CHAPTER III.
THE CLOVEN HOOF

My lady's preparations were completed at last, and, thanks to her maternal supervision, so were those of her favourite son. Though so close at hand, she went little into Dublin; for the sight of many strange uniforms reminded her of a past time, the associations connected with which she did her best to bury. She knew only, therefore, by rumour what was passing-by the reports of the Gazette, by conversations with Lord Clare. As for Curran, there was nothing to be got from him. He was as surly and morose as possible; said rude things about the Orange Societies; told her details of atrocities which, she felt sure, must be exaggerated; quarrelled with her about the scarlet woman; showed signs of becoming as bigoted on one side as she half admitted herself to be on the other.

She grew almost reconciled to the necessity of going northwards, for Shane's conduct gave her serious alarm. He almost lived at the Little House, and she saw the possibility, if the journey were delayed much longer, of his declining to go at all. For all Norah's influence was evidently thrown into the scale against her, and she bitterly regretted now having shot off that arrow at Crow Street.

The artful damsel was striving to instil into her lover's mind that it was cowardly to go away at this juncture; and it was only by pretending to have private intelligence from the chancellor that his mother could soothe his amour propre to sleep.

She was credibly informed, so she declared, that Paris spies had told Dublin spies, who had whispered it at the Castle, that the French fleet would certainly make for the north. It stood to reason they would not sail into Cork Harbour or Dublin Bay, where their foe was ready to receive them. Not a bit of it. They would make for the lonely, rock-bound coast of Donegal or Antrim, and young Lord Glandore would cover himself with glory by appearing at the head of the yeomanry in the neighbourhood to harass the landing of the troops.

This was just such a wild idea as suited the youthful fire-eater. He saw, in his mind's eye, the shattered vessels on his iron rocks of Ennishowen; a feeble resistance and surrender-for a mere handful could do anything on those cliffs-and gave way, as usual, to his mother. But she felt that, if they were to go, they must be off as speedily as possible, or even her influence would fail at the last moment, and that which she most dreaded might take place, despite her efforts.

Her indignation against the lady of the Little House knew no bounds. That she should immolate her own daughter for the mean purpose of revenging herself upon a rival, was too horrible! It was really amazing to consider what these Catholics were capable of! They had no consciences. They were ready to commit any enormity, because when it was done they could go to confession, wipe the stain off the slate, and come back smiling. Lord Clare was perfectly right about the scarlet woman, and Mr. Curran in his dotage. For every sort of reason these Catholics must be kept down. No punishment was bad enough for them-they should be locked in cages like wild beasts-they were absolutely incorrigible-at least, so thought the Swaddler. Doreen was turning out abominably. If she too were not soon caged, she would be running off some day with a groom-or a United Irishman, which was worse, breaking her father's heart, and dragging his name through the mire. She preached to her brother on this subject, making him very uneasy, and gave up looking after her poor, lest, meeting Mrs. Gillin, she might forget herself.

Her preparations were complete, yet still she lingered at the Abbey. Society was in such a state of suspense that freedom of action seemed paralysed. The lady-lieutenant was frightened, and talked of fleeing to London, yet she delayed her journey. The mall and the Beaux-walk were both as full as ever. People went thither in hopes of decided news one way or other-which never came; and being there, they rode and gossiped and joked, because it was the habit to do so.

Emmett and his friends were becoming grievously troubled, for the split in their camp widened daily. Were the French playing with their Irish allies? This continued inaction on their part was incomprehensible; for summer had faded to autumn, autumn was shrivelling into winter-it was almost too late to expect assistance now. Must the effort be postponed till next year? or a forlorn hope be attempted single-handed? To make it now would be madness, for rains were pouring down with Hibernian vehemence-the country was sodden-would soon be frozen-the exposed patriots would die off like rotten sheep. To wait till next year was a bad prospect-who can calculate what may happen in six months? The evil acts of the executive were piling up with terrible velocity. A sense of treachery and of dismay seemed to hang over the capital, for none could be certain who had taken the oath and who had not. Fathers were known to be loyalists whose sons had received the tonsure. Peasant mothers had put pikes in hiding whose daughters were living with the soldiers. Friends met and dined, and laughed with each other about the wide divergence of their views, just as they had done for some time past; but the feeling that though they differed their friendship would not wane was beginning to be shaken, for Major Sirr and his sinister band were abroad. No one was safe from the informer.

There was a dinner-party at the Abbey-a party of typical incongruity. The chancellor was there, all smiles and airiness. Mr. Curran was there, who was becoming strangely absent and sour; his little primrose Sara too, who looked delicate and nervous, and shrank, as if in pain, from conversation, which of course turned on politics. Cassidy was there too, in humble attendance on Doreen; and young Robert Emmett, whom the chancellor condescended to twit scornfully on his behaviour.

