The O'Donoghue Part 56

As he spoke thus he had reached the little flower-garden, which, in front of the tower, was the only spot of cultivation around the old building. His eye wandered over the evidences of care, few and slight as they were, with pleasant thoughts of her who suggested the culture, when at the turn of a walk he beheld his cousin coming slowly towards him.

"Good morrow, Mark," said she, extending her hand, and with a smile that betokened no angry memory of the preceding night; "you took but little sleep for one so much fatigued as you were."

"And you, cousin, if I mistake not, even as little. I saw a light burning in your room when day was breaking."

"An old convent habit," said she, smiling; "our matins used to be as early."

A low, soft sigh followed this speech.

"Yes," said Mark, "you have reason to regret it; your life was happier there; you had the pleasure of thinking, that many a mile away in this remote land, there were relatives and friends to whom you were dear, and of whom you might feel proud; sad experience has told you how unworthy we are of your affection, how much beneath your esteem. The cold realities that strip life of its ideal happiness are only endurable when age has blunted our affections and chilled our hearts. In youth their poignancy is agony itself. Yes, Kate, I can dare to say it, even to you, would that you had never come amongst us."

"I will not misunderstand you, Mark; I will not affect to think that, in your speech, there is any want of affection for me; I will take it as you mean it, that it had been better for me; and, even on your own showing, I tell you, nay. If I have shed some tears within these old walls, yet have my brightest hours been pa.s.sed within them. Never, until I came here, did I know what it was to minister to another's happiness; never did I feel before the ecstacy of being able to make joy more pleasurable, and sorrow less afflicting. The daughter feeling has filled up what was once a void in my poor heart; and when you pity me for this life of loneliness, my pulse has throbbed with delight to think how a duty, rendered by one as humble and insignificant as I am, can enn.o.ble life, and make of this quiet valley a scene of active enjoyment."

"So you are happy here, Kate," said he, taking her hand, "and would not wish to leave it?"

"No, Mark, never; there would be no end to my ambition were the great world open to me, and the prizes all glittering before me--ambitions which should take the shape not of personal aggrandizement, but high hope for objects that come not within a woman's sphere. Here, affection sways me; there, it might be prejudice or pa.s.sion."

"Ambition!" muttered Mark, catching at the word; "ambition, the penalty you pay for it is far too high; and were the gain certain, it is dearly bought by a heart dead to all purer emotions, cold to every affection of family and kindred, and a spirit made suspecting by treachery. No, Kate, no, the humblest peasant on that mountain, whose toil is for his daily bread, whose last hope at night is for the health that on the morrow shall sustain more labour, he, has a n.o.bler life than those who nourish high desires by trading on the crimes and faults of others. I had ambition once; G.o.d knows, it grew not in me from any unworthy hope of personal advantage. I thought of myself then as meanly as I now do; but I dreamt, that, by means, humble and unworthy as mine, great events have been sometimes set in motion. The spark that ignites the train is insignificant enough in itself, though the explosion may rend the solid masonry that has endured for ages. Well, well, the dream is over now; let us speak of something else. Tell me of Herbert, Kate. What success has he met with in the University?"

"He failed the first time, but the second trial made ample amends for that defeat. He carried away both prizes from his compet.i.tors, Mark, and stands now, confessedly, the most distinguished youth of his day; disappointment only nerved his courage. There was a failure to avenge, as well as a goal to win, and he has accomplished both."

"Happy fellow, that his career in life could depend on efforts of his own making--who needed but to trust his own firm resolve, and his own steady pursuit of success, and cared not how others might plot, and plan, and intrigue around him."

"Very true, Mark; the prizes of intellectual ambition have this advantage, that they are self won; but, bethink you, are not other objects equally n.o.ble--are not the efforts we make for others more worthy of fame than those which are dictated by purely personal desire of distinction?"

Mark almost started at the words, whose direct application to himself could not be doubted, and his cheek flushed, partly with pride, partly with shame.

"Yes," said he, after a brief pause, "these are n.o.ble themes, and can stir a heart as sorrow-struck as mine--but the paths that lead upwards, Kate, are dark and crooked--the guides that traverse them are false and treacherous."

"You have, indeed, found them so," said Kate, with a deep sigh.

"How do you mean, I have found them so?" cried Mark, in amazement at the words.

"I mean what I have said, Mark, that betrayal and treachery have tracked you for many a day. You would not trust me with your secret, Mark, nor yet confide in me, when an accident left it in my possession. Chance has revealed to me many circ.u.mstances of your fortune, and even now, Mark, I am only fearful lest your own prejudices should hazard your safety.

Shall I go on? May I speak still more plainly?"

