My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3

'Oh, sir!' Robert murmured timidly. 'If things go well-'

'No, sir,' returned Curran, with sudden roughness. 'Things aren't like to go well. Do not deceive yourself or her. You, for one, are nearer to the gallows than the bridal bed! When Ireland is free, when my lord chancellor is higher even than he is-as high as Haman-then maybe we'll talk of such follies, but not till then. Meanwhile, mark you, the gates of the Priory open to you no more. There shall be no more dangling after my Primrose till the crisis is over, for better or for worse. Get ye gone, now, and good luck betide ye! There must be a power of it somewhere, for here we've got ne'er a scrap.'

Young Robert did as he determined; and so for awhile we shall not look on him. In London he was kept dallying by a judicious diet of delusive hopes in accordance with a suggestion from the Irish chancellor, who wished him kept well in tow, lest haply he might turn out useful later. Amuse this baby brand, he wrote; manage him cleverly, and lull him for a few months to sleep.

Sara saw him no more. He came no more to the Priory, and she was glad of it. The child was dazed and bewildered by the reports which reached her through the servants. She made no pretence of comprehending politics. She only knew that so long as Robert remained away, he would be kept safe out of the perilous vortex. She had faith in her father's genius, and in his power, if need were, to protect both himself and her; yet woke she up sometimes in the night with a cry, having dreamed that misfortune had befallen Robert. She could not shake off a foreboding that, young and excitable as he was, he would entangle himself in the toils; and so it was with a whimsical thankfulness that she heard that he whom she worshipped was gone, and joyfully counted the months of his absence.

When Robert broke in upon the converse under the colonnade, Master Phil did not at first take heed of him, for that worthy, who was always ready to touch his hunting-cap with good-humour to any of his master's friends, was in rueful contemplation of a fact which had lately come to his knowledge-namely, that red-haired Biddy was not true to him-that the colleen who had enthralled his affections was sadly misbehaving herself among the soldiery. Honest Phil was not specially quick-witted, yet he could put two and two together after a clumsy fashion, and he saw darkly with sorrow that the carroty-polled virgin could scarcely have been ever true if she could thus brazenly go over to the enemy. He revolved the facts in his mind that she it was who had been Miss Wolfe's post-office-that it was she who with him had carried out the pike-packing in the armoury, which had so oddly been discovered; that she it was who had wormed secrets out of him-the honest but incautious youth-which she might or might not hold in terrorem now over the heads of those whom he loved best. There was but too much proof of the frail fair one's delinquency. When the Irish Slave was sacked, she had rushed yelping to the Little House, giving tongue with such vociferous howls that two soldiers speedily pursued and brought her back, and finally carried her off kicking-a special prize. For a long while her disconsolate adorer (when not on duty in surveillance over his master) searched high and low for her. Had anybody beheld a beautiful creature with ruddy locks of gold? – to see which would be to adore for ever-and so forth.

But as time went on, his master's self-appointed duties became so engrossing and erratic that the servant was fain to sacrifice his private interests altogether for the nonce, trusting that some day the fair creature would turn up entrancingly spotless-constant to her swain. It was with no slight pang, then, that on that very morning he had recognised a well-known back and followed it-a broad square back covered now with purple velvet, surmounted by the well-known locks, which were shaded by a wondrous hat and feathers. The apparition led him to the riding-school! – the dreadful hall of torment which people shuddered at as they went by. Too much amazed to realise what he did, he followed still. She entered-so did he. Noisily she was embraced at once by a dozen half-drunken men in uniform, and returned their salutes with strict impartiality. He was thunderstruck! Then with terror, from his sheltered nook, he surveyed the scene.

Screams for mercy made his blood run cold. Two men lay panting on a heap of straw; one quite old and feeble, released but recently from the lash. The elder would evidently soon be quit of his destroyers, for his lips were blue and his eyes glazed. The other, roused by a shout of laughter, stirred his head to curse his tormentors. This was enough for them. What a fine opportunity for a newly-developed joke! Quick-some gunpowder! Biddy poured some into two outstretched, palms. Rub it well into his hair-with a will now, Biddy-for it's shock, and will hold a prime dose. Now, stand well aside while we fire it with a long match. Horror-stricken, Phil escaped-his slow brains chaotic in unaccustomed whirl. What should he do? His charmer had developed into a fiend. Was she who had enthralled his affections the one who was at the bottom of all the mischief-the arch-betrayer of secrets? She had been in everybody's confidence-Miss Wolfe's (God bless her!), Mr. Cassidy's, Master Terence's-all! The snake in the grass, whose existence puzzled the gentry so. Could it be she? Had he not better speak out and tell them? No. They were conversing so earnestly. It was not his place to interrupt his betters. The intelligence would keep. He would make a clean breast of all he suspected to his master in private.

