My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Lewis Wingfield

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE SHAMBLES.

  When it became known in Dublin that the apostle of Irish Liberty hadcome and was taken, the gloom which saddened the city was yet furtherdeepened. The citizens went about their business with weary tread andpinched lips. The Terror which reigned in Paris under Jacobin rule, orin Rome under Tiberius and Nero, was not more crushing than that whichrocked Erin in its iron arms towards the end of this awful year.Comparing Jacobins with Orangemen, the palm for cruelty may safely beassigned to the latter. Both factions might plead the excuse ofextreme peril; but the danger of invasion by the armies of theCoalition which brought about the diabolical delirium of the Jacobinswas greater than the danger to which the Irish ascendency party wasexposed: and it must be remembered too that the Jacobin party wasalmost entirely composed of men taken from the lowest ranks, whereasmany of the most iniquitous Irish terrorists were persons of thehighest social position and fair education. The ferocity of theJacobins, again, was in a slight degree redeemed by fanaticism. Theirobjects were not entirely selfish. They murdered aristocrats, not onlybecause they hated them, but because they imagined them to stand inthe way of a millennium which, according to Rousseau, was awaiting theacceptance of regenerated mankind.

  Essex Bridge was fringed with heads as whilom London Bridge was;though faithful friends, when they found a chance, stole and buriedthem. There was a rage for trials by court-martial; a constant outcryfor more victims. A mania for mimicking the Bench took possession ofthe military, officers of inferior rank vying with each other in anassumption of judicial functions. Whilst my Lords Carleton andKilwarden and Messrs. Curran and Toler were plodding through a legalfarce at the Sessions-House, talking through night after night to'juries of the right sort,' the gentlemen of the yeomanry at theExchange were making the shortest possible work of the lives undertheir control. Once dragged thither, conviction followed arrest as theday the night. The sun was not allowed to set upon the accused.Although prepared to close his eyes to much, the new Viceroy found hispatience and temper sorely tried; and at last, in spite ofexpostulation in high quarters, issued general orders condemning theconduct of the soldiery. He failed to see, he declared, how torturecould be a good opiate, and was even foolish enough to suggest thatbanishment for a short term of years would serve all the statepurposes quite as well as hanging. To this the incensed chancellorretorted by reams of jeremiads addressed to Mr. Pitt, wherein he laidstress on the new troubles which would inevitably come on all goodProtestants in consequence of such deplorable backsliding from LordCamden's able system. In his turn Lord Cornwallis pointed out thereasons for his conduct. Private enemies were daily in the mostunblushing manner haled before courts-martial and consigned to Moiley.Some of the lesser gentry even went so far as openly to plunder thecountry houses whose owners had fled from them in fear. The behaviourof underlings was subversive of all discipline. They held backdocuments unless paid for honesty; Sirr admitted that what was plannedby his superiors in council was made of none effect in his own office.The chancellor scored one. Lord Cornwallis found himself compelled toapologise for his leniency. He received a rap upon the knuckles from aGr--t P--rs--n--ge in a letter which may be found in the Cornwalliscorrespondence, and sat down to pour out his vexations to an oldbrother-in-arms, as his way was when specially provoked. 'My conduct,'he wrote, 'gets me abused by both sides, being too coercive for theone, too lenient for the other; but my conscience approves.'

  The more we look into the matter, the more assured do we become thatthe true marplot was the Gr--t P--rs--n--ge. The first gentleman inthe land set a fatal example to the Orangemen. By virtue of the royalpurple he was all-wise, despite his ignorance. He was a Protestant.Ergo, those who presumed to be anything else must be well trounced fortheir contumely. If the law was not rigorous enough already, its cordsmust be double-knotted, for the flagellation of those who dared todisagree with M--j--sty. Good King George, who hated Catholics in asinsane a manner as James II. hated Protestants, was determined that solong as he clutched the sceptre, their bread should be bitter in theirmouths. Lord Cornwallis was as convinced as Mr. Pitt, that the key toIrish troubles was the Penal Code. But the King flew in a rage at thebare mention of Catholic Emancipation; so the Viceroy was obliged tobow his head with a good grace, as Mr. Pitt had done long ago; as eventhe leader of the opposition had found himself compelled to do. Atthis juncture Marplot went further than usual; for instead of merelyinsisting in general terms that the Papists must be evilly entreated,he personally meddled in the fate of the state-prisoners, with whoselong-continued persecution the Viceroy had shown signs of interfering.

  It had been decided, as we have seen, on the motion of Arthur Wolfe,that it would be well to negotiate with the state-prisoners. Mr.Curran had been employed as go-between, and, in accordance with hisadvice, the young men incarcerated at Kilmainham undertook to disclosethe principles and ramifications of their society, upon certainwell-defined conditions. Curran pointed out to them that the grandfiasco which is known as the 'Hurry' had removed for the present allchance of freeing Ireland, and they saw with pain that blood was beingmade to flow in rivers. To stem that torrent by all means availablewas clearly their first duty now. At first the negotiations brokedown, but a few executions brought the patriots to their senses. Theyaccordingly drew up for the benefit of Government an account of therise, progress, and proceedings of the United Irishmen, adding anopinion that a general amnesty to all but ringleaders would do much totranquillise the public mind. They agreed that it would be best forthe ruling spirits to submit to banishment, and it was settled that anumber of excepted persons should migrate to America and stop there.But now Marplot intervened. The King declined to permit traitors tocross the Atlantic, and the American minister, to please the King,also declared that such an arrangement could not answer. The Viceroyurged that the members of the Directory had completed their portion ofthe compact, and that it would be disgraceful if Government did notfollow suit. It could not be helped, was the brief response. Theexecutive must crawl out of the difficulty as it best might. Mr.Curran was frantic; Lord Clare jubilant. Tom Emmett and the othersonly smiled. Had they ever expected anything from England exceptwickedness? She was perjured and forsworn. What could an extra crimeor two signify to one who was notoriously a murderess?