Mark nodded, and she resumed--

"One who never favoured the cause you adopted, probably from the very confederates it necessitated--yet saw with sympathy how much truth and honour were involved in the struggle, has long watched over you--stretching out, unseen, the hand to help, and the s.h.i.+eld to protect you. He saw in you the generous boldness of one whose courage supplies the nerve, that mere plotters trade upon, but never possess. He saw, that once in the current, you would be swept along, while they would watch you from the sh.o.r.e. He, I say, saw this, and with a generosity the greater, because no feelings of friends.h.i.+p swayed him, he came forward to save you."

"And this unseen benefactor," said Mark, with a proud look of scornful meaning, "his name is----"

"I will not speak it, if you ask me thus," said Kate, blus.h.i.+ng, for she read in his glance the imputation his heart was full of. "Could you so far divest yourself of prejudice as to hear calmly, and speak dispa.s.sionately, I could tell you anything--everything, Mark."

"No, Kate, no," said he, smiling dubiously; "I have no right to ask, perhaps not to accept of such a confidence."

"Be it so, then," said she, proudly, "we will speak of this no more; and with a slight bow, and a motion of her hand, she turned into another alley of the garden, and left Mark silently musing over the scene.

Scarcely, however, had she screened herself from his view by the intervening trees, than she hastened her steps, and soon gained the house. Without stopping to take breath, she ascended the stairs, and tapped at Sir Archy's door.

"Come in, my sweet Kate," said he, in his blandest voice, "I should know that gentle tap amid a thousand; but, my dear child, why so pale?--what has agitated you?--sit down and tell me."

"Read this, sir," said she, taking a letter from the folds of her handkerchief--"this well tell you all, shorter and more collectedly than I can. I want your advice and counsel, and quickly too, for no time is to be lost.

"This is Mr. Hemsworth's writing," said Sir Archy, as he adjusted his spectacles to read. "When did you receive it?"

"About an hour ago," answered Kate, half impatient at the unhurried coolness of the old man's manner, who at last proceeded to examine the epistle, but without the slightest show of anxiety or eagerness. His apathy was, however, short-lived--short expressions of surprise broke from him, followed by exclamations of terror and dismay, till at length, laying down the letter, he said, "Leave me, sweet Kate, leave me to read and reflect on this alone; be a.s.sured I'll lose no time in making up my mind about it, for I see that hours are precious here." And as she glided from the room, Sir Archy placed the open letter on a table before him, and sat down diligently to re-consider its contents.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII. HEMSWORTH'S LETTER

The letter, over which Sir Archy bent in deep thought, was from Hemsworth. It was dated from the night before, and addressed to Kate O'Donoghue, and, although professing to have been hurriedly written, an observer, as acute as Sir Archy, could detect ample evidence of great care and consideration in its composition. Statements seemingly clear and open, were in reality confused and vague; a.s.sertions were qualified, and, in lieu of direct and positive information, there were scattered throughout, hopes, and fears, wishes, and expectations, all capable of being sustained, whatever the issue of the affair they referred to.

The letter opened with a respectful apology for addressing Miss O'Donoghue; but pleading that the urgency of the case, and the motives of the writer, might be received as a sufficient excuse. After stating, in sufficiently vague terms, to make the explanation capable of a double meaning, the reasons for selecting her, and not either of her uncles, for the correspondence, it entered at once upon the matter of the communication, in these words:--

"I have hesitated and doubted, Miss O'Donoghue, how far my interference in the affairs of your family may be misconstrued, and whether the prejudices which were once entertained to my disadvantage might not now be evoked to give a false colouring to my actions. These doubts I have resolved, by reflecting that they are for the most part personal, and that if I succeed in rendering real service, the question is comparatively indifferent what light or shadow it may seem to throw on my conduct. A candid and impartial judgment I certainly look to from _you_, and I confess myself at liberty to lay less store by the opinions of others."

Continuing for a brief s.p.a.ce in this strain, the letter went on to mention that the sudden return of Mark had left the writer no alternative but to venture on this correspondence, whatever the consequences--consequences which, the writer palpably inferred, might prove of the last moment to himself. The explanation--and, for the reader's sake, it is better to spare him Hemsworth's involved narrative, and merely give its substance--was chiefly, that information of Mark O'Donoghue's complicity in the plot of the United Irish party had been tendered to Government, and supported by such evidence that a Judge's warrant was issued for his apprehension and the seizure of all his papers; partly from friendly interference--this was dubiously and delicately put by Hemsworth--and partly from the fact that his extreme youth and ignorance of the real views of the insurgents were pleaded in his favour, the execution of this warrant was delayed, and the young man suffered to go at large. So long as he withdrew himself from the company of the other conspirators, and avoided publicity, the Government was willing to wink at the past. It had been, however, determined on, that should he either be found mixed up with any of the leaders of the movement in future, or should he venture to return to Glenflesk, where his influence amongst the peasantry was well known to, and apprehended by the Government, then there should no longer be any hesitation in the line to be followed. He was immediately to be apprehended and sent up under a sufficient escort to Dublin, to take his trial, with five others, for high treason. The proofs of his guilt were unquestionable, consisting of letters written and received, conversations to which witnesses could depose, as well as an intimacy for months long with Barrington, whose active partic.i.p.ation in the schemes of rebellion was as well known, as the notorious fact of his being a convicted felon.

