MY LADY'S PROJECT.
Doreen stood by the crazy sun-dial, looking at the milky way, and
reflecting upon the chatter which had assailed her ears. Consigned to
Moiley! The dragon of the new _regime_ was beginning to show that his
hunger was insatiable. The prisons were filling apace. Lord Clare had
hinted that worse was yet to come, that the shadow of the gibbet was
to stretch across the earth, that hemp would soon be at a premium. But
there were two Moileys--two goddesses of vengeance and retaliation,
ready to strike, one for the oppressor, one for the oppressed. If
their blood was roused, who might foretell what havoc they would make
ere they sheathed their swords again!
The rustle of my lady's skirts recalled the maiden to herself, and she
perceived her aunt descending into the garden. It was seldom that my
lady changed her routine in the smallest particular. What could be the
cause of this sudden fancy for star-gazing?
'A lovely night,' exclaimed her ladyship. 'How sweet the roses smell!
I vow it is a sin to go to bed.'
'Shane seems to think so,' returned Doreen. 'He never comes in till
the small hours.'
My lady looked sharply in her niece's face, but was nothing there save
a settled sadness.
'Come,' she said, 'Curran and his child are gone to rest. We'll take a
turn in the pleasaunce.'
They sauntered through the golden gate and down a leafy avenue, in
silence, while owls and bats flitted past their heads and circled away
among the foliage. My lady had something to say, and did not know how
to say it. Doreen was thinking of the dear wanderer, who was tossing
on the sea by this time. Presently my lady said abruptly:
'Doreen, you must change your ways.'
The damsel's nostrils dilated a little; but, biting her lip, she
answered nothing.
'You are twenty-two,' pursued her aunt. 'It is time that you gave up
playing Miss Hoyden, and settled down into a respectable married
woman.'
The girl walked on without a word, wondering what was coming next,
while her aunt, growing exasperated at what she was pleased to
consider stubbornness, bent down to sniff a rose which wept gems upon
her dress.
'Does it trouble you,' she said, wiping the dew from her skirts
carefully with a handkerchief, 'that Shane should stop out so late?
The Glandores were always rakes, but were none the worse for that. For
my part I hate a milksop.'
Poor lady! The late lord had given her little experience of the
milksop!
'What can it signify to me what he does?' asked Doreen, with a tinge
of bitterness. 'He is drinking to King William now, no doubt, if not
insensible beneath the table.'
This was awkward, for my lady desired to make the best of Shane, and
the fact of his doing homage to the Immortal memory was not likely to
be pleasing to a Roman Catholic. So she turned her batteries.
'You are wild, and will come to shipwreck,' she declared, 'if we do
not set some one to look after you. The way you behaved just now was
most deplorable. Your poor father looked wretched; but the dear soul
is a goose. Unless you mend your ways you will find no one to marry
you at all, which will be dreadful, and a disgrace to all of us. Your
behaviour to Terence is not quite seemly, for you forget that he is
grown up, and that you should not trifle with an inflammable youth.'
This shot went home. Thoroughly taken aback, Doreen cried:
'Terence! You must be jesting, aunt! He is my first cousin, almost my
brother. You will accuse me of flirting with Shane next.'
'That is quite another matter,' replied my lady, coldly, for she was
nettled at the contemptuous manner in which the girl spoke of her
favourite son. 'I say you must be married before you disgrace us all,
which you certainly will do unless curbed, being half a plebeian
born.'
The blood flooded the girl's face, and she clasped her bosom with both
hands to still the indignation rising there. For my lady, when annoyed
beyond a given point, was apt to make sneering remarks about the late
Mrs. Wolfe which filled her child with rage.
'What do you mean?' she exclaimed haughtily. 'There is no _must_ about
the matter. You should have learned by this time that I will not be
driven by any one on earth; certainly not by you.' Then recovering
herself, she went on more softly: 'What a puzzle you are! Sometimes so
kind, sometimes so cruel! I think you really care for me; you were so
good to the motherless little one. If my mother had lived I might have
been different. A Miss Hoyden, am I? I have never had any one in whom
to put my trust, to whom I might tell my troubles; and a heart closed
up, without sympathy, is a sore thing for one of my age!'
The girl's voice died away, and her aunt felt uncomfortable.
'To-day,' Doreen resumed, 'I went to see Ally Brady, who is dying, and
nearly threw myself upon the neck of the lady who is nursing her. She
looked so kind and hearty as her tears fell for the peasant-woman, and
she clings to the prescribed creed as I do. It was Mrs. Gillin, of the
Little House.'
My lady looked up sharply.
'You dared to speak to her?'
'No; I retired. But she looked after me with such a strange pity.
Aunt, why do you object to my knowing this lady, though all the world
speaks well of her? Shane goes to the Little House, and Norah makes
him welcome. He told me so. I have seen Norah often, and she is very
pretty. What does it all mean? Is Shane going to marry her? May I
speak to her when she's Shane's wife? If he knows and likes the
Gillins, why should not I, who, as a Catholic, have a sort of right to
cherish them?'
