THE END
While the two justices and Curtis discussed the unhappy condition of
Ireland, and deplored the fact that the law-breaker never appealed in vain
to the sympathies of a people whose instincts were adverse to discipline,
Flood’s estimate of Donogan went very far to reconcile Kilgobbin to Nina’s
marriage.
‘Out of Ireland, you’ll see that man has stuff in him to rise to eminence
and station. All the qualities of which home manufacture would only make
a rebel will combine to form a man of infinite resource and energy in
America. Have you never imagined, Mr. Kearney, that if a man were to employ
the muscular energy to make his way through a drawing-room that he would
use to force his passage through a mob, the effort would be misplaced, and
the man himself a nuisance? Our old institutions, with all their faults,
have certain ordinary characteristics that answer to good-breeding and
good manners--reverence for authority, respect for the gradations of rank,
dislike to civil convulsion, and such like. We do not sit tamely by when
all these are threatened with overthrow; but there are countries where
there are fewer of these traditions, and men like Donogan find their place
there.’
While they debated such points as these within-doors, Dick Kearney and
Atlee sat on the steps of the hall door and smoked their cigars.
‘I must say, Joe,’ said Dick, ‘that your accustomed acuteness cuts but a
very poor figure in the present case. It was no later than last night you
told me that Nina was madly in love with you. Do you remember, as we went
upstairs to bed, what you said on the landing? “That girl is my own. I may
marry her to-morrow, or this day three months.”’
‘And I was right.’
‘So right were you that she is at this moment the wife of another.’
‘And cannot you see why?’
‘I suppose I can: she preferred him to you, and I scarcely blame her.’
‘No such thing; there was no thought of preference in the matter. If
you were not one of those fellows who mistake an illustration, and see
everything in a figure but the parallel, I should say that I had trained
too finely. Now had she been thoroughbred, I was all right; as a cocktail,
I was all wrong.’
‘I own I cannot follow you.’
‘Well, the woman was angry, and she married that fellow out of pique.’
‘Out of pique?’
‘I repeat it. It was a pure case of temper. I would not ask her to sing. I
even found fault with the way she gave the rebel ballad. I told her there
was an old lady--Americanly speaking--at the corner of College Green, who
enunciated the words better, and then I sat down to whist, and would not
even vouchsafe a glance in return for those looks of alternate rage or
languishment she threw across the table. She was frantic. I saw it. There
was nothing she wouldn’t have done. I vow she’d have married even _you_
at that moment. And with all that, she’d not have done it if she’d been
“clean-bred.” Come, come, don’t flare up, and look as if you’d strike me.
On the mother’s side she was a Kearney, and all the blood of loyalty in her
veins; but there must have been something wrong with the Prince of Delos.
Dido was very angry, but her breeding saved her; _she_ didn’t take a
head-centre because she quarrelled with Æneas.’
‘You are, without exception, the most conceited--’
‘No, not ass--don’t say ass, for I’m nothing of the kind. Conceited, if you
like, or rather if your natural politeness insists on saying it, and cannot
distinguish between the vanity of a puppy and the self-consciousness
of real power; but come, tell me of something pleasanter than all this
personal discussion--how did mademoiselle convey her tidings? have you seen
her note? was it “transport”? was it high-pitched, or apologetic?’
‘Kate read it to me, and I thought it reasonable enough. She had done a
daring thing, and she knew it; she hoped the best, and in any case she was
not faint-hearted.’
‘Any mention of me?’
‘Not a word--your name does not occur.’
‘I thought not; she had not pluck for that. Poor girl, the blow is heavier
than I meant it.’
‘She speaks of Walpole; she incloses a few lines to him, and tells my
sister where she will find a small packet of trinkets and such like he had
given her.’
‘Natural enough all that. There was no earthly reason why she shouldn’t be
able to talk of Walpole as easily as of Colenso or the cattle plague; but
you see she could not trust herself to approach _my_ name.’
‘You’ll provoke me to kick you, Atlee.’
‘In that case I shall sit where I am. But I was going to remark that as I
shall start for town by the next train, and intend to meet Walpole, if your
sister desires it, I shall have much pleasure in taking charge of that note
to his address.’
‘All right, I’ll tell her. I see that she and Miss Betty are about to drive
over to O’Shea’s Barn, and I’ll give your message at once.’
While Dick hastened away on his errand, Joe Atlee sat alone, musing
and thoughtful. I have no reason to presume my reader cares for his
reflections, nor to know the meaning of a strange smile, half scornful and
half sad, that played upon his face. At last he rose slowly, and stood
looking up at the grim old castle, and its quaint blending of ancient
strength and modern deformity. ‘Life here, I take it, will go on pretty
much as before. All the acts of this drama will resemble each other, but my
own little melodrama must open soon. I wonder what sort of house there will
be for Joe Atlee’s benefit.’
Atlee was right. Kilgobbin Castle fell back to the ways in which our
first chapter found it, and other interests--especially those of Kate’s
approaching marriage--soon effaced the memory of Nina’s flight and runaway
match. By that happy law by which the waves of events follow and obliterate
each other, the present glided back into the past, and the past faded till
its colours grew uncertain.
On the second evening after Nina’s departure, Atlee stood on the pier of
Kingstown as the packet drew up at the jetty. Walpole saw him, and waved
his hand in friendly greeting. ‘What news from Kilgobbin?’ cried he, as he
landed.
‘Nothing very rose-coloured,’ said Atlee, as he handed the note.
‘Is this true?’ said Walpole, as a slight tremor shook his voice.
‘All true.’
‘Isn’t it Irish?--Irish the whole of it.’
‘So they said down there, and, stranger than all, they seemed rather proud
of it.’
THE END