Shane groaned in spirit, but submitted, and cursed the patriots by all his gods--empty-headed, crack-brained fools--who thus stood betwixt him and pleasure. He pined for Norah, for Cherokee suppers, Blaster orgies. Why, he was almost forgetting what a duel was like! His rapier was rusting on the wall. He became crabbed in his enforced idleness; pinched viciously the satin skins of his pet dogs, instead of stroking them; took more and more to claret; was constantly making trips to Letterkenny.
With the exception of Lord Clare's occasional budgets, the party received little news, save garbled accounts from Letterkenny barracks. My lady insisted upon reading her own letters aloud, for the benefit of her niece; but that young person heeded not the chancellor's prosing, being serenely occupied in following the gyrations of a seamew, or the eccentric movements of a fishing cormorant, so that oft-reiterated abuse of her friends troubled her temper in nowise; and her aunt marvelled how it could be that the froward girl should have become proper and submissive, like well-behaved young ladies.
Is it not singular how to some people we unaccountably and invariably are impelled to show only the ugly or seamy side, which forms part of all our characters, and how to others we, without special effort, always turn the best? My lady and Doreen, though they dwelt together, never really knew each other. At times Doreen considered my lady mad; always harsh and disagreeable; while it was never given to my lady to detect the unselfish devotion and the strong worship of all that is beautiful and free, and the overpowering horror of all that is unjust and base, which was the better phase of her niece's character.
As for the newspapers, nothing could be gleaned from them. So soon as a paper became popular, it was acquired by money or threats (with the exception of Tom Emmett's, which ran its rigs unchecked), and patriotism gave way to padding. There was little Irish intelligence. The Dublin prints might as well have been edited at Sierra Leone; and Doreen turned with impatience from their dulness. She received few letters herself, for there was no one to write to her except the proscribed, and, of course, it would not do for treasonable correspondence to pass through the hands of Lord Glandore, who amused himself by sailing to Rathmelton for the bag. There was no convenient shebeen here, where notes might cunningly be dropped; no useful Biddy or Jug Coyle--not even a handy cabin; for, whilst the peasantry round Dublin were one and all ready to do anything for the cause, those of Ennishowen cared not about it. And she was not sorry for this. With the French fiasco her hopes had melted--she knew too well the discordant elements which composed the Irish Directory. All that had kept its members together had been the expectation of French assistance--now that that was over they would fall asunder, and Cinderella would sit down again amongst the ashes. And was it not indeed better so? The wrath of God was kindled, for some reason which she knew not, against unhappy motherland. Was it not better, then, that her sons should accept their bondage with meekness rather than waste their blood uselessly? Doreen's contentment sprang in the first instance from the nipping of despair. A moment comes to us in our sore trouble, when we fold our arms and murmur, 'By God's mercy there is a limit to the sense of feeling. We have reached that limit, and will feel no more;' and, strange as it may seem, with that resolve comes an impression of calm, which, in its way, is a sort of negative happiness. We have lost something, we are bereft of something which above all things we valued, yet we seem vaguely better for the loss. It is like the expression of peace which all blind faces wear, though their most precious treasure has been stolen--the sense of sight.
Doreen shrank from probing her own feelings with regard to Terence. Certainly his conduct distressed her more than seemed warranted by circumstances. She did not love him. No, not so bad as that, happily. She liked him as a fond sister might like a brother many years her junior, with a good-humoured satisfaction when he did well--for instance, when he made a splendid leap out hunting, or a particularly felicitous shot with his gun; and a feeling of pained displeasure when he did ill. And she told herself that he had behaved very ill, so ill that the fact of his existence must be erased from the tablets of her memory. That he should prove to be so double-dyed a traitor, so despicable and dastardly a schemer, filled her soul with horror.
Being a hero-worshipper, she had always despised him in a kindly superior way, for he was sleek and contented and commonplace, blessed with a good digestion; had looked on his grovelling contentment with pity, and is not pity contempt clothed in tenderness? To have been so interesting Manfred must have had a terrible digestion; while as for the Corsair, I know that in private he suffered from dyspepsia. Whilst taking it for granted that Terence was too easy-going ever to become truly heroic, his cousin had warmed to him on the night at the theatre, when his indignation induced him to take the oath. That all that fervour should have been craftily assumed for the purpose of deceit was too repulsive a subject for reflection, and she put it from her. Maybe if she had calmly brought her mind to bear on it, she might have perceived that she was hasty, and have remembered that it is not right to condemn criminals unheard. But she had caught a glimpse of two ugly facts, and withdrew her gaze from them at once without further inquiry.
Somebody was a traitor. The delegates had been betrayed more than once under the cloak of friendship. My lady had told her distinctly (or in her haste she thought so) that Terence had done the evil deed, for the paltry wage of five hundred pounds. She had deemed that her cousin at least was honest, and before thrusting his image from her sight, had felt, with a soreness for which she could not account, that she would have been very, very glad if she could have pronounced him innocent. Doreen, though she diverted her attention from the painful subject, was wondrously interested--down in her inmost heart--in the guilt or innocence of Terence, and felt a feeble flutter there, whose cause, if she had understood it, would have disgusted her. As it was, the flutter in time died a natural death, and, disillusioned, she sank into the apathetic condition of one who drifts and is content to drift--a rudderless resignation which is beyond despondency--an utter hopelessness with which his behaviour, though she wist it not, may have had something to do.
Not long after her arrival at Glas-aitch-é she received a letter from her father, in which was enclosed another, with whose seal the upright gentleman had refrained from tampering. It was brought to him by an aged crone, who extracted a solemn promise that he would not open it.
'If ye promise,' she said, 'I'll believe ye, Arthur Wolfe, for ye're a good man, or ye would not be given so good a child.'
The eccentricity of the speech pleased the attorney-general, who sent on the letter. It was from his godson Theobald, and Doreen recognised with gratitude the delicate tact which induced her father to pretend that he did not know from whom it came. It removed from her mind the portion of its load which was endured on his behalf; for the young hero was safe. His vessel escaped as by a miracle through the centre of the English fleet. Hoche too was safe. Both were to join the army of the Sambre and Meuse at once. He spoke no more of help from France; was evidently as disappointed as Miss Wolfe was. The dream was over. His sword belonged to the French Republic now, his uniform was that of a French general. He must carve a name for himself among the ranks of the foes of France. Doreen thanked God that his pure young life had not been idly thrown away. Might it be reserved for glorious deeds on behalf of Erin in the future? It was not likely. Better far that he too should have abandoned hope; for Ireland was prostrate, never to rise either in his lifetime or in hers. All they could do was to bear as humbly as they might, shading their eyes from cruel sights--waiting as serenely as was possible for the call to a less hateful world.