall-door--wide open--admitted a chill gust which set the candles guttering, but revived her perturbed faculties. Staggering against the doorpost, the girl watched the beacons on the hills, as, fed with furze, they flared up and glowed awhile, then dwindled and died out one by one. She looked across the bay towards Dublin, which was like an anthill possessed by glow-worms, beyond a black abyss. With straining eyes she looked. What would she not have given to know what was pa.s.sing there? Was Ca.s.sidy merely playing off an untimely jest on her by saying what he did? No. Her sick heart whispered that it was all true. Robert's mysterious parable of good things in store clung cold about her heart like a dead hand. Perhaps at this very instant he was being slain--better even that than that he should be taken and undergo the mockery of justice, and pa.s.s as others pa.s.sed--upon the scaffold. Oh! that ardent face--transfigured and inspired by his pure enthusiasm--was she indeed no more to look on it? Was she--see! what was that! A rocket soared into the air from the glow-worms' hill, turning the deep blue to sable, and bursting, vanished in a shower of sparks. What could that mean? It must be a signal. What did it portend? Sara swung-to the heavy door, and, drooping on a sofa, sat down and waited.

CHAPTER XI.

ATe.

Robert (or Mr. Hewitt, for so was he enrolled among the chalked-up inmates of the lodging where he dwelt) betrayed no less emotion than the rest of Dublin citizens when the word flew from mouth to mouth that as an independent nation Ireland was extinguished. He and a few trusty followers were waiting for the official announcement of Ireland's disgrace in their depot--a shambling set of outhouses situated near Merchant's Quay. Sirr's raid, whereby he captured so much material, was annoying no doubt; but Robert was full of his star and the mantle that Theobald had thrown to him.