The lord chancellor was aware that the beautiful Miss Wolfe loved him not, and was wont to jest thereat when taking a dish of tea with his old flame the dowager. My lady smiled at his tirades, making merry over the appalling catalogue of things which he intended to do; for, being a brilliant Irishman, he of course had the national tendency to romancing, and it never entered into her mind to conceive that he actually could mean what he said. Though shrewd enough, my lady was quite taken in by my Lord Clare, who seeing in her a swaddler--one of those bigots who mistake rancour for virtue--was minded to make his ancient ally useful to his ends.
He failed to realise that my lady's bigotry was only skin-deep--that it was her way of protesting against the many disagreeable things which she had been forced to endure, and, thanks to Gillin, was still enduring. He therefore feared not to propose to her a something, at which her pride should have recoiled with horror, but which--thanks to his persuasive arts and her belief in his talent and integrity, she agreed at least to consider before repudiating. First he commiserated her position in being burthened with the responsible care of a damsel who was like to bring disgrace upon them all.
Behind the scenes as he was, he could see farther among the machinery than most people, and deeply deplored what seemed inevitable--namely, that the rash young lady would certainly commit herself with regard to the members of the Secret Society--be drawn into their schemes--and work grave mischief, such as should bring shame on the names both of Wolfe and Crosbie, unless something were done to circumvent her. Violent means were of course vulgar, and dangerous to boot, by reason of Miss Wolfe's character. My lady wished to unite her to her eldest son, did she? Well, it was an odd fancy, at which it was not his place to cavil. All the more reason then to render the folly of the girl of no effect by artifice. Once settled down as a wife and mother, she would forget the errors of her girlhood, and even thank her friends for having saved her from herself.
Now my Lord Clare knew through Mr. Pitt, whose spies in Paris told him everything, that Tone kept up a correspondence with Miss Wolfe under the name of Smith--that she fetched her letters from Jug Coyle's shebeen, where they were left for her under a prearranged name. His own spies told him that she talked sometimes with mysterious men, who came and went in a suspicious manner, between the environs of Dublin and the outlying districts. Yes, it was too true; my lady might well look shocked. The conspirators were making a catspaw of her niece, who hovered between two duties--the one to her Protestant father, the other to her crushed co-religionists.
Did my lady's eyes ask what was to be done? This, and only this. For it was clear, was it not, that her mines must be countermined for her own sake and that of her belongings? It would not do to seize the letters, because the villain in Paris would then invent some new method of communication, which it might take the spies some time to discover, and time was important just now. The young lady, being enthusiastic and inexperienced, was most shamefully exploitée--the executive saw that, and were prepared to make allowances, provided her family would play a little into their hands. Did she see what he meant? No! Then my lady was duller than usual, and he must dot his i's. The executive knew that Miss Wolfe was artfully used as a spreader of secrets, because no one else in all Ireland occupied a position of similar complexity. Her heart was with the malcontents, to begin with. She, as daughter of the attorney-general--most cautious of time-servers--was not likely to be suspected of overt acts of treason. She was clearheaded, too, and resolute, useful in council. Ill-judged in other things, the conspirators had done wisely to employ Miss Wolfe as a means of intercommunication.
It would never do for Mr. Wolfe to be told of his child's transgressions, as he would only whimper and cry out; the stronger hand of his sister therefore must take the tiller, and steer the family through this difficulty. Did my lady see now? No! Well, the spies of the executive were cunning, no doubt; but their eyes could not pierce stone walls or sheets of paper tied tight with ribbon. My Lord Camden and the Privy Council wanted to know what the letters contained which were dropped at the 'Irish Slave' for Miss Doreen. Would my lady undertake the little service of finding out, and then tell her dear friend Lord Clare what plans were suggested, what names mentioned? He, on his side, would of course promise to be prudence personified, and swear never to divulge by what means the information had been obtained.
The countess winced at the suggestion, and her face crimsoned. If Government chose to establish a bureau of paid informers, who were dubbed the Battalion of Testimony, it was no affair of hers, though she could not approve the principle; but as to becoming one herself, the bare idea was an audacious insult. The chancellor laughed airily as she turned on him, for he expected some such ebullition of feeling, and waited a little while ere he proceeded. Then, like the serpent luring Eve, he strove to decide her with specious arguments. He showed that, by helping to circumvent their plans, she might do signal service against the Catholics; that both her brother and eldest son might be made to benefit indirectly by her acts, and that nobody would know anything of what she had done. In love and war all means are fair. The girl had no excuse for the line she chose to take. It was right and fitting that the lower orders should be cowed; that the Papists should be stamped down into the serfdom from which in their insolence they struggled to escape; that this Tone, whom people had liked till he took up the cudgels of Antichrist, should be brought to punishment.
These were good reasons--strong enough surely to decide my lady. If she wanted another, let her think of Gillin and her 'Irish Slave.' It would be strange if that hateful enemy could not be mixed in the coming struggle, and crushed in the downfall of the conspirators. This last stroke almost settled the resolve of the wavering countess, whose mental mirror had been blurred by long dabbling in questionable waters, which, rising in her husband's throat to choking, had wrung that last cry from him before he died. It would be delightful to discomfit Gillin. It would be odd, too, if Doreen, in the contrition which follows upon being found out, did not throw herself on her aunt's mercy, and joyfully do as she was told, on condition of being saved. After meditating awhile, my lady said she would think about it; and Lord Clare, having planted his arrow, rode back to town, satisfied that he had gained his end.
Doreen was not chicken-feeding, as Terence had thought probable, on the morning when the riders started from the Priory. Yet was she up and about, for there is naught so invigorating as fresh sea-air with a whiff of tar in it, and the evenings at the Abbey were dreary enough to induce the most wakeful to take refuge betimes in bed. She tended the flowers in the tiny square called Miss Wolfe's plot, spent a few moments in affectionate communion with some eager wet muzzles and wagging tails in the kennels, then tripped away to the rosary, to study a letter received the night before--a letter signed 'Smith,' in a cramped hand. When such reached her, she invariably retired thither to decipher them; for in the seclusion formed by the high clipped hedges, she was sure of privacy, none being able to wander among the shady avenues of beech without giving notice of their intention by the clang of the golden grille, or the creaking of a lesser gate situated at the other end of the pleasaunce.
It was a letter which gave food for concern. Impetuous, hot, Keltic; dealing, too, with details which told of action imminent.