To found a hope upon his innocence was thus shown to be perfectly impossible. His most trusted a.s.sociates were the evidence against him; doc.u.ments in his hand-writing were also in the hands of the law-officers of the Crown, and, in fact, far more than enough to bring him to the scaffold.

Hemsworth, who gently hinted all through, how far his interference had been beneficial, was one of those entrusted with Mark's arrest, should he ever dare to re-appear in his native country. The orders of the Privy Council on this score were positive and clear, and admitted of no possible misconception.

"You may judge, then," continued he, "what were my feelings on seeing him suddenly enter the house last night--to think that, while I was enjoying the pleasure of your society, and the hospitable attentions of your home, I had actually in my pocket at the moment the official order to apprehend the eldest son of my entertainer--the friend and companion of your childhood--to bring grief and mourning beneath the roof where I had pa.s.sed so many happy hours--to dispel all the dreams I had begun to nourish of a neighbourhood connected by ties of kindness and good will. I had to choose between the alternative of this, or else, by a palpable avoidance of my duty, criminate myself, and leave my conduct open to the most dangerous comments of my enemies. The latter involved only myself. I have adopted it, and before this letter reaches your hands, I shall be on my way up to Dublin, nominally to attend the Council, but in reality to escape the necessity my onerous position would impose. None save those beneath your roof know that I have met Mr. Mark O'Donoghue, and I shall be half-way to Dublin before his arrival in the country is suspected. So much, in brief, for the past and the present. Now for the future. There are two courses open to this young gentleman, or to those who would serve and befriend him. One is, by a free and unlimited confession to the Government of all the circ.u.mstances of the plot, so far as they have come to his knowledge, the parties interested, their several shares in the undertaking, with every detail of date and time, to sue for a pardon for himself--a grace which, I need scarcely say, I will use all my influence to obtain. The other mode is, by a temporary exile; to withdraw himself from the notice of the Government, until the danger having perfectly pa.s.sed over, political acrimony will have abated, and the necessity for making severe examples of guilt be no longer urgent. This latter course I opine to be preferable, on many grounds. It demands no sacrifice of private feeling--no surrender of honour. It merely provides for safety, reserving the future untrammelled by any pledge. Neither need the absence be long; a year or two at farthest; the probabilities are, that with their present knowledge of the schemes of the insurgents, the Government can either precipitate events, or r.e.t.a.r.d and protract them at will. Their policy, in this respect, depending on the rank and importance of those who, by either line of procedure, would be delivered into their hands. Arguing from what they have already done, I should p.r.o.nounce it likely that their game will be to wait, to weaken the hopes and break the spirit of the United party, by frequent defections; to sow distrust and suspicion amongst them, and thus, while avoiding the necessity of bloodshed, to wear out rebellion by a long and lingering fear. If, then, others, whose age and position involved a greater prominence in these schemes, would require a longer banishment to erase the memory of the acts, your young relative, who has both youth and its rashness to plead for him, need not reckon on so lengthened an absence from his native land.

"Above all things, however, remember that not an hour is to be lost. Any moment may disclose to the Crown some new feature of the plot, and may call forth measures of stringent severity, The proclamation offering a reward for the apprehension of four persons, of whom your cousin is one, is already printed, and in the office of the Secretary.

An hour would see it all over the walls of the capital, in a day or two more, it would reach every remote corner, of the land. Then, all efforts on my part would be ineffectual, were they even possible. Reflect on this. It is not a mere question of fine or even imprisonment. It is life itself is on the issue, and life which, in surrendering, will blast a great name with dishonour, and a great house with obloquy and shame; for there has been no struggle, no effort, no bold and generous exposure to danger, to palliate treason, and gloss over its faults. All has been plotting and contriving for alien a.s.sistance and foreign help; no self- reliance, no patriotism, which, if mistaken, was still sincere and manly. Reflect on all this, and think that a life offered up in such a cause has no martyrdom to throw l.u.s.tre on the grave shared with the felon and the highwayman. Forgive me if, in the warmth of my zeal, I have said one word which may offend. If I had not spoken thus forcibly, I should be a traitor to my own heart.

"I have written hurriedly, and I doubt not, in some respects, unadvisedly; but the sincerity of my purpose will plead for me, should the indiscretion of my zeal require apology. You will, perhaps, ask why I should have imposed a task difficult as this upon you--why I should have loaded you with a responsibility so weighty? My answer is simply, I dared not write to the O'Donoghue on the subject of his son's indiscretion--to impugn the acts of the young man, would be to forfeit all influence with the old one. You will then say, why not address Sir Archibald? For the simple reason, that the prejudices of his country are too strong in him to make due allowances for those who err from excitable or impetuous natures; not only would he judge too harshly of Mark, but he would be anxious to record that judgment as a warning to Herbert, for whom alone he is interested. I therefore make it a strenuous request--nay, more, I esteem it as the term of a compact between us, that you do not show this letter either to the O'Donoghue or to his brother. I have expressed myself openly and candidly to you, but with a tacit a.s.surance that my confidence is not to be extended to others. In the part I have taken, I already incur considerable risk. This is a period when loyalty cannot afford to be even suspected; yet have I jeoparded mine in befriending this youth. I now conclude, dear madam, a.s.suring you that any danger I incur, or any anxiety I feel, will be amply repaid if I only know that you think not unworthily of

"William Hemsworth."

Sir Archy studied this letter with the patient care a lawyer bestows upon a brief. He thought over each sentence, and weighed the expressions in his mind with deep thought. It had been his fortune, in early life, to have been thrown into situations of no common difficulty, and his mind had, in consequence, acquired a habit of shrewd and piercing investigation, which, though long disused, was not altogether forgotten; by the aid of this faculty, Hemsworth's letter appeared to him in a very different light from that in which Kate viewed it. The knowledge of every circ.u.mstance concerning Mark evinced an anxiety which he was very far from attributing to motives of friends.h.i.+p. Sir Archy well knew the feelings of dislike which subsisted between these two men--how then account for this sudden change on Hemsworth's part?--to what attribute this wonderful interest concerning him?

"Let us see," said the old man to himself, "let us see the fruit, and then we may p.r.o.nounce upon the tree. Where and to what does Hemsworth's benevolence point, dishonour or banishment? Such are the terms he offers; such are the alternatives his kindness suggests. Might these have no other motive than friends.h.i.+p?--might they not he the offspring of feelings very different indeed? What benefit might he derive from Mark's expatriation--that is the question? Does he antic.i.p.ate easier terms with the old man for the little remnant of property that still pertains to him--or is it merely the leaven of the old hate that still rises in his nature?--or"----and here his eye flashed with brilliancy as a new thought crossed his brain----"or does he suspect Mark of occupying a place in his cousin's affection, and is rivalry the source of this mysterious good nature?"

This suspicion no sooner occurred to him than Sir Archy recalled to mind all the circ.u.mstances of Hemsworth's recent behaviour--the endeavours he had made to recommend himself to their favourable notice--all his acts to ingratiate himself with Kate--the ample views he affected in politics--the wide-spread generosity of his plans for the amelioration of the people. That his conduct was unreal, that his principles were but a.s.sumed for the occasion, the shrewd Scotchman had long suspected; and this letter, so far from dispelling the doubts, increased them tenfold.

Besides this, there seemed some reason to fear that Kate was not quite indifferent to him. The disparity of years was so far in his favour, as she could not but feel flattered by the notice of one so conversant with the world and its ways, who had travelled and seen so much, and might in every respect be deemed a competent judge in matters of taste. Any comparison of him with Mark must redound with great advantage to the former. The accomplished scholar, the agreeable and well-bred man of society, was a severe compet.i.tor for the half-educated and slovenly youth, whose awkward and bashful manner seemed rather ill-temper than mere diffidence. Mark was himself conscious of the disadvantages he laboured under, and although Sir Archy had few fears that such an admirer was likely to win favour with the gay and capricious girl, whose foreign habits had taught her to value social qualities at the highest price, still, there was a chance that Hemsworth might have thought differently, and that jealousy was the secret of the whole scheme.

Kate, with her ten thousand pounds of a rent-charge, might be a very reasonable object of Hemsworth's ambition; and when already he had absorbed so large a portion of the family estates, this additional lien would nearly make him master of the entire. It was, then, perfectly possible that this was his game, and that in withdrawing Mark from the scene, he both calculated on the grat.i.tude his generosity would evoke, and more securely provided for his own success. While Sir Archy thus pondered over Hemsworth's motives, he did not neglect the more pressing consideration of Mark's danger. It was evident that he had taken an active part in the insurrectionary movement, and without the slightest precautions for his personal safety. The first care, therefore, was to see and learn from him the full extent of his danger, what proofs there existed against him, and what evidence, either in writing or otherwise, might be adduced to his disadvantage.

"Tell me, frankly and freely, Mark," said he, aloud, as he arose and paced the room; "tell me, openly, how you stand, who are your betrayers, what your dangers, and I'll answer for it the peril may be averted."

"I have come to do so, sir," said a voice behind him--and Mark O'Donoghue was standing at the door.