  The Privy Council anxiously debated as to the neatest way out of thedilemma. Of course his Majesty must be humoured. The state-trials mustrun their course, but with exceeding tact of management. Mr. Pittthreatened his puppets with a beating, if they blundered. Juries ofthe right sort must be told not to exaggerate their functions, or LordMoira (who was woefully independent) might stir up a new pother at St.Stephen's.

  Lord Cornwallis was sulky, for he appreciated the falseness of hisposition; but, having accepted the viceroyalty, he considered it hisduty to retain it until at least the special object for which he hadcome could be accomplished. His experience and native shrewdness toldhim that a return to the tactics of his predecessor would be fraughtwith the gravest dangers to both countries. Fate had picked him out toplay the mediator; he would do his best, even though fettered by theignoble desires of the King. If he failed in his task, the fault wouldbe Marplot's, not his.

  After considerable wrangling, it was decided to deny that theDirectory had carried out their portion of the agreement. Governmentwas to have been let in to the secrets of the society. The paper whichwas drawn up was no better than a panegyric of sedition. A piece ofhair-splitting this, for which the chancellor took to himself muchcredit. So the state-trials droned along, while the vagaries ofdrumhead justice kept the world awake. Several of those at Kilmainhamwere condemned, despite the compact, and suffered; the rest, giving upall for lost, cared little now what was to be their destiny.

  Lord Clare made a great effort on behalf of Terence, but received noencouragement, either from the Viceroy or the English premier. Bothsaid that it would never do to make an exception in favour of onewhose s
ins were the more scarlet on account of his position insociety. He must take his trial like the rest. There was no help forit. If his friends could manipulate the jury, that was their ownaffair.

  The chancellor looked grave, for, adept though he was in manipulatingjuries, he knew of a foe of Terence's who would do what he could toruin him; and he was more and more mystified at the behaviour of theyoung man's family. Neither my lady nor Lord Glandore seemed torealise the position of affairs. Would they calmly endure while one oftheir noble name was being strung up as a felon? It seemed so. Theyoung lord was a brilliant specimen of the Irish House of Peers. Butsurely he would not carry his slavish complaisance so far as tosacrifice his only brother to the English dragon? Lord Clare did notknow what to make of it. His own influence was terribly on the wane.He went to see Terence at the provost, and found Curran there,who eyed him with undisguised impertinence, and gibed aboutgingerbread-nuts. But the chancellor kept his temper this time. He wasno longer the all-powerful despot. A new Herod had arisen, who did notchoose to recognise Joseph. He found himself thwarted by his newmaster at every turn. Fortune is a cruel jade! The owner of the goldencoach found himself compelled to lower himself to petty plotting likeordinary men. He suggested to Curran that it would be well to push onCouncillor Crosbie's trial with all speed. The little lawyer, insteadof meeting him half-way, answered bluntly that the young man's woundwas not healed; that the vultures were strangely impatient to devourhis flesh; that, though the young patrician's life was by no meansmerry, he would be no party to shortening it.

  Lord Clare grew impatient, and retorted with hauteur:

  'You can have naught to do with fixing the date of trial. I was merelyasking your opinion.'

  And Curran, with suspicious looks, inquired the reason of hisimpatience. That there was a reason was evident. Would the other showhis hand? No. The other held his peace, and, sighing fretfully,departed.

  Events must shape themselves as Fortune chose to dictate. He could nothumiliate himself before his enemy by stating what he knew of Cassidy,and explaining the wisdom of settling the young man's case during theabsence from Dublin of that person. So Curran, unaware of pitfalls dugby jealousy, returned sadly to the cell where Terence lay tossing inhis fever, almost wishing that the wound might prove mortal.

  Always fond of him, by reason of his genial nature, the littleadvocate had been drawn very close to Terence by events. Their mutualfriends were perishing around them; Terence himself was grievouslycompromised. Now he was to be tried for his life. With what result?Alas, there could be little doubt. Weak men, who while success wasprobable might be trusted to cling together, were anxious now to savethemselves by making a clean breast of all they knew. Curran'sinstinct told him that somebody or other would surely stand up toprove the military position which his unlucky junior had arrogated tohimself; to babble of his interviews on the shore near the LittleHouse; of his arrangements for the capture of Dublin by surprise;which, but for his own timely taking, would certainly have beencarried out.

