Never had the O'Donoghue and Kate passed a day of more painful anxiety,
walking from window to window, whenever a view of the glen might be
obtained, or listening to catch among the sounds of the storm for
something that should announce Mark's return; their fears increased as
the hours stole by, and yet no sign of his coming appeared.
The old castle shook to its very foundations, as the terrific gale
tore along the glen, and the occasional crash of some old fragment of
masonry, would be heard high above the roaring wind--while in the
road beneath were scattered branches of trees, slates, and tiles, all
evidencing the violence of the hurricane. Under shelter of the great
rock, a shivering flock of mountain sheep were gathered, with here and
there amidst them a heifer or a wild pony, all differences of habit
merged in the common instinct of safety. Within doors every thing looked
sad and gloomy; the kitchen, where several country people, returning
from the market, had assembled, waiting in the vain hope of a favourable
moment to proceed homeward, did not present any of its ordinary signs
of gaiety. There was no pleasant sound of happy voices; no laughter,
no indulgence in the hundred little narratives of personal adventure by
which the peasant can beguile the weary time. They all sat around the
turf fire, either silent, or conversing in low cautious whispers, while
Mrs. Branagan herself smoked her pipe in a state of moody dignity, that
added its shade of awe to the solemnity of the scene.
It was a strange feature of the converse, nor would it be worth to
mention here, save as typifying the wonderful caution and reserve of the
people in times of difficulty; but no one spoke of the “rising,” nor
did any allude, except distantly, to the important military preparations
going forward at Macroom. The fear of treachery was at the moment
universal; the dread that informers were scattered widely through the
land, prevailed everywhere, and the appearance of a stranger, or of a
man from a distant part of the country, was always enough to silence all
free and confidential intercourse. So it was now--none spoke of anything
but the dreadful storm--the injury it might do the country--how the
floods would carry away a bridge here, or a mill there, what roads would
be impassable--what rivers would no longer be ford-able--some had not
yet drawn home their turf from the bog, and were now in despair of
ever reaching it--another had left his hay in a low callow, and never
expected to see it again--while a few, whose speculations took a wider
field ventured to expatiate on the terrible consequences of the gale
at sea, a topic which when suggested led to many a sorrowful tale of
shipwreck on the coast.
It was while they were thus, in low and muttering voices, talking over
these sad themes, that Kate, unable any longer to endure the suspense of
silent watching, descended the stairs, and entered the kitchen, to try
and learn there some tidings of events. The people stood up respectfully
as she came forward, and while each made his or her humble obeisance, a
muttered sound ran through them, in Irish, of wonder and astonishment
at her grace and beauty; for, whatever be the privations of the Irish
peasant, however poor and humble his lot in life, two faculties pertain
to him like instincts--a relish for drollery, and an admiration for
beauty--these are claims that ever find acknowledgment from him, and in
his enjoyment of either, he can forget himself, and all the miseries of
his condition. The men gazed on her as something more than mortal, the
character of her features heightened by costume strange to their eyes,
seemed to astonish almost as much as it captivated them--while the
women, with more critical discernment, examined her more composedly,
but, perhaps, with not less admiration; Mrs. Branagan, at the same time
throwing a proud glance around, as though to say, “You didn't think to
see the likes of that, in these parts.”
Kate happened on this occasion to look more than usually handsome. With
a coquetry it is not necessary to explain, she had dressed herself most
becomingly, and in that style which distinctly marks a French woman--the
only time in his life Mark had ever remarked her costume was when she
wore this dress, and she had not forgotten the criticism.
“I didn't mean to disturb you,” said Kate, with her slightly foreign
accent; “pray sit down again--well, then, I must leave you, if you
won't--every one let's me have my own way--is it not true, Mrs.
Branagan?”
Mrs. Branagan's reply was quite lost in the general chorus of the
others, as she said--
“And why wouldn't you, God bless you for a raal beauty!” while a
powerful looking fellow, with dark beard and whiskers, struck his stick
violently against the ground, and cried out in his enthusiasm--
“Let me see the man that would say agin it--that's all.”
Kate smiled at the speaker, not all ungrateful for such rude chivalry,
and went on--“I wanted to hear if you have any news from the town--was
there any stir among the troops, or anything extraordinary going forward
there?”
