‘If I mistake not,’ said Fra Luke, ‘these papers are worth more than double their weight in gold. They treat of very great matters, and are in the writing of great people.’
‘Per Bacco! they shall never bring me to the galleys, that I’ll swear,’ cried the herdsman. ‘Popes and princes would fret little about me when they gained their ends. There, on with them, Fra. If I see you steal one of them inside those loose robes of yours, by the blood of the martyrs, I ‘ll pin it to your side with my poniard.’
‘You mangy, starved hound of a goatherd!’ cried Fra Luke, seizing the massive iron tongs beside him; ‘do you think it’s one of yourselves I am, or that I have the same cowardly heart that can be frightened because you wear a knife in your sleeve? May I never see glory, if I wouldn’t clear the place of you all with these ould tongs, ay, and hunt every mother’s son of you down the alley.’ The sudden spring forward as he said this, seeming to denote an intention of action, so appalled his hearers that they rushed simultaneously to the door, and, in all the confusion of terror, fled into the street, the herdsman making use of all his strength to cleave his way through the rest.
‘Think of the Vendetta, Fra Luke! They never forgive!’ tried the woman, in a voice of anguish.
‘Faix, it’s more of the police I ‘m thinking, Mrs. Mary,’ said the friar. ‘You’ll see, them fellows will be off now to bring the Swiss guard. Burn the papers as fast as you can; God knows what mischief we ‘re doing, but we can’t help it. Oh dear! isn’t it a sin and a shame? Here’s a letter, signed Alberoni, the great Cardinal in Spain. Here’s two in English, and what’s the name—Watson, is it? No; Wharton, the Duke of Wharton, as I live! There, fan the coals; quick, there’s no time to lose. Oh dear, what’s this about Ireland! I must read this, Mrs. Mary, come what may. “Cromarty says that the P———regrets he didn’t try Ireland in the place of Scotland. Kelly persuades him that the Irish would never have abandoned his cause for any consideration for themselves or their estates.” That’s true, anyhow,’ cried the Fra. ‘“And that as long as he only wanted rebellion, and did not care to make them loyal subjects, the Irish would stand to him to the last.” Faix, Kelly’s right!’ murmured the Fra. ‘“The Scotch, besides, grow weary of civil war, and desire to have peace and order; while the others think fighting a government the best diversion of all, and would ask for nothing better than its continuance. For these reasons, and another that is more of a secret, the Prince is sorry for the choice he made. As to the secret one: there was a certain lady of good family, one of the best in the Island, they say, called Grace Fitzgerald———‘”
A shriek from the woman arrested the Fra at this instant, and with a spring forward she tore the paper from his hand to read the name.
‘What of her—what of Grace?’ cried she, in a voice of heartrending anxiety.
‘Be calm, and I ‘ll read it all, Mrs. Mary. It was God’s will, may be, put this into our hands to-night. There, now, don’t sob and agitate yourself, but listen. “She followed him to France,”’ continued he, reading.
‘’She did—she did!’ burst out the other, in a passion of tears.
—‘"To France, where they lived in retirement at the Château de Marne, in Brittany. Kelly says they were married, and that the priest who solemnised the marriage was a nephew of Cardinal Tencin, called Danneton, or Banneton, but well known as Father Ignatius, at the Seminary of Soissons. To his own dishonour and disgrace, and perhaps to his ruin also, this happy union did not long continue. He was jealous at first; at last he neglected her. Be this as it may, Godfrey Moore and O’Sullivan broke with him for ever on her account; and Ruttledge tore his patent of Baron to pieces, and swore, to his face, that one who could be so false to his love could be little relied on in his friendship.”’