'But you will come down to the drawing-room, they are all so eager to see you,' said Kate caressingly.

'No; I'll have my tea and go to bed, and I'll dream that Mr. Donogan has been made King of Ireland, and made an offer to share the throne with me.'

'Your Majesty's tea shall be served at once,' said Kate, as she curtsied deeply and withdrew.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

O'SHEA'S BARN

There were many more pretentious houses than O'Shea's Barn. It would have been easy enough to discover larger rooms and finer furniture, more numerous servants and more of display in all the details of life; but for an air of quiet comfort, for the certainty of meeting with every material enjoyment that people of moderate fortune aspire to, it stood unrivalled.

The rooms were airy and cheerful, with flowers in summer, as they were well heated and well lighted in winter. The most ma.s.sive-looking but luxurious old arm-chairs, that modern taste would have repudiated for ugliness, abounded everywhere; and the four c.u.mbrous but comfortable seats that stood around the circular dinner-table--and it was a matter of principle with Miss Betty that the company should never be more numerous--only needed speech to have told of traditions of conviviality for very nigh two centuries back.

As for a dinner at the Barn, the whole countyside confessed that they never knew how it was that Miss Betty's salmon was 'curdier' and her mountain mutton more tender, and her woodc.o.c.ks racier and of higher flavour, than any one else's. Her brown sherry you might have equalled--she liked the colour and the heavy taste--but I defy you to match that marvellous port which came in with the cheese, and as little, in these days of light Bordeaux, that stout-hearted Sneyd's claret, in its ancient decanter, whose delicately fine neck seemed fashioned to retain the bouquet.

The most exquisite compliment that a courtier ever uttered could not have given Miss Betty the same pleasure as to hear one of her guests request a second slice off 'the haunch.' This was, indeed, a flattery that appealed to her finest sensibilities, and as she herself carved, she knew how to reward that appreciative man with fat.

Never was the virtue of hospitality more self-rewarding than in her case; and the discriminating individual who ate with gusto, and who never a.s.sociated the wrong condiment with his food, found favour in her eyes, and was sure of re-invitation.

Fortune had rewarded her with one man of correct taste and exquisite palate as a diner-out. This was the parish priest, the Rev. Luke Delany, who had been educated abroad, and whose natural gifts had been improved by French and Italian experiences. He was a small little meek man, with closely-cut black hair and eyes of the darkest, scrupulously neat in dress, and, by his ruffles and buckled shoes at dinner, affecting something of the abbe in his appearance. To such as a.s.sociated the Catholic priest with coa.r.s.e manners, vulgar expressions, or violent sentiments, Father Luke, with his low voice, his well-chosen words, and his universal moderation, was a standing rebuke; and many an English tourist who met him came away with the impression of the gross calumny that a.s.sociated this man's order with underbred habits and disloyal ambitions. He spoke little, but he was an admirable listener, and there was a sweet encouragement in the bland nod of his head, and a racy appreciation in the bright twinkle of his humorous eye, that the prosiest talker found irresistible.

There were times, indeed--stirring intervals of political excitement--when Miss Betty would have liked more hardihood and daring in her ghostly counsellor; but Heaven help the man who would have ventured on the open avowal of such opinion or uttered a word in disparagement of Father Luke.

It was in that snug dinner-room I have glanced at that a party of four sat over their wine. They had dined admirably, a bright wood fire blazed on the hearth, and the scene was the emblem of comfort and quiet conviviality.

Opposite Miss O'Shea sat Father Delany, and on either side of her her nephew Gorman and Mr. Ralph Miller, in whose honour the present dinner was given.

The Catholic bishop of the diocese had vouchsafed a guarded and cautious approval of Mr. Miller's views, and secretly instructed Father Delany to learn as much more as he conveniently could of the learned gentleman's intentions before committing himself to a pledge of hearty support.

'I will give him a good dinner,' said Miss O'Shea, 'and some of the '45 claret, and if you cannot get his sentiments out of him after that, I wash my hands of him.'

Father Delany accepted his share of the task, and a.s.suredly Miss Betty did not fail on her part.

The conversation had turned princ.i.p.ally on the coming election, and Mr.

Miller gave a flourishing account of his success as a canva.s.ser, and even went the length of doubting if any opposition would be offered to him.

'Ain't you and young Kearney going on the same ticket?' asked Gorman, who was too new to Ireland to understand the nice distinctions of party.

'Pardon me,' said Miller, 'we differ essentially. _We_ want a government in Ireland--the Nationalists want none. _We_ desire order by means of timely concessions and judicious boons to the people. They want disorder--the display of gross injustice--content to wait for a scramble, and see what can come of it.'

'Mr. Miller's friends, besides,' interposed Father Luke, 'would defend the Church and protect the Holy See'--and this was said with a half-interrogation.

Miller coughed twice, and said, 'Unquestionably. We have shown our hand already--look what we have done with the Established Church.'

'You need not be proud of it,' cried Miss Betty. 'If you wanted to get rid of the crows, why didn't you pull down the rookery?'

'At least they don't caw so loud as they used,' said the priest, smiling; and Miller exchanged delighted glances with him for his opinion.

'I want to be rid of them, root and branch,' said Miss Betty.

'If you will vouchsafe us, ma'am, a little patience. Rome was not built in a day. The next victory of our Church must be won by the downfall of the English establishment. Ain't I right, Father Luke?'

'I am not quite clear about that,' said the priest cautiously. 'Equality is not the safe road to supremacy.'

'What was that row over towards Croghan Castle this morning?' asked Gorman, who was getting wearied with a discussion he could not follow. 'I saw the constabulary going in force there this afternoon.'

'They were in pursuit of the celebrated Dan Donogan,' said Father Luke.

'They say he was seen at Moate.'

'They say more than that,' said Miss Betty. 'They say that he is stopping at Kilgobbin Castle!'

'I suppose to conduct young Kearney's election,' said Miller, laughing.

'And why should they hunt him down?' asked Gorman. 'What has he done?'

'He's a Fenian--a head-centre--a man who wants to revolutionise Ireland,'

replied Miller.

'And destroy the Church,' chimed in the priest.

'Humph!' muttered Gorman, who seemed to imply, Is this all you can lay to his charge? 'Has he escaped? asked he suddenly.

'Up to this he has,' said Miller. 'I was talking to the constabulary chief this afternoon, and he told me that the fellow is sure to be apprehended.

He has taken to the open bog, and there are eighteen in full cry after him.

There is a search-warrant, too, arrived, and they mean to look him up at Kilgobbin Castle.'

'To search Kilgobbin Castle, do you mean?' asked Gorman.

'Just so. It will be, as I perceive you think it, a great offence to Mr.

Kearney, and it is not impossible that his temper may provoke him to resist it.'

'The mere rumour may materially a.s.sist his son's election,' said the priest slyly.

'Only with the party who have no votes, Father Luke,' rejoined Miller.

'That precarious popularity of the mob is about the most dangerous enemy a man can have in Ireland.'

'You are right, sir,' said the priest blandly. 'The real favour of this people is only bestowed on him who has gained the confidence of the clergy.'

'If that be true,' cried Gorman, 'upon my oath I think you are worse off here than in Austria. There, at least, we are beginning to think without the permission of the Church.'

'Let us have none of your atheism here, young man,' broke in his aunt angrily. 'Such sentiments have never been heard in this room before.'

'If I apprehend Lieutenant Gorman aright,' interposed Father Luke, 'he only refers to the late movement of the Austrian Empire with reference to the Concordat, on which, amongst religious men, there are two opinions.'

'No, no, you mistake me altogether,' rejoined Gorman. 'What I mean was, that a man can read, and talk, and think in Austria without the leave of the priest; that he can marry, and if he like, he can die without his a.s.sistance.'