STORMY WEATHER.
My lady was walking up and down the tapestry-saloon with hands clasped
behind her back, when her niece joined her--a prey evidently to
considerable agitation. Doreen marked the deepened wrinkles on her
forehead, the tightening of the thin lips, the contraction of the
nostrils, and waited with accustomed self-possession to hear her
elder's pleasure. The countess was displeased about something. Her
fine face was pale, her eyes tinged with red. Her majestic draperies
seemed to whisper in their soft rustle that something was seriously
disturbing the spirit of the chatelaine. Wheeling round presently, she
faced her niece, and, scrutinising her narrowly, spoke.
'Terence has come home to live,' she remarked. 'Mr. Curran cannot bear
him any more, and I am not surprised. We must put up with him; he's
enough to vex a saint!'
Doreen's cheek flushed with swift anger at his mother's unwarrantable
speech.
'Oh, aunt!' she said, 'dare you speak thus of your own child!'
'Ah!' ejaculated the countess, still frowning at Miss Wolfe, 'let us
understand each other at once. I will never allow of any nonsense
between you and that boy--do you hear?--NEVER. I presume that he would
not dare to marry without my consent. You are capable of anything, I
know. I sincerely believe that he, as yet, is one shade less
undutiful. He has been showing much independence lately, though.
There's no knowing,' she went on in a low absent manner, 'what he
might not do if he knew----'
'Knew what?' asked Doreen.
My lady started and pushed her fingers through her white hair.
'Nothing, nothing! Mind this--_I will never give my consent to a union
between you and my second son_. Understand this, once and for all.'
'You need not distress yourself, aunt,' Doreen replied.
'Doreen!' my lady said abruptly, after a pause, 'you were talking
about _that woman_ at the kennel gate just now. I could see you were,
by Terence's mimicry. What was it about?'
This was the real cause of her aunt's ill-humour: the red rag, Mrs.
Gillin. That foolish idea about Terence was of course only a cloak to
conceal unreasonable wrath. It was quite too tyrannical of her,
though. They were speaking no ill of their neighbour.
'We were talking of Norah and Shane,' the girl replied, with a touch
of hauteur. 'Nothing wonderful in that, for all the world talks about
them. I suppose I may be bridesmaid, aunt?'
To her surprise the blood faded slowly from my lady's face, leaving
her lips white, while her breast heaved and her fingers tightened. The
girl regretted her pert remark, though her aunt speedily recovered
herself.
'You could stop this disgrace if you would,' she said in husky tones.
'Last year I thought that you encouraged Shane; then you turned round
again. For shame! That Arthur Wolfe's daughter should be a flirt! But
it's the other blood that's working in you. Your father was always too
weak and too indulgent. You are a sly, artful girl! Yes, it is right
that you should hear the truth. You do no credit to your bringing-up.
Is it maidenly to receive letters from a man in secret--to retire, as
I have ofttimes seen you do, to a secluded spot in the rosary, there
to gloat over them--and that man married, and an outlaw! Fie upon you!
Your father is not aware of this, or it would break his heart; for,
God help him! he loves you beyond your deserts. But there, there! I
will not waste my breath in railing; for what else could be expected
of your blood and your religion?'
Doreen's cheek, too, had paled. She trembled violently, and was forced
to cling to a table ere she could still her anger sufficiently to
answer. At length she mastered her voice, which rang out low but
clear.
'Lady Glandore,' she said, with flashing eyes, 'it ill becomes one of
your years to say cruel things to one of mine, for if you crush out my
respect for you as a woman, I choose to remember your white hairs.
However bitter you may allow your tongue to be, I will not lower
myself to a retort; but let me beg you to remember that some
things spoken intemperately will rankle in the heart for ever. No
after-apologies will quite wash them out.'
Oh, naughty damsel, to prate of white hair, and suggest that my lady
was an octogenarian! She was no more than five-and-fifty, as her niece
knew right well--but, bless my heart! we must not survey feminine
weapons too closely.