'Keep your head out of the noose, my dear young friend!' he said. 'No one is so small as to escape the vigilant eye of a paternal government. Do you suppose we are not informed of your pratings within Trinity? Your bursts of baby-eloquence, which are flowery but foolish? It is a harmless amusement possibly within those aged walls, and the wild talk of undergraduates is of little moment, yet I warn you that it will not be permitted much longer. Oh dear no! We won't do you the honour of arresting you. That would give you too much importance. But it may become my painful duty, as chancellor of that university as well as of this realm, to erase your name with others from its books, unless you mend your manners-that's all; so be warned and wise in time.

Robert chafed and choked at such language as this, which seemed to mark him for a schoolboy before his wistful love; but he stood in such awe of the stately dowager that he only reddened and hung his head. Then Lord Clare, feeling merry, felt disposed to break a lance with his ancient enemy of the Bar; he therefore gaily asked if he might take a glass with Colonel Curran of the Lawyer's Corps-whose military skill would soon be brought into play, considering that the paternal Government had decided at last to propose a suspension of Habeas Corpus. The United Irishmen were behaving so badly-were declaiming in so provoking a fashion about their bonds, that it was as well to show them for a moment what slavery really meant. But this pleasant little sally fell dismally flat; for Curran was already aware of this dreadful resolve, and did not rise in vehement expostulation, as the other expected. So had Doreen heard of it. Her eye brightened a little, but her hand never shook as she leisurely peeled a peach.

When the news had first gone forth, she had ridden over to the Priory, lest haply some one might be there who could advise what might best be done. She found Curran on his doorstep, putting on his gloves.

'I knew they'd do it,' was all he said to her. 'You stop here till I return. I am going to Mr. Grattan.'

Presently he came cantering back on his shaggy pony, and said to the anxious girl:

'There is nothing for it but patience. Mr. Grattan expected this, and so did I. We shall oppose the bill, but that will make no difference. This wretched land is doomed. If the bill is carried, Mr. Grattan will retire from parliament, and so shall I. We are both sick of the murderous farce.' Then, drumming his fingers on the window, in an attempt to keep down his agitation, he muttered forth at intervals: 'Habeas Corpus! the very last guardian of our liberties! They'll bring in the knife when every one's asleep, and stab our guardian in the dark!'

So the lawyer-not taken unawares-only smiled, and, bowing stiffly over his glass, asked quietly:

'Did you ever read Æschylus, my lord? I know you are a fine scholar. You always remind me of Mercury in "Prometheus Vinctus," who was constantly abusing the poor martyr for howling, when his only grievance was a stake of adamant through his breast!'

The party broke up early, as both of the elder gentlemen were due at the House, and the social atmosphere was stormy. My Lord Clare whispered to his old friend at starting that he would call round in the morning, as he had something very particular to say to her. Doreen took the opportunity of imploring Curran to send a message to the shebeen, with intelligence as to the fate of the bill (care of red-polled Biddy), that she might know from him what happened with as small a delay as possible.

That astute person turned out but too true a prophet. The bill which was to close the courts of law, and place power over life and property in the hands of military despots (and such despots!), was shuffled into the House by the attorney-general at 2 a.m., and read for the second time after grave and mature deliberation at 2.10 a.m.; and Doreen, when she read the note which informed her that it was carried by 137 against 7, had an extra douche of sorrow poured over her, in that her too facile parent had been its godfather!

