MORONY CASTLE IS BOYCOTTED.
The men seemed to make a good joke of the afternoon's employment,
but not so the young ladies. In the evening they had a little music,
and Captain Clayton declared that the Miss Ormesbys were grand
performers. "And I am told that they are lovely girls," said Ada.
"Well, yes; lovely is a very strong word."
"I'd rather be called lovely than anything," said Ada.
"Now, Captain Clayton," said Edith, "if you wish for my respect,
don't fall into the trap which Ada has so openly laid for you."
"I meant nothing of the kind," said Ada. "I hope that Captain Clayton
knows me better. But, Captain Clayton, you don't mean that you'll
walk down to the boat to-morrow?"
"Why not? He'll never have the pluck to fire at me two days running.
And I doubt whether he'll allow me so fair a chance of seeing him."
"I wonder how you can sleep at night, knowing that such a man as this
is always after your life."
"I wonder whether he sleeps at night, when he thinks such a man as
I am after his life. And I allow him, to boot, all his walks and
hiding-places." Then Ada began to implore him not to be too rash.
She endeavoured to teach him that no good could come from such
foolhardiness. If his life was of no value to himself, it was of
great value to others;--to his mother, for instance, and to his
sister. "A man's life is of no real value," said the Captain, "until
he has got a wife and family--or at any rate, a wife."
"You don't think the wife that is to be need mind it?" said Edith.
"The wife that is to be must be in the clouds, and in all
probability, will never come any nearer. I cannot allow that a man
can be justified in neglecting his duties for the sake of a cloudy
wife."
"Not in neglecting absolute duties," said Ada, sadly.
"A man in my position neglects his duty if he leaves a stone unturned
in pursuit of such a blackguard as this. And when a man is used to
it, he likes it. There's your brother quite enjoyed being shot at,
just as though he were resident magistrate; at any rate, he looked as
though he did."
So the conversation went on through the evening, during the whole of
which poor Florian made one of the party. He said very little, but
sat close to his sister Edith, who frequently had his hand in her
own. The Captain constantly had his eye upon him without seeming to
watch him, but still was thinking of him as the minutes flew by.
It was not that the boy was in danger; for the Captain thought the
danger to be small, and that it was reduced almost to nothing as long
as he remained in the house,--but what would be the effect of fear on
the boy's mind? And if he were thus harassed could he be expected to
give his evidence in a clear manner? Mr. Jones was not present after
dinner, having retired at once to his own room. But just as the girls
had risen to go to bed, and as Florian was preparing to accompany
them, Peter brought a message saying that Mr. Jones would be glad to
see Captain Clayton before he went for the night. Then the Captain
got up, and bidding them all farewell, followed Peter to Mr. Jones's
room. "I shall go on by the early boat," he said as he was leaving
the room.
"You'll have breakfast first, at any rate," said Ada. The Captain
swore that he wouldn't, and the girls swore that he should. "We never
let anybody go without breakfast," said Ada.
"And particularly not a man," said Edith, "who has just been shot at
on our behalf," But the Captain explained that it might be as well
that he should be down waiting for the boat half an hour at any rate
before it started.
"I and Hunter," said he, "would have a fair look out around us there,
so that no one could get within rifle shot of us without our seeing
them, and they won't look out for us so early. I don't think much
of Mr. Lax's courage, but it may be as well to keep a watch when it
can be so easily done." Then Ada went off to her bed, resolving that
the breakfast should be ready, though it was an hour before the boat
time. The boat called at the wharf at eight in the morning, and the
wharf was three miles distant from the house. She could manage to
have breakfast ready at half-past six.
"Ada, my girl," said Edith, as they departed together, "don't you
make a fool of that young man."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Didn't you tell me that a man who has to be shot at ought not to be
married; and didn't he say that he would leave his future wife up
among the clouds?"
"He may leave her where he likes for me," said Ada. "When a man is
doing so much for us oughtn't he to have his breakfast ready for him
at half-past six o'clock?" There was no more then said between them
on that subject; but Edith resolved that as far as boiling the water
was concerned, she would be up as soon as Ada.
When the Captain went into Mr. Jones's room he was asked to sit down,
and had a cigar offered to him. "Thanks, no; I don't think I'll
smoke. Smoking may have some sort of effect on a fellow's hand.
