The Heir of Kilfinnan Part 18

The Earl seemed much relieved on hearing that his property was less enc.u.mbered than he had supposed.

"But there is another point, my lord, on which I shall wish particularly to consult you."

"Well, the sooner we speak on anything of importance the better, Finlayson. We know not what another day may bring forth," observed the Earl.

He already spoke with some difficulty.

"Well, my lord, at all events I should like to know your wishes on the subject," said the lawyer. "Your lords.h.i.+p knows that your father had an elder brother."

"Yes," said the Earl, in a somewhat surprised tone.

"He was considerably older than your father," continued the lawyer. "He was a somewhat wild and extravagant man. Your lords.h.i.+p may possibly remember that he engaged in one of the unhappy outbreaks of those days."

"Yes, yes," said the Earl hastily. "I heard that he became a rebel against his king and country."

"Well, my lord, you know many honourable men joined with him on that occasion."

"I fancy that he was found guilty of high-treason, was he not?" said the Earl.

"Yes," answered the lawyer. "An act of attainder was pa.s.sed against him, by which he lost both t.i.tle and property. Had it not been for the interest of your father, it would have been lost to the family altogether; but, as he had always proved loyal, he was allowed to inherit the property in the place of his brother, for your grandfather, if you remember, was alive at the time."

"Yes; but of what consequence is that at the present day?" asked the Earl.

"I am coming to that, my lord," said Mr Finlayson. "Your uncle, it appeared, married and had a son and your father, who really loved his brother, being at that time a bachelor, pet.i.tioned the Government, that in case of his death without an heir, his elder brother's guiltless child might succeed to the property, and regain the t.i.tle of which his father had been deprived."

"Ah!" said the Earl, "I was not aware of that; but had this relative of mine (this cousin I suppose I should call him) a son?"

"That for a long time was a matter of doubt," said the lawyer. "It appeared, however, that he, when a young man, inherited many of his father's qualities, and was in all respects fully as wild and unmanageable as he had been, and he very soon, in consequence, brought himself within power of the law."

"I hope he never committed any act unworthy of a gentleman or of his name and family," said the Earl, with more animation than he had hitherto shown. "At least I trust one of the last scions of our race brought no disgrace on it."

"No, my lord," said the lawyer, smiling; "he was only guilty of that gentlemanly act,--treason, having united himself with some of those unhappy people, who hoped to overthrow the authority of the Government.

He became a United Irishman, and took part in the rebellion of that time. He was at length committed to prison, and to my great dismay I found that he had been condemned to death."

"Did he retain his own name, or had he a.s.sumed another?" asked the Earl.

"He had some time before dropped his family name, and wisely too, considering the position in which he was placed," answered the lawyer.

"He had contrived, however, to make friends both within and outside the walls of the prison, and by their means he managed to escape. A price was of course set upon his head, and it was generally supposed that he had left the country. I thought so likewise for some time; but his father, who was then alive, had placed some sums of money in my hands, and empowered me to devote them to his a.s.sistance. I suppose he discovered this, for after a short time I received a letter from him, by which he led me to understand that he was still in the country, but in a position where it was not at all likely he would be discovered. He told me, moreover, that he had no intention of leaving Ireland; that he had lately married a young country girl, and was very happy in his present position. He praised his wife as a most beautiful creature, and said that in her society he hoped in future to remain quiet, and refrain from any of the acts which had hitherto brought him into trouble. He had taken so many precautions that, notwithstanding all my exertions, I could not find out where he was. Still he enabled me to remit the money he required. I should have told you that when your father had made the arrangement which I have been describing, he bound over his nephew and his son not to make any claim to the t.i.tle, as long as an heir of his own line existed. But should he have no male heir, then the eldest of his descendants was allowed to put in a claim for the t.i.tle. This doc.u.ment, and other legal proofs of his ident.i.ty, your cousin had obtained possession of. He told me, I remember, in his letter, that he considered himself strictly bound to adhere to the agreement, and that as for himself, he had no wish ever to claim the t.i.tle which had belonged to his ancestors; that he had sufficient to satisfy his wants; that he was tired of ambition; and that he was perfectly content to let his country go on in its present condition, without interfering in politics. I replied that his resolution was a wise one, and undertook whenever he desired to have the money forwarded to him, to send it immediately. I of course did my best to try and discover where he was and whom he had married. Once or twice I was very near succeeding. I traced him to two or three places, but at length I entirely lost all clue to him. I suspect he was aware I was endeavouring to discover him, and thus, as he had already had much practice in playing the game of hide-and-seek, he was able completely to evade me."