So martial law was declared, and the humane and benignant soldiery, whose good feeling had already been proven at Armagh and elsewhere, were to work their wicked will unrestrained. Doreen was too much upset to appear at breakfast, so my lady picnicked alone on the window-seat which looked upon the stable-yard, watching for her vagrant darling, keeping a keen look-out, too, as to whether her niece went out for a scamper. For my lady had passed a sleepless night-one of those terrible nuits blanches much worse than any nightmare-when all our sins sit heavy on our chests; when our brains throb to bursting, and we hope there is no hereafter. She tossed-listening for Shane's return-growing more feverish as hour after hour passed silently. Still at the Little House! This was maddening. The vision of Shane and Norah arriving to throw themselves upon their knees, danced before her eyes. Once or twice, when sinking into a doze, she sat up with a start, clutching the luxuriant braids of white hair which gave her in her looking-glass such an odd look of winter and autumn united. Manfully she had quelled any shrinking on her own account about returning to Ennishowen. To her who had borne so much, what mattered a little extra suffering? It was excellent advice that her niece had given her. The way, and the only way, out of the labyrinth was to transfer the establishment en bloc; she had recognised the fact, and had resolved, for her dear boy's sake, not to spare herself. But now, in dead of night, when the past stood out in phosphorescent light, and the future loomed even yet more ghastly, she had to fight the old weary moral fight again, in which she had so frequently been worsted. Again she saw her husband on that bed of chairs at Daly's. Again she heard him say, ere the last rattle stopped his voice for ever, 'Make right that wrong while there is time!' Again she welled over with impotent rage, whimsically mixed with penitence, in that she must wear the Nessus shirt which he had shuffled off long since. She realised, as she ruminated, that she had been deceiving herself as to the motives which kept her still at Strogue. It was a terror of the island of Glas-aitch-é at Ennishowen-of the tales which each twig and shrub would tell her there-of the songs which the waves would sing to her as they dashed against the cliffs-which had really delayed her starting. But there must be an end of this weakness. All was ready. For Shane's sake she would like to start upon the morrow, for the sooner she drank her dose the better; but, unfortunately, a promise had been given to attend their excellencies at a great ball which was to take place at the Castle-and to retire suddenly, in ticklish times like these, would certainly be construed as big with political import. But after all, this fête (which was to show the scum that their betters did not fear them) would be past in a few days. Till that time arrived my lady would continue to wait; but in order to underline for herself in her midnight self-communing the determination that there was to be no more cowardice, she then and there resolved that the great coach should take them upon the very same evening within the Castle-yard, and spirit them forward on their way, instead of making a fresh start from the Abbey on the morrow. This resolution being come to, my lady's mind became calmer. As the blue light of wintry morning struggled in she felt quite relieved, and got up presently-as imperious as usual-to await Lord Clare's communication, and watch the stable-yard for Shane's return.

It was fully eleven o'clock before Lord Clare's carriage wheezed up the avenue-the casket which held Ireland's great man. For once Doreen had not bucketed forth on one of her wild rides. Shane had not yet come in.

My lady swept out upon the narrow terrace in front of the hall-door to receive her guest. He must stand in need of refreshment; what would he please to take?

He would take nothing for the moment. Yes-he would. It was a strange conceit in one who had visited there as a familiar gossip during so many years. He would take a view of Strogue Abbey-he would be shown over the mansion by its chatelaine. My lady was surprised. Indeed, she had not been over the quaint place herself for ages. What did my Lord Clare desire to see? Was it the dungeon? or the ancient kitchen and buttery, with its black woodwork, or the water-tower?

He would see everything while he was about it, he said. In the first instance the young men's wing, with its museum of fishing-rods and guns-and-what was that over it-an armoury? Oh, indeed! he would like to look at it.

'But perchance I should disturb the young gentlemen,' her guest said with hesitation. 'By-the-bye, has your son gone out?'

To Lord Clare's genuine astonishment, my lady reddened and looked away. Could she know the mission on which he had come? If so, then she was a greater mistress of her face than he supposed. If not, what troubled her? He forgot that shrined in her love there was but one son. That while he was hinting of the second, she, with sorrow, was thinking of the first-who was dallying-where?

The twain wandered in the young men's rooms-in Shane's, whose bed was smooth and neat-in Terence's, where faithful Phil was sitting, deeply engrossed in fly-making, as innocently as if he had never heard of a bough in England's crown.

'Both boys out, then? so much the better,' gaily quoth the chancellor, who chose for a moment to ignore Terence's mysterious absence. 'I hope Terence is safe; I can assure you Shane is; I saw him not an hour since. He roystered with the Blasters all night, and of course had to fight a duel in the morning. Is not the motto of their gay society "Nemo me impune lacessit"? But he didn't get a scratch-indeed he's a splendid swordsman-such a tactician-so sharp and quick of eye! I must really congratulate him when he comes in by-and-by. Those spiral stairs? Ah! That's the armoury.'

Phil dropped his flies, and leapt up from his seat. My lady and her guest, taking no heed of him, climbed upward, opened the armoury-door, went in and shut it. He could hear the creaking of their feet above. What could he do? Nothing! He sank panting on his seat, bewildered-then, stealing out, made the best of his way to the shebeen.

'By-the-bye, where is Terence?' asked Lord Clare. 'You don't know? I do. My poor old friend, prepare yourself for a shock. Sit down.'

With a gentleness which would have astonished his numerous enemies, the chancellor laid his two hands on my lady's shoulders and pressed her into a seat. The pupils of her eyes assumed that look, as of a startled hare, which shone in them sometimes. She sat down silently and waited.

Had Terence been guilty of something base? That was her first thought, in which there was a touch of remorse. Then came a feeling of anger in that he existed at all. Oh that he had never been born, or had died in his early childhood! This in its turn was followed by intense self-loathing; but her face remained immovable, while she looked up with inquiring gaze.