'What is it, father?' she murmured with dim fear, for the adored face of Robert was distorted with passion, while his hands shook like leaves.
'A Union is it that they want?' the boy muttered 'twixt chattering teeth. 'I will resist it to the last gasp of my existence--to the last drop of my blood--and when death comes, I will call down the eternal curse of Heaven upon the destroyers of our freedom!'
Sara felt dizzy, and would have fallen but for her father's encircling arm. Dark shadows of foreboding were flitting across her mind. Was he whom she elected to worship to be drawn into the whirlpool after all? Was Robert to share Theobald's fate--to be banished from friends and motherland? In her gentle loving heart she registered a vow that if that fate should come on him, the sorrow of his exile should be soothed by no hand but hers.
Mr. Curran set himself to calm his darling. 'Silly child!' he said, patting her yellow curls. 'There, there, why not in bed? Fie! young ladies mustn't rush in where gintlemen are toping. Well, as ye are here, pick up the matarials from the hearth, my love, and squeeze in another lemon. This won't do. I shall lose my reputation as a bon viveur. A sentiment? Bravo! Here 'tis. Come, bumpers! "If a man fills the bottom of his glass, more shame to him if he doesn't fill the top; and if he empties the top, sure he'd not be so base as to deny the bottom the same compliment!" Now we'll lock the doors, and my big friend shall expend his exuberance in song. A toast first. You too shall sip of it, my blossom, for there's ne'er a bit of treason in it.' Then, clasping Sara's slender waist, he raised his haggard eyes, and said solemnly: 'As God in these latter days is unfolding in His creatures strange new powers, so may they all tend to Freedom, Peace, and Harmony. May those who are free never be enslaved--may those who are slaves be speedily set free. Amen!'
Cassidy, quite good-humoured and repentant now--for his bark was always more awful than his bite--tuned up and sang his choicest ditties; yet somehow there was a pall over the party which music could not dissipate. Truths had slipped out in the desultory talk which weighed down the souls of all. Mr. Curran, usually a pearl among hosts, was worried and absent, for, look at the situation as he would, there was nothing to be seen but impending disaster, and he thought that perhaps he had spoken out too openly. Terence, too, seemed much disturbed in mind; more moved at Robert's story and his own hints than he liked to see. Perchance it would be safest to pack him home without delay. Yet no--his was not the soul-harrowing indignation which exercised the patriots. He was shocked, but there was no real danger of his being trapped. It would lie heavy on his conscience, though, if this artless joyous creature should be dragged into the vortex. Much better that he should shoot, and hunt, and fish, and make the most of the happy accident of his social standing. Certainly he would show little affection for his protégé if he permitted him to be trapped, and Cassidy showed wondrous anxiety to trap him. An odd person, Cassidy; a whimsical combination of opposing essences; one of those dangerous hot natures whose ill-balanced zeal is more fatal to a cause than enmity. No one could on occasion be more oafishly stupid than he, or more rashly brave; and yet the way he kept up a show of intercourse with Major Sirr and my Lord Clare, after the fashion of a safety-rope to which to cling in peril, was worthy of quite a subtle plotter. That the giant meant well there could be no doubt. But if he, Curran, had had aught to do with the society, he would have stipulated that this firebrand should be kept as much as might be in the background.
While he meditated thus the punch-bowl was emptied, and, as he made a move to refill it, the party broke into knots and resumed the topic which engrossed them.
Terence listened to young Robert's views, which, under the auspices of liquor, grew more rosy and more loud.
'I don't mind telling you about it,' the boy was saying, 'for I know that your honour is too fine to allow the smallest hint to be dropped of what I say. The French will come with 15,000 men, and gunpowder, and muskets. Pikeheads are being hammered out of hours on hundreds of village anvils.'
'They will never send 15,000 men,' Terence objected, with a doggedness induced by drink. 'Their coffers are empty. Holland, Switzerland, the Rhine, claim the attention of their arms.'
'If they send but 5,000 the work can be done. You don't believe it? With three hundred as officers to head our own people, we could make an effort.'