There's a gentleman in these parts who I should be sorry should owe
his life to any little indulgence of that sort on my behalf."
"You are thinking of the man who fired at you?"
"Well, yes; I am. Not that I shall have any chance at him just
at present. He won't come near me again this visit. The next
that I shall hear from him will be from round some corner in
the neighbourhood of Galway. I think I know every turn in that
blackguard's mind."
"Have you been speaking to Florian about him, Captain Clayton?"
"Not a word."
"Nor has his brother?"
"I think not."
"What am I to do about the poor boy?" said the anxious father.
"Because of his fear about this very man?"
"He is only a boy, you know."
"Of course he is only a boy. You've no right to expect from him the
pluck of a man. When he is as old as his brother he'll have his
brother's nerve. I like to see a man plucky under fire when he is not
used to it. When you've got into the way of it, it means nothing."
"What am I do about Florian? There are four months before the
assizes. He cannot remain in the house for four months."
"What would he be at the end of it?" said the Captain. "That is what
we have to think of."
"Would it alter him?"
"I suppose it would,--if he were here with his sister, talking of
nothing but this wretched man, who seems to haunt him. We have to
remember, Mr. Jones, how long it was before he came forward with his
story."
"I think he will be firm with it now."
"No doubt,--if he had to tell it out in direct evidence. When he is
there in the court telling it, he will not think much of Mr. Lax,
nor even of Pat Carroll, who will be in the dock glaring at him;
nor would he think much of anything but his direct story, while a
friendly barrister is drawing it out of him; but when it comes to his
cross-examination, it will be different. He will want all his pluck
then, and all the simplicity which he can master. You must remember
that a skilful man will have been turned loose on him with all the
ferocity of a bloodhound; a man who will have all the cruelty of Lax,
but will have nothing to fear; a man who will be serving his purpose
all round if he can only dumbfound that poor boy by his words and
his looks. A man, when he has taken up the cause of these ruffians,
learns to sympathise with them. If they hate the Queen, hate the
laws, hate all justice, these men learn to hate them too. When they
get hold of me, and I look into the eyes of such a one, I see there
my bitterest enemy. He holds Captain Yorke Clayton up to the hatred
of the whole court, as though he were a brute unworthy of the
slightest mercy,--a venomous reptile, against whom the whole country
should rise to tear him in pieces. And I look round and see the same
feeling written in the eyes of them all. I found it more hard to get
used to that than to the snap of a pistol; but I have got used to it.
Poor Florian will have had no such experience. And there will be no
mercy shown to him because he is only a boy. Neither sex nor age is
supposed to render any such feeling necessary to a lawyer. A lawyer
in defending the worst ruffian that ever committed a crime will
know that he is called upon to spare nothing that is tender. He is
absolved from all the laws common to humanity. And then poor Florian
has lied." A gloomy look of sad, dull pain came across the father's
brow as he heard these words. "We must look it in the face, Mr.
Jones."
"Yes, look it all in the face."
"He has repeated the lie again and again for six months. He has been
in close friendship with these men. It will be made out that he has
been present at all their secret meetings. He has been present at
some of them. It will be very hard to get a jury to convict on his
evidence if it be unsupported."
"Shall we withdraw him?" asked Mr. Jones.
"You cannot do it. His deposition has been sworn and put forward in
the proper course. Besides it is his duty and yours,--and mine," he
added. "He must tell his story once again, and must endure whatever
torment the law-rebels of the court have in store for him. Only it
will be well to think what course of treatment may best prepare him
for the trial. You should treat him with the greatest kindness."
"He is treated kindly."
"But you, I think, and his sisters and his brother should endeavour
to make him feel that you do not think harshly of him because of
the falsehoods he has told. Go out with him occasionally." Here Mr.
Jones raised his eyebrows as feeling surprised at the kind of counsel
given. "Put some constraint on yourself so as to make him feel by the
time he has to go into court with you that he has a friend with him."
"I trust that he always feels that," said Mr. Jones.
They went on discussing the matter till late at night, and Captain
Clayton made the father understand what it was that he intended. He
meant that the boy should be made to know that his father was to him
as are other fathers, in spite of the lie which he had told, and of
the terrible trouble which he had caused by telling it. But Mr. Jones
felt that the task imposed upon him would be almost impossible. He
was heavy at heart, and unable to recall to himself his old spirits.
He had been thoroughly ashamed of his son, and was not possessed of
that agility of heart which is able to leap into good-humour at once.
Florian had been restored to his old manner of life; sitting at table
with his father and occasionally spoken to by him. He had been so
far forgiven; but the father was still aware that there was still
a dismal gap between himself and his younger boy, as regarded that
affectionate intercourse which Captain Clayton recommended. And yet
he knew that it was needed, and resolved that he would do his best,
however imperfectly it might be done.
On the next morning the Captain went his way, and did ample homage to
the kindly exertions made on his behalf by the two girls. "Now I know
you must have been up all night, for you couldn't have done it all
without a servant in the house."
"How dare you belittle our establishment!" said Ada. "What do you
think of Peter? Is Peter nobody? And it was poor Florian who boiled
the kettle. I really don't know whether we should not get on better
altogether without servants than with them." The breakfast was eaten
both by the Captain in the parlour and by Hunter in the kitchen in
great good humour. "Now, my fine fellow," said the former, "have
you got your pistols ready? I don't think we shall want them this
morning, but it's as well not to give these fellows a chance." Hunter
was pleased by being thus called into council before the young
ladies, and they both started in the highest good humour. Captain
Clayton, as he went, told himself that Ada Jones was the prettiest
girl of his acquaintance. His last sentimental affinity with the
youngest Miss Ormesby waxed feeble and insipid as he thought of Ada.
Perhaps Edith, he said to himself, is the sharpest of the two, but
in good looks she can't hold a candle to her sister. So he passed on,
and with his myrmidon reached Galway, without incurring any
impediment from Mr. Lax.
In the course of the morning, Mr. Jones sent for Florian, and
proposed to walk out with him about the demesne. "I don't think there
will be any danger," he said. "Captain Clayton went this morning, and
the people don't know yet whether he has gone. I think it is better
that you should get accustomed to it, and not give way to idle
fears." The boy apparently agreed to this, and got his hat. But he
did not leave the shelter of the house without sundry misgivings. Mr.
Jones had determined to act at once upon the Captain's advice, and
had bethought himself that he could best do so by telling the whole
truth to the boy. "Now, Florian, I think it would be as well that you
and I should understand each other." Florian looked up at him with
fearful eyes, but made no reply. "Of course I was angry with you
while you were hesitating about those ruffians."
"Yes; you were," said Florian.
"I can quite understand that you have felt a difficulty."
"Yes, I did," said Florian.
"But that is all over now."
"If they don't fire at me it is over, I suppose, till August."
"They shan't fire at you. Don't be afraid. If they fire at you, they
must fire at me too." The father was walking with his arm about the
boy's neck. "You, at any rate, shall incur no danger which I do not
share. You will understand--won't you--that my anger against you is
passed and gone?"
"I don't know," said the boy.
"It is so,--altogether. I hope to be able to send you to school in
England very soon after the trial is over. You shall go to Mr. Monro
at first, and to Winchester afterwards, if I can manage it. But we
won't think of Winchester just at present. We must do the best we can
to get a good place for you on your first going into the school."
"I am not afraid about that," said Florian, thinking that at the time
when the school should have come all the evils of the trials would
have been passed away and gone.
"All the same you might come and read with me every morning for an
hour, and then for an hour with each of your sisters. You will want
something to do to make up your time. And remember, Florian, that
all my anger has passed away. We will be the best of friends, as in
former days, so that when the time shall have come for you to go into
court, you may be quite sure that you have a friend with you there."
To all this Florian made very little reply; but Mr. Jones remembered
that he could not expect to do much at a first attempt. Weary as the
task would be he would persevere. For the task would be weary even
with his own son. He was a man who could do nothing graciously which
he could not do _con amore_. And he felt that all immediate warm
liking for the poor boy had perished in his heart. The boy had
made himself the friend of such a one as Pat Carroll, and in his
friendship for him had lied grossly. Mr. Jones had told himself
that it was his duty to forgive him, and had struggled to perform
his duty. For the performance of any deed necessary for the boy's
security, he could count upon himself. But he could not be happy in
his company as he was with Edith. The boy had been foully untrue to
him--but still he would do his best.