  Of course the advocate who had won such forensic distinction as washis would do his very best for a client who was so dear to his heartas this one; but what he could do was little after all, fighting, ashe always was, against packed juries and false-witnesses. His wondrouseloquence and marvellous versatility had indeed more than once torn adoomed man from the gallows by exciting passions of such force as toconquer even the violence of fear and greed by which the juries werebeset; but such miracles were not to be counted on, and it was withgloomy thoughts that the lawyer looked forward to the contest. Whatarguments, for instance, could have prevailed in the case of Orr,whose life was juggled away between two bumpers? After all, perhapsthe proceedings of courts-martial were less bad than these legalmasquerades. For in the purely military tribunal there was no doubt asto how the case would go from the beginning. Was it not better thattime and breath should be economised, when cases were so notoriouslyprejudged? So it came about that Curran, in profound dejection, lookeddown upon the young man whom he loved, and prayed that he might die ofhis wound.

  But in this case, as in a good many others, prayers received noanswer. The yeoman, when he fired at Terence to prevent his escape,broke his arm by the shot. Neglect, and the amenities of Major Sirr,produced fever and inflammation, which the dampness of the provost didnot tend to improve.

  Mrs. Gillin (who had been enduring purgatory on her own account at thehands of drunken soldiers' wives at free-quarters) stuck sturdily toher _protege_, however. She hung about the antechambers of the great;worried the judges who in happier days had been her guests; importunedthem for leave of free access to the invalid, till they wished theyhad never seen the claret she had lavished on them; and, as obstinatewomen generally do, carried her point. She nursed the patient in hisfever with untiring devotion; amazed the gaolers almost into civility;even assailed the terrible major himself in his stronghold, tauntinghim with ugly words and scathing epithets, till he too wished he hadnever beheld the dreadful woman. She insisted that an invalid shouldhave a cell to himself, instead of being crowded up with malodorouspeasants in a low den deprived of air; arrived three times a week withgood things for him in baskets, which Cerberus allowed to pass withoutinvestigation; and dragged him, whom she had sworn to watch over, bymain force to convalescence. Once or twice he had begged that hisservant Phil might be permitted to keep him company, but on this pointthe major was obdurate. His calves still bore the cicatrices cut onthem by the farrier's knife, and the major was not one to forgive aninjury. He bore in mind, too, that but for his coat of mail he wouldhave been left dead upon the road that day. Phil, therefore, was setapart for private torment; was not even handed over to the tendermercies of a court-martial.

  Mrs. Gillin, for Terence's sake, commissioned old Jug to discover newsof him, who went about her business in mysterious fashion, decliningto divulge what she discovered, until one day, some months after hisdisappearance, she told her protectress, with weird mutterings, that'the boy was near his end.'

  'How's that?' her mistress asked, frowning. 'Ye look as if ye wereglad that ill should come to him. How's that?'

  ''Cause he's a farrier and I'm a collough, as my people have been eversince Ollam Fodlah's day. He's near his end; the curse of Crummell haslit on him. Sure, it's well whipped he's been on the triangles thesemany times, foreninst the Royal Exchange beyant. The boy's broke, bodyand sowl; but the young masther'll see him soon enough. I'm tould thetwo'll be thried togither, for a murderous assault first on thetown-meejor, who was doing his duty, when he skelped 'em up, and thenfor treason afther. Weren't they always togither, masther and man?'Twould be quare if they were thried separate.'

  Terence was convalescent when summer gave place to autumn. Unlike hisformer cheery hustling self, he sat at his window for whole mornings,gazing into a world of his own, as he leaned his wan face on his thinhand, smiling a faint smile when his kind nurse attempted to rousehim. She came more seldom by degrees, for indeed the poor lady's ownlife was thickening with disasters. The drunken soldiers' wives(specially selected by Major Sirr for their virago qualities) made ahell of her cosy little home, afflicting her daughter Norah beyondmeasure. There was no telling whether they might not, in a riotousfreak, set the place ablaze if its mistress did not stop at home towatch them. Verily, even my lady's grudge might have been partiallyeffaced, could she have beheld the tribulations which fell upon herancient rival. Terence, then, lingered on, living a hermit life, whosesolitude was broken sometimes by garbled tales of dread, such as hiskeepers chose to report to him. The world looked black, without astreak of light. He marvelled, in the vague dizzy way of an invalidrecovering from illness, whether it would not be best to make an endof it at once. He felt the indifference as to death whichdistinguishes the faith of Buddha; longed to join the ranks of thosewho, more blest than he, were marched past his door never to return;envied even the victims of the Foxhunters on the Gibbet-Rath; lookedforward to his own trial as a release.

