Of course the hundred cousins, never having done anything, "worthy of death or bonds," themselves, were unanimous as to their right of casting, not only the first, but the last stone at the imprudent couple, who were left to expiate in unpitied and unmitigated poverty the unpardonable error they had committed.
Colonel Vernon's knowledge of O'Brien's circumstances was very limited; he knew he had lost his wife when their only child was still a mere baby, and he had, more than once, unsought, sent handsome presents to the improvident father; but the news of his decease was soon forgotten, in the terrible affliction which threw a shadow over Dungar, for many months. The Colonel's eldest son, the only survivor of three children, a wild, extravagant young scapegrace, of whom none, save his wife and his father, prophesied good, was drowned in some fishing expedition, a sudden squall having capsized his boat. Kate was born a few weeks after her unfortunate father was lost, and, although Mrs. Vernon for her child's sake, strove to drag on a saddened and debilitated existence, she died while Kate was yet too young to remember a mother's caresses.
The Colonel was just beginning to rally from the severe trial which had robbed him of a son, who, though often a source of anxiety and mortification, was still very dear to him, when some gossiping guest mentioned having seen "that unfortunate O'Brien's little daughter" at the house of an aunt, whose close connection with the deceased Lieutenant, could not permit her to ignore the demand of a much enduring school-mistress, that Miss O'Brien should be removed, as she could not afford to encumber herself with a young lady who had no claims on her charity. "You may imagine the sort of life the unhappy little devil leads," concluded the Colonel's informant, "snubbed, by her aunt, cuffed by her cousins, a perfect souffre douleur for the whole family."
Colonel Vernon made no remark at the time, but the picture of the little orphan, thus carelessly drawn, sank deep into his kindly heart, already softened by his recent bereavement.
A hospitable invitation was despatched for the friendless girl, and Georgina O'Brien was soon established in what proved to be her happy home. The Colonel's natural kindness, first attracted to her because she stood in need of it, was confirmed by the little girl's winning ways and dauntless spirit. She was about twelve years old when she first made her appearance at Dungar; tall, thin, sallow, her pale face looked all eyes, and strangers were almost startled at the wild, shy, proud, restlessness of those large, dark orbs that appeared constantly on the alert to resent insult or fly from injury. Gradually all this softened in the balmy atmosphere of gentleness and good breeding, which was soon imbibed by the young stranger, whose bearing, from the first, though hers had been a childhood of galling poverty, bespoke an innate grandeur and dignity, inexpressibly attractive to her patrician host.
Soon it became a pleasing divertissement to the Colonel's sombre thoughts, to teach Georgy her lessons, and undo much that had been done at Fogarty's "select establishment," Mellefort View, Kingstown. He found an apt pupil, though scarcely so diligent as she proved to Pat Costello, the huntsman, who, in rapturous admiration of her firm seat, steady hand, and intuitive comprehension of his instructions, exclaimed to the whipper. "Faith, Miss Georgy's the raal ould stock; sure enough, it comes quite nathral to her to ride, there's nothin', good nor bad, would stop her; if any one would take Craig na Dhioul, be the powers she'd rise her horse at Croagh Pathrick!"
To the Colonel, the huntsman, nurse, and little Kate, the whole stream of her affections flowed; but though, she would willingly send the greater part of all that she possessed as gifts to her cousins, who had tyrannized over and insulted her; the air of supreme indifference, of quiet civility with which she treated them, on those rare occasions when they met, was much more calculated to impress them with the idea, that they were far too insignificant for their misconduct to occupy her memory than that they were forgiven. Indeed Mrs. O'Toole used often to say that, "though she would lay down her life for a friend, the devil himself could not be more scornful to an inemy."
After young Mrs. Vernon's death, the Colonel engaged a governess of higher acquirements than could have been necessary for his baby grand-child, in order that the Lieutenant's orphan might have the advantages of a good education; but amid the irregularity of a household, without a female head, Georgy's imperious ways, and resolute will, enabled her to gain a degree of authority, marvellous in one so young, and displeasing to many of the old retainers, who, nevertheless, bore this assumption of authority, on the part of a dependent, far more unmurmuringly than a similar class in England, would have done. The rigid maxim of working for oneself, however incontrovertible, and admirably suited to national independence, and advancement, is capable of some cruel and unjust applications; and if the sense of independence may be somewhat wanting, in Ireland, there is, at all events, more indulgence—more tolerance—more kindliness for those, with whom fortune has dealt hardly; and it was seldom—very seldom, even Miss O'Brien's keen glance, rendered by early experience morbidly quick at discovering an insult, could perceive even covert disrespect. And so she progressed into luxuriantly beautiful girlhood, unpruned, almost unchecked; already ambitious, she knew not for what—already pining to leave the happy valley, where she had found so tranquil a haven, from the rude storms that shook her infancy—the recollection of the sufferings, and mortifications of her early youth; had sunk deep into her proud heart, and longed to obtain some vantage ground, secured and self-acquired, from which she might look down upon the past—some social eminence, independent even of her kind, beloved, self-constituted guardian. Nor did she long revolve these wishes, in silent, wistful reverie, amongst the bold cliffs, or in the deep, shady glens, with which the country about Dungar abounded, and which might have taught her truer and purer aspirations.
Kate was a mere plaything—confidante, she had none—she was too young to find in books, sufficient companionship; when just as the dearth of excitement, and occupation was most oppressive, Major General Sir Thomas Desmond, K.C.B., arrived on a visit to Colonel Vernon.
There was a scarcity of ladies at Dungar, when Sir Thomas Desmond made his appearance; and the Colonel, banishing Georgina, as too young to take any part in society, to Kate's particular region, the nursery and school-room, collected a shooting party for the General's entertainment.