"That is a strange story you have told me," said the Earl; "I had forgotten many of the circ.u.mstances to which you allude. Alas! as long as my own boy lived it was a matter of no consequence. I felt very sure that my own patent was secure, and that he would inherit my t.i.tle and estates; but now it seems that through this curious arrangement of my father, matters have altered; but surely should an heir appear, he could not deprive my daughter of Kilfinnan Castle, and the estates which belong to it."

"In the unlikely event of a claimant establis.h.i.+ng his right to the earldom, he would also inherit the Kilfinnan estates," answered the lawyer; "but you will remember there are the estates in Derry, which were formerly separated from the Kilfinnan property, and according to the arrangements made by the late Earl, they become the heritage of the females should there be no son to succeed. Thus Lady Nora will at all events retain the Derry estates, even though it may turn out that your long-missing cousin has left a son to inherit the t.i.tle and Kilfinnan property."

The Earl sighed deeply.

"It matters very little to myself. My dear Nora has no ambition, and as her tastes are simple, she will be perfectly content with the Derry estates, where she will, I feel sure, devote herself to the care of the surrounding peasantry, and will avoid those extravagances which would injure her property, as alas! I have done."

The lawyer sat for some time longer with his friend, but the Earl at length, observing that he felt very faint, desired that his doctor, who was in the house, might be sent for. The man of medicine soon appeared, and feeling the Earl's pulse instantly administered restoratives. In a short time the Earl rallied, and desired that Lady Nora and his niece might be sent for. They came and sat with him for nearly an hour, when he begged that they would retire to their rooms, a.s.suring them that he felt much better, and that he hoped the following day he should have more conversation with Mr Finlayson on the matters of business which he wished to discuss with him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Evening approached, and Nora and her cousin sat in the tower chamber overlooking the ocean. They neither of them felt disposed to go to sleep. The night was calm and lovely, the atmosphere unclouded. The stars shone forth brightly, and the light crescent moon was reflected in the waters below. The reef of rocks on the other side of the bay could be distinguished, and the lofty headlands beyond it stood out in bold relief against the sky, while to their extreme right they could see the whole sweep of the bay and the lofty downs above it. It is not surprising that they should have been unwilling to tear themselves away from such a scene. It calmed their agitated feelings, for Nora could not conceal from herself that one of the kindest of fathers was about to be taken from her, while Lady Sophy, almost friendless as she was, felt that she was about to lose her best protector. She could, it was true, live on with her cousin Nora, and watch over her, as she had ever done, like an elder sister over one far younger than herself. Already, Lady Sophy's early beauty had completely departed. There was the same outline of feature, and the same elegant figure, but her countenance wore that sad expression (too often to be seen marking the features of the once young and lovely) of disappointed affection, of blighted hopes.

Thus they sat on, hour after hour. A dark shadow pa.s.sed across the moon, and threw a gloom over the hitherto bright landscape. Suddenly they were startled by a loud, wild shriek. It seemed to come from far away across the ocean. Now it swelled into a high note of wailing; now it sank into a mournful tone of grief. Again and again that strange sound struck their ears.

"The banshee!" exclaimed Nora, placing her hand on Sophy's shoulder with alarm. "Surely I have always believed that it was a mere superst.i.tion of the ignorant peasantry--a phantom of the imagination; but here is a dreadful reality. Yes, it surely must be the banshee, and what does it forebode? Sophy, you know too well, and so do I. Perhaps it is sent in mercy, to warn and prepare us for that dreadful event. But ought we not to have been prepared already? The last words my dear father spoke to me were sufficient to make me feel he was aware of the great change about to take place. Let us hasten to him. Perhaps even now his spirit is departing, and I would be at his side at that awful moment."

