The O'Donoghue Part 40

When Kate-recovered the shock of this surprise, she found herself alone--Mark had disappeared; and she now returned slowly to the castle, her heart torn with opposing emotions, among which wounded pride was not the least poignant.

CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY

As we are about to withdraw our reader for a brief period from the scenes wherein he has so kindly lingered with us. .h.i.therto, we may be permitted to throw on them a last look ere we part.

On the evening which followed that recorded in our last chapter, the two old men were seated alone in the tower of Carrig-na-curra, silent and thoughtful, each following out in his mind the fortunes of him for whom his interest was deepest, and each sad with the sorrow that never spares those who are, or who deem themselves, forsaken.

Unaided memory can conjure up no such memorials of past pleasure as come from the objects and scenes a.s.sociated with days and nights of happiness; they appeal with a force mere speculation never suggests, and bring back all the lesser, but more touching incidents of hourly intercourse, so little at the time--so much when remembered years afterwards.

The brightest moments of life are the most difficult to recall; they are like the brilliant lights upon a landscape, which we may revisit a hundred times, yet never behold under the same favourable circ.u.mstances, nor gaze on with the same enthusiasm as at first. It was thus that both the O'Donoghue and Sir Archy now remembered her whose presence lightened so many hours of solitude, and even grafted hope upon the tree scathed and withered by evil fortune. Several efforts to start a topic of conversation were made by each, but all equally fruitless, and both relapsed into a moody silence, from which they were suddenly aroused by a violent ringing at the gate, and the voices of many persons talking together, among which Mark O'Donoghue's could plainly be heard.

"Yes, but I insist upon it," cried he; "to refuse will offend me."

Some words were then spoken in a tone of remonstrance, to which he again replied, but with even greater energy--

"What care I for that? This is my father's house, and who shall say that his eldest son cannot introduce his friends----"

A violent jerk of the bell drowned the remainder of the speech.

"We are about to hae company, I perceive," said Sir Archy, looking cautiously about to secure his book and his spectacles before retreating to his bed room.

"Bedad, you just guessed it," said Kerry, who, having reconnoitred the party through a small window beside the door, had now prudently adjourned to take council whether he should admit them. "There's eight or nine at laste, and it is'nt fresh and fasting either they are."

"Why don't you open the door?--do you want your bones broken for you,"

said the O'Donoghue, harshly.

"I'd let them gang the gate they cam," said Sir Archy, sagely; "if I may hazard a guess from their speech, they are no in a fit state to visit any respectable house. Hear till that?"

A fearful shout now was heard outside.

"What's the rascal staring at?" cried the O'Donoghue, with clenched teeth. "Open the door this instant."

But the words were scarcely uttered, when a tremendous crash resounded through the whole building, and then a heavy noise like the fall of some weighty object.

"'Tis the window he's bruk in--divil a lie," cried Kerry, in an accent of unfeigned terror; and, without waiting a second, he rushed from the room to seek some place of concealment from Mark's anger.

The clash of the ma.s.sive chain was next heard, as it banged heavily against the oak door; bolt after bolt was quickly shot, and Mark, calling out--"Follow me--this way," rudely pushed wide the door and entered the tower. A mere pa.s.sing glance was enough to show that his excitement was not merely the fruit of pa.s.sion--his eyes wild and bloodshot, his flushed cheek, his swollen and heavy lips, all betrayed that he had drank deeply. His cravat was loose and his vest open, while the fingers of his right hand were one ma.s.s of blood, from the violence with which he had forced his entrance.

"Come along, Talbot--Holt, this way--come in boys," said he, calling to those behind. "I told them we should find you here, though they insisted it was too late."

"Never too late to welcome a guest, Mark, but always too early to part with one," cried the O'Donoghue, who, although shocked at the condition he beheld his son in, resolved to betray for the time no apparent consciousness of it.

"This is my friend, Harry Talbot, father--Sir Archy M'Nab, my uncle.

Holt, where are you? I'll be hanged if they're not slipped away; and with a fearful imprecation on their treachery, he rushed from the room, leaving Talbot to make his own advances. The rapid tramp of feet, and the loud laughter of the fugitives without, did not for a second or two permit of his few words being heard; but his manner and air had so far a.s.sured Sir Archy, that he stopped short as he was about to leave the room, and saluted him courteously.