  With a bare bodkin who shall
fardels carry? His was bare indeed. Wornthrough, and through--the stuffing gone. The sharp corners of thefardels were ploughing into his back. He longed to lay them down andbe at rest. Sometimes he dreamed of Doreen, but not as of one whomight be his in this life. He appreciated now what at one time he hadcontemned as girlish hysteria. Who might presume to talk of love amidthe horrors of carnage, where victims had been done to death byhundreds with scarce an effort at defence? If he might live (his youthwould assert its rights now and again for a brief instant), thenperhaps--perhaps----What? No. He was doomed to die, and knew it--andwas glad; for life deprived of all illusions and all flower-blossomsis a hideous thing. His turn would come, and shortly. It was merely amatter of days--of a little patience. The 'scrag-boy,' who wore ademon's dress, with a hump and a horned mask that none might guess whodid the hangman's work, was a familiar object in the prison-yardbelow. He had placed the halter over many a gallant head, thoughnot as yet around a noble's neck. Well! that honour would soon behis--very soon--the sooner the better. With what a bitter laugh didTerence contemplate the honour which awaited the overworkedfunctionary! Now and again he wished it might be given to him to lookinto Doreen's eyes once more. Their solemn depths would give himcourage to face the great _peut-etre_. Courage! With self-upbraidinghe spurned the thought, walking round his cell as swiftly as heavyirons would permit. Courage, forsooth! He lacked not courage. 'Twerebetter that the two should meet no more on this accursed soil. Inanother world they would wander together in perpetual sunshine, bypurling brooks, under softly waving trees--but would they? Was thereanother world? The spirit of the young man was so bruised that hehoped there might not be; and, his illusion being gone, he yearned for_rest_ only--unceasing--eternal--the long unbroken sleep without awaking. He shrank from the occasional visits of Lord Clare, who hadbrought his country to this pass--even deprecated those of his friendCurran with a new-born peevishness; for in the face of his old ally hecould trace tell-tale lines of weary watching and despondency, whichspoke with eloquent meaning of the darkness outside the prison walls;whispering of the universal sorrow he would so gladly have forgotten.Curran became nervous about him, fearing lest his mind should giveway. Solitude, and such thoughts to brood over as his were, are goodfor no man. It was with a sense of relief therefore that the littleman heard one day that a companion was to be quartered on thecouncillor. Who that comrade was to be he wist not; any companionshipwould be better for him than none. When that comrade came, Terence wasfeeding on his griefs, as usual. The door opened with the clatter andcraunch of keys and bolts which no longer vexed him; a slight figurein a full-skirted coat was pushed in without ceremony, who groped hisway and stumbled in the half-obscurity as the door clanged-to again.Terence looked up with the slow glance of one whose faculties arecorroded--rough with rust. His eyes met other eyes from which thelight of hope had fled. It was Theobald who was to be Terence's newcompanion.

  This unexpected meeting, under auspices so different from those whichsmiled upon their parting two short years before at Brest, unmannedthem both. With sobs they were locked in one another's arms. Then,sitting side by side and hand in hand each told his tale in whispers.Which of the two stories was the saddest? Both their young lives wereequally undone, and for nothing. True sympathy is like the brush of anangel's wing. They communed far on into the night, and the hearts ofboth were lightened.

  From the moment of his capture, Tone felt a conviction that his racewas run. On his road to Dublin indignities were heaped on him--he washeavily ironed, as though so frail an unarmed creature could beat downbristling bayonets. He knew that as an _emigre rentre_ he must suffer,and accepted his fate with calmness.

  It was a singular cavalcade which journeyed south from Donegal. Therewas a posse of rollicking yeomen to guard the prisoners, headed byLord Glandore (in the blue and orange uniform of the Hillsboroughclub), at whose right hand rode Cassidy. My lord was not certainwhether to be offended with the squireen or not. With regard toTheobald, he had, as usual, followed his mother's cue, who, when sheset eyes on him, determined instantly that he should not be betrayedthrough her. Shane's good impulse bade him follow suit. He had knownthe fellow when a youth. To jump upon the fallen is at best a dirtytrick. But there was no doubt that such voluntary blindness was moreromantic than expedient. By the help of the English admiral, Shanefully intended to make capital out of this sea-fight, and win forhimself an English peerage, and possibly some convenient sinecures. Asit was, he was already rich and great. But the richer we are, thepoorer we often believe ourselves to be. Shane fancied himself quite apauper--a worthy subject for eleemosynary grants. Now, supposing thatTone had left Glas-aitch-e with the other prisoners unrecognised,there were ten chances to one against his so escaping in Dublin. Astart of surprise, an involuntary exclamation, would have arousedsuspicion and settled his fate; and then what would have been said ofthe candidate for charity who, knowing the traitor well, had failed todenounce him? There was little doubt that Government would havelaughed at my lord's craving for an English peerage--that he wouldhave sighed for a pension in vain. On the whole he was not sorry thatCassidy should have shown himself a man of the world by exhibitingsuch laudable presence of mind. Tone had been denounced under his roof(he would make the most of this), but not by him, therefore was hisconscience clear. Nothing could be better. On the whole he concludedto be charmed with Cassidy, chattering with him as he rode, andlaughing at the giant's stories with a condescension that filled thelatter's soul with joy. The giant took occasion to instil fears intothe selfish mind of my lord with reference to Terence. How would hisMajesty look on the brother of a rebel? Of course it follows not thatone brother should wield the smallest influence over another. Butwould the King admit this; or would he frown on the elder, despite hisgrovelling, because of the sins of the audacious junior? The sins ofthe fathers are to be visited on the children--at least the Jews havesaid so; but nothing has been said about the enormities of one brotherbeing visited on another. Such a rule would be very inconvenient. NowShane had never shown any genuine affection for Terence. Under nocircumstances whatever was he prepared to make a personal sacrificefor him. Why should he? Cassidy's hints therefore fell upon fertileground. His selfishness took alarm. Indifference turned toindignation. He had languidly regretted that Terence should be makingsuch a fool of himself. He must bear the brunt of his own faults, andso on. Now he was consumed with rage in that his younger brothershould show so little proper feeling as, for some silly crotchet, tojeopardise his senior's interests. It was vastly good of Cassidy tomention the subject, but he had better say nothing about it to mylady, who was hipped and out of sorts--not to say cross. My lord wouldmake a point of assuring His new Excellency, so soon as he shouldarrive in the metropolis, of his undying devotion to existingGovernment and his abhorrence of his misguided brother's crimes.

  My lady and Doreen in the family coach brought up the rear of theprocession. Neither was inclined for talk--the minds of both beingbusy with netting plans--so each looked out of her own windowlistlessly.

  For several weeks Terence and Theobald occupied the same cell--visitedalmost daily by Councillor Curran. The latter explained that MissWolfe, lately arrived in town, was burning to obtain access to them,but that her father peremptorily forbade her doing so. She sent themtender messages of hope, which both knew were futile, but which theyanswered verbally with thanks, pens and ink being withheld from them.Signs were not wanting that they were marked out as chief offenders,for precautions were taken in their case which were neglected in thatof others.

  Curran's reports of the state-trials were not encouraging. The jurywere being skilfully manipulated into a likeness of independence.Three of the chiefs suffered in turn; two escaped. Terence was thesixth. With reference to him, which line would the jurors beinstructed to take? The executive were dumb upon the subject. Theyalso dallied with the life of Tone, till Doreen and his other friendsbecame almost sanguine. As a French general he might perhaps beclaimed by France, in which case England would certa
inly submit. Ofcourse they would claim him. Yet how sluggish they were while a noblelife was shaking in the balance! Theobald himself was the only one whonever doubted. He rose quietly, and squeezed the hand of his companionwithout a word or gesture of surprise, when at length, on the 10th ofNovember, the turnkey opened the door, and bade him 'Come!' for, beinga soldier, he was not to be honoured with a state-trial--and he wasglad of it.

  The court-martial which was to cut his span was held in thecavalry-barracks, the roads leading to which were thronged by anxiouswatchers, amongst whom professional wakers were prominent like ravens.Tone wore the uniform of a chef de brigade. His calm air and firmdeportment favourably impressed his judges. He was every inch asoldier. Would he plead guilty or not guilty?

  'I will give the court no useless trouble,' the prisoner replied whenquestioned. 'From my earliest youth, I have looked on the connectionbetween Ireland and Britain as the curse of the Irish nation, and havefelt convinced that while it lasted my country could not be happy.That Ireland was unable alone to throw off the yoke I knew. Itherefore looked for aid wherever it was to be found. I soughtin the French Republic an ally to rescue three millions of myfellow-countrymen from----'

  The president interrupted the prisoner, bidding him refrain fromimproper language. Had he any reason to assign why sentence should notbe passed on him?

  'I have spoken and acted with reflection and on principle, and amprepared to face the consequences,' Tone answered. 'You do your duty.I have done mine. All I would ask is, that the court would adjudge mea soldier's death. In consideration of the uniform I wear, I claim tobe shot by a platoon of grenadiers.'

  Then sentence of death was passed in usual form--the manner of it tobe afterwards arranged--and Tone was led back to the cell from whencehe came, where Terence was eagerly awaiting his return.

  Dublin sank into stupor when the news leaked out, for all classesrespected the single-minded young martyr of Irish liberty. Curran wasthe first to arrive at Strogue with the sad intelligence--his eyesred, his face worn. Doreen turned her head away, too sorrowful fortears. My lady sat in a trance as though she heard nothing, for thetemporary energy which had brought her to town had waned; the ghost ather elbow fanned her with his pinions, mesmerised her free-will. Asfor Sara, she gave way to hysterical weeping. Sara was domesticatednow at Strogue. Her father's position, by reason of his attitude atthe state-trials, was one of peril. It was quite likely that some daythe Priory might be sacked by enraged Orangemen. Sara was no longersafe there. Curran brought the evil tidings to the family circle, butwith it a crumb of comfort. The sentence was illegal; for, holding nocommission under King George, Theobald should have been tried by civillaw with the other state-prisoners. It was painfully true that,intoxicated by impunity, no one cared now whether a thing was legal ornot. Hundreds of peasants and traders of the lower class weresacrificed every day by the military tribunals, which was all verywell for the minnows. But Theobald's case was different, Curranexplained. He was a big fish. People would discuss the ins and outs ofhis arraignment. The French must be communicated with, and adjured toclaim their general. Meanwhile time must be gained somehow. Curranwould move for the case to be tried before the Court of King's Bench,which was sitting at the Sessions-House under the presidency ofDoreen's father. This would give a week or two's respite--forTerence's trial was next upon the list, and that could be postponed bylegal art.

  The good lawyer trotted back to Dublin. For a whole day he interviewedinfluential persons--strove to obtain votes and money; but the torporof fear chilled every heart. Not a finger would any of the cits stirfor Tone--who had sacrificed his all for them. Then Councillor Curran,determined not to be beaten, went to the Sessions-House alone, andsummoned my Lord Kilwarden, by virtue of his office, to claim the bodyof his godson. My lord gladly responded to the challenge. Hedespatched his sheriff to the provost-marshal, demanding that theculprit should be resigned to him; but that functionary declined togive up his prisoner. Curran groaned in spirit. His last chance wasthe Viceroy; but his excellency refused to interfere. There wasnothing more to be done--absolutely nothing! The little lawyer wendedhis way back to Strogue in the evening, quite exhausted.

  Doreen listened as he unfolded his budget, and, the last remnant ofher artificial apathy melting away, girded up her loins for astruggle. She was not prepared, she said, to see the game so tamelygiven up. Tone first--then Terence! No, not without a supreme effortto save them. He of the silver tongue had failed? Well, then, shewould even go now herself, and try what a simple woman's pleadingcould accomplish. She rose up straightway--it would not do to go quitealone--and bade Sara put on her habit. The two girls would forcethemselves into the presence of Lord Cornwallis, and wring thoseprecious lives from the executioner. In the first instance they wouldimportune the chancellor. Perhaps he would go with them and add hisweight. Though it was growing dark, Curran offered no resistance. Itwas a last chance; their sacred mission should protect the maidens.Out of delicacy he had refrained from telling them that Theobald wascast for execution on the morrow.

  But Doreen remained not long in ignorance. First she directed hercourse to the provost, at whose forbidding portals she found a stoutwoman quarrelling with a sentry. On perceiving the riders the womanrushed into the road, and clung to Doreen's skirts.

  'They'll kill him in the morning, acushla!' she cried, weeping, 'andthen they'll kill the other! It's your cousin that they'll bemurdering, and his wicked old mother sits like a carved stock. I knowyour purty face, though we've never spoke a word. Sure, ye're thejudge's child. Go, now, and spake with him. Stay! I'll go too, forit's the gift of the gab that comes from heaven. They'll be clever ifthey beat the two of us!'

  It was Madam Gillin, who had been refused admittance to the cell ofher _protege_ because his comrade lay under sentence of death, and hadnot yet been removed to solitude.

  Thus was it, in the chaos produced by misrule, that these dissimilarmembers of an oppressed religion became acquainted at last. They hadmet so frequently over sick-beds or at Castle festivities that theyseemed to be quite old friends, till the sound of an unfamiliar voicetold them that it was not so. Is it not ofttimes thus? Do we not knowa person so well by sight that every turn of expression seems to bindus to him till we hear his voice, which strikes us as strange, and,finding no echoing chord within our hearts, warns us that we arestrangers?

  The attention of the three ladies was arrested by a hubbub within theprovost. There was a sound of chains, then the chaunt arose in choruswhich was become, through the irony of fate, so piteous a mockery:

  'What rights the brave? The sword! What frees the slave? The sword!'

  Alas, alas! There was no sword now but that of an avenging tyrant;when might it be sheathed? Sara screened her face with her hand andcowered over her saddle-bow, for a dearly loved voice had been wont tosing that song. With deep thankfulness she remembered that theDestroying Angel who had been so busy was kind at least to her. Itmight have been Robert clanking his chains within that door. ThankHeaven, he was far away across the sea in London--safe! Sara,guiltily glad in the midst of so much sorrow, reined in herhorse, which shied upon the sudden opening of the door. Anothervoice--whose well-known richness sent a thrill through the bosoms ofDoreen and Gillin--trolled forth in answer the Orange Hymn of'Croppies, lie down.' The singer stood with burly legs, like pillars,across the threshold, a huge dark shadow against the light behind--ashadow of evil to both Gillin and Doreen--Cassidy.

  'Lie down, dogs! or ye'll have a taste of the triangles!' he bellowedover his shoulder in his racy brogue, ere he perceived that he waswatched.

  Miss Wolfe's brow contracted, for this was the Cassidy without themask, whose aspect at Glas-aitch-e had affected her like a snake; whohad sold Theobald deliberately; whose real self was so different fromthe other one that would fain have been her lover. Presently he wasaware of horses' hoofs, and recognised in the stream of radiance whichpoured across the road the brown velvet habit which he had been wont
idiotically to sigh after. The sight of it did not improve his temper.He troubled not to assume the mask again, for the die was cast forbetter or for worse--by her. He was now an openly protected ruffian, apatronised Orange braggadocio. Rollicking, disrespectful, he jerked athumb to his hat and grinned at Miss Wolfe.

  'Leedies on a party of pleasure?' he jeered. 'Faix, Miss Doreen, ye'refond of singing-birds. I'd bring ye insoide, but 'tisn't clean enough.'Deed it's not, now. I'll have it swept to-morrow. Is it CouncillorCrosbie ye're afther trying to peep at? I wouldn't, if I were you, forhe's not the purty boy at whom ye used to lower your eyelids.'

  Doreen replied with studied calmness: 'You do well to drop disguise,Mr. Cassidy, since I know you as you are. If they are in your care,God help them!'

  The marble beauty! Her scorn ate into his flesh like vitriol. He had,with long patience, shown a fictitious better side to her in vain. Itwas with fiendish pleasure that he exposed the real one.

  But the contempt which knitted the maiden's brow and distended herfinely-cut nostrils proved too much for the giant's pot-valour. Hetried to wink with the slyness which used to keep supper-tables in aroar, but shrank under her steady glance, and retiring with a growl,discomfited, slammed the door. Then, the spell removed, cursinghimself and her, he went through a pantomime of anathema, batteringthe panels from within with heavy fists till the turnkeys ran out,supposing him to have been attacked.

  'She treats me like dirt!' he gnashed out between foul oaths. 'Yet,plaze the Lord, I'll brand myself on her memory till her dying day.Damn her! A fight, is it? A fight be it--deadly--to the last gasp.We'll see if her ladyship will be so hoity-toity then!'

  The frown passed not from the maiden's face with the vanishing ofCassidy. _He_ there, in apparent authority! His presence boded littlegood to either of the dear prisoners.

  What a queer character was Cassidy's! Outwardly merry andgood-humoured, he was by nature coldly fierce, calculating, callous.Reckless of life himself, its value to others made no impression onhim. Playful and unpitying, commanding the smile and heeding not thesigh, he was a human paradox. The more Doreen considered him the lesscould she understand such a person, being herself true and impulsiveand open as the day.

  'We will go to Ely Place at once,' she said hurriedly. 'Lord Claremust and shall help us.'

  The ladies walked their horses in order that panting Mrs. Gillin mighttell all she knew. Tone's doom was fixed. Of that she was sure.Neither the chancellor nor anybody else could avert his passing. ButTerence--so careless and so joyous a short while ago--his case washarrowing. Both were specially interested in him. Madam Gillin hadheard for certain that his trial was to come on within a week, andthat his henchman had been well triangled only a few hours since toextort evidence against his master. His butchers had even stoppedtheir practical joke at intervals in order to give him time to pullhis thoughts together. Did he say anything? Nothing that the narratorwas aware of. Her nurse, old Jug, witnessed the scourging, andscurried home all of a tremble at the horrid spectacle. In herpresence he had writhed and shrieked for mercy--had gnawed his tonguelest it should escape control--had swooned--and was then tossed uponsome straw--half dead, but faithful so far.

  Sara clung to her saddle-pommel as she listened, lest she too shouldswoon; and it dawned upon Doreen that they were out on a fool'serrand. Life is a bitter gift to many; yet, charged as we are withillusory hopes, what suffering must be ours ere we master its fullbitterness! She came out imagining that mercy was alive, that justicewas only torpid, that she could plead with human creatures to whomjustice and mercy were precious. How mad! For mercy she saw withterrible clearness the triangle; for justice, the shade of Cassidy.The Valley of the Shadow was of weary length, and she was groping init darkly still. Nothing could come of this expedition; of that shefelt convinced. Tone and Terence would be hanged. Terence, who heldher heart--she knew it now with no tinge of shame, and gloried in it.She promised herself to be present at his trial, strengthening him byher sympathy. He might not be hers in this world. She had refused theboon of his affection when he had offered it; had presumed to preachto him--worse--had doubted him. Blind, fatuous girl! How justlypunished! He was to die a martyr, blessed in that his life was to bein mercy shortened. She would tend his lowly bed, plant flowers on it,then take the veil and spend in prayer and vigil such days as it mightbe her lot to linger through. They would not be many. Heaven was verydeaf. Surely this little boon of a speedy flitting might be vouchsafedto her jaded spirit? The tendency to asceticism which is buried moreor less deep in all of us was asserting itself in this dark hour overDoreen. She looked forward to the cloister and the monastic habit withexultation.

  By the time the party turned into Ely Place, Doreen had lost hercourage and her hope. She felt as shy almost as Sara--panted only forthe swift coming of the shot that she might stagger away into thecovert.

  Strange! There was a party at Lord Clare's. All the windows were ruddywith light, filtering through cosy curtains. Incongruous spectacle!Sedans were ranged in rows; their bearers could be heard yelling in anadjacent tavern. The entry-door was wide open lacqueys in sumptuousliveries hurried in and out; there was a clatter of knives and forks,the popping of corks and shouts of laughter.

  Miss Wolfe was aghast. This contingency had not occurred to her. Itnever struck her that at such a moment men could be found who werecapable of making merry.

  'Let us go home!' timid Sara urged. 'What can we do? It's dreadful!'

  Mrs. Gillin laughed bitterly, and clutched Miss Wolfe's bridle.

  'Do you know what they're at?' she whispered, glancing round lest anyone should hear her. 'It's a merry-making, true enough; but there'sbusiness at the bottom of it. I know more than I'm supposed to know, Itell you. The members of the Houses are chap-fallen. Their consciencesare working inconveniently. Dinners are being organised by those inoffice to raise their drooping "sowls," in case, at the last moment,they should waver in their allegiance. We know what they're drivingat--sure, it's splendid! The friends of Government dine together anddrink toasts, and hob and nob with lusty choruses, and swill claret aspigs swill wash, to keep their loyalty at boiling-point. While thefriends of Erin sit in ashes, and the scrag-boy's worn to the bonewith villain's work! It's a quare world, isn't it, Miss Wolfe?'

  The little party was beginning to enlist attention. Women on horsebackdid not often linger out so late. The gold braid upon their habits,the plumes in their hats, proclaimed their superior position.Obsequious yeomen sprang up as though out of the ill-paved street;lackeys surrounded them. What could be done for their honours? Sure,half the aristocracy was pledging my lord chancellor. Glorious, gaydogs! Was aught amiss? Sure, 'twas a pity to spoil fun! Which of 'emdid the ladies want to see? A private hint might be conveyed to thelucky ones.

  The soldiers leered at the ladies who dared to be out at such a timeof night--with stringent orders as to curfew, too! It was like theimpudence of their craft to dare seek their gallants at thechancellor's own door. Reckless, bold baggages! Insolent, good-lookinghussies! Madam Gillin was preparing for a fray. She was a good hand atbandying retorts, and perceived at once the suspicions of thebystanders; but she was not destined to show her prowess on thisoccasion, for the astonished hall-porter recognised the ladies, andwaddled out to welcome them as quickly as amazement and short breathwould permit.

  'Is it Miss Wolfe, good luck? Sure his lordship your father's here.Will I call him?'

  'No. I wish to see Lord Clare,' Doreen stammered, her courage oozingstrangely. 'Don't tell him that 'tis I.'

  Sara, who all along had been supported in this singular adventure bythe valiance of her friend, saw that Doreen was breaking down. Theamazon--the cool, calm heroine! If she gave way, then must the caseindeed be desperate. The poor gentle little thing instantly brokedown, too, in most lamentable fashion. Tears rolled down her cheeks;blonde elf-locks hung over her eyes. She was a piteous object, if alovely one, to look upon, and refused all Madam Gillin's roughattempts at comforting.

  L
ord Clare came forth with a napkin in his hand. A silhouette, witharm upraised, appeared on the window-curtain, and the thick, quaveringvoice of Lord Glandore rang out above the din of glasses. 'A toast! Atoast!' he shouted. 'The Hero of the Nile, who has taught the Frenchtheir bearings!' Doreen shivered. An English toast from the lips ofTerence's brother. Alas! it signified little now what should befallthe French. Ireland was beyond succour. Summoning together with adesperate effort the shreds of her wavering purpose, she implored thechancellor to go at once with her to the Castle. If the matter wereclearly explained, the Viceroy would exert his right of clemency. Tonemight be saved. At least his passing might be postponed, whichpractically would come to the same thing. The trial of Terence mightalso be put off. In the confusion of troublous days like these, a fewweeks make all the difference. A little time works wonders; each grainof trickling sand is priceless.

  Lord Clare lifted the two girls from their saddles; bade a groom takethe horses to his stable, and prepare a coach forthwith.

  'Come within,' he said gravely. 'It is not fitting that you shouldplay the knight-errant thus; you might be insulted. What would yourfather think of it?'

  He paced up and down his study in silent meditation until the carriagewas announced, while Madam Gillin's clack was stilled by awe, and thetwo girls watched his every movement with breathless eagerness. Then,striking his hands together as though his web of thought werecomplete, he stood opposite to Doreen with a glance less like thealligator's than his was usually.

  'I've done my best already with Lord Cornwallis,' he said; 'but heheeds me no more than a crazy table. I begged him to quash this lasttrial; to show leniency with regard to your cousin. He retorted thathe was forbidden to be lenient; that he had promised to let the trialsrun their course; that I had myself to thank for it, having complainedof him to Mr. Pitt. I cannot stop this trial. Mr. Pitt is asungrateful, I find, as other men. He made use of me, then flung measide without the least compunction. I see it now--too late. As forthe other----'

  Doreen sank on her knees before the chancellor.

  'As for Tone,' he went on, severely, 'it is right and fit that heshould die. I would not move a finger to save him from the hangman.The mischief-maker! Come, my carriage shall take you back to Strogue.An officer shall ride behind to protect it.' Then, seeing howdistressed she looked, he took her hand, and continued, in a kindervoice, 'I'm not so heartless as you imagine. Girls should not troubletheir pretty heads with politics, which they are unable to understand.You think it very shocking to be giving feasts at such a time? Yetboth your cousin Shane and your father are here for state reasons.These festivities have a political meaning. Now, get you home and goto bed to refresh your roses. My word! Madam Gillin, if I mistake not?A strange companion for my lady's niece! Good-night. For his sake Iwill not tell your father of this escapade.'

  And so the maiden's effort was as vain as the little lawyer's was. Shesat sedate and still as the coach rattled on, murmuring once, in anundertone, 'That I, who never kneel to any one but God, should haveknelt at that man's feet in vain!' She thought of Theobald. What washe doing? Was he praying, or sleeping a last sleep? It must need all asoldier's courage to walk calmly to a scaffold. A cause should be agood one that has power to produce such martyrs.

  * * * * *

  While Curran and Doreen were straining every nerve for him, Tonestared moodily out into his prison-yard and watched the building of anew gallows there. 'A soldier's end was all I asked,' he sighed, 'andthey even deny me that small grace.'

  In the evening he took a tender farewell of Terence, and moved into anadjoining cell, which, as for a distinguished person who was condemnedto death, had been set apart for him.

  'Let us sit together to the last,' Terence objected, with a mournfulsmile. 'Why should we be parted who are both hovering on the confinesof eternity? Well, come in and look at me again before you go.'

  Theobald embraced his friend with clinging warmth, and whispering oncemore, 'We shall meet again,' withdrew. When the gaolers came to leadhim to the gallows-foot they were too late. His body lay cold upon thepallet. An ensanguined mark was on his throat. He had escaped thescrag-boy--cheated 'Jack the Breath-stopper'--and was gone!