'I am a disgrace to my bringing-up!' pursued Doreen, warming to the
fray. 'Yet she who brought me up condescends to act the spy on me! A
flirt, am I? I never, upon my honour, gave the least encouragement to
either of your sons. They are not such Admirable Crichtons! Seeing
that you are beset by some hallucination on this subject, I have again
and again implored my father to take me hence in vain. I hereby swear
to you by the Holy Mother and my hopes of salvation, that I will never
be Shane's wife--never, never, never! Perhaps now you will leave me at
peace. Though I am a Catholic, madam, I decline to brook insult. Here
are my cards--face upwards on the table. Show me yours.'
The girl, who was usually so quiet and grave, had lashed her wrath to
foam, and was grievously exercised to restrain fast-gathering tears.
She would rather have died, however, than have lowered her standard to
my lady. With a violent effort, then, she kept them back, and faced
the chatelaine with a front as proud as hers.
This was all very shocking: the ill-mannered allusion to hoary locks,
the rash oath never to marry Shane, the truculent bearing. Mild
Arthur's counsel was wise. My lady generally got the worst of it in
conflicts with this girl. It would have been best to have vented her
ill-humour upon Terence: who was forbearing towards his mother. But
then her victories over him were too easily gained to be worth
anything, for he was good-tempered, and respected his mother greatly;
and besides, every well-ordered man will always gladly resign to a
female antagonist the glory of winning a battle of words.
My lady stalked in silence up and down, retiring behind the
entrenchments of her outraged dignity. But Doreen perceived that to
make her triumph good she must dare another sortie, and disarm her
antagonist; so, after a pause for breath, she repeated:
'I have shown you my cards, Lady Glandore--show me yours. You are bent
upon my marrying Shane--the compliment is great--far greater than my
poor worth deserves. Though you constantly fling insults at me about
my manners, my blood, and my religion, yet you are willing--nay,
anxious--condoning these crimes, to accept me as a daughter! Why? The
lady of the Little House, who is good and charitable, if innocently
vulgar, is a standing bugbear to you. Why? Yet, by a singular
contradiction, you allow your paragon to make himself at home with
her, and make much of her child, who, to be sure, is a Protestant, but
low-born. She is penniless--I am an heiress: hence, of the two,
I should be the better prize for him. I see that; but what, in
Heaven's name! is to prevent his sallying forth in Dublin, and
finding there a fitting partner? Sure there's not a noble Protestant
family in Ireland that wouldn't jump at him! A drunkard, no doubt,
and a fire-eater--which some folks are rude enough to translate
murderer--what of that? It is the custom of his cloth. A coronet well
filled with gold covers a multitude of sins! No doubt Mrs. Gillin
would dearly like such a son-in-law--it's the way of the world, and I
do not blame her--but you, I know, would not care for such a daughter
as Norah. Are you not afraid that some fine morning holy Church will
join them, and that you will come down to breakfast to find them in an
edifying position on their knees, claiming mamma's blessing?'
My lady had sunk into a chair, her pale face paler.
'No, no,' she murmured; 'that could not be. He toys with a pretty
wench as a young spark will. Why would I gladly have him marry you?
Because I know he has faults--the faults of youth, which time will
remedy--and I feel, dear Doreen, that your strong common-sense will be
a stay to his weakness. Once united to you, he will change, and you
will be very happy together.'
There was something so pitiable in this abject discomfiture--in this
refusal to be insulted--that Miss Wolfe's resolution failed her. Yet
her curiosity was too thoroughly roused to permit of dropping the
subject.
'Then I'm to be the scapegoat?' she said, with a tinge of scorn. 'I'm
to lick the whelp into shape--no matter if my heart is broken in the
process. Thank you! A vow once sworn need never be repeated. Yet do
not forget, aunt, if you please, that it is registered. He refuses to
go into highborn society where noble ladies are, preferring play and
duelling-clubs, and you dread his making a _mesalliance_, rather than
which you would accept poor me as a _pis-aller_.' (Here the young lady
made a curtsey.) 'Many thanks. Is this at all like the truth? Pardon
my speaking plainly. It's best to be aboveboard. After this time we
will, with your good leave, never return to the hateful subject. That
I shall not be poor can surely claim no part in your calculations, for
he is thirty times wealthier than I can ever be. Rich!' she repeated,
with a harsh laugh. 'A rich Catholic will be a curiosity, _n'est ce
pas?_ If this is at all your course of thought, why not prevent his
going to the Little House? Speak to Mrs. Gillin as harshly as you
began to speak to me to-day, and there will surely be an end of the
matter. Or,' pursued the crafty maiden, remembering Tone's last
epistle, 'brush Norah from his mind by change of scene. Why not remove
for a few months to Ennishowen? It is long since you were there. Your
presence would do much to keep disloyal tenants quiet in these
disloyal times. Would not that be a capital example? The boys used to
love Ennishowen. Shane will forget the objectionable Norah whilst
pursuing the shy seal or shooting wild birds round Malin Head. Do you
remember the delirious delight of him and Terence when they dragged
their first seal into the boat under Glas-aitch-e Cliff, and how you
told me not to be afraid of looking over the garden parapet into the
green water dashing so far below? Ah, those were days!' the girl
pursued, kindling. 'Our only care whether the fish would bite or the
shot carry----' then she was stopped by a lump rising in her throat,
stirred by the thought of how different those days were from these,
when the thunderous cloud was drawing lower, lower--and she--a
reserved young lady--was becoming alarmingly familiarised with secret
despatches; a political phantasmagoria; a threatened collision between
two classes, whose hate was bubbling over.
The rebellious tears well-nigh burst their bonds; but a strong will
was throned within that shapely head. My lady turned angrily upon her
niece; for though discomfited and prepared to run up a flag of truce,
it was not to be expected that she should endure this last speech
without resenting it. Miss Wolfe's pertness harrowed her proud soul.
She had pretended to look on her aunt as in her dotage--a toothless
harridan, with no distinguishing attribute except white hair, and had
presumed to charge her with ridiculous motives; had torn the dazzling
glamour of his rank from Shane, exposing to view a skin as shaggy as
the ass's; even going so far as to stigmatise him to his doting mother
as a drunkard and a murderer; and, to cap all, had wound up with
patronising advice. An ordinary lady of middle age would resent such
treatment; how much more then the stern Countess of Glandore, whose
nature was toughened by contact with the fire, who was always regarded
with awe-stricken terror when she deigned to honour any of the Castle
festivities, and who was quite a terrifying personage even to the
wives and daughters of contemporary grandees.
Would the stubborn girl be true to her hasty vow? My lady feared she
would, though for the moment she was too angry to consider calmly of
it. Fierce wrath darted from under her squared brows; her high nose
grew thinner; a network of small meshes twitched about her mouth; her
long fingers tightly clutched the gold snuffbox which usually lay
within them. Yet Miss Wolfe, having recovered her self-possession,
looked sombrely at the frost-crowned volcano without a tremor.
'Doreen,' my lady said, 'if your father knew of you what I know, it
would kill him; but I elect to hold my tongue, because I love my
brother more than you your father. That you should be insolent to me
is what I might expect; so I bear that with equanimity. Thank you for
showing me how wrong I was in forming a Utopian scheme for joining my
brother's child to Shane. We will say no more about that.' (Doreen
heaved a sigh of relief.) 'The indelicacy of your proceedings has
shown me that such a thing would be an insult to our name. What! a
girl who corresponds clandestinely with a married man; who gallops
like a trull about the country, regardless, not only of her own fair
fame, but of her family's; who is on terms of familiar intercourse
with a parcel of scatter-brained youths who make the capital of
notoriety out of the jingle of sedition. Is this a girl to be received
in respectable society? You spoke plainly; so do I. If I were to
publish what I chance to know of you, no decent family would receive
you within their doors. But I must bear with you for many reasons;
your base mother's blood among the rest. You must be the skeleton in
our cupboard. All I beg is, that you will rattle your bones less
publicly.'
Doreen's dark skin was mottled with pallor; her breath laboured; her
lips formed words, yet no sound issued thence. At last she panted out:
'Aunt! you do not believe this of me! You must know me better!'
Then she stopped, perceiving Miss Curran's startled visage in the
doorway, which my lady could not, having her back turned to it.
'Believe it? Yes, I do,' cried the exasperated countess; 'I believe
that you----'
'No! Hold your tongue! If you have no respect for yourself or me, have
some for Sara!' Doreen exclaimed, as she hurried to the door.
