These daily discussions led them closer and closer to each other, till at length confidences grew up between them, and Mary owned to many of the difficulties that her lone and solitary station exposed her to. Many things were done on the property without—some in direct opposition to—her concurrence. As she once said herself, “We are so ready to satisfy our consciences by assuming that whatever we may do legally we have a right to do morally, and at the same time, in the actual condition of Ireland, what is just may be practically the very heaviest of all hardships.” This observation was made with reference to some law proceedings of Scanlan's instituting, and the day after she chanced to make it Joe started for Dublin. It was there that Magennis's attorney had sent him the brief in that cause,—a charge which the etiquette of his profession precluded his declining.
In what way he discharged the trust we have seen,—what sorrow it cost him is more than we can describe. “Miss Martin,” thought he, “would know nothing of the rules which prescribe our practice, and will look upon my conduct here as a treason. For weeks long she has conversed with me in candor over the state of the county and its people; we separate for a few days, and she finds me arrayed with others against the interests of her family, and actually paid to employ against her the very knowledge she has imparted to me! What a career have I chosen,” cried he, in his agony, “if every success is to be purchased at such a price!” With such men as Magennis he had nothing in common; their society, their habits, their opinions were all distasteful to him, and yet it was for him and his he was to sacrifice the dearest hope of his heart,—to lose the good esteem of one whose praise he had accounted more costly than the highest distinction a sovereign could bestow on him. “And what a false position mine!” cried he again. “Associated by the very closest ties with a party not one of whose objects have my sympathies, I see myself separated by blood, birth, and station from all that I venerate and respect. I must either be a traitor to my own or to myself; declare my enmity to all I think most highly of, or suffer my motives to be impugned and my fame tarnished.”
There was, indeed, one circumstance in this transaction which displeased him greatly, and of which he was only aware when too late. The Magennis defence had been “got up” by a subscription,—a fund to which Joseph's own father had contributed. Amongst the machinery of attack upon the landed gentry, Father Neal Rafferty had suggested the expediency of “putting them on their titles” in cases the most trivial and insignificant. Forfeiture and confiscation had followed each other so frequently in Irish history,—grants and revocations were so mixed up together,—some attested in all formality, others irregular and imperfect,—that it was currently believed there was scarcely one single estate of the whole province could establish a clear and indisputable title. The project was, therefore, a bold one which, while disturbing the rights of property, should also bring under discussion so many vexed questions of English rule and tyranny over the Irish. Libraries and cabinets were ransacked for ancient maps of the counties; and old records were consulted to ascertain how far the original conditions of service, and so forth, had been complied with on which these estates were held.
Joseph had frequently carried home books from the library of Cro' Martin, rare and curious volumes, which bore upon the ancient history of the country. And now there crossed him the horrible suspicion that the whole scheme of this attack might be laid to his charge, the information to substantiate which he had thus surreptitiously-obtained. It was clear enough, from what his mother had said, that such was not Miss Martin's present impression; but who could say what representations might be made to her, and what change effected in her sentiments? “And this,” cried he, in indignation—“and this is the great career I used to long for!—this the broad highway I once fancied was to lead me to honor and distinction! Or is it, after all, my own fault, for endeavoring to reconcile two-things which never can have any agreement,—an humble origin and high aspirings? Were I an Englishman, the difficulty would not be impassable; but here, in Ireland, the brand of a lowly fortune and a despised race is upon me. Can I—dare I resist it?”
A long and arduous conflict was that in which he passed the night,—now inclining to abandon his profession forever, now to leave Ireland and join the English or some Colonial Bar; and at length, as day was breaking, and as though the fresh morning air which now blew upon him from his open window had given fresh energy to his nature, he determined he would persist in his career in his own country. “My fate shall be an example or a warning!” cried he. “They who come after me shall know whether there be rewards within reach of honest toil and steady industry without the contamination of a mock patriotism! If I do rise, it shall be from no aid derived from a party or a faction; and if I fail, I bring no discredit upon 'my order.'”
There are men who can so discipline their minds that they have but to establish a law to their actions to make their whole lives “a system.” Such individuals the Germans not inaptly call “self-contained men,” and of these was Joe Nelligan one.
A certain concentration of his faculties, and the fatigues of a whole night passed thus in thought, gave a careworn, exhausted look to his features as he entered the room where Repton sat awaiting him for breakfast.
“I see what's the matter with you,” said the old lawyer, as he entered. “You have passed the night after a 'first brief.' This day ten years you'll speak five hours before the Lords 'in error,' and never lose a wink of sleep after it's over!”