'I've heard of a.s.sa.s.sination by sword and dagger,' he muttered; 'but here is a ruffian who would dip the Evangelists in blood!' The giant took the Testament and kissed it.

'Why make him swear at all?' scoffed Mr. Curran. 'Why let a murderer's touch pollute the purity of the Gospel? Well! if you will go through the mockery, let it be, I pray you, on the symbol of his profession--the knife.'

Ca.s.sidy scowled down on the st.u.r.dy scoffer, and looked round at his comrades with an air of reproachful innocence, which was speedily answered by a burst of menace and a clash of arms from the yeomanry behind, accompanied by threatening looks and gestures. Mr. Curran, drawing himself up to the full of his small stature, fixed his eyes sternly on them, and exclaimed in a loud voice:

'You may a.s.sa.s.sinate me, gentlemen, but you shall never intimidate me!'

This was a scandal. Things were going ill. Lord Carleton came to the rescue.

'Beware, Mr. Curran,' he said, 'lest you forfeit your gown. A little more of such unseemly language and I shall commit you.'

'Then we shall both have the consolation, my lord,' Curran retorted, with a bow, 'of reflecting that I'm not the worst thing you have committed.'

Lord Carleton looked up with wonder at the skylight. What was the world coming to? He glanced at Lord Kilwarden, who leaned on his elbow, taking no share in the business, his eyes shaded with his hand.

Counsel for prosecution played skilfully on his witness--an admirable witness, who merely answered questions, instead of blurting forth rash and inconvenient statements. Mr. Curran cross-examined him as cleverly, but with little effect. He could elicit nothing new or special. People were accustomed to find themselves handed over to the scrag-boy by their most intimate friends. Mr. Curran, indeed, was tedious to lay such stress on the point. The jury shuffled on their seats. Lord Carleton yawned. New candles were placed in the sockets by attentive ushers. At this rate it would certainly be morning before the affair was settled.

Very monotonous and very dreary! A rat-tat of subdued voices in question and reply. The paled candles dim and wan through a mist of collected breath--a stifling, noisome atmosphere of clammy heat which made the temples of all to throb, the ears to sing. Though the case was one of palpitating interest, men's strength gave way, women felt ill and dizzy. Lord Carleton, to keep his wits clear, inhaled the fumes from a sponge dipped in vinegar. Mrs. Gillin sniffed at the rue upon the dock-rail.

Still Terence stood erect and pallid--motionless. Still Phil's respiration laboured with stertorous snores. His teeth chattered at intervals, as if from cold; his fingers twitched, his knees trembled.

Was it the effect of light? his eyes seemed protruding from their sockets. But there were no signs of the end yet.

It was past midnight when he of the silver tongue arose for the defence, and people roused themselves to listen, for they were accustomed to expect from him rapid electrical transitions from pa.s.sion to pa.s.sion, from the deepest emotions which agitate the soul to the liveliest combinations of sportive imagery; whimsical metaphors, such as at one moment seemed culled from the dunghill, at the next to be s.n.a.t.c.hed from heaven. He implored the jury to consider the reputation of the witnesses who had striven to wreck these men. He entreated them to consider what objects save the highest and most pure could have induced a n.o.ble to desert his ease and risk his neck for Erin.

'Do you dare,' he cried, in crystal accents which rang with startling clearness along the cobwebbed rafters, 'in a case of life and death, of honour and of infamy, to credit a vile informer--the perjurer of a hundred oaths--a beast whom pride, or honour, or religion cannot bind?

He dresses like a gentleman--the tones of his soft voice savour of growing authority. He measures his value by the coffins of his victims, and, in the field of evidence, appreciates his fame as an Indian savage does in fight by the number of scalps with which he can swell his triumphs!'

The advocate laid stress upon the awful responsibilities of a jury; striving to wring their consciences, though he knew that each man among them had received his wage. He knew that nothing he could say would make them waver. Yet now he had a new courage and a new hope that distilled jewels from his lips, which almost caused the degraded jurymen to blench. From time to time as his eloquent periods rolled out in majestic waves, he turned an anxious eye upon the farrier whom Jug sat watching with the gaze of a lynx, How she had botched the job!

How long the soul wrestled ere it could burst its bonds!

Then, to the amazement of Toler, he lost his temper with the jury, and told them unpleasant truths, rating them soundly for their sins. His opponent thought he must be mad to rage where it was so evidently his interest to conciliate. But Madam Gillin listened and nodded approval; for she knew that it was only a matter of gaining time, and that as there was to be no verdict there was no use in blarneying the jurors.

With what eloquence he talked! His words seemed to flicker in sunlight--a kaleidoscope of gems, some rough, some polished, strung loosely on a cord.

