of the game. Many more had private wrongs--old debts ofinjury to wipe out--and grasped at the occasion to acquit them; but evenwhen no direct motives existed, the terror of evil consequences inducedgreat numbers to ally themselves with this terrible conspiracy, and whennot active partisans, at least to be faithful and secret confidants.
Among the many dispossessed by the agent was Owen Connor. Scarcely hadhe left the neighbourhood, than an ejectment was served against him; andthe bailiff, by whose representations Owen was made to appear a man ofdangerous character, installed in his mountain-farm. This fellow wasone of those bold, devil-may-care ruffians, who survive in every contestlonger than men of more circumspect courage; and Lucas was not sorryto find that he could establish such an outpost in this wild and drearyregion. Well armed, and provided with a sufficiency of ammunition, hepromised to maintain his strong-hold against any force--a boast not sounreasonable, as there was only one approach to the cabin, and that,a narrow path on the very verge of a precipice. Owen's unexpectedappearance was in his eyes, therefore, a signal for battle; he supposedthat he was come back to assert his ancient right, and in this spiritit was, he menaced him with instant death if he advanced another step.Indeed, he had been more than once threatened that Owen's return wouldbe a "dark day" for him, and prepared himself for a meeting with him,as an occasion which might prove fatal to either. These threats, notsparingly bandied by those who felt little inclination to do battle ontheir own account, had become so frequent, that many looked for Owen'sreappearance as for an event of some moment.
Old Larry often heard these reports, and well knowing Owen's ardentdisposition and passionate temper, and how easily he became the tool ofothers, when any deed of more than ordinary hazard was presented to him,grieved deeply over the consequences such promptings might lead to; andthus it was, that he received him with that outburst of sorrow for whichOwen was little prepared.
If Owen was shocked as he listened first to the tale of anarchyand bloodshed the old man revealed, a savage pleasure came over himafterwards, to think, what terror these midnight maraudings were makingin the hearts of those who lived in great houses, and had wealth andinfluence. His own wrongs rankled too deeply in his breast to make himan impartial hearer; and already, many of his sympathies were with theinsurgents.
It was almost day-break ere he could close his eyes; for althoughtired and worn out, the exciting themes he was revolving banished everythought of sleep, and made him restless and fretful. His last words toLarry, as he lay down to rest, were a desire that he might remain fora day or two concealed in his cabin, and that none of the neighboursshould learn anything of his arrival. The truth was, he had not courageto face his former friends, nor could he bear to meet the Joyces: whatstep he purposed to take in the mean while, and how to fashion hisfuture course, it is hard to say: for the present, he only asked time.
The whole of the following day he remained within the little hut; andwhen night came, at last ventured forth to breathe the fresh air andmove his cramped limbs. His first object, then, was to go over toJoyce's house, with no intention of visiting its inmates--far from it.The poor fellow had conceived a shrinking horror of the avowal he shouldbe compelled to make of his own failure, and did not dare to exposehimself to such a test.
The night was dark and starless: that heavy, clouded darkness whichfollows a day of rain in our western climate, and makes the atmosphereseem loaded and weighty. To one less accustomed than was Owen, thepathway would have been difficult to discover; but he knew it well inevery turning and winding, every dip of the ground, and every rock andstreamlet in the course. There was the stillness of death on every side;and although Owen stopped more than once to listen, not the slightestsound could be heard. The gloom and dreariness suited well the "habit ofhis soul." His own thoughts were not of the brightest, and his step wasslow and his head downcast as he went.
At last the glimmering of light, hazy and indistinct from the foggyatmosphere, came into view, and a few minutes after, he entered thelittle enclosure of the small garden which flanked one side of thecabin. The quick bark of a dog gave token of his approach, and Owenfound some difficulty in making himself recognised by the animal,although an old acquaintance. This done, he crept stealthily to thewindow from which the gleam of light issued. The shutters were closed,hut between their joinings he obtained a view of all within.
At one side of the fire was Mary--his own Mary, when last he parted withher. She was seated at a spinning-wheel, but seemed less occupied withthe work, than hent on listening to some noise without. Phil also stoodin the attitude of one inclining his ear to catch a sound, and held amusket in his hand like one ready to resist attack. A farm-servant, alad of some eighteen, stood at his side, armed with a horse-pistol, hisfeatures betraying no very equivocal expression of fear and anxiety.Little Patsy nestled at Mary's side, and with his tiny hands had graspedher arm closely.
They stood there, as if spell-bound. It was evident they were afraid, bythe slightest stir, to lose the chance of hearing any noise without; andwhen Mary at last lifted up her head, as if to speak, a quick motionof her brother's hand warned her to be silent. What a history did thatgroup reveal to Owen, as, with a heart throbbing fiercely, he gazed uponit! But a few short months back, and the inmates of that happy homeknew not if at night the door was even latched; the thought of attack ordanger never crossed their minds. The lordly dwellers in a castle feltless security in their slumbers than did these peasants; now, each nightbrought a renewal of their terrors. It came no longer the season ofmutual greeting around the wintry hearth, the hour of rest and repose;but a time of anxiety and dread, a gloomy period of doubt, harassed byevery breeze that stirred, and every branch that moved.
"'Tis nothing _this time_," said Phil, at last. "Thank God for thatsame!" and he replaced his gun above the chimney, while Mary blessedherself devoutly, and seemed to repeat a prayer to herself. Owen gaveone parting look, and retired as noiselