CHAPTER VI.
APRES LA MORT, LE MEDECIN.
The chancellor was glad and sorry. Glad in that the son of his oldfriend should be reprieved, whereby (as he supposed) her great troublewould be lightened; sorry that so singular a scandal should haveattended this trial--a scandal which would not make the completion ofhis task the easier. But the ball was so near its goal--it hadgathered such velocity in transit--that it would take a very graveobstacle at this stage seriously to impede its course. So thechancellor gave up being sorry, and was altogether glad that the trialhad ended as it did. He reflected, however, that something would haveto be done to entice the public mind away from gyves and bolts, andprepare it for the beginning of millennium. The _Gentleman's Magazine_of that particular date happened to contain an account of a sojourn ofthe royal family at Weymouth, with minute details of how the PrincessAmelia did tambour-work, while his Majesty, with his own august hands,was deigning to fry sprats for supper. Lord Clare saw his way to adelicate bit of flattery. He had the arcadian tale printed off andposted on the walls of Dublin, that loyal minds might be edified andtouched by the simple manners of their sovereign; but (as was becomeusual) the chancellor was thwarted by the Viceroy, who said the wholething was fudge, and ordered the placards to be pulled down. The PrivyCouncil censured Lord Kilwarden for his pusillanimous behaviour at thetrial, alleging that it was a pity to see a man high in office whoshowed so little resource in an emergency; but at the same time theydecided _nem. con_. that there must be no more state-trials. The storyof Phil's dramatic end would certainly be reported in London, withadditions, and my Lord Moira would be sure to make the most of it. Mr.Pitt would certainly be angry at the _contretemps_. From first to lastit was a miserable business which could not, unfortunately, be hushedup. In spite of the Gr--t P--rs--n--ge searching questions would beasked. Mr. Pitt must somehow be placed in a position to state thatsuffering Erin had gone through her operation and was comfortablybedridden for the remainder of her days. To this end the members ofthe Irish senate must be brought back from the state of siege inancestral castles, which they were pleased to call 'villegiatura,'without delay; by threats, and bribes, and promises they must beinduced to haggle no more over their mess of pottage. Ireland mustseem to retire from the world with a good grace, and be tucked snuglyup between the sheets for evermore. Lord Clare was satisfied that thedecisive moment had arrived, for the country was quiet enough now forthe question of union to be freely ventilated. It was delightfullyquiet--with the silence of the tomb. The lords, he was convinced, wereready for anything, provided they were well paid. When they wereassured that patriotism and interest were directly antagonistic, theformer was certain to come off second best. Lord Clare informed theViceroy that the proposition might be put at once and carried, if onlyHis Excellency would be a little civil to the senate.
But His Excellency hated tortuous groping; he abhorred the Irishpeers; begged that he might not be asked even to sniff the noisomebroth. When he came over he attached to his person a young Irishman ofparts, who was not squeamish. The chancellor had also shown thathe was not squeamish. These two Irishmen--my Lords Clare andCastlereagh--must do all the broth-stirring; the sooner the brew wasready, the sooner they would receive their wages--the sooner would he,the Viceroy, be enabled to leave the wretched country and go home.Once the union carried, every one would be delighted--except theIrish; and even they, in due time, would come to be glad also. LordClare's eye kindled with satisfaction. He beheld the possibility, ifthis captious Viceroy would only depart, of himself returning to hisformer position. He saw himself again the awful statesman, before whomcourtiers should salaam, as they used to do; he saw his ambitiousvision (obscured for an instant) realised at last. There were only afew more yards of mud to wallow through before reaching _terra firma_,and then he would take a bath and, by dint of scrubbing, appear nomore dirty than his fellows. So he made up his mind, as LordCornwallis declined to help, to manage the caldron in conjunction withLord Castlereagh, and the pair were quite engrossed by the phases oftheir hellish cookery.
There was one matter that was hemmed round with grievous difficulties,which had not yet been settled, and which troubled every member of thePrivy Council not a little. What was to be done with those leaders ofthe United Irishmen who were still awaiting trial at Kilmainham? Whatwas to be done with Tom Emmett, Russell, Neilson--what with thearch-traitor Terence Crosbie? It was evident that a repetition of thefiasco of the other day must on no account be risked; they must not betried. Neither must they remain at Kilmainham, for it was probablethat they had relations with the outer world, that they were plottingstill, and might possibly give more trouble by-and-by by organising anew Directory. There was no object now in allowing them to plot. Onthe contrary, once the union carried, it was essential that Irelandshould be at peace. Lord Clare knew perfectly well, while he pratedabout peace, that he had wilfully hailed the silence of a cowed nationas a restoration of contented tranquillity. He knew very well that ifthe English army and the soldier Viceroy were removed, and the leaderspermitted to scheme on, the country would be in as much danger asever; that, union or no union, millennium could not supervene untiltime should blot away the nefarious means employed. What could be donewith these dangerous conspirators? They could not be tried andexecuted; they could not be released, or kept in Ireland, or shippedto America. As white elephants, they daily became more cumbersome; itwas a pity that gaol-fever would not take them off. But they wereprovokingly well, in spite of privation and suffering. Their wingsmust be cut somehow. Couriers posted to and fro between London andHolyhead, bearing despatches on this difficult point. While LordsClare and Castlereagh were making final preparations for the union,Lord Cornwallis was striving to devise a plan which should not be tooglaring an example of broken faith. He implored. He begged. Hethreatened. Good King George was as tractable as usual. The odiousvillains were either Papists, or Protestant defenders of Papists,which was worse. The apostasy of these Protestants was more grievousthan the sin of Popery itself. They should receive no mercy. Nocompact with such rascals could be binding. He would not have thembanished across seas, where they might achieve some measure ofhappiness. They must be kept in duress as scarecrows--an awful warningto other ruffians. There was no moving him. At last ministers gaveway, and it being decided that the white elephants should be shippedto Scotland, commissioners were appointed to select a suitablyunpleasant spot where they might languish without danger to thecommunity.
There is a fortress on the extremity of a tongue of land which jutsinto the Moray Firth, the country round about which is destitute ofhouses or of trees--a dreary, forsaken desert devoid of vegetation.The very place! The obdurate ruffians should be transported to FortGeorge, as soon as it could be made strong enough to keep them safe.
Meanwhile the Viceroy was guilty of an act of politic clemency whichwould have put the King in a bad temper if he had known of it. Hedetermined that, as several months must elapse before the fortresswould be ready, it would be well to permit the arch-villain Terence togo home--on parole--provided he would give his word to plot no more.The circumstances of his reprieve were producing a profound impressionin society. The romantic devotion of the servant--the imminent dangerof the master--were so dramatic, that high-born dames regretted theirabsence from the moving spectacle. They professed to be vastlyinterested in a young man who could call forth such a proof ofaffection from another, and vowed that it was a shame he should besacrificed. Sure, Moiley ought to be content with a nice hecatombselected from the lower classes. Lord Cornwallis perceived that herewas a good opportunity of paying the nobles a compliment. They were soimportant a factor in the matter of the union, that it was well toconciliate them as a body; and what better way was there of doing sothan by treating one of their order with indulgence? He thereforeintimated to Lord Clare that he was inclined to do what he might toplease him--that he saw the mistake he had made in allowing LordGlandore's brother to be tried--that he,
Lord Clare, might, if hewished it, inform the dowager countess of a special favour that was instore for one of her known loyalty--namely, that she might expect tohave the custody of her erring child until the time of his vanishingfrom Ireland.
Lord Clare was charmed, and hurried to Strogue with the good news. Mylady was a riddle, whose behaviour was always different from whatmight be expected. He knew that Terence's danger had placed her on agridiron where she was consuming slowly, and naturally concluded thather joy at his reprieve would culminate when she was told that shemight keep him near her for a while. This extraordinary young man, forwhom a servant would sacrifice his life, must needs be tenderlybeloved by the mother to whom he owed his birth. If she was inraptures she had a queer method of displaying her feelings. Her cheekturned a shade more pale than usual. Bowing her head as under a newblow, she murmured, 'It is well.'
Though he knew and esteemed the countess, Lord Clare's acquaintancewith my lady was not so intimate as ours. He had not seen her atGlas-aitch-e, when every chair and table was babbling of what hadhappened there. He did not look on her when with a spasm ofself-reproach she discovered that the undoing of her second son wouldnot be so heartrending as it ought to be. He did not know that in faceof Terence's doom she was torn by two distinctly opposite emotions;that while his fate crushed her as a judgment for past sin, it alsobrought a sense of relief. He was not aware that with his death aburthen of long-endured apprehension would have been lightened,whereby her tortured soul might attain a semblance of rest at last.
We soon make up our minds to the inevitable. My lady had made up hermind that Terence was to die. Her pangs of conscience were bitter, butthe dreadful thing was settled; no influence of hers could affect theyouth's fate now, whatever it might have done in the past. So low wasshe fallen that she found some poor relief in that. But this new,unexpected freak of Fortune brought all the bitterness of her troubleback again; and with a sigh she roused her distempered faculties fromlethargy and bestirred herself--for the dreary battle was, as itseemed, not over yet. The implacable phantom kept whispering in herear that it was not too late even now to set right the wrong; thatthere still was time if she would force those stubborn knees to bendand abase her pride.
My lady loathed herself for the thoughts which held possession of hermind. When the chancellor brought his news, she concealed the suddenturbulence within. Strangely enough, the mother's sympathies, even atthat moment, were not for Terence--the son who had escaped thehalter--but for Shane; and a great fear for him leaped up in herheart, to the crushing out of natural feeling. Terence was snatchedfrom the grave as by a miracle. A foreboding took strong hold of mylady's mind that this was for a purpose--that Heaven, not satisfiedwith the penance of a lifetime, was determined that she should blabout to the world the secret which, lying on her bosom, had seared herlife. Oh! why did she not accept her punishment all those years ago,when the task would not have been so hard? The earth had been nopleasant place of sojourn to my lady. When she thought of all she hadborne since the old lord's death--of the utter futility of thepenance--she became rebellious, and gnashed her teeth at the simperingportrait of him who had got off so easily. She rebelled against theiron sternness of Heaven. She was to bend her proud knees, wasshe--and confess? Her whitened hair and ashen cheeks were not to betaken into account? Very well, then. She defied Heaven; religion was adelusion and a snare; the Lord of Heaven unduly just. Tossing herfavourite tracts into the fire, she swore she would not be driven tospeak, though the ruin of her soul should be the penalty. At the timewhen it was decided that Terence was to die, she spent the long hoursin reverie over the past--in poignant regret that he should have to bethus sacrificed. She reflected that if she had spoken all those yearsago he would never have joined the popular side--would never haverisked his neck--of that she felt assured; and so she felt in somesort as though she had herself handed him over to the scrag-boy. Itwas an awful thought, and it had weighed down her intellect. But nowcame a revulsion. It was not to be so. He was to live as a reproach.Heaven was hounding her down, so she stood at bay. If Heaven hadaccepted the penance of a life without requiring that the originaltransgression should be cancelled by confessing it she would gladlyhave borne the penance to the end of a long weary existence. But thatthe penance should not be accepted in any way as an equivalent, wasmaddening to her sense of justice. She bestirred herself; sat nolonger dreaming the days away. The household whispered that my ladywas herself again, that the joy of her son's reprieve was accountablefor the happy change. All thought this save Gillin, who knew hersecret. That excellent person scratched her untidy head with a comband pondered. What did the wicked old woman mean to do? There was moremischief brewing--of that she felt quite sure. Well, Terence was savedfrom the gallows by direct interposition from above. He was notintended to be made a sacrifice, any more than Isaac was when hisfather's faith was tried. A few months remained to him before he wasto be taken to his Scottish prison. If my lady should allow him to gothere, without making an effort to prevent it--why then she, MadamGillin, would open her mouth and speak. Her lips had been closedover-long. Had she not sworn an oath beside that deathbed? It wouldbecome her bounden duty to interfere, if the countess lacked courageso to do.
It was touching that in moments of severest trial my lady shouldalways have been engrossed by the interests of her black sheep. Shealways thought of Shane rather than of herself; and he gave her littlesatisfaction in return for this great love. Never very white, he wasdaily growing darker. One evil thought engenders another; one evildeed makes a second necessary: we were all taught that in earliestinfancy, and Shane's condition was in accordance with the rule. Hisprowess in the past as King of Cherokees had brought him little blamein public estimation, for the Glandores had been fire-eaters time outof mind, and the Irish love a spark with mettle in him. But hisconduct since he departed for Glas-aitch-e was on many sidesdisapproved as shady. The Viceroy openly showed his mean opinion ofhim. His tenants had protested by injuring his cattle and destroyinghis crops. He was proud, was Shane, as well as naturally reckless, andwas fond of notoriety. He resented the Viceroy's treatment, and wasfurious with the tenants; and became more wrathful still with Terence,to whose ill-advised conduct he imputed his own growing unpopularity.What was the use of having mixed himself up in the odium of Tone'scapture if his brother was to cut the ground from under his feet? Itwas but too probable that he might whistle both for an English peerageand comforting bits in the way of sinecures; and all because ofTerence. Was it not enough to provoke a saint--much more an Irishearl, who considered himself a pauper? Lord Cornwallis was unkind andrude. My Lord Glandore complained of his uncivil treatment to LordClare. The chancellor, with an eye to business, soothed his_amour-propre_, and roundly told the Viceroy in private that he mustconstrain himself to be civil to the peers. Then he broke ground toShane with reference to the union, explaining that he might puthimself quite right if he would work with the executive in thismatter. He must promise his vote in the House of Lords and all hisinfluence in the Commons, and then his gracious Majesty woulddoubtless give substantial proofs of his approval. Shane promised thathe would follow this worldly-wise advice. As my Lord Clare so cogentlyobserved, the union was arranged--was to all intents and purposes a_fait accompli_. Lord Glandore's influence could not prevent the end,even if that peer should elect to be disinterested. What a lack ofcommon prudence would he show then, if for a crotchet he should barhimself out of Tom Tiddler's ground! His brother's ruin showed theresult of crotchets. There would be fine pickings. The Chancellor gavehis word as to that, adding at the same time that the man is a foolwho strains at gnats. Shane therefore was as easily talked over asmany another of his order. Lord Clare was quite certain about thesuccess of his project, but thought that it would perhaps be well tosound my lady in order that she might not through inadvertence undohis work.
Now, as we know, she had lived the life of a recluse, looking atpolitical events, in most cases, through the chancellor's spectacles,half-awakened now an
d then by the diatribes of Mr. Curran. But shethought his web was a wicked piece of work when now he displayed itswoof to her; and objected strongly to his design of mixing herfirstborn in his scheming. It was grievous to her that the dear darkwool of the dusky sheep should be further blackened. My lady got ridof her importunate old friend by saying she would speak to Shane as tothe using of his influence; and, left alone, sat wondering what sheought to do. It was a bitter thing to think of the proud name beingheld up to obloquy. Yet there were reasons why valuable titbits mustnot be refused idly by the idol of her heart. If only that oldabortive project could be carried out! If only Shane was safelymarried to his cousin! Was it too late to make another effort? My ladyperceived dimly that Shane was repelled by the damsel--and no wonder.The passions of this earth seemed gone, burnt away, consumed, by theaction on her mind of past events. Doreen sat on a heap of ashes,enclosed in a rarified atmosphere of her own. But, for all that,another trial must be made; matters were becoming desperate; my ladybegan to fear that she was not strong enough to fight against Heaven.She would see Shane, and speak very seriously to him forthwith.
It was no easy matter now to get hold of Shane. Since his return toDublin he had plunged deeper and deeper into excess--partly fromhaving been mewed up so long, partly to drown the voice of the innermonitor, partly because of the forbidding chilliness of his ownfireside and the presence there of his gloomy brother. The Blasters,who during the reign of terror had been busy with the triangles; theCherokees, who had been dispersed about the country with theirregiments, returned now to the capital, to sit for the last time inthe Irish Parliament, by order of the chancellor; and glorious werethe nights they passed together whilst awaiting the decisive moment.The hounds of Strogue were brought again into requisition. My lord andhis boon companions amused themselves with cub-hunting--careering withwild shrieks across the land--past cabins, the shoulders of whoseoccupants were disfigured with livid weals--past huts whose inmatescursed the cavalcade as it swept by. They rode all day. They drank andfought all night. My lady had to bide her time in order to lay handsupon her son. Verily, it seemed little probable that his infatuatedlordship could be induced, even by her entreaties, to pull up in fullcareer for the sake of wooing the cousin who frightened him!
As though in furtherance of the unrelenting measures of Heaven, bothsons were received now as guests at the Little House, and equallyinsulted their parent by making no secret of going there. The scrapingof their feet was visible on the wall which divided the twoproperties. My lady could not but admit that Fate took pleasure indeliberately thwarting her arrangements. Why, when so many Catholicscame to ruin in the Hurry, was this horrible woman allowed to escapescot-free? After she had been caught in the act, too, of harbouringtraitors! Was it that through her (the only one on earth who had powerto do so) the secret she kept so hungrily should be blabbed forth uponthe housetops? Sure, a mark of Fate's finger could be detected here.But my lady was all the more determined to be obstinate. She would goon scheming, and wrestle with all her puny strength, shaking herbroken spear-haft till finally put out of misery. If Fate was resolvedto kill her, she would die hard, fighting to the very last.
Terence, being free--on parole--moped about the Abbey, never movingbeyond its boundaries, save when he went to the Little House toconverse with its kind hostess. His life was finished, although he wasnot destined to wing away at present. The reprieve brought to him norapture, much as his heart was touched by the devotion of poor Phil.He was like one who has passed through the anguish of drowning; whohas subsided into the ecstatic state, made beautiful by colouredlights, which precedes dissolution. Like those who have been at thispoint plucked from the waters, he returned with reluctance to theworld, conscious only of its pain and trouble. After the first shortshock of astonishment, which set his head reeling, he experiencednothing but unalloyed regret, although the mere fact of life isintoxicating to the young. His peace was made with his Maker. He hadbeen privileged to look through the Golden Gate, only to be thrustcruelly back again into the darkness of this world. Had he butfollowed Theobald's example, all would have been over now--he would bewalking with his brother patriots in Paradise. He was satisfied thathis life would be of no further use. He saw little of his mother--aslittle as possible, indeed, for on his arrival from Kilmainham she hadtendered a frigid hand in a way that brought tears into his eyes. Mylady's attempt to appear glad was rendered heart-rending by itsill-success. Was it her fault if her affections were so engrossed byShane that there was no corner left for Terence? He saw through thelittle mummery at once, and avoided her without stopping to seek forreasons; and she, on her side, was relieved, for every fibre of energywithin her was strung now for the unequal contest with Fate on Shane'sbehalf, which she perceived with prophetic ken to be inevitable.
Curran and Sara stayed on at the Abbey, to the satisfaction of theinmates, whose skeletons rattled with less deafening jangle in thepresence of strangers. Doreen was glad of Sara for a nurse. My lady,who always liked Curran, and who was being crushed into humility byimpending Nemesis, was sorry to see how aged he was, and hoped thatthe quiet of the Abbey might do for him what it might never do forher. He lingered on to see the most of Terence, declaring that, theunion passed and the prisoners gone, he would turn his back on theland he had loved too well, and crave six feet of earth from theUnited States. He trotted up and down the alleys of the rosary withhis ex-junior, the hearts of both too full for speech. They would partsoon, never again to meet in this world. They had been involved indangers and supreme soul-conflicts, which knit hearts together moreclosely than a decade of conventional maundering. Both had been sorelytried, and had come out the better for the fire. The tenderness thetwain felt one for the other was that of two strong natures, generousand pure--an equable, staunch tenderness, swayed by no violentpassion, founded on the sure basis of esteem and confidence, such asmay never be attained in any love of man for woman.
This was the attitude of the two friends one to the other, in theinterval that preceded the day which was to decide the fate ofIreland. Doreen was too ill to see any one. The orders of the doctorwere stringent as to the necessity of extreme quiet for her. Saraissued forth now and again with bulletins; then returned to her post.Madam Gillin bearded the tigress in her lair by sending openly toinquire after the invalid. One morning Sara, neglecting her patient,came tripping forth, well rolled in furs, with unseemly gladness inher face--unseemly levity in her demeanour:
'What _do_ you think, papa?' she said, flinging her arms round Mr.Curran. 'I've got a letter to say he's coming home!'
'_He?_ To whom do you refer?' demanded her father, who declined toadmit that for his child there was but one 'he.'
'Robert, of course!' she replied, with shy reproach. 'Do read!'
Her father read, then handed the note to Terence gloomily. The maidhad her gladness to herself. It was not a wise letter; one writtenevidently by an enthusiastic but rash, person, who, having been absentduring the Hurry, could put faith still in the mirage of Irishfreedom; who had not laid to heart the awful lesson of the year thatwas expiring. He spoke with indignation of the way he was duped inLondon; of the impossibility of getting at his Majesty, who was asinaccessible to him as any potentate of Old Japan. For months he waskept dallying in ante-chambers, he complained. His funds would havefailed but for good Lord Moira. But now he was coming back to receivethe mantle of Theobald, which intuition told him was to fit hisshoulders; to bid farewell to brother Tom ere he departed; then tostudy the ground with a fresh eye.
Her father looked at Sara, as he pushed the blonde cocoons from offher bright young forehead. Blind girl to be so glad; she who beforewas more wisely jubilant in that her lover should be removed fromdanger. Her delight, indeed, was infantine and unalloyed; for all daylong the patriots were declaring that everything was lost, that allwas over. There was no reason, then, why she should look forward tofuture complications.
'Use all the power you have, my Primrose,' he adjured his daughter,with sad earnestn
ess, 'to keep him away yet awhile. The mantle ofTheobald, forsooth! We know that it is red and clammy. The shamrockmust be transplanted to another soil. Tell him not to come, I say. Sosoon as the ship sails for Fort George, you and I will go and meet himin London.'
Sara seemed bewildered, as the smile faded from her face. What couldher parent mean? Sure, it was but natural to come and take a last lookat a beloved brother ere he went away? Whatever Robert's intentionswere, she knew that they were good and noble. The mantle of Theobaldmeant love of motherland--no more. Everybody was painfully convincedthat the time for armed resistance was gone and past; that Englandheld the reins well in hand, and meant to hold them.
The excitement when the grand day arrived was great in Dublin, whilethe provinces looked on with unconcern. The brew of my LordsCastlereagh and Clare had cost them sleepless nights. The Viceroy, ashead-cook, made believe to supervise, but he held a perfumed kerchiefto his august nose; there was no need for special exertion on hispart, for his deputies were by this time familiar with the receipt. Bythe middle of the ensuing year at latest, every detail would bearranged; and then he would be able to depart, his missionaccomplished, out of an atmosphere that poisoned him. But my LordsClare and Castlereagh were only bunglers after all. They had notfathomed the baseness of the senate--the yawning depth of its abyss ofgreed. Certain members of both Houses turned round at the last minute.Some said that their consciences smote them; others admitted thattheir rapacity was not satisfied. After a sitting of twenty-one hoursthe measure was lost; and my Lords Clare and Castlereagh, baffledwhere success seemed certain, looked foolish.
Every one was disgusted. Lord Cornwallis apologised for the muddle tothe British Cabinet. Odd straitlaced people, he explained, rose all ofa sudden to the surface, who, if they had appeared sooner, might havedone much to stop the ball. It was like the legend of Sodom andGomorrah. 'Peradventure three righteous men might be found,' and soon. The affair would have to be postponed for a few months in orderthat the three righteous men might be tampered with. Of course thethree righteous men had their price. My Lord Powerscourt had emergedfrom his Wicklow mountains to protest from his place against thesinful measure, and a shamefaced knot rallied round him--a nucleus oflords who objected to the bartering of freedom against a cartload ofcheap mirrors and bead-necklaces. But retribution fell upon thatill-advised Lord Powerscourt before the setting of the sun that day. Anational rabble who sallied forth from the Liberties to wreakvengeance on those who dared to vote for union, by a trifling errorattacked Powerscourt House in William Street, and broke its windowsand smashed its sculptured ornaments. They did not desist till someone explained that it appertained to a peer who all along hadsteadfastly set his face against the orgies of his fellows; againstbloodshed, murder, and torture; and against Lord Clare. But, arrah!what was broke could be mended, and it was good for trade. Threecheers for Lord Powerscourt! He must acknowledge the warmth of Pat'snature, and make the best of the mistake.
Terence learned with heartfelt satisfaction, mingled with surprise andcontrition in that he had wronged his brother so, that Lord Glandorehad not voted with Government. My lady, he knew, was shocked with theentire proceeding. Perchance to her influence was this happy resultdue? Be that as it might, the heart of the younger was drawn towardshis brother. They never cared much for each other--they looked on theworld from a different standpoint. Since the Hurry, a marked coldnessand spitefulness was evident in Shane's demeanour. But he was not sobad as he seemed, or so selfish, Terence assured himself. At allevents he was repentant--regretted doubtless the part he played withreference to Theobald, though too haughty to admit it. He, Terence,was going away so soon--never, in all probability, to look uponIreland or his family again--that it behoved him to carry as fewregrets as might be to his prison. He must bid adieu to the world witha clear conscience--at enmity with no man, least of all his brother.He resolved to make the first advance to Shane; to congratulate him onhis conduct even at this eleventh hour--to exhort him to resisttemptation 'twixt this and the next attempt--to beg him to take carethat he, though the measure would of course be carried sooner orlater, was in nowise mixed up with the Iscariots. To this laudable endhe strove to throw himself upon his elder's path, and met him face toface in the stable-yard on the very next day after the first failure.
Shane tried to avoid the gloomy _trouble-fete_, but finding thatimpossible, came forward with as _debonair_ a swagger as a rackingheadache and impaired digestion would permit. His aspect spoke more ofclaret and its effects than of repentance. The coat of cream-colouredcut velvet that he wore was rent in several places; two of thefiligree gold buttons had been wrenched away; his satin pantaloonswere smirched with dirt; his handsome face was inflamed and bloated.What a contrast between the brothers now! Their characteristics seemedinverted from those which marked them in former days. Then Terence hadshown too much of the florid farmer, too much of the bovine contentedanimal breadth which men exhibit who live much in the open air andlook on cattle. Then nothing could be more refined and elegant thanShane--with his miniature figure, his faultless limbs and tiny hands,his clean-cut features whereon sat the expression of command whichmarks a man for one to whom authority is an undisputed birthright. Nowthe pair had changed places. Shane's lineaments were losing their finelines by reason of sucking at a bottle; the look of command wasdeparting with his self-respect: whilst Terence, in a dress of studiedsimplicity, as upright and square as usual, had assumed a carriage ofreserved haughtiness. His locks had lost their brilliant colour, sohad his cheeks, through care. That silvery sheen from the other worldstill glittered in his eye. The rollick of exuberant good-humour andenjoyment of life was exchanged for a sober melancholy. His voice evenwas lowered a semitone. His individuality had slipped into the minorkey.
'Shane,' he said, 'I am so very glad, old fellow. I should have feltit sorely if you had espoused this measure. Of course it's not mybusiness to try to direct your opinions; but now that it's all overfor the present, I can't help telling you I'm glad.'
Shane passed across his throbbing temples a hand which was soiled withthe dust of last night's cards, and shrank backward from his brother'sadvance. 'You are a nice one,' he sneered, 'to direct my opinions._You_--who but for an accident would have danced the minuet like apeasant! We've been starting a new club--the Blazers--two days andnights! I'm losing my nerve. This won't do. Too young to be so shaky.I'll go to bed.'
He endeavoured to escape. His two pet pointers, Eblana and Aileach,came bounding towards him with yelps which woke the echoes of theyard. Terence felt that there was a mistake somewhere. His brother wasupon his guard, as though he expected to be reviled.
'Am I wrong, Shane?' he cried, as the blood bubbled to his face. 'Youdidn't--did you vote with Government yesterday?'
'What if I did, _Croppy?_' was my lord's surly rejoinder.
Terence winced. 'Do not use harsh words,' he implored. 'Remember thatwhere I go my life must be passed in retrospect. Pray do not let mecarry away any memories of you but kind ones.'
'Why gibe at me then?' said sulky Shane.
'I--gibe? Is it likely I should jest?'
'Yes, gibe?' repeated Shane, his anger kindling, while the cicatricestood forth purple upon his forehead. 'You know that I've beentricked. I was at the new club among a set of merry dogs, and gaveorders to a porter at the house to fetch me when I was wanted. Hedidn't come; I didn't vote; and when I offered just now to run himthrough, he pleaded that he was a follower of yours, and could notpossibly do that to which you would object. You! And now you comepreaching like a parson! Curse you!'
Terence was deeply moved. His own brother, then, was itching for hisshare of the silver pieces. It was due to accident alone that he hadnot disgraced himself. Lord Glandore growled out in exasperation: 'Thechancellor will not speak to me!' and, raising the toy-whip he held,made as though he would strike his brother, giving at the same momenta kick which sent Eblana howling to the kennels. Terence recoiled fromthe threatened blow. At the same instant the lattic
e of my lady'schamber was flung open, and she, in the imperious voice of other days,cried, 'Shane! come here at once!'
Now the first-born whom she adored so fondly was accustomed to yieldto her when in an imperious mood. He felt guilty now and out of sorts,knowing that he was desperately in the wrong. In a sneaking manner,therefore, he threw away his switch, and, kicking aside the otherhound, entered his mother's presence, clasping his splitting templeswith both his palms.
She was sweeping up and down as she used to do, before she took tofeeble blinking in the great chair. Emotion of some kind troubled herso much that she could scarcely speak. Half frightened, Shane asked ifhe should fetch some water.
She shook her head and muttered 'No.' Then, finding voice, she adjuredhim in jerky sentences which burned her tongue, to treat his brotherwith kindness during the short time they could be together. 'A timemay come,' she said, 'when you will bitterly regret idle taunts. Donot lay up for yourself the fruits of remorse. I have eaten of themall my life, and know what they are like.'
'What nonsense!' Shane exclaimed fretfully. 'You're always blowingbladders into balloons! Don't bother. The Croppy and I will soon partto meet no more. Then perhaps you'll put aside these foolish terrors!I think your brain is softening.'
'Foolish terrors!' wailed the countess.
After a moment of reflection she turned sharply round as though urgedby a power beyond control. 'Shane!' she cried, stretching out her armslest he should stop her; 'oh! if you only knew what I have endured foryour sake! Listen to me----' then, sinking back on the window-seat,she drew up her limbs together, murmuring in a tone of such anguish asfairly alarmed her first-born: 'No, no! I cannot! I _will not!_ It istoo much!'
Shane recovered his self-possession. 'The poor thing's head'sderanged,' he thought; and feeling that he had been wanting in respectjust now, he stooped down and kissed her as she crouched like a bundleon the cushions.
This unusual display of affection seemed to revive his mother. Shetwined her quivering arms about him, and, dragging him to her side,whispered: 'My darling--for my sake who have gone through sore travailon your account--oh! be kind to Terence--be very, very kind. If youknew all, you would be--but you shall never know. I will bear allmyself. My hand shall never pour sorrow on your head!'
The words of mystery perplexed my lord, who, never very bright, wasstill confused with drink. He was about to ask questions; perceivingwhich my lady spoke abruptly. 'Shane,' she whispered, stroking hishair with clinging affection, 'do you know what is the fondest wish ofyour old mother? If I saw you well married I could die content. Whenyou were so infatuated with that horrid girl down yonder, you did notknow what pain you gave me.'
'Why?' demanded Shane, the scar on his brow deepening in hue. 'She's agood girl, and I like her still. There's nothing against her that I'maware of. I hate your bread-and-butter misses!' Had the young man beensober he would not have dared so to speak; but wine gave him courageto say that to which Norah urged him daily. 'I'll marry Norah if Ilike,' cried her stout champion. 'I know you've got some silly notionabout Doreen. Why, I can't think. I don't want to marry her, and shedoesn't want to marry me; and I won't do it--that's flat. Is it you orI who would marry her? I suppose I may follow my own wishes on thesubject.'
His mother crouched down on the cushions again and moaned, while herfirst-born stopped short in wonderment. What a pother, to be sure! Hernerves must be the centre of some disease, for he had said naught towarrant such an access of pain! He could not make it out. At length,by way of applying a soothing plaster, he said: 'There, there! don'tfret so. Maybe I'll die a bachelor, and the Croppy'll inherit. Willthat please you? Come, sit up and smile at me.'
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3) Page 6