'Life can present no situation,' the orator said, 'wherein the human power of man can be so divinely exerted as yours should be now; and if any labours can peculiarly attract the approving eye of Heaven, it is when G.o.d looks down on a human being a.s.sailed by human turpitude; struggling with practices against which the Deity placed His special canon, when He said, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour; thou shalt not kill!" We embrace the principles of the British const.i.tution; and when I look on you, the proudest benefit of that const.i.tution, I am relieved from the fears of advocacy, since I place my clients under the influence of its sacred shade. This is not the idle sycophancy of words. It is not crying, "Lord! Lord!" but doing "the will of my Father who is in heaven!" If my clients had been arraigned before a jury of Cornhill shopkeepers, they would ere now be in their lodgings. The law of England suffers no man to be openly butchered in a court of justice. The law of England recognises the innate blackness of the human heart--the possibility of villains thirsting for the blood of their fellow-creatures; and the people of Ireland have but too good cause to be acquainted with that thirst. At the awful foot of Eternal Justice I call on you to acquit these men.

Their characters have been given. Nothing could be more pure. In the name of Justice I implore you to interpose, while there is time, between the wanton perjurer and his ensanguined feast; that in the next life your reward may be more lasting than the perishable crown which the ancients gave to those who saved a fellow-citizen in battle.

Your own turns may come, for the informer has bowels for himself alone! If it should be the fate of any of you to count the moments of captivity, in sorrow and in pain, pining in a dungeon's damps, may you find refuge in the recollection of the example you this day set to those who may be called to pa.s.s judgment on your lives! Recollect too that there is another, more awful tribunal than any upon earth, which we must all some day approach, before which the best of us will have occasion to look back to what little good he has done this side the grave. I do pray that Eternal Justice may record the deed you are about to do, and give to you the full benefit of your claims to an undying reward, a requital in mercy upon your souls!'

The growing fog, the deep silence, the midnight hour, the flickering candles, enhanced the effect of Mr. Curran's words, which were spoken with a rapt solemnity that sent a thrill of awe through his impressionable audience. The vision of a wrathful angel with a fiery sword rose before their excited imagination--of an avenging G.o.d who knew that they, the jury, were bought. Women rocked themselves and wrung their hands, and stuffed ends of shawls into their mouths to check their wailing. The jurymen hovered 'twixt greed and fear. The advocate paused for an instant, to wipe his brow, and to allow his sentences to sink into their minds.

There was a hum of m.u.f.fled talk, of groans and lamentation, before which the moaning in the court was hushed. It came from the dock. Phil was awake and sensible; had risen on his tottering feet, was swaying from side to side as he clung to his young master. Terence saw now that he had wronged his henchman, who was not drunk, but ill. His features were livid, his lips blue, so was his swollen tongue; his teeth rattled as in ague; his eyes saw nothing, though they stared painfully; a steam ascended from his hair.

'Master Terence!' Phil gasped, with thick effort, 'I could not help your being taken--though it was--it was my fault. They pushed the heap--of rope--off of my head. They shall get ne'er a word out of me--ne'er a one--though they flay me to the bone. Master Terence--master--will ye forgive----'

Phil staggered and slid from the grasp of his fellow prisoner to the floor, and lay there on his face.

'One of your victims appears to be insensible,' Mr. Curran remarked shortly.

"Deed it seems so,' acquiesced Lord Carleton, peering through his gla.s.ses. 'A very indecent exhibition. Does there chance to be e'er a doctor in the coort?'

One of the jurymen was an apothecary. He left the box and turned the prostrate figure over.

'Can ye speak with a.s.surance of the man's state?' demanded the judge.

'He is near his end, my lord,' answered the juryman.

'Is he now--are ye sure?' What with the heat, and what with the untoward incident, my Lord Carleton was puzzled. No help could he get from Lord Kilwarden, who leaned with his elbow on the desk and his eyes shaded by his hand.

'Open the windy!' puffed the judge. 'For the Lord's sake let's have a little air; maybe he's only sick. Can ye rouse him to hear his judgment?'

The apothecary laid a palm upon his patient's heart.

'I cannot, my lord,' he replied. 'The man is dead!'

Already powerfully impressed by the surroundings and the lawyer's warning, the people could endure no more. A panic seized them. They rushed to the doors as though stifled by some fell miasma, and battled to get out. The women screamed that they were being trodden under foot; the men rained frantic blows upon the doors, tearing clothes and fingers as they dragged them down. It was a scene of unreasoning frenzy, such as none who were involved in it might ever forget. The angel with the fiery sword was there; though invisible, his presence could be felt. Lord Carleton ordered the remaining prisoner's removal.

Doreen's robe gleamed white in the first tinge of morning as, standing by his side, she wound her arms about his neck. By-and-by Curran gently disentangled them, and led her to her father, whilst dragoons formed round the patriot, and cleared a pa.s.sage for him through the mob.

