SUSPENSE.
Doreen was a fine subject, truly, for matrimonial scheming! Sara,
faithful little nurse, hovered round her bed while she battled
with delirium--spoke words of encouragement to Lord Kilwarden, who
watched his daughter's state with grief. What was the use of all his
trimming--his cautious steering--his dallying with Apollyon, if she
for whose sake alone he desired wealth and titles was beyond caring
for the treasures of this life? But the fond father's prayers
were answered. Her splendid constitution soon brought her back to
health--she was not one of those who die broken-hearted; but it was
soon manifest to all who watched her that she, like Terence, looked on
her life as done. She spent her time in watching the boats on Dublin
Bay--aware, in hazy fashion, of Sara's prattle. She asked after Tom
Emmett and the others, as one might after old friends who are crippled
for life--who are labouring under some incurable malady. Terence spent
many moments of placid enjoyment, conversing with his cousin in the
little bedroom which overlooked the rosary; but neither ever spoke a
word of love. The brief interval of freedom was speeding quick away.
The works at Fort George were progressing rapidly. A very few weeks
and the prisoners would depart, to begin a new existence in a howling
wilderness. She told him her plans, with such details as he might
ponder over in his solitude, promising to carry them out to the letter
as a sacred duty, in order that he might calculate with certainty what
she was doing at such and such an hour. The notion of taking the veil
was in a calmer moment given up. What need to take the veil? What
difference could a vow make to one whose heart was dead? Her vigorous
energy must find scope; in tending others she would forget herself.
She would, thanks to Lord Kilwarden's savings, play the Lady Bountiful
in Dublin, for the benefit of the sufferers from the Reign of Terror.
Scarce a family of the lower class but the yeomanry had left their
brand on it. Fatherless children--widowed wives--cried out from the
Vale of Tears. Sure, those who were taken--who had been shot down like
dogs or had perished under torture in the Riding-school--were better
off than they, if their end was to be starvation in a gutter! Lord
Kilwarden murmured that it should be as she wished. She should return
and live with him in town, and do with his money as she listed. The
subject of the union interested Doreen deeply. She could talk of it
without rancour as a thing that was inevitable. Her life was done
because that of Mother Erin was over, and of her faithful sons. So she
discussed the prospects of the union as she would have discussed a
funeral. Kilwarden and his child were not agreed upon the subject. Her
father, after serious deliberation, was in favour of the measure, and
thus expressed himself, while Curran, pretending to be buried in a
book, sniffed and hemmed.
'Events,' he said, 'have clearly shown how unstable is our nature.
Only twenty years ago we showed a serried front, and were as one in
the cause of freedom; but a little wedge was inserted--and see! To
what an end we've come! For we have come to an end--there is no use
discussing that. The one drop of satisfaction which is given to us in
the goblet of gall is that an assembly will vanish into space which
has reached the lowest depth of human degeneracy. Its members--as all
Europe knows--consider the station they hold as a portion of private
property, not as a public trust. The scorn of Lord Cornwallis is not
undeserved.'
To this Curran objected with vehemence: 'My good friend! is that a
reason why your union should answer? You cannot glue two pieces of
board together unless the joint be clean. You cannot unite two men
indissolubly, unless the cement be virtue. How then two countries,
between which rolls a sea of blood more wide than the Atlantic?'
But Arthur Lord Kilwarden had followed events with a keen scrutiny,
and none were more appalled than he at the way the senate had jigged
to my Lord Clare's piping. 'Whichever way,' he affirmed sadly, 'you
look at the proceedings of your parliament, the sight is equally
distressing. If the English parliament could be convinced that our
interests are really bound up with theirs, they would come to look on
us in time as part and parcel of themselves, instead of treating us
like savages. Indeed, the Irish Lords and Commons are showing clearly
that the English estimate of them is the right one. Practically their
birthright is disposed of. It is merely a matter of terms.
Then Curran murmured doleful things about the extinction of the Irish
name and the days of the Round Towers, and the parties, as usual,
agreed to differ.
There was one side of the matter which was gratifying to Doreen,
namely, the conduct of her own people. The Viceroy was undisguisedly
in favour of inserting in this Union Bill a clause for the abrogation
of the penal statutes; but, as might have been expected, the King
dashed his pen through it. The Catholics emancipated indeed?
Fiddle-de-dee! Never, while that large-minded monarch should survive.
His stupidity produced a hitch. Then the Catholic lords came
forward--there were but seven--and begged that state interests should
be consulted before that of their own faith. The effect produced was
good, for the dignity of the situation lay not with stupid George.
Although they seemed to be sacrificing themselves unduly, yet they
scored one in the eyes of Europe, and public opinion decided that
their attitude of noble neutrality would reap its reward ere long.
Doreen was glad of this, although for her part she would wish to
struggle against union to the last. If it must take place, it must;
but she agreed with Terence that eternal obloquy would be the
portion of those who were responsible for the end. It was with
dissatisfaction, then, that she listened to his tidings about Shane.
It was by an accident, due to the involuntary influence of his younger
brother, that he escaped degradation at the first voting? This was
terrible news! The duty of the younger man was plainly written, she
pointed out with a spark of her old animation. Before withdrawing to
consummate his martyrdom, he must speak earnestly, seriously, to the
misguided earl--implore him on his knees, if need were, not to
disgrace the name which had descended unsullied from Sir Amorey. 'If
you show him,' she said, 'the chasm into which he is about to fall,
his better instincts will drag him back. Neither his vanity nor
avarice must be played on by the chancellor for the furtherance of
that wicked end.
Terence replied that not only had he no influence over his brother,
but that the latter might be goaded by his interference into doing
precisely that which they all deprecated, out of spite. It would be
better to trust to Providence. 'How can I bid him not disgrace the
family?' he concluded, gently smiling. 'Would he not retort that I
have done worse than he can do, by placing my neck within the halter?'
There was something in this, certainly, Doreen admitted. But it was
not a moment for petty vanity--it was a time for general humiliation.
Terence must humble himself to bear meekly the taunts of Lord
Glandore, content in that he was doing his duty. In the solitude of
Fort George it would be a comforting episode to dwell upon--instead of
brooding always over Erin's death-throes.
One evening, at this point of the discussion, which was renewed again
and again before Terence could make up his mind to risk a storm,
blonde Sara, who, sitting hard by, was wont to listen to pros and cons
which dazed her in respectful silence, laid down her needle, and
startled the disputants by saying, 'Are you quite sure that she is in
her death-throes?'
Doreen patted her arm as you might that of a precocious child, and
said, with her moonlit smile, 'Have you a doubt, dear Sara?'
'I have no opinion,' responded the simple maid; 'but Robert does not
think so, and he knows.'
The curiosity of her listeners was aroused. The ardent young
enthusiast was about to return, in spite of Curran's wishes to the
contrary, to take a last look at Tom ere he sailed away. What were
these opinions of his that imparted so grandmotherly an air to the
gentle Primrose?
'I've had another letter,' quoth the sapient maiden. 'He doesn't agree
with you at all. Hark. He says: "Notwithstanding the darkness of our
prospect, I seem to see a light. We must rise to the level of the
situation, as our fathers did in '82. We are unworthy of the name of
nation if by combination we cannot frustrate the Sassanagh's designs.
Other and better men have pioneered the way; be mine the bright
result: there shall be no union. The more I see of the English, the
more I detest them. In coffee-houses they elbow me to the wall. If I
were a red Indian they could not treat me and my country with greater
disdain!"'
The idea that her Robert was not appreciated imbued the maid with such
indignation as sat in comical fashion on her sweet, soft features. The
hearts of both those who looked at her yearned towards this fragile
flower. They had been strong and sturdy, yet were they utterly undone.
Was this girl to pass, too, under the yoke? Doreen, in a gush of
compassion, seized her slight figure in her arms and strained it to
her breast, murmuring, as she did so, 'No, child; oh no, no! Not you
too! Surely the pyre is piled high enough; the smoke of it blackens
the heavens. The land is drenched; it can drink no more. Write to him,
my dearest, and adjure him not to hope. Write and forbid his coming.'
Both Terence and Doreen were painfully aware that the element of
sedition was dormant, not conquered. They were convinced, too, that
the struggle was useless--were ready to bow to the consummation of
Lord Clare's strategy, provided that they might stand aloof from among
the traitors. If it were useless, why renew the struggle? Why help to
bring upon the land again the horrors of the Hurry? Both Terence and
Doreen saw through the cloak of Robert's mysterious words, though Sara
apparently did not. Yet surely he could not be so utterly distracted
as to intend again to raise the standard of revolt? The whole aspect
of the case was changed since '98. Napoleon was too much bent on
Continental laurels to allow France to think of Ireland. Money was
scarce; merchants cautious; the people cowed. The Presbyterians were
irritated by the Wexford massacre; the Catholics indignant at the
supposed desertion of the northerners. A pretty time to think of
flying to arms! No; Robert could not be so mad. But what did he mean,
then? Was his combination to be a bloodless contest, such as was
brought to a successful issue by the Volunteers? Combination,
forsooth! It was not possible for Irishmen ever to combine for more
than a few minutes together. Sara evidently had no notion that her
Robert could imply a resort to arms, or she would not be purring in
this kittenish fashion. As it was, she shook off the embrace of her
dear friend, and was very angry in that she showed anxiety to keep
Robert away, now that all danger to his sacred head, was past. She
waxed exceeding wroth, begging to know why Doreen presumed to question
Robert's wisdom; then, scalded by her own tears, she drooped into the
arms of the older girl, registering a desire to be dead--a petition
with which Heaven has been wearied by natives of Ireland time out of
mind.
'I will see to her,' Doreen whispered. 'Now, do you go down, _to
please me_, Terence. You will never regret having done your best to
turn Glandore. If you succeed, what blessed visions will paint the
walls of your prison-cell! Go and speak seriously to Shane, for all
our sakes.'
Terence pressed his cousin's hand and promised. If it was his fate to
languish through a long life on the cold crags of Moray Firth, that
placid air of calm, the light of those solemn eyes, should soothe him
to the last upon his pilgrimage. He was greedily laying up a store of
precious memories. The time was growing very short. Orders must come
very soon for that final parting. Whate'er befel, he promised himself
to follow to the end his guiding star. Heaven would inspire him with
words which should save his brother from himself. Doreen was right, as
she always was. He strolled leisurely across to the stable-yard to
inquire whether my lord had returned from hunting.