Loony shook his head as he went forward to bend the additional sail.

"You see she won't bear it, miss," cried he, as the boat plunged fearfully into the trough of the sea.

"Let us try," said she, calmly. "Stand by, ready to slack off, if I give the word." And so saying, she took the tiller from the sailor, and seated herself on the weather-gunwale. "There, see how she does it now!

Ah, Loony, confess, I am the true pilot. I knew my nerve would come back when I took my old post here. I was always a coward in a carriage, if I was n't on the box and the reins in my hands; and the same at sea.

Sit up to windward, men, and don't move; never mind baling, only keep quiet."

"Miss Mary was right," muttered one of the men; "the head-sail is drawing her high out of the water!"

"Is that dark ma.s.s before us cloud, or the land?" cried she.

"It's the mountains, miss. There to the left, where you see the dip in the ridge, that's Kilkieran. I think I see the lights on sh.o.r.e now."

"I see them now myself," cried Mary. "Oh, how the sight of land gives love of life! They called earth truly who named her mother!" said she to herself. "What was that which swept past us, Loony?"

"A boat, miss; and they're hailing us now," cried he, peeping over the gunwale. "They've put her about, and are following our course. They came out after us."

"It was gallantly done, on such a night as this! I was just thinking to myself that poor old Mat Landy would have been out, were he living. You must take the tiller now, Loony, for I don't understand the lights on sh.o.r.e."

"Because they're shifting every minute, miss. It's torches they have, and they 're moving from place to place; but we 'll soon be safe now."

"Let us not forget this night, men," said Mary, in a fervent voice. And then, burying her face within her hands, she spoke no more.

It was already daybreak when they gained the little harbor, well-nigh exhausted, and worn out with fatigue and anxiety. As for Mary, wet through and cold, she could not rise from her seat without a.s.sistance, and almost fainted as she put her foot on sh.o.r.e. She turned one glance seaward to where the other boat was seen following them, and then, holding Joan's hand, she slowly toiled up the rocky ascent to the village. To the crowd of every age that surrounded her she could only give a faint, sickly smile of recognition, and they, in deep reverence, stood without speaking, gazing on her wan features and the dripping garments which clung to her.

"No, not to the inn, Loony," said she, to a question from him. "The first cabin we meet will shelter us, and then--home!" There was something of intense sorrow in the thought that pa.s.sed then through her mind, for her eyes suddenly filled up, and heavy tears rolled along her cheeks. "Have they got in yet?" said she, looking towards the sea.

"Yes, miss; they're close alongside now. It's the revenue boat that went after us."

"Wirra, wirra! but that's bad news for her now," muttered a boatman, in conversation with an old woman at his side.

"What's the bad news, Patsey?" said Mary, overhearing him.

But the man did not dare to answer; and though he looked around on every side, none would speak for him.

"You used to be more frank with me," said Mary, calmly. "Tell me what has happened."

Still not a word was uttered, a mournful silence brooded over the crowd, and each seemed to shun the task of breaking it.

"You will make me fear worse than the reality, perhaps," said she, tremulously. "Is the calamity near home? No. Is it then my uncle?" A low faint cry burst from her, and she dropped down on her knees; but scarcely had she joined her hands to pray, than she fell back, fainting, to the ground.

They carried her, still insensible as she was, into a fisherman's cabin, till they went in search of a conveyance to take her to the cottage.

CHAPTER x.x.xII. LETTER FROM Ma.s.sINGBRED.

"Martin Arms, Oughterard.

"In spite of all your reasonings, all your cautions, and all your warnings, here I am once more, Harry, denizen of the little dreary parlor whence I first looked out at Dan Nelligan's shop something more than a year since. What changes of fortune has that brief s.p.a.ce accomplished I what changes has it effected even in my own nature! I feel this in nothing more than in my altered relations with others. If the first evidence of amendment in a man be shame and sorrow for the past, I may probably be on the right road now, since I heartily grieve over the worthless, purposeless life I have led hitherto.

"I am well aware that you would not accept the reason I gave you for coming here. You said that, as to taking leave of my const.i.tuents, a letter was the ordinary and the sufficient course. You also hinted that our intercourse had not been of that close and friendly nature which requires a personal farewell, and then you suggested that other and less defensible motives had probably their share in this step. Well, you are right, perfectly right; I wanted to see the spot which has so far exerted an immense influence over me; I wanted--if you will have the confession--to see _her_ too,--to see her in the humble station she belongs to, in the lowly garb of the steward's daughter. I was curious to ascertain what change her bearing would undergo in the change of position; would she conform to the lowlier condition at once and without struggle, or would her haughty nature chafe and fret against the obstacles of a small and mean existence? If you were right in guessing this, you are equally wrong in the motive you ascribe to me. Not, indeed, that you palpably express, but only hint at it; still I cannot endure even the shadow of such a surmise without a flat and full denial.

Perhaps, after all, I have mistaken your meaning,--would it were so! I do indeed wish that you should not ascribe to me motives so unworthy and so mean. A revenge for her refusal of me! a reprisal for the proud rejection of my hand and fortune! No, my dear Harry, I feel, as I write the words, that they never were yours. You say, however, that I am curious to know if I should think her as lovable and attractive in the humble dress and humble station that pertain to her, as when I saw her moving more than equal amongst the proudest and haughtiest of Europe.

To have any doubt on this score would be to distrust her sincerity of character. She must be what I have ever seen her, or she is an actress.

Difference of condition, different a.s.sociates, different duties will exact different discipline, but she herself must be the same, or she is a falsehood,--a deception.

"And then you add, it is perhaps as well that I should 'submit to the rude test of a disenchantment.' Well, I accept the challenge, and I am here.

"These thoughts of self would obtrude in the very beginning of a letter I had destined for other objects. You ask me for a narrative of my journey and its accidents, and you shall have it. On my way over here in the packet, I made acquaintance with an elderly man, who seemed thoroughly acquainted with all the circ.u.mstances of the Martins and their misfortunes. From him I ascertained that all Scanlan had told me was perfectly correct. The reversion of the estate has been sold for a sum incredibly small in proportion to its value, and in great part the proceeds of gambling transactions. Martin is, therefore, utterly, irretrievably ruined. Merl has taken every step with all the security of the best advice, and in a few months, weeks perhaps, will be declared owner of Cro' Martin. Even in the 'fast times' we live in, such rapid ruin as this stands alone! You tell me that of your own college and mess a.s.sociates not more than one in five or six have survived the wreck of fortune the first few years of extravagance accomplish, and that Manheim, Brussels, and Munich can show the white-seamed, mock-smartened-up gentilities which once were the glories of Bond Street and the Park; but for poor Martin, I suspect, even these last sanctuaries do not remain,--as I hear it, he is totally gone.

"From the very inn where I am staying Merls agents are issuing notices of all kinds to the tenants and 'others' to desist and refrain from cutting timber, quarrying marbles, and what not, on certain unspeakable localities, with threats in case of non-compliance. Great placards cover the walls of the town, headed 'Caution to all Tenants on the Estate of Cro' Martin.' The excitement in the neighborhood is intense, overwhelming. Whatever differences of political opinion existed between the Martins and the people of the borough, whatever jealousies grew out of disparity of station, seemed suddenly merged in sympathy for this great misfortune. They are, of course, ignorant of the cause of this sudden calamity, and ask each other how, when, and where such a fortune because engulfed.

"But to proceed regularly. On my reaching Dublin, after a hurried visit to my father, I drove off to Mr. Repton's house. You may remember his name as that of the old lawyer, some of whose bar stories amused you so highly. I found him in a s.p.a.cious mansion of an old neglected street,--Henrietta Street,--once the great aristocratic quarter of Ancient Dublin, and even to this day showing traces of real splendor.

The old man received me in a room of immense proportions, furnished as it was when Flood was the proprietor. He was at luncheon when I entered; and for company had the very same stranger with whom I made acquaintance in the packet.

"Repton started as we recognized each other, but at a sign or a word, I'm not certain which, from the other, merely said, 'My friend was just speaking of his having met you, Mr. Ma.s.singbred.' This somewhat informal presentation over, I joined them, and we fell a chatting over the story of Cro' Martin.

"They were both eager to hear something about Merl, his character, pursuits, and position; and you would have been amazed to see how surprised they were at my account of a man whose type we are all so familiar with.

"You would scarcely credit the unfeigned astonishment manifested by these two shrewd and crafty men at the sketch I gave them of our Hebrew friend. One thing is quite clear,--it was not the habit, some forty or fifty years ago, to admit the Merls of the world to terms of intimacy, far less of friendship.

"'As I said, Repton,' broke in the stranger, sternly, 'it all comes of that degenerate tone which has crept in of late, making society like a tavern, where he who can pay his bill cannot be denied entrance. Such fellows as this Merl had no footing in our day. The man who a.s.sociated with such would have forfeited his own place in the world.'

"'Very true,' said Repton, 'though we borrowed their money we never bowed to them.'

"'And we did wisely, sir,' retorted the other. 'The corruption of their manners was fifty times worse than all their usury! The gallant Hussar Captain, as we see here, never scrupled about admitting to his closest intimacy a fellow not fit company for his valet. Can't you perceive that when a man will descend to such baseness to obtain money, there is no measuring the depth he will go to when pressed to pay it?'

"'I am intimate with Martin,' said I, interrupting, 'and I can honestly a.s.sure you that it was rather to an easy, careless, uncalculating disposition he owes his misfortunes, than to anything like a spendthrift habit.'

"'Mere hair-splitting this, sir,' replied he, almost rudely. 'He who spends what is not his own, I have but one name for. It matters little in my estimation whether he extorts the supply by a bill or a bullet.'

"I own to you, Harry, I burned to retort to a speech the tone and manner of which were both more offensive than the words; but the stranger's age, his venerable appearance, and something like deep and recent sorrow about him, restrained me, and I caught, by a look from Repton, that he was grateful for my forbearance.

"'Come, sir,' said he, addressing me, 'you say you know Captain Martin; now let me ask you one question: Is there any one trait or feature of his character to which, if his present misfortunes were to pa.s.s away, you could attach a hope of amendment? Has not this life of bill-renewing, these eternal straits for cash--with all the humiliations that accompany them,--made him a mere creature of schemes and plots,--a usurer in spirit, though a pauper in fact?'

"'When I say, sir, that you are addressing this demand to one whom Captain Martin deems his friend, you will see the impropriety you have fallen into.'

"'My young friend is right,' broke in Repton. 'The Court rules against the question; nor would it be evidence even if answered.'

"I was angry at this interference of Repton's. I wanted to reply to this man myself; but still, as I looked at his sorrow-struck features, and saw what I fancied the marks of a proud suffering spirit, I was well satisfied at not having given way to temper; still more so did I feel as he turned towards me, and, with a manner of ineffable gentleness, said, 'I entreat you to pardon me, sir, for an outburst of which I am already ashamed. A rude life and some bitter experiences have made me hard of heart and coa.r.s.e in speech; still, it is only in moments of forgetfulness that I cease to remember what indulgence he owes to others who has such need of forgiveness himself.'

"I grasped his hand at once, and felt that his pressed mine like a friend's.

"'You spoke of going down to the West,' said he, after a brief pause.

'I start for that country to-night; you would do me a great favor should you accompany me.'

"I acceded at once, and he went on. 'Repton was to have been of the party, but business delays him a few days in town.'