Each looked at the other as if unwilling to take the reply upon himself,
when at last an old man, with a head as white as snow, answered--
“Yes, my lady, the soldiers is all under arms since nine o'clock, then
came news that the French was in the Bay, and the army was sent for to
Cork.”
“No, 'tis Limerick I heerd say,” cried another.
“Limerick indeed! sorra bit, 'tis from Dublin they're comin wid cannons;
but it's no use, for the French is sailed off again as quick as they
come.”
“The French fleet gone!--left the Bay--surely you must mistake,” said
Kate, eagerly.
“Faix, I won't be sure, my lady; but here's Tom McCarthy seen them going
away, a little after twelve o'clock.”
The man thus appealed to, seemed in nowise satisfied with the allusions
to him, and threw a quick distrustful look around, as though far from
feeling content with the party before whom he should explain, a feeling
that increased considerably as every eye was now turned towards him.
Kate, with a ready tact that never failed her, saw his difficulty, and
approaching close to where he stood, said, in a voice only audible by
himself----
“Tell me what you saw in the Bay, do not have any fear of _me_.”
M'Carthy, who was dressed in the coarse blue jacket of a fisherman!
possessed that sharp intelligence so often found among those of his
calling, and seemed at once to have his mind relieved by this mark of
confidence.
“I was in the boat, my lady,” said he, “that rowed Master Mark out to
the French frigate, and waited for him alongside to bring him back. He
was more than an hour on board talking with the officers, sometimes down
in the cabin, and more times up on the quarter-deck, where there was a
fierce-looking man, with a blue uniform, lying on a white skin--a white
bear, Master Mark tould me it was. The officer was wounded in the leg
before he left France, and the sea voyage made it bad again, but, for
all that, he laughed and joked away like the others.”
“And they were laughing then, and in good spirits?” said Kate.
“'Tis that you may call it. I never heerd such pleasant gentlemen
before, and the sailors too was just the same--sorra bit would
sarve them, but making us drink a bottle of rum apiece, for luck,
I suppose--devil a one had a sorrowful face on him but Master Mark,
whatever was the matter with him, he wouldn' eat anything either, and
the only glass of wine he drank, you'd think it was poison, the face he
made at it--more by token he flung the glass overboard when he finished
it. And to be sure the Frenchmen weren't in fault, they treated him like
a brother--one would be shaking hands wid him--another wid his arm round
his shoulders, and”--here Tom blushed and stammered, and at last stopped
dead short.
“Well, go on, what were you going to say?”
“Faix, I'm ashamed then--but 'tis true enough--saving your presence, I
saw two of them kiss him.”
Kate could not help laughing at Tom's astonishment at this specimen of
French greeting--while for the first time, perhaps, did the feeling of
the peasant occur to herself, and the practice she had often witnessed
abroad, without remark, became suddenly repugnant to her delicacy.
“And did Master Mark come back alone,” asked she, after a minute's
hesitation.
“No, my lady, there was a little dark man wid gould epaulettes, and
a sword on him, that came too. I heerd them call him, Mr. Morris, but
sorra word of English or Irish he had.”
“And where did they land, and which way did they take afterwards?”
“I put them ashore at Glengariff, and they had horses there to take them
up the country. I heerd they were going first to Father Rourke's in the
glen.”
“And then, after that?”
“Sorra a one of me knows. I never set eyes on them since--I was trying
to get a warp out for one of the French ships, for the anchors was
dragging--they came to the wrong side of the island, and got into the
north channel, and that was the reason they had to cut their cables and
stand out to sea till the gale is over, but there's not much chance of
that for some time.”
Kate did not speak for several minutes, and at length said--
“The people, tell me of them, were they in great numbers along the
coast, were there a great many of them with Mr. Mark when he came down
to the shore?”
“I'll tell you no He, my lady; there was not--there was some boys from
Castletown, and down thereabouts, but the O'Learys and the Sullivans,
the McCarthys--my own people--and the Neals wasn't there; and sure
enough it was no wonder if Master Mark was angry, when he looked about
and saw the fellows was following him. 'Be off,' says he, 'away wid ye,
'tis for pillage and robbery the likes of ye comes down here--if the men
that should have heart and courage in the cause won't come forward, I'll
never head ruffians like you to replace them.' Them's the words he said,
and hard words they were.”
“Poor fellow,” said Kate, as she wiped away a tear from her eye, “none
stand by him, not one, and why is this the case,” asked she, eagerly,
“have the people grown faint-hearted--are there cowards amongst them?”
“There's as bad,” said M'Carthy, in a low, cautious whisper--.
“there's traitors, that would rather earn blood money, than live
honestly--there's many a one among them scheming to catch Master Mark
himself, and he is lucky if he escapes at last.”
“There's horses now, coming up the road, and fast they're coming too,”
said one of the country people, and the quick clattering of a gallop
could be heard along the plashy road.
Kate's heart beat almost audibly, and she bounded from the spot, and up
the stairs. The noise of the approaching horses came nearer, and at last
stopped before the door.
“It is him--it is Mark,” said she to herself, in an ecstasy of delight,
and with trembling fingers withdrew the heavy bolt, and undid the chain,
while, with an effort of strength the emergency alone conferred, she
threw wide the massive door, clasped and framed with iron.
“Oh, how I have watched for you,” exclaimed she, as a figure,
dismounting hastily, advanced towards her, and the same instant the
roice revealed Hemsworth, as he said--
“If I could think this greeting were indeed meant for me, Miss
O'Donoghue, I should call this moment the happiest of my life.”
“I thought it was my cousin,” said Kate, as almost fainting, she fell
back into a seat, “but you may have tidings of him, can you tell if he
is safe?”
“I expected to have heard this intelligence from you,” said he, as
recovering from the chagrin of his disappointment, he resumed his
habitual deference of tone; “has he not returned?”
“No, we have not seen him, nor has the messenger yet come back. Herbert
also is away, and we are here alone.”
As Hemsworth offered her his arm to return to the drawing-room, he
endeavoured to reassure her on the score of Mark's safety, while he
hinted that the French, who that morning had entered Bantry Bay with
eleven vessels, unprepared for the active reception his measures had
provided, had set sail again, either to await the remainder of the
fleet, or perhaps return to France; “I would not wish to throw blame
on those whose misfortune is already heavy, but I must tell you,
Miss O'Donoghue, that every step of this business has been marked by
duplicity and cowardice. I, of course, need not say, that in either of
these, your friends stand guiltless, but your cousin has been a dupe
throughout; the dupe of every one who thought it worth his while to
trick and deceive him--he believed himself in the confidence of the
leaders of the expedition--they actually never heard of his name.
He thought himself in a position of trust and influence--he is not
recognized by any--unnoticed by his own party, and unacknowledged by the
French, his only notoriety will be the equivocal one of martyrdom.”
Every word of this speech, uttered in a voice of sad, regretful meaning,
as though the speaker were sorrowing over the mistaken opinions of a
dear friend, cut deeply into Kate's heart--she knew not well at the
instant, whether she should not better have faced actual danger for her
cousin, than have seen him thus deceived and played upon. Hemsworth saw
the effect his words created, and went on--
“Would that the danger rested here, and that the fate of one rash, but
high-spirited boy, was all that hung on the crisis”--as he spoke he
threw a cautious look around the roomy apartment to see that they were,
indeed, alone.
“Great Heaven! there is not surely worse than this in store for us,”
cried Kate, in a voice of heartrending affliction.
“There is far worse, Miss O'Donoghue; the ruin that threatens is that
of a whole house--a noble and honoured name--your uncle is unhappily no
stranger to these mischievous intentions--I was slow to put faith in the
assertion.”
“It is false--I know it is false,” said Kate, passionately--“My poor
dear uncle, overwhelmed with many calamities, has borne up patiently and
nobly, but of any participation in schemes of danger or enterprize he is
incapable--think of his age--his infirmity.”
“I am aware of both, young lady, but I am also aware that for years
past, his pecuniary difficulties have been such that he would hesitate
at nothing which should promise the chance of extrication. Many have
imagined like him, that even a temporary triumph over England would lead
to some new settlement between the two countries, concessions of one
kind or other, laws revoked and repealed, and confiscations withdrawn;
nor were the expectations, perhaps, altogether unfounded. Little has
ever been accorded to Ireland as a grace--much has been obtained by her
by menace.”
“He never calculated on such an issue to the struggle, sir; depend upon
it, no unworthy prospect of personal gain ever induced an O'Donoghue
to adopt a cause like this. You have convinced me, now, that he is
unconnected with this plot.”
“I sincerely wish my own convictions could follow yours, madam, but it
is an ungrateful office I have undertaken. Would to heaven I knew how to
discharge it more fittingly. To be plain, Miss O'Donoghue, the statute
of high treason, which will involve the confiscation of your uncle's
estate, will, if measures be not speedily taken, rob you of your
fortune; to prevent this--
“Stay, sir, I may save you some trouble on my account. I have no
fortune, nor any claim upon my uncle's estate.”
“Pardon me, young lady, but the circumstance of my position has made me
acquainted with matters connected with your family; your claim extends
to a very considerable, and a very valuable property.”
“Once more, sir, I must interrupt you--I have none.”
“If I dare contradict you I would say----”
“Nay, nay, sir,” cried she, blushing, partly from shame, and partly from
anger--“this must cease, I know not what right you have to press the
avowal from me. The property you speak of is no longer mine; my uncle
did me the honour to accept it from me, would that the gift could
express the thousandth part of the love I bear him.”
“You gave over your claim to your uncle!” said Hemsworth, leaving a
pause between every word of the sentence, while a look of malignant
anger settled on his brow.
“Who dares to question me on such a subject,” said Kate, for the
insulting expression so suddenly assumed by Hemsworth, roused all her
indignation.
“Is this, then, really so,” said Hemsworth, who, so unaccustomed as he
ever was to be overreached, felt all the poignancy of a deception in his
disappointment.
Kate made no answer, but moved towards the door, while Hemsworth sprang
forward before her, and placed his back against it.
“What means this, or how comes it, that you dare to treat me thus
beneath my uncle's roof?”
“One word only, Miss O'Donoghue,” said Hemsworth, with an effort to
assume his habitual tone of deference; “May I ask was this transfer of
property made legally and formally.”
“Sir,” said Kate, as drawing herself up, she stared full at him, without
another word of reply.
“I see it all,” said Hemsworth, rapidly, and as if thinking, aloud.
“This was the money that paid off Hickson--in this way the mortgage
was redeemed, and the bond for two thousand also recovered--duped
and cheated at every step. And so, madam,”--here he turned a look of
insulting menace towards her--“I have been the fool in your hands all
this time; and not content with thwarting my views, you have endeavoured
to sap the source of my fortune. Yes, you need not affect ignorance; I
know of Sir Archibald's kind interference in my behalf: Sir Marmaduke
Travers has withdrawn his agency from me; he might have paused to
inquire where was the property from which he has removed me--how much
of it owns him the master, or me. This was your uncle's doing. I have it
under his own hand, and the letter addressed to yourself.”
“And you dared, sir, to break the seal of my letter!”
“I did more, madam--I sent a copy of it to the Secretary of State,
whose warrant I possess: the young officials of the Home Office will,
doubtless, thank me for the amusement I have afforded them in its
contents. The match-making talents of Sir Archy and his niece's
fascinations have, however, failed for once. The Guardsman seems to have
got over his short-lived passion.”
“Stand back, sir, and let me pass.”
“One moment more, madam; if I have suffered some injuries from your
family, I have at least one debt of gratitude to acknowledge--but for
your note, written by your own hand, I should scarcely have succeeded
in capturing a rebel, whose treason will not long await its penalty--but
for your able assistance, your cousin might have escaped--indeed, it
may be worth while to inform you that Sir Archibald had good hopes
of obtaining his pardon, a circumstance which will, doubtless, be
satisfactory to the surviving members of the family.”
“My cousin Mark taken!” cried Kate, as she clasped her hands to either
side of her head in a paroxysm of agony.
“Taken, and on his way to Dublin, under a military escort; on Wednesday
he will be tried by court-martial: I hope and trust on Thursday--but
perhaps it would be cruel to tell you of Thursday's proceedings.”
Kate reeled, and endeavoured to support herself by a chair; but a
sickness like death crept over her, and with a faint low sigh she sank
lifeless on the floor; at the same instant the door was burst open by
a tremendous effort, and Hemsworth sent forward into the room. It was
Mark, splashed and dripping, his face flushed with violent exertion,
that entered. With one glance at Hemsworth, and another at the fainting
form before him, he seemed to divine all.
“Our day of reckoning is come at last, sir,” said he, in a low distinct
voice; “it has been somewhat tardy, however.”
“If you have any claim on me, Mr. O'Donoghue,” said Hemsworth, with a
forced calmness, “I am ready, at the proper time and place, to offer you
every satisfaction.”
“That time and place is here, sir,” said Mark, as without the slightest
sign of passion he bolted the door, and drew a heavy table across
it. “Here, in this room, from which both of us shall never walk forth
alive.”
“Take care, sir, what you do; I am armed,” said Hemsworth, as he threw a
quick glance around, to see if any hope of escape should present itself.
“And so am I,” said Mark, coolly, who still busied himself in removing
every object from the middle of the room, while gently lifting Kate, he
laid her, still unconscious as she was, upon a sofa.
“We have neither of us much time to throw away, I fancy,” said he,
with a bitter laugh; “choose your place now, sir, and fire when you
please--mine is yonder;” and as he spoke he turned half round to walk
towards the spot indicated. With the quickness of lightning, Hemsworth
seized the moment, and drawing a pistol from his bosom, aimed and fired;
the ball grazed Mark's shoulder, and made him stagger forwards; but in a
second he recovered himself: the casualty saved him; for while falling,
a second bullet whizzed after the first. With a cry of vengeance that
made the old walls ring again, Mark sprang at him; it was the deadly
leap of a tiger on his prey; the impulse was such, that as he caught him
in his arms, both rolled over together on the floor. The struggle was
but brief; Mark, superior in youth, strength, and activity, soon got
him under, and with his knee upon his chest, pinioned him down to
the ground. There was a pause, the only sounds being the quick-drawn
breathings of both, as with looks of hate they gazed at each
other;--while with one hand he grasped Hemsworth by the throat, with
the other he felt for his pistol: slowly he drew forth the weapon, and
cocked it; then laying the cold muzzle upon the other's forehead, he
pressed the trigger; the cock snapped, but the priming burned. He flung
the weapon from him in passion, and drew another; but ere he could
adjust it, Hemsworth ceased to breathe; a cold livid colour spread over
his features, and a clammy sweat bedewed his forehead--he had fainted.
Mark dropped the uplifted weapon, as he muttered--“It was a fitting
fate--the death of a coward.” Then standing up, he approached the window
that overlooked the road, and threw it wide open. The storm still blew
with all its force, and in a second extinguished the lights in the room,
leaving all in darkness. With cautious steps, Mark moved towards where
the body lay, and lifting it in his powerful arms, carried it towards
the window; with one vigorous effort he hurled the lifeless form
from him, and the heavy mass was heard as it fell crashing among the
brushwood that covered the precipice.
[Illustration: frontispiece]
Mark gazed for a few seconds into the black abyss beneath, and then
withdrawing, he closed the window, and barred it. By the aid of his
pistol he struck a light, and relighted the candles, and then approached
the sofa where Kate lay.
“Have I been ill, Mark?” said she, as she touched his band--“have I been
ill, and dreaming a horrid dream? I thought Hems-worth was here, and
that--that--but he was here--I know it now--you met him here. Oh, Mark,
dearest Mark, what has happened--where is he?”
Mark pointed to the window, but never spoke.
“Is he killed--did you kill him?” cried she, as her eyes grew wild with
the expression of terror. “Oh, merciful heaven, who has visited us so
heavily, why will reason remain when madness would be mercy! You have
killed him!”
“He did not die by my hand, though he well deserved to have done so,”
said Mark, sternly; “but are our hours to be so many now, that we can
waste them on such a theme. The French are in the Bay--at least a
portion of the fleet--sixteen vessels, nine of which are ships of the
line, are holding by their anchors beneath our cliffs; twenty more are
at sea, or wrecked or captured by the English, for who can tell the
extent of our disasters. All is against us; but against all we might
succeed, if we had not traitors amongst us.”
“The Government is aware of the plot, Mark--knows every man engaged in
it, and is fully prepared to meet your advance.”
“Such is the rumour; but there's no truth in it: the people hold back,
and give this as the excuse for their cowardice. The priests will not
harangue them, and the panic spreads every moment wider, of treachery
and betrayal. Lanty Lawler, the fellow who should have supplied horses
for the artillery, is an informer; so are half the others. There's
nothing for it but a bold plunge--something to put every neck in the
halter, and then will come the spirit to meet all difficulties--so
thinks Tone, and he's a noble-hearted fellow, and ready for any peril.”
A loud knocking at the door of the tower now broke in upon the converse,
and Kerry O'Leary called aloud--
“Open the door, Master Mark; be quick, the soldiers is comin'.”
Mark speedily withdrew the heavy table from its place across the door,
and opened it. Kerry, his clothes reduced to rags, and his face and
hands bleeding, stood before him, terror in every feature. “They took
me prisoner at the gate there, but I contrived to slip away, and took to
the mountain, and a fine chase they gave me for the last hour----”
“But the soldiers--where are they, and in what place?”
“There's two troops of horse about a mile below Mary's in the glen,
waiting for Hemsworth's orders to advance.”
“Go on,” said Mark, with a stern smile; “they're not likely to move for
some time.”
“I do not know that, then,” said Kerry, “for I saw Hemsworth pass up the
road, with two men holding him on his horse; he seemed to have got a
bad fall, for the blood was running down his face, and his cheeks was as
pale as a corpse.”
“You saw Hemsworth, and he was living!”
“Faix he was, and no doubt of it; there never was the man in these parts
could curse and swear the way he does, barrin' himself, and I heerd him
blasphaming away as he went along what he wouldn't do down here.”
“Oh, fly, Mark; don't lose a second, for heaven's sake.----”
“And leave you here to the mercy of this scoundrel and his bloodhounds.”
“No, no; we are safe here; he dare not wreak his vengeance on us; but
you are his greatest enemy.”
“'Tis thrue she's sayin',” cried Kerry, eagerly; “I heerd Hemsworth say
to Sam Wylie, that Captain Travers is up at Macroom with his regiment,
and was coming down to guard the castle here; but that there was plenty
of time to take you before he came, and there was a tree standing to
hang you, besides.”
“I leave you, then, in safe keeping,” said Mark, with a touch of sarcasm
in his voice; “one word of good-bye to my father, and I am gone.”
It was some moments before the O'Donoghue could rally from the deep
stupor grief and anxiety induced, and recognize Mark as he leaned over
his chair; and then as he felt his hands and clutched his arms, he
seemed endeavouring to persuade himself that it was not some passing
dream he laboured under.
“The pursuit is too hot, father,” said Mark, after two or three efforts
to arouse his mind to what was going forward, “and I must be off.
Hemsworth has a strong party in the glen; but fear nothing; he cannot
molest you; and, besides, his time is brief now.”
“And will you leave me, Mark; will you desert me now?” said the old man,
with all the selfishness of age, forgetting every thing, save his own
feelings.
“Not if you wish me to remain; if you think there is more honour in my
being taken prisoner under your own roof, I'm just as willing.”
“Oh, no, uncle,” cried Kate, rushing forward; “do not keep him; say
good-bye, and speedily; the dragoons are advancing already.”
“There goes a shot! that was a cannon,” cried Mark, in ecstasy, as
he lifted his hand to catch the sound--“another! another! they're
landing--they're coming--you'll see me again before day-break, father,”
said he, embracing the old man tenderly, while he turned to bid Kate
adieu. She stood with her hands before her eyes, her bosom heaving
violently. Mark gazed at her for a moment, and pressing his lips to her
cheek, merely whispered one word, and was gone.
Hemsworth's horse, which Kerry had found in the stable, stood ready
awaiting Mark, and without a moment's loss of time, he sprung on the
animal's back, and dashed down the road at full speed. Meanwhile the
loud firing of cannon continued at intervals towards the Bay, and more
than one rocket was seen to throw its bright glare through the blackness
of the night.
“They're landing at last,” cried Mark, as every report set his heart
bounding with eager hope, and forward he rode through the storm.