"It would be very ungracious in me," said Talbot, smiling, "to disparage my friend Mark's hospitable intentions, but in truth I feel so much ashamed for the manner of our entry here this evening, that I cannot express the pleasure such a visit would have given me under more becoming circ.u.mstances."

Sir Archibald's surprise at the tone in which these words were delivered, did not prevent him making a suitable reply, while relinquis.h.i.+ng his intention of retiring, he extinguished his candle, and took a seat opposite Talbot.

Having in an early chapter of our tale presented this gentleman to our reader's notice, we have scarcely any thing to add on the present occasion. His dress indeed was somewhat different; then, he wore a riding costume--now he was habited in a frock richly braided, and ornamented with a deep border of black fur; a cap of the same skin, from which hung a band of deep gold lace, he also carried in his hand--a costume which at the time would have been called foreign.

While Sir Archy was interchanging courtesies with the newly-arrived guest, the O'Donoghue, by dint of reiterated pulling at the bell, had succeeded in inducing Kerry O'Leary to quit his sanctuary, and venture to the door of the apartment, which he did with a caution only to be acquired by long practice.

"Is he here, sir?" whispered he, as his eyes took a rapid but searching survey of the apartment. "Blessed virgin, but he's in a dreadful temper to-night."

"Bring some supper here directly," cried O'Donoghue, striking the ground angrily with his heavy cane; "if I have to tell you again, I hope he'll break every bone in your skin."

"I request you will not order any refreshment for me, sir," said Talbot, bowing; "we partook of a very excellent supper at a little cabin in the glen, where, among other advantages, I had the pleasure of making your son's acquaintance."

"Ah, indeed, at Mary's," said the old man. "There are worse places than that little 'shebeen;' but you must permit me to offer you a gla.s.s of claret, which never tastes the worse in company with a grouse pie.

"You must hae found the travelling somewhat rude in these parts," said M'Nab, who thus endeavoured to draw from the stranger some hint either as to the object or the road of his journey.

"We were not over particular on that score," said Talbot, laughing. "A few young college men seeking some days' amus.e.m.e.nt in the wild mountains of this picturesque district, could well afford to rough it for the enjoyment of the ramble."

"You should visit us in the autumn," said O'Donoghue, "when our heaths and arbutus blossoms are in beauty; then, they who have travelled far, tell me that there is nothing to be seen in Switzerland finer than this valley. Draw your chair over here, and let me have the pleasure of a gla.s.s of wine with you."

The party had scarcely taken their places at the table, when Mark re-entered the room, heated and excited with the chase of the fugitives.

"They're off," muttered he, angrily, "down the glen, and I only hope they may lose their way in it, and spend the night upon the heather."

As he spoke, he turned his eyes to the corner of the room, where Kerry, in a state of the most abject fear, was endeavouring to extract a cork from a bottle by means of a very impracticable screw.

"Ah! you there," cried he, as his eyes flashed fire. "Hold the bottle up--hold it steady, you old fool," and with a savage grin he drew a pistol from his breast pocket and levelled it at the mark.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 265]

Kerry was on his knees, one hand on the floor and in the other the bottle, which, despite all his efforts, he swayed backwards and forwards.

"O master, darlin'--O Sir Archy, dear--O Joseph and Mary!"

"I've drank too much wine to hit it flying," said Mark, with a half drunken laugh, "and the fool won't be steady. There;" and as he spoke, the crash of the report resounded through the room, and the neck of the bottle was snapped off about half an inch below the cork.

"Neatly done, Mark--not a doubt of it," said the O'Donoghue, as he took the bottle from Kerry's hand, who, with a pace a kangaroo might have envied, approached the table, actually dreading to stand up straight in Mark's presence.

"At the risk of being thought an epicure," said M'Nab, "I maun say I'd like my wine handled more tenderly."

"It was cleverly done though," said Talbot, helping himself to a b.u.mper from the broken flask. "I remember a trick we used to have at St. Cyr, which was, to place a bullet on a cork, and then, at fifteen paces cut away the cork and drop the bullet into the bottle."

"No man ever did that twice," cried Mark, rudely.

"I'll wager a hundred guineas I do it twice, within five shots," said Talbot, with the most perfect coolness.

"Done, for a hundred--I say done," said Mark, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder.