My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3

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Wingfield Lewis. My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3

CHAPTER I. A NIGHT AT CROW STREET

CHAPTER II. DOREEN'S PLANS

CHAPTER III. THE CLOVEN HOOF

CHAPTER IV. WE PIPED UNTO YOU

CHAPTER V. AWAY TO DONEGAL

CHAPTER VI. GLAS-AITCH-É

CHAPTER VII. SMITTEN WITH SERPENTS

CHAPTER VIII. MR. CURRAN LEAVES PARLIAMENT

CHAPTER IX. THE DUEL

CHAPTER X. THE BIRD AND THE FOWLER

CHAPTER XI. THE RISING OP THE TEMPEST

CHAPTER XII. DANGER

CHAPTER XIII. THE HURRY

CHAPTER XIV. VÆ VICTIS!

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It is proverbial that the preaching of the wisest sage may be reckoned as naught in its influence on a young man's fancy when opposed by a siren's smile. Doreen had never, during the years of her sojourn at the Abbey, tried to enlist Terence on the side of her oppressed people. It would have been disloyal to have done so. But now that his long-careless heart had taken the flame of its own accord, it was not likely she should attempt to extinguish it. Having communed with Tom Emmett, she directed her admirer to ride forthwith to Cork, ostensibly on professional business, slip thence with secrecy across the water to see Hoche, and then return with as little delay as might be. He was to tell the French general that ten thousand soldiers were expected-that less than five thousand would be useless-that arms without soldiers would be refused, because a rising would be the immediate consequence of a landing of arms, and it was not thought desirable to turn the attempt, which should be made in force, into a desultory species of Chouannerie. Further, he was to employ all his eloquence to ensure a speedy start, declaring that Erin yearned to break her bonds, that a small nucleus of regular troops was all that was required to start with, as the peasantry were prepared to rise if sure of being properly led.

These orders being succinctly given by a demure girl with rich dark hair and a touching sadness of expression, was it probable that the diatribes of an insignificant little person with shaggy elf-locks and questionable linen should meet with even common courtesy? Curran argued with his junior contrary to his own convictions, striving by forensic imagery to save him from the vortex if he could; declared that nothing but ruin could possibly come of a rising; that the popular cause was hopeless; that the French would possibly make a temporary disturbance to spite perfidious Albion, but that so soon as it should suit their interests, Erin would be blandly restored to the avenger, to reap the reward of her temerity. What sympathy could France have for Ireland? What recked the Directory, or Hoche, or Buonaparte (the clever young general who was becoming celebrated), whether Erin was a slave or not? Other nations as interesting as the Irish were slaves, and would remain so. Just now Hoche was warm upon the subject because he was jealous of Buonaparte and eager for rival laurels. Granted that he were victorious, he would soon weary of what to him must be a worthless and precarious possession, would carry it to market in a treaty of peace, and surrender it to expiate by yet more grinding servitude the false hopes which were born only to perish. But Mr. Curran (who didn't quite believe all this in his heart of hearts) might as well have talked to the trees in his own Priory orchard.

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Had Terence been guilty of something base? That was her first thought, in which there was a touch of remorse. Then came a feeling of anger in that he existed at all. Oh that he had never been born, or had died in his early childhood! This in its turn was followed by intense self-loathing; but her face remained immovable, while she looked up with inquiring gaze.

'I have most unpleasant news for you,' said Lord Clare kindly, for he liked my lady better than any one except himself, 'and thought it would come best to you from me. For we'll hush the matter up-rest easy on that score, trusting that no worse may come of it. Terence, as you know, was rude to me at Crow Street, t'other day. I didn't mind his petulance, of course; but for your sake I was hurt that he should have gone astray and made an exhibition of himself in public. It's your rough diamond Curran's fault, with his romantic balderdash about his country. He threw the young man into dangerous society, forgetting that it takes a seasoned head to weigh the hollowness of enthusiasm. Terence has been bitten by the prevailing rabies; the fever's hot upon him, and being of a higher breed than his companions, has rushed straightway into action, instead of merely prating like the others. As his mother, you should have greater influence over him than any one. Argue him out of his dangerous course. You think he's at Cork on law business? He's strutting up and down the landing-stage at Brest, with Tone and Hoche, and all the rest of the jays in peacock-plumes. He's urging the bevy of juvenile generals there to come across the water, despite the lateness of the season; in fact, he's beginning the risky game which brought Balmerino, Kilmarnock, Lovat, to the block. I'm sure of what I state-trust me for that. Why! these hot-pated fools do nothing that we're not informed of; and Mr. Pitt's staff in France is every whit as sharp as ours here. Do you desire a proof that I speak with authority? What are these things stacked here, under these cloths, within these presses, even piled, as you see, right up the chimney!' Lord Clare moved about the room with the precision of one who is sure of what he does. 'Pikeheads, my lady-rough but efficient-which are to rip his Majesty's soldiers when the struggle shall begin. It was an ingenious notion to store them under the roof of a known loyalist. Who placed them here? Your ingenuous boy, Terence, with the assistance of the people at the shebeen below. That "Irish Slave," by the way, must have a visit from us; also the fair dame on whose ground it stands. Look at this paper. A design for a pikehead, precisely like these, with written directions-in whose hand? Terence's! I gave five hundred guineas for that piece of paper. See! do not tremble-it's destroyed-the evidence is gone.'

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