My lady started and stood still, as if she had seen an adder in her
path, and said in an altered voice:
'Have I not commanded you never to mention that woman's name before
me? Shane is more wild than I could wish. He does what he chooses;
and, besides, a man may do what a woman may not. If he were well
married, he would grow quieter, no doubt. Your father's wish is the
same as mine. You know it, and are obstinate.'
Doreen was astonished, for Lady Glandore was not given to displays of
emotion; and now she was much agitated, while her features worked as
if in physical pain. Kissing her niece on the forehead, she gathered
up her skirts and walked rapidly back towards the house.
For an hour and more the girl wandered in the pleasaunce, taking no
heed of dew, though her high-waisted dress was of the thinnest muslin.
She was weighing her aunt's hints, and the strange complications of
her own position.
There could be no further doubt that my lady desired to unite her
niece to Shane. Doreen had suspected it before, but the idea seemed
too preposterous. What motive could be strong enough to bring about so
amazing a desire on the part of the proud chatelaine, as a union
between one of the hated faith, whose mother was of doubtful origin,
and the dearly-loved head of the Glandores, who was young, rich,
Protestant, good-looking? That she should ever come to permit a match
even with the poor younger son, whom she did not love, would be
surprising enough; but a motive might be found for that in his poverty
and extravagance, and her trifling nest-egg. The blot on the
escutcheon would not have mattered so much in his case, for he was
unlikely ever to wear the coronet, and the attorney-general's
scrapings would have gilded a more unpleasant bolus than his handsome
daughter.
But Shane, who by reason of his wealth and position was a great catch,
who might throw his handkerchief to whom he pleased! What could be the
reason? Was it that his mother dreaded his being caught by some low
and penniless adventuress--he who was so self-willed and given to low
company? It could hardly be that; for in the eyes of the chatelaine,
Doreen herself was little better, save in the way of money; and where
the young earl was himself so wealthy, her little fortune could not be
taken into consideration. If he would only go into good society, Shane
might aspire to the most brilliant match.
It was a riddle to which the damsel could find no solution, so she
began calmly to consider how she should act herself. Should she yield
to her aunt's wishes, and assume the high position of the young earl's
bride? If she said 'Yes,' would Shane indeed take her to his bosom, or
would he be disobedient in this as other things? If he came and asked
her, would she say 'Yes,' or 'No?' She was amazed to find that she was
by no means sure. He was an ignoble sot, a drunkard, and a debauchee;
but, in the eyes of most young ladies, such qualities were rather
admired than not. It was thought fine for a spark's eye to have a
noble fierceness which softened to the mildness of the dove when
contemplating 'the sex.' But then Doreen's education had been
peculiar--different in many ways to that of other young ladies--partly
on account of her motherlessness, partly because of the faith she
professed. The Penal Code had eaten into her soul--she was more
thoughtful and sober than girls of her age usually are; was given to
day-dreams and impracticable heroic longings, tinged, all of them, by
a romance due to her Irish nature and the romantic conditions of her
time.
She had never thought much of marrying or giving in marriage, and it
came upon her now as a new light, that by a marriage she might benefit
the 'cause.' As she sauntered up and down, she reflected that, by
espousing Shane, she might make of herself a Judith for her people's
sake. Shane was already sodden and sottish, given to excessive
tippling. She, Doreen, was of a masculine strength of character, and
knew it. Once established at the Abbey as its mistress, why should she
not take on herself the control of the estates, as the present
countess did, and manage them according to her liking? The United
Irishmen were sadly in need of funds. Tone had said that a bloodless
revolution was impossible. Arms and powder would be required when the
struggle came. Why should not she provide a portion of it out of the
wealth of the lord of Strogue? It seemed an ignoble thing to do; yet,
for the cause's sake, was not anything justifiable? Did not Judith,
the noblest of women, the purest of patriots, lower herself to the
disguise of a harlot for the saving of her people? Doreen felt the
holy flame burning within her, which goes to the making of Judiths.
Her father, though she loved him fondly, could never be of real
service to her. What would he think of such a wedding? It mattered
not, situated as she was. Her battle of life must be fought alone,
without help from any one. She was fully aware of that, and was
prepared to fight it--to the end--after her own fashion.
She was startled from her reverie by the banging of doors and shouts
of discordant laughter. Cassidy had been singing some time since in
the young men's wing, trolling out pathetic ballads for the
edification of Terence and his chief--but these had retired to rest
long since. This must be the young lord and his boon companions--come
to finish the night in wine and play as joyous gallants should. It
would be awkward to meet them in their cups; so she stole as
noiselessly as might be through the golden gate, past the sun-dial
among the flowers, and reached her chamber, which was over the chintz
drawing-room (her own boudoir), just as there came a crash and awful
din in the hall. Then followed a babel of angry voices. Lights
appeared in the dining-hall opposite, the blinds of which were not
drawn down, and a posse of young nobles--their clothes muddy
and disarranged; their hair dishevelled; their action wild and
excited--crowded in around their host. She could distinguish my lord
by the glistening of his diamond coat-buttons as he was held back by
four companions, from whose grasp he strove to free himself. One of
them, whose brain was less heated than the rest, had removed his
_couteau de chasse_ from its sheath, and was expostulating with him;
but he was evidently not to be appeased without a scapegoat, for he
kept pointing angrily at a broken bust of William III. which my lady
had crowned with laurel that very day.
She could see that somebody had upset the bust, and that my lord
wished to wipe out the insult to the Protestant champion with the
blood of the offender. My lady did not appear. She had been well
broken to orgies of the kind by the late lord, and took no heed of the
uproar; but the aged butler, who, as a matter of course, had produced
magnums of claret in tin frames upon the appearance of the party,
seemed to be coaxing his young master into good temper, and with some
success apparently, for by-and-by the _couteau de chasse_ was given
back and the party settled down amicably, having first tossed the
offender out of window, who lay snoring upon the flower-beds till
morning, wrapped in the sound sleep of drunkards.
Doreen sat at the open window, her chin buried in her hand, watching
the proceedings of her cousin. His cravat was gone; his fair young
chest exposed; his velvet surtout torn and stained; his striped silk
stockings in tatters; the bunches of ribbon wrenched from off his
half-boots. His face was blotched and bloated; his forehead disfigured
by an ugly cicatrice which turned of a bright red when he was far gone
in liquor or in passion. She saw him rise on his unsteady legs and
wave a goblet at the fractured bust, while he clung with the other arm
round the neck of the youth next to him. Then all the rest rose and
bowed as well as they were able; some falling on the floor in the
attempt and remaining there, while the others sat down to their drink
again and clamoured for cards, shouting the while a chorus, which came
muffled to her through the window-glass.
'And it's ho! ro! the sup of good drink--
And ho! ro! the heart would not think;
Oh, had I a shilling lapped up in a clout,
It's a sup of good drink that would wheedle it out!'
Doreen sat staring till the chill of morning penetrated to her bones
through the light robe of muslin. Then she crept stiff and weary into
bed, while her teeth chattered and alternate douches of hot and cold
water seemed pouring down her back. She had been studying Shane with a
new interest, and trembled for her future peace, for, as she watched
with senses sharpened, she was dismayed at the hideous preponderance
of the animal in her cousin's nature. Never had she looked at him so
earnestly before. It was like binding one's self to a hog for life.
Sure Holofernes was not so degraded, or the fortitude of Judith would
have given way. He was a warrior, mighty in battle, who, though an
enemy, commanded respect. A glorious athlete such as 'tis woman's
prerogative to outwit--as Delilah outwitted Samson, as Omphale
conquered Hercules. Her ordeal too was of short duration. How
differently severe would be the self-appointed task of this modern
Judith, who contemplated tying herself deliberately for the whole of
her life to a man who disgusted her in spite of his good looks; who,
when shorn of the vulgar halo of animal courage, was no better than a
brawler and a bravo. She might not strive to reform him, for with his
reformation he would of course take the reins of his affairs, and the
power of his wife would end, for which alone she married him. It would
be her duty rather to encourage him in evil ways, and coax him down
the ladder. Was she capable, she kept asking herself, as shuddering
she drew the sheets around her, of so tremendous a sacrifice as this?
Tone's, sublime as she considered it, was nothing to what hers would
be. He had thrown away earthly pelf, was a fugitive and an outlaw; but
he retained his self-respect. Could she retain hers if Shane became
her husband? No. Doreen confessed to herself that the position would
be impossible. If it had been Terence, now! He was foolish and gay and
distressingly healthy; under no pressure whatever could he bud into a
hero. He was humdrum, and her native romance revolted from the
humdrum. A fine grown man with a good temper and a prosaic appetite.
Why, if he were to occupy Shane's shoes, all Dublin would be envying
her luck and remarking how brazenly she had set her cap at him. Horror
of horrors! How terribly commonplace! Then the girl upbraided herself
for such foolish thoughts. Terence would never become Lord Glandore,
and as a simple fisherman and sportsman could never win his cousin.
Perhaps my lady was right in warning her to remember that he was grown
up. He was a dear good boy, but wofully prosaic. But what had such as
she to do with unmaidenly meditations anent marrying and giving in
marriage? Sackcloth and ashes were the portion of the Catholics, who
were treated as the Jews had been by the Crusaders. The sooner they
died out the better. What a wonderful idea that was of Aunt
Glandore's! If she were seriously bent on anything, she was not easy
to baffle. Would it be best to speak out at once and brave a certain
storm, or to let things be, hoping to be delivered by some unexpected
means? While she was debating this knotty question, her thoughts
became gradually confused, and she sank into troubled slumber.