"Stay, Nora," said Sophy; "I do not believe in the banshee, or any other being of the sort. I see no figure, and even did I, I should not be convinced that it was a being of another world. I know that many believe such things exist. Some think they are sent in kindness; others, that they are rather evil spirits permitted to disturb the parting hours of the dying; but that, at all events, I am sure is not the case. Let us watch a short time longer. Depend upon it, we are deceived in some way."

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Nora, pointing towards the nearest part of the beach which was visible. "See that phantom figure moving across the sands! Surely that must be the banshee! What else?"

"No, dear Nora, calm yourself," answered Sophy. "Do not you recognise the figure of poor mad Kathleen? She must have uttered those cries as she pa.s.sed under the castle walls. She must have come to ask after the Earl, and, as bad news flies fast, she has probably been told he is sinking rapidly. So, as she has received many a kindness from the family, she is giving vent to her grief in those wild, unearthly screams and cries."

"You are right, Sophy," answered Nora, "but, for the moment, I could not help believing in the existence of the wild phantom we have read of and heard so often about in our younger days from the surrounding cottagers.

Yes, I see it is poor Kathleen. I trust my poor father has not heard it, for, in his weak state, it might have a bad effect upon his nerves.

Yet he certainly does not believe in the existence of the banshee."

The poor girls had not long to watch before they were again summoned, and this time it was to stand by the dying bed of the Earl. Holding the hand of his daughter, which he gently pressed, he breathed his last, with scarcely a sigh, and evidently without any pain or suffering. Mr Jamieson, who had been summoned, stood by him. "He rests in peace," he said; "he trusted in One all-powerful to save, though he made but little profession of his faith."

Poor Nora was led from the death-bed of her father to her own room, but it was long before she could find vent for her grief in tears. Her cousin Sophy had long ceased to weep. Those who have suffered great unhappiness, whose fondest affections have been blighted, as hers had been, often find it impossible again to gain relief by weeping. Such was her case. She mourned the loss of the Earl, as much as did her cousin, but it was in a different way. Not a tear dropped from her eye.

She found no vent for all she felt. Nora, on the contrary, exhibited her grief far more violently, and thus, perhaps, the sooner regained tranquillity.

Mr Finlayson, as he had promised the Earl, acted the part of a kind father to her. He treated her as a petted child, spoke words of comfort to her on all occasions, and tried by every means to raise her spirits.

Often he succeeded in doing so, and she could not help expressing a wish that he could remain at the castle, instead of returning to Dublin.

"Well, well," he answered, "I will do my best to please you, my dear young lady. I have a son and grandson well able to attend to my business, and as long as I am not required at home, you shall have the benefit of my company."

In those days the burial of even a peasant was attended with much parade, and any family would have been thought mean unless the body of their deceased relative was properly waked. Although the corpse of a Protestant Earl had not to go through this ceremony, yet it would have been looked upon as a great disgrace to the family had not all the neighbours been invited from far and near to attend the funeral, and be sumptuously feasted. Had Nora been consulted she would gladly have avoided anything of the sort. Mr Finlayson declared, however, that it was not the day to break through their old customs, and, for the credit of the family, they must issue the usual invitations. Nora and Sophy, however, begged that they might be allowed to keep their rooms, although Nora had been anxious to attend her father to the grave. This it was arranged she should do in a private carriage. When the day arrived, however, from far and near came squires and squireens, and farmers and peasants, in all sorts of conveyances, the larger number being on horseback, while several friends of the deceased n.o.bleman arrived from a distance to pay their last respects to his remains.

It was a sad sight, even to Nora; but she resolved to go through with what she thought was required of her, and then she hoped to be allowed to remain at rest for many a long day. The parish church, in which the tomb of the family was situated, was about three miles off; and after the guests had been regaled at breakfast with wines of all sorts for the upper cla.s.ses, and whisky, which flowed in profusion, for the lower, they mounted their horses, and entered their conveyances, to follow the hea.r.s.e decorated with the usual trappings of mourning. Behind the hea.r.s.e, in a mourning carriage, sat Nora and her cousin, closely veiled.

Poor girls, how differently they felt to the mixed mult.i.tude who followed them. Their guests gave way to their usual habit of talking and laughing as they rode along. The events of the day were discussed.

The good qualities of the late Earl; the prospects of his obtaining a son-in-law who might take his place and do the honours of the castle; the beauty of his fair daughter; and especially, the state of his finances. Few would have supposed that the lively and animated collection of men, who rode along in every variety of costume, were a.s.sembled there to pay the last honours to a deceased n.o.ble. They were silent, however, as they a.s.sembled round the grave. Some perhaps for the first time had then heard the burial service of the Protestant Church, as a large proportion of the guests were themselves Romanists; some perhaps were struck with what they heard; others probably attended to little that was said. Nora and her cousin stood close to the grave, closely veiled as before; and as Nora gazed for the last time upon the coffin of her beloved father, her heart sank within her, and she felt a longing to follow him to his quiet resting-place.

Again they made for the castle, and all restraint now being removed, laughing and joking was the order of the day. Some even, as the wine flowed faster, gave way to s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs, while the last meets were fully discussed, and the prospects of the next year's harvest. It is scarcely necessary to describe the events which took place at the castle. A considerable number of the guests had no little difficulty in mounting their horses on their return home, from the generous liquor which they had imbibed out of the late Earl's cellars. Their great grief seemed to be, that there was no heir to succeed him, and to a.s.sist in keeping up the neighbouring hunt. At length the castle was once more at rest.

Mr Finlayson set earnestly to work to arrange the affairs of the young heiress. The steward, and those who were employed by him, had generally acted honestly; but as he made inquiries about the tenants, many were in arrear with rent, and he saw that some effort must be made to compel them to pay. He called the steward in for a consultation.

"You give very good advice, Mr Finlayson; but I will just ask you, as a Scotchman said, 'Who is to bell the cat?' You know, surely, that to attempt to distrain for rent on some of these gentlemen would a.s.suredly bring a bullet through your brain or mine. It is not an easy matter to get money out of an Irishman when he is determined not to pay, and it is not for you or me, if we are wise men, to push the matter too hard. I will do my best and go among them, and put it to them, whether they would like to deprive the young heiress of her property. Perhaps, though they will not yield to force, they may to persuasion, and I am thankful to say, we still retain in old Ireland, the gift of blarney.

You see, sir, we shall get much more out of them in that way. I will just ask them if they would like to attack a young lady and rifle her pockets. Put it thus to them, and show them that if they keep back the money they are doing the same thing. Now, we shall see, if I go on this plan, whether those who can pay will pay, while those who cannot pay, it is very evident, will not do so; but to my mind, there is no use turning a man adrift in the world if you can help it. A better day may come, and then he may prove a good tenant. If you turn him out of one property he will just build a hut in another corner of the land, and you will have him there starving before your eyes, and you will not be the better for the move."

"Well, well, O'Connor, you are a wise man, I see. I will let you have your way in that respect. We will do nothing to create an ill-feeling against the dear young mistress, and it is for you and I who are engaged to serve her to look after her interests. I wish she had a good husband to help her; but it is my belief, from what I see here, that there is not a young man in the country at all fit for her. She is a good, gentle creature, and were she to wed one of the rollicking, harum-scarum young fellows who are her equals, he would break her heart; and staying at home as she does, she is not likely to meet any others, while even abroad she saw no one to care for, or, at least, no one appeared, so perhaps she will continue to live a maiden life, and if so, she will require your a.s.sistance and mine as long as I remain in the world."

Nora and Sophy were relieved from much anxiety by the continued residence of the kind Mr Finlayson at the castle. He was so lively, so full of conversation and anecdotes, so kind and judicious at the same time. He raised their spirits more than any one else could have done.

A young man would have been out of place. Even kind, gentle Miss O'Reilly, when she came over, though she talked very pleasantly, could do little to animate them. Mr Jamieson performed his part as well as he could, but he was not very animated; he was more inclined to speak in a serious than lively strain.

CHAPTER TWENTY.