CHAPTER X.
[LOVES AND DOVES?]
2222Honest Phil saddled the horses and brought them round in a twinkling, delighted always with a journey to the Abbey; for did not red-haired Biddy, who held his large heart in keeping, abide at the shebeen foreninst the Little House with her mamma, Jug Coyle? Jug Coyle--the Collough--or wise woman, mistress of hidden arts, whose little public-house, on Madam Gillin's land, had grown more orderly than heretofore during the last few months. It was not that grooms and soldiers frequented it the less, but that, instead of sitting on the bench without, roaring ribald staves into the small hours, as had been the objectionable custom, they now preferred the innermost room with a well-closed door. Yet, roistering or silent, there was the shebeen with its mouldering thatched roof and discoloured whitewash walls, and one of its tiny windows roughly boarded up, at the very gate of the lordly Abbey--an undiminished eyesore to the chatelaine.
Sara, whose gentle nature was perturbed by the scene at the supper-table--the pale faces and haggard looks--slept not a wink all night, and was most glad to join Terence in a canter by the seashore. She daily grew fonder of Doreen, whose quiet manner seemed to instil calmness into her own soul; who allowed the child in a gracious way to cling to her, to prattle of her little troubles, her suspicions and her fears, and her adoration of the undergraduate. Her father was too busy to listen to her babbling; the dear young undergraduate too much absorbed in what he called the cycle of injustice. All those with whom she had to do--except Doreen--were for ever prating of the Saxon's iron heel, shaking their fists at Heaven, venting dark anathemas and muttering such threats as terrified her. Something dreadfully mysterious was to take place soon--of that she felt assured--though when she asked questions, Mr. Curran pinched her chin, calling her a little silly kitten; then mused with eyes averted. Yes, there was a heavy intangible cloud o'ershadowing those she loved; all the little maid could do was to pour out her innocent soul to God, imploring His mercy for her father and her friends.
Wiser eyes than Sara's saw the cloud--observed that it grew blacker and more thunderous as it lowered nearer earth--that its lining, instead of being silvern, was lurid red. Some, like wreckers on a craggy beach, rejoiced in the approach of a storm which would bring them pelf; others watched it wistfully, as it darkened the sun, with a sickening sense of powerlessness to avert its coming. Among these was Doreen, who, surveying the gloomy prospect as from a watch-tower, grew hourly more grave and self-contained. Her position at the Abbey had changed but little during the interval. The dowager had never directly referred to the conversation in the rosary, but the damsel was not slow in perceiving that Shane and herself were thrown together as often as was practicable. Then this wild scheme was not to be abandoned idly? What could be the reason for it? Once, in her desire to escape from a false position, she begged her easy-going parent to take her to live with him in Dublin, telling him plainly that she could never marry Shane, imploring him to spare her a distressing ordeal. He only patted her hands, however, and nodded perplexedly, with an assurance that she should never be forced into anything she did not like. It was clear that Mr. Wolfe was growing more and more afraid of his sister, also that public affairs distressed him; for he plunged daily more deeply into routine business, attempting in a weak way now and then to pour oil upon the waters between Curran and Clare, carefully keeping his daughter out of the capital as much as he was able. Not but what he would stand up for his girl upon occasion, when my lady was too hard upon her. The dowager never grew weary of lifting up her voice against Doreen's unseemly proclivities, her free and easy ways, her ridings hither and thither, her expeditions none knew whither. It was a disgrace to the family, she averred--for in her own girlhood Irish ladies were content to sit by the fireside, or look after the pastry, study the art of dumpling-making, concoct cunning gooseberry-wine and raspberry-vinegar, prepare delicious minglings of roseleaves and lavender for the sweetening of the family linen. To all of which Mr. Wolfe was wont to reply mildly:
'The maiden is of a masculine turn, who delights not in sampler-stitching or pie-baking. She is three-and-twenty, of unusually staid manners. I'd like to see the man who dared insult her! Let be, let be. None would be more glad than I if she would think less of politics and the dreadful Penal Code. Guide her inexperience gently, if you will; but do not attempt coercion, or you'll get the worst of it.'
Despite this prudent counsel, there were several tussles 'twixt the maiden and her aunt; in one of which the elder dropped some incautious words, which were a revelation to Doreen.
'You play with edged tools, girl!' she had said. 'You form friendships with the enemies of the executive and urge them to deeds of rashness, knowing that, come what may, you, as a woman, will escape scot-free. Your unwarrantable proceedings fill your father with such anxiety that he dares not have you home, lest in Dublin you should set up for a heroine and disgrace us. You are the most stubborn stiff-necked piece of goods the world ever saw! Yet what can be expected of a Papist? This is Nemesis upon him for having married one.'
Then this was the cause of her being left at the Abbey--of Mr. Wolfe's evident anxiety? He dreaded lest--in her sorrow for her people--she should do something which would involve him in difficulties with Government. Poor, weak, loving father! No. That she clearly had no right to do. Yet she could surely not be expected to approve the acts of the executive; she, a Catholic, whose heart was rendered so sensitive by the iron which had worn into it from childhood. Was it her fault if her mind turned itself towards passing events instead of being absorbed by the manufacture of tarts? Surely not! Hers was a sturdier, braver nature than her father's. Loving him as she did, she strove not to perceive his truckling ways. Had she been a man she would have done as Tone had done--have seized a buckler and girded by her side a sword--to have at the oppressor, whose tricks were so crafty and so base. So both her father and her aunt suspected her, did they, of urging men on to conspire against the state? My lady would doubtless have placed her under lock and key if her brother had permitted of such a measure. And knowing or suspecting what she did, she was still anxious to bring about a union between the young people--her favourite son, the wealthy Earl of Glandore, and the Papist heiress who was so unmanageable. It was most amazing. Doreen failed to track out the slightest clue to the mystery.
Finding it so knotty she gave it up, choosing rather to ponder on the turn affairs were taking. She hated Lord Clare now with an indignant hatred, for he had raised his mask a little, and she had seen the devil's lineaments looking out from under it. He made no secret of his dislike of the Catholics, telling her to her face one day, with an arrogant hauteur which made her blood tingle, that he was going to make it his especial business to pull down the altars of Baal. Oh, if this Sisera would only lie down to sleep before her--with what satisfaction would she drive a great nail into his temple!