'More men to secure him in Kilmainham--there'll be a rescue!' bawled Ca.s.sidy, who was driven to overmastering wrath by the posture of Miss Wolfe, under his very nose.

'Fear nothing,' Terence replied; 'I will go quietly.'

Lord Kilwarden and Curran bore the maiden to a coach, and carried her back to Strogue. Both were so filled with thankfulness for this reprieve that they shook hands again and again, while Miss Wolfe lay speechless in the carriage-corner. Her nerves had been strung to extreme tension for the worst. Sudden joy is more hard to bear than sorrow. The finely tempered steel which had withstood so many a.s.saults, gave way under the last shock. She remained long oblivious of the world's affairs, tenderly nursed by Sara, who wondered, as day followed day, whether her reason would ever return from the far-off groves in which it wandered.

CHAPTER VI.

APReS LA MORT, LE MeDECIN.

The chancellor was glad and sorry. Glad in that the son of his old friend should be reprieved, whereby (as he supposed) her great trouble would be lightened; sorry that so singular a scandal should have attended this trial--a scandal which would not make the completion of his task the easier. But the ball was so near its goal--it had gathered such velocity in transit--that it would take a very grave obstacle at this stage seriously to impede its course. So the chancellor gave up being sorry, and was altogether glad that the trial had ended as it did. He reflected, however, that something would have to be done to entice the public mind away from gyves and bolts, and prepare it for the beginning of millennium. The _Gentleman's Magazine_ of that particular date happened to contain an account of a sojourn of the royal family at Weymouth, with minute details of how the Princess Amelia did tambour-work, while his Majesty, with his own august hands, was deigning to fry sprats for supper. Lord Clare saw his way to a delicate bit of flattery. He had the arcadian tale printed off and posted on the walls of Dublin, that loyal minds might be edified and touched by the simple manners of their sovereign; but (as was become usual) the chancellor was thwarted by the Viceroy, who said the whole thing was fudge, and ordered the placards to be pulled down. The Privy Council censured Lord Kilwarden for his pusillanimous behaviour at the trial, alleging that it was a pity to see a man high in office who showed so little resource in an emergency; but at the same time they decided _nem. con_. that there must be no more state-trials. The story of Phil's dramatic end would certainly be reported in London, with additions, and my Lord Moira would be sure to make the most of it. Mr.

Pitt would certainly be angry at the _contretemps_. From first to last it was a miserable business which could not, unfortunately, be hushed up. In spite of the Gr--t P--rs--n--ge searching questions would be asked. Mr. Pitt must somehow be placed in a position to state that suffering Erin had gone through her operation and was comfortably bedridden for the remainder of her days. To this end the members of the Irish senate must be brought back from the state of siege in ancestral castles, which they were pleased to call 'villegiatura,'

without delay; by threats, and bribes, and promises they must be induced to haggle no more over their mess of pottage. Ireland must seem to retire from the world with a good grace, and be tucked snugly up between the sheets for evermore. Lord Clare was satisfied that the decisive moment had arrived, for the country was quiet enough now for the question of union to be freely ventilated. It was delightfully quiet--with the silence of the tomb. The lords, he was convinced, were ready for anything, provided they were well paid. When they were a.s.sured that patriotism and interest were directly antagonistic, the former was certain to come off second best. Lord Clare informed the Viceroy that the proposition might be put at once and carried, if only His Excellency would be a little civil to the senate.

But His Excellency hated tortuous groping; he abhorred the Irish peers; begged that he might not be asked even to sniff the noisome broth. When he came over he attached to his person a young Irishman of parts, who was not squeamish. The chancellor had also shown that he was not squeamish. These two Irishmen--my Lords Clare and Castlereagh--must do all the broth-stirring; the sooner the brew was ready, the sooner they would receive their wages--the sooner would he, the Viceroy, be enabled to leave the wretched country and go home.

Once the union carried, every one would be delighted--except the Irish; and even they, in due time, would come to be glad also. Lord Clare's eye kindled with satisfaction. He beheld the possibility, if this captious Viceroy would only depart, of himself returning to his former position. He saw himself again the awful statesman, before whom courtiers should salaam, as they used to do; he saw his ambitious vision (obscured for an instant) realised at last. There were only a few more yards of mud to wallow through before reaching _terra firma_, and then he would take a bath and, by dint of scrubbing, appear no more dirty than his fellows. So he made up his mind, as Lord Cornwallis declined to help, to manage the caldron in conjunction with Lord Castlereagh, and the pair were quite engrossed by the phases of their h.e.l.lish cookery.

There was one matter that was hemmed round with grievous difficulties, which had not yet been settled, and which troubled every member of the Privy Council not a little. What was to be done with those leaders of the United Irishmen who were still awaiting trial at Kilmainham? What was to be done with Tom Emmett, Russell, Neilson--what with the arch-traitor Terence Crosbie? It was evident that a repet.i.tion of the fiasco of the other day must on no account be risked; they must not be tried. Neither must they remain at Kilmainham, for it was probable that they had relations with the outer world, that they were plotting still, and might possibly give more trouble by-and-by by organising a new Directory. There was no object now in allowing them to plot. On the contrary, once the union carried, it was essential that Ireland should be at peace. Lord Clare knew perfectly well, while he prated about peace, that he had wilfully hailed the silence of a cowed nation as a restoration of contented tranquillity. He knew very well that if the English army and the soldier Viceroy were removed, and the leaders permitted to scheme on, the country would be in as much danger as ever; that, union or no union, millennium could not supervene until time should blot away the nefarious means employed. What could be done with these dangerous conspirators? They could not be tried and executed; they could not be released, or kept in Ireland, or shipped to America. As white elephants, they daily became more c.u.mbersome; it was a pity that gaol-fever would not take them off. But they were provokingly well, in spite of privation and suffering. Their wings must be cut somehow. Couriers posted to and fro between London and Holyhead, bearing despatches on this difficult point. While Lords Clare and Castlereagh were making final preparations for the union, Lord Cornwallis was striving to devise a plan which should not be too glaring an example of broken faith. He implored. He begged. He threatened. Good King George was as tractable as usual. The odious villains were either Papists, or Protestant defenders of Papists, which was worse. The apostasy of these Protestants was more grievous than the sin of Popery itself. They should receive no mercy. No compact with such rascals could be binding. He would not have them banished across seas, where they might achieve some measure of happiness. They must be kept in duress as scarecrows--an awful warning to other ruffians. There was no moving him. At last ministers gave way, and it being decided that the white elephants should be shipped to Scotland, commissioners were appointed to select a suitably unpleasant spot where they might languish without danger to the community.

There is a fortress on the extremity of a tongue of land which juts into the Moray Firth, the country round about which is dest.i.tute of houses or of trees--a dreary, forsaken desert devoid of vegetation.

The very place! The obdurate ruffians should be transported to Fort George, as soon as it could be made strong enough to keep them safe.

Meanwhile the Viceroy was guilty of an act of politic clemency which would have put the King in a bad temper if he had known of it. He determined that, as several months must elapse before the fortress would be ready, it would be well to permit the arch-villain Terence to go home--on parole--provided he would give his word to plot no more.

The circ.u.mstances of his reprieve were producing a profound impression in society. The romantic devotion of the servant--the imminent danger of the master--were so dramatic, that high-born dames regretted their absence from the moving spectacle. They professed to be vastly interested in a young man who could call forth such a proof of affection from another, and vowed that it was a shame he should be sacrificed. Sure, Moiley ought to be content with a nice hecatomb selected from the lower cla.s.ses. Lord Cornwallis perceived that here was a good opportunity of paying the n.o.bles a compliment. They were so important a factor in the matter of the union, that it was well to conciliate them as a body; and what better way was there of doing so than by treating one of their order with indulgence? He therefore intimated to Lord Clare that he was inclined to do what he might to please him--that he saw the mistake he had made in allowing Lord Glandore's brother to be tried--that he, Lord Clare, might, if he wished it, inform the dowager countess of a special favour that was in store for one of her known loyalty--namely, that she might expect to have the custody of her erring child until the time of his vanishing from Ireland.

Lord Clare was charmed, and hurried to Strogue with the good news. My lady was a riddle, whose behaviour was always different from what might be expected. He knew that Terence's danger had placed her on a gridiron where she was consuming slowly, and naturally concluded that her joy at his reprieve would culminate when she was told that she might keep him near her for a while. This extraordinary young man, for whom a servant would sacrifice his life, must needs be tenderly beloved by the mother to whom he owed his birth. If she was in raptures she had a queer method of displaying her feelings. Her cheek turned a shade more pale than usual. Bowing her head as under a new blow, she murmured, 'It is well.'

Though he knew and esteemed the countess, Lord Clare's acquaintance with my lady was not so intimate as ours. He had not seen her at Glas-aitch-e, when every chair and table was babbling of what had happened there. He did not look on her when with a spasm of self-reproach she discovered that the undoing of her second son would not be so heartrending as it ought to be. He did not know that in face of Terence's doom she was torn by two distinctly opposite emotions; that while his fate crushed her as a judgment for past sin, it also brought a sense of relief. He was not aware that with his death a burthen of long-endured apprehension would have been lightened, whereby her tortured soul might attain a semblance of rest at last.