And his betters had good cause for the earnestness of their talk. When Mr. Grattan threw up his parliamentary seat, Curran had twitted him for loss of temper. But now his turn was come. He had spoken out rashly in the debate, which was still droning on-had distributed rhetorical slaps in the face, which caused the friends of Government to wince. Then one, bolder than the rest, interrupted the flow of his eloquence by saying:

'We're growing warm. Will any gintleman tell us an anecdote to bring us into a better temper?' And then Curran, flying in a rage, declared that he was wasting the energies which would serve him better in another place, and proceeded to abdicate with scorn his seat as member.

Terence, when he heard of it, doubted the wisdom of the move, and begged leave to know, as nearly as he might, what the orator had said.

'I charged them openly,' was the simple reply, 'with their corrupt practices. I charged them with a systematic endeavour to undermine the constitution in violation of the law of the land. I charged them with being public malefactors, public criminals. Then I was called to order, and I repeated the charge even yet more strongly, bawling out: "Why not expel me now? Why not send me to the bar of the Lords? Going out, I will repeat the accusation, and the winds shall carry it-that the ministers are traitors, who should be publicly impeached-and, advancing to the bar of the Lords, I will repeat it there. If I am to suffer in the public cause, I will go further than my prosecutors in virtue as in danger."'

'That wasn't wise, for nothing could come of it but noise,' Terence said, shaking his head at his old mentor. 'This is the time not for talk, but action.'

'It may happen,' returned the other gently, 'that the boys of action may come to need the help of a silver tongue-after all! I know not for certain how far ye're in it, Terence; and it's best I shouldn't know. Any way, I'm glad ye're not like your brother, who's a half-caste in character, more than half Englishman. You, at any rate, are not ashamed,' he continued slily, 'of going to tay with your mammy, or of perambulating by the say with a colleen asthore! I wish ye'd keep clear of this, though.'

'Would you have had me stand by-a man-a cold spectator of events? Would you have me show the white feather now, when so many have been kidnapped? No-I know you would not,' Terence said, looking in the little lawyer's eyes (into which the tears started) with a hand placed on either shoulder.

Curran said nothing for a few moments, then, blowing his nose, whispered rapidly:

'If there's naught to be gained by noise, my boy, still less will foolhardiness avail us. Why will you wear that gorgeous scarf of green? If you are to do man's work, do not act like a baby. There's only you and Cassidy left now to give directions to the country delegates. I don't know much, and it's not my business; but I can see now the tail of the Erin-go-bragh order sparkling within your vest. Two hands fraternally gripped. How lamentably childish, when so much may depend on you! Erin's cause will be none the less well served, I warrant, for fewer gewgaws on the persons of her sons. Too much green ribbon, Terence! Every man among you sports a green ribbon, and has some compromising paper in his pocket! Why, here's a roll in yours. For shame!'

'That's the military plan,' Terence returned, 'which I was to have shown to-day to our friends. It was a mercy, certainly, that you detained me here, or else-'

'You would have fallen a sacrifice to overweening prudence! Therein lies Erin's curse. Her sons are faithful enough, and earnest enough; but they're all impractical and scatter-brained.'

'Faithful, are they?' echoed Terence, mournfully. 'So many traitors walk among us, that no one can swear any day whether he's like to sleep or hang at night!'

'Traitors!' repeated Curran between his teeth, as he turned his head. 'Yes. Traitors galore! There walks the arch-traitor. Lucifer among his cohorts.'

Lord Clare was coming up the steps towards the lobby of the House of Commons, surrounded by a bevy of obsequious gentlemen who had rushed round to the 'Lords' entrance,' in Westmoreland Street, to warn the chancellor that dreadful things were happening. His hatchet face wore an evil expression which, melting away, gave place to beaming looks when he perceived before him his hated enemy.

'Ah! Mr. Curran. Taking the air? You're looking well, Terence,' he cried in his rasping voice, holding out a hand to each. 'Anything doing in the Commons? Not much to do, eh? Dull times. Sad-sad times, my friends! Dangerous, too; very dangerous.'

'You are right there, my lord,' returned the lawyer, curtly. 'Tyrants should remember that secret murder is the special weapon of the weak against the strong.'

The chancellor bit his lip, then showed his teeth again. He would not lose his temper. But it was singularly ill-mannered of this demagogue to try and make a scene in the public colonnade!

'I have warned you solemnly before, my lord, of what you are doing!' went on the sturdy little man. 'You play with awkward weapons. Take care they don't slip and cut you. The Staghouse overflows with guests, I know. Yet more than one has lately disappeared.'

'Consigned to Moiley?' laughed Lord Clare. 'Well, they weigh, I suppose, like wise men, the risks of their position against its advantages. We are quits. For I have warned you too. You'll get nothing by your present attitude, I do assure you. It is lamentable to see a clever man so waste his opportunity. I am sure if Terence's mother was here she would say the same. You believe in her, I think, though you've always done me the injury to mistrust me.'

Here he gave a friendly nod to Terence, who took no heed of it.

'Would you have me tie my countrymen in bundles?' inquired Curran, 'to raise myself to wealth and to remorse? The envy of fools-the contempt of the wise. No! Come what may, I will mourn over and console them; aye, and rebuke them too when they act against themselves.'

'Which is pretty frequently the case!' returned Lord Clare. 'I assure you I weep quite as much as you can over my country's misfortunes!'

Mr. Curran waxed peppery, for he hated humbug.

'And yet, my lord,' he sneered, 'your glittering optic is so dry that the finest gunpowder might be dried on it!'

This was uphill work; but the chancellor still smiled, though a hectic spot showed upon his cheekbone; for the squireens around were beginning to hee-haw, and he felt he was playing le rôle ridicule.

'It is a sad thing, when the interests of millions are placed at the mercy of one man's selfish ambition-or error, if you prefer it-for what is individual ambition but error?'

'Selfish ambition!' echoed Lord Clare, grandly. 'I have the honour to be a chosen servant of the King, and as such I humbly strive to do my duty-nothing more.'

'You owe no allegiance to the land that gave you birth? I tell you, my lord, here before these gentlemen, that as chancellor you are betraying those rights which you have sworn to maintain; that you are involving Government in disgrace-a kingdom in consternation; that you are sacrificing to your own avarice and vanity every sacred duty, every solemn engagement which binds you to yourself, your country, and your God!'

'Mr. Curran!' cried the chancellor, drawing back.

But the little man was not to be stopped now; his blood was up, and his eyes flashed fire.

'You are too arrogant to learn a lesson from history. Think why the royal ship of France went down. That of England labours now. "Throw the people overboard," say you, and such as you, "and ballast with abuses." Blind pilot! Throw your abuses overboard, say I, and ballast with your people!'

Lord Clare was getting very much the worst of it. He could not prematurely broach the question of a Union before all these people. He scarce knew how to act.

'You are bent on tieing Ireland to England-I can see through you. What is the price to be?'

'You are forcing a quarrel on me!' stammered the chancellor, who was scarlet. 'I call these gentlemen to witness that it is so; why, I know not, for I never injured you!'

'You are stabbing your mother and mine to death! Is that no injury?' returned the other, sternly crossing his arms. 'If it were possible to collect the innocent blood which you have shed and are shedding into one great reservoir, your lordship might have a good long swim in it. As wicked a game as it is short-sighted. When you guillotine a man you get rid of an individual, it's true, but you make all his friends and relations your enemies for ever.'

Things had gone too far to remain as they were. The wily chancellor, much as he deprecated appearing in open antagonism to the popular demagogue, was obliged for his own sake-for that of the Government which he represented-to take up the gauntlet which was tossed to him. If Lord Glandore, King of Cherokees, had only been present, he would have had the satisfaction of at last superintending the duel, the compromise of which, on a previous occasion, had so mortified him.

All agreed that the trifling matter had better be settled off-hand with as little delay as possible, for the shades of evening were closing in, and it is a pity that pretty bullet-practice should be spoiled by darkness. Terence of course offered himself as second to his ex-chief, while my lord beckoned to our old friend Cassidy, who happened to come upon the scene, and was only too delighted at the honour which was thus conferred by a chancellor of Ireland upon one who, however useful and fascinating, was no better socially than a 'half-mounted.'

Lord Clare proposed an immediate adjournment to Leinster Lawn, where the affair might be quietly concluded without witnesses; but his second would not hear of it. No, indeed! It was not often that he would have the opportunity of showing himself off as best man to so high a dignitary, and was by no means inclined to hide his light under a bushel. Stephen's Green was the place, quite close and handy. Among the trees there was a splendid spot for sport. In his delight he clapped his brother second on the back, vowing that it would be only right for them to have a tilt upon their own account!

To this Terence demurred, however, marvelling why the friendly giant should show such an itching to have a shot at him. That worthy seemed singularly aggrieved at his offer being refused, but consoled himself by grumbling:

'I thought you were more game! No mather-when the principals have done, we might have a turn. I remember when Lord Mountgarret was winged at the first fire, that his son tuk his place, not to disappoint the audience. And we all thought it mighty polite and proper in the gintleman.'

CHAPTER IX.

THE DUEL

When they had had time to reflect, both combatants were equally sorry for the fracas. Curran was specially meek, and apologised humbly to his second, as they walked arm-in-arm to the trysting-place.