CHAPTER XLIV.
CONCLUSION.
And now my story is told; and were it not for the fashion of thething, this last short chapter might be spared. It shall at any ratebe very short.
Were it not that I eschew the fashion of double names for a book,thinking that no amount of ingenuity in this respect will make a badbook pass muster, whereas a good book will turn out as such though nosuch ingenuity be displayed, I might have called this "A Tale of theFamine Year in Ireland." At the period of the year to which the storyhas brought us--and at which it will leave us--the famine was at itsvery worst. People were beginning to believe that there would neverbe a bit more to eat in the land, and that the time for hope andenergy was gone. Land was becoming of no value, and the only thingregarded was a sufficiency of food to keep body and soul together.Under such circumstances it was difficult to hope.
But energy without hope is impossible, and therefore was there suchan apathy and deadness through the country. It was not that they didnot work who were most concerned to work. The amount of conscientiouswork then done was most praiseworthy. But it was done almost withouthope of success, and done chiefly as a matter of conscience. Therewas a feeling, which was not often expressed but which seemed toprevail everywhere, that ginger would not again be hot in the mouth,and that in very truth the time for cakes and ale in this world wasall over. It was this feeling that made a residence in Ireland atthat period so very sad.
Ah me! how little do we know what is coming to us! Irish cakes andale were done and over for this world, we all thought. But in truththe Irish cakes were only then a-baking, and the Irish ale was beingbrewed. I am not sure that these good things are yet quite fit forthe palates of the guest;--not as fit as a little more time will makethem. The cake is still too new,--cakes often are; and the ale isnot sufficiently mellowed. But of this I am sure, that the cakes andale are there;--and the ginger, too, very hot in the mouth. Let acommittee of Irish landlords say how the rents are paid now, and whatamount of arrears was due through the country when the famine cameamong them. Rents paid to the day: that is the ginger hot in themouth which best pleases the palate of a country gentleman.
But if one did in truth write a tale of the famine, after that itwould behove the author to write a tale of the pestilence; andthen another, a tale of the exodus. These three wonderful events,following each other, were the blessings coming from Omniscience andOmnipotence by which the black clouds were driven from the Irishfirmament. If one, through it all, could have dared to hope, and havehad from the first that wisdom which has learned to acknowledge thatHis mercy endureth for ever! And then the same author going on withhis series would give in his last set,--Ireland in her prosperity.
Of all those who did true good conscientious work at this time, noneexceeded in energy our friend Herbert Fitzgerald after his return toCastle Richmond. It seemed to him as though some thank-offering weredue from him for all the good things that Providence had showeredupon him, and the best thank-offering that he could give was adevoted attention to the interest of the poor around him. Mr. Somerssoon resigned to him the chair at those committee meetings atBerryhill and Gortnaclough, and it was acknowledged that the CastleRichmond arrangements for soup-kitchens, out-door relief, andlabour-gangs, might be taken as a model for the south of Ireland. Fewother men were able to go to the work with means so ample and withhands so perfectly free. Mr. Carter even, who by this time had becomecemented in a warm trilateral friendship with Father Barney and theRev. Aeneas Townsend, was obliged to own that many a young Englishcountry gentleman might take a lesson from Sir Herbert Fitzgerald inthe duties peculiar to his position.
His marriage did not take place till full six months after the periodto which our story has brought us. Baronets with twelve thousand ayear cannot be married off the hooks, as may be done with ordinarymortals. Settlements of a grandiose nature were required, and wereduly concocted. Perhaps Mr. Die had something to say to them, sothat the great maxim of the law was brought into play. Perhaps also,though of this Herbert heard no word, it was thought inexpedient tohurry matters while any further inquiry was possible in that affairof the Mollett connection. Mr. Die and Mr. Prendergast were certainlygoing about, still drawing all coverts far and near, lest theirfox might not have been fairly run to his last earth. But, as Ihave said, no tidings as to this reached Castle Richmond. There, inIreland, no man troubled himself further with any doubt upon thesubject; and Sir Herbert took his title and received his rents, bythe hands of Mr. Somers, exactly as though the Molletts, father andson, had never appeared in those parts.