My lady was filled with remorse, and bit her lips. Her temper had got
the better of her prudence; and regret followed swiftly upon angry
words.
'Doreen!' she cried, in a sudden desire to make good in some sort the
mischief which was done; 'Doreen, at least be careful with your
correspondence; see that no one intercepts it; that no one tampers
with your letters!'
'My letters are my own,' Doreen retorted over her shoulder, haughtily.
'Don't you ever dare to touch them.' Then passing her arm round the
waist of trembling Sara, she led her away to enjoy a delightful duet
of tears in private.
My lady remained for a long while looking straight before her,
bewailing much the unexpected turn which things had taken. It was
unwise, considering what lay at the bottom of her heart, to have
goaded the damsel as she had done. A high mettled steed resents the
curb. Now all that had been said about clandestine correspondence, and
so on, was strictly true; was only what it behoved a judicious
relative to place in its true light before an impulsive girl, who
might come to find her reputation gone before she was aware there was
a stain on it. Yet her heart smote the countess when she marked the
look of horrified dismay which dawned in her niece's face during the
last harangue. It is an ill thing to corrupt a mind which is innocent.
Unhappily this is a wicked world, in which it is necessary for us to
note certain sinful details for our own safety's sake. Yet it is not a
pleasing job to impart such intelligence for the first time,
especially when ill-temper bids us make the worst of it. Lady Glandore
knew perfectly well that there could be nothing in the letters from
the married man, except treason; and that she had done wrong in
suggesting something else. Doreen, she thought, was not a girl to
break off the correspondence in consequence of this new light.
Indignant, strong in the purity of her motives, she would only hate
her aunt and cling the more persistently to the married man and all
the other scatter-brained young persons, and plunge more deeply into
danger, through bravado.
As she meditated, examining each thrust that had been made on either
side, she regretted bitterly her foolish speeches; and then her heart
grew sick within her as she came upon a barb, which, flung without
aim, hung from a smarting wound. As the maiden had suggested, what
should prevent reckless Shane from marching off to church some day
with pretty Norah, and returning to crave a blessing? The very thought
of such a fatal proceeding caused my lady to rise from her seat with a
bound, and wring her hands in anguish.
'What have I done--what have I done?' she groaned, 'that an earthly
purgatory should be my lot? Did I fail in my duty to my lord? Was I
not too indulgent a wife, screening his unfaithfulness, enduring
insult without end from that dreadful woman?'
Then she reflected how his death had not brought peace to her; how
relentless Time had administered secret scourgings, whilst she
appeared to be sitting--a noble, envied widow--between two growing
sons. Was her torment to go on increasing, instead of wearing itself
out with its own rigour? What would be the end? That early sin which
took place so long ago--could any one declare that she was aught but
an unwilling agent in it? Might the trace of it never be washed clean?
Was suicide the only means of escape from an agony to which on earth
there seemed no term? If, driven by despair, she were to hurry
unbidden into the presence of her Maker, might she not hope to be
forgiven? If your cross is too heavy for your strength, sure you may
be pardoned for casting it aside!
As she writhed, a prey to phantoms of retrospect, she felt that her
sin was not a faded one of long ago; that it continued still, and that
while she permitted it to roll on unchecked, numbers at compound
interest were being chalked to her account. That dreadful secret which
had blanched her hair! Years had woven such confusing complications
round it, that were she, taking her courage in both hands, to speak
out now, it would be only to transfer a burthen, not destroy it. No,
no! Ten times no! The time for setting right the wrong was past--past,
irretrievably. Instead of moaning over it, it were better to
concentrate all attention upon this matter of Shane and Norah. At all
hazards, the billing and cooing of that couple must be stopped while
there was time. Shane was the late earl's eldest son, and Mrs.
Gillin----! And Norah was sixteen years old, bred a Protestant by my
lord's special desire. Could his wife be misled in her suspicions? The
conduct of Mrs. Gillin in the matter was most amazing. My lady
surveyed it from all points of view. Truly she was racked by many
torments. Ate was at work. The orders of the dread goddess were being
carried out by the Eumenides.