It was six months before the marriage was celebrated, but during aconsiderable part of that time Clara remained a visitor at CastleRichmond. To Lady Fitzgerald she was now the same as a daughter, andto Aunt Letty the same as a niece. By the girls she had for monthsbeen regarded as a sister. So she remained in the house of which shewas to be the mistress, learning to know their ways, and ingratiatingherself with those who were to be dependent on her.
"But I had rather stay with you, mamma, if you will allow me," Clarahad said to her mother when the countess was making some arrangementwith her that she should return to Castle Richmond. "I shall beleaving you altogether so soon now!" And she got up close to hermother's side caressingly, and would fain have pressed into her armsand kissed her, and have talked to her of what was coming, as adaughter loves to talk to a loving mother. But Lady Desmond's heartwas sore and sad and harsh, and she preferred to be alone.
"You will be better at Castle Richmond, my dear: you will be muchhappier there, of course. There can be no reason why you should comeagain into the gloom of this prison."
"But I should be with you, dearest mamma."
"It is better that you should be with the Fitzgeralds now; and asfor me--I must learn to live alone. Indeed I have learned it, so youneed not mind for me." Clara was rebuffed by the tone rather than thewords, but she still looked up into her mother's face wistfully. "Go,my dear," said the countess--"I would sooner be alone at present."And so Clara went. It was hard upon her that even now her motherwould not accept her love.
But Lady Desmond could not be cordial with her daughter. She mademore than one struggle to do so, but always failed. She could,--shethought that she could, have watched her child's happiness withcontentment had Clara married Owen Fitzgerald--Sir Owen, as he wouldthen have been. But now she could only remember that Owen was lost tothem both, lost through her child's fault. She did not hate Clara:nay, she would have made any sacrifice for her daughter's welfare;but she could not take her lovingly to her bosom. So she shut herselfup alone, in her prison as she called it, and then looked back uponthe errors of her life. It was as well for her to look back as tolook forward, for what joy was there for which she could dare tohope?
In the days that were coming, however, she did relax something ofher sternness. Clara was of course married from Desmond Court, andthe very necessity of making some preparations for this festivitywas in itself salutary. But indeed it could hardly be calleda festivity,--it was so quiet and sombre. Clara had but twobridesmaids, and they were Mary and Emmeline Fitzgerald. Theyoung earl gave away his sister, and Aunt Letty was there, and Mr.Prendergast, who had come over about the settlements; Mr. Somersalso attended, and the ceremony was performed by our old friend Mr.Townsend. Beyond these there were no guests at the wedding of SirHerbert Fitzgerald.
The young earl was there, and at the last the wedding had beenpostponed a week for his coming. He had left Eton at Midsummer inorder that he might travel for a couple of years with Owen Fitzgeraldbefore he went to Oxford. It had been the lad's own request, and hadbeen for a while refused by Owen. But Fitzgerald had at last givenway to the earl's love, and they had started together for Norway.
"They want me to be home," he had said one morning to his friend.
"Ah, yes; I suppose so."
"Do you know why?" They had never spoken a word about Clara sincethey had left England together, and the earl now dreaded to mentionher name.
"Know why!" replied Owen; "of course I do. It is to give away yoursister. Go home, Desmond, my boy; when you have returned we will talkabout her. I shall bear it better when I know that she is his wife."
And so it was with them. For two years Lord Desmond travelled withhim, and after that Owen Fitzgerald went on upon his wanderingsalone. Many a long year has run by since that, and yet he has nevercome back to Hap House. Men of the county Cork now talk of him as onewhom they knew long since. He who took his house as a stranger isa stranger no longer in the country, and the place that Owen leftvacant has been filled. The hounds of Duhallow would not recognizehis voice, nor would the steed in the stable follow gently at hisheels. But there is yet one left who thinks of him, hoping that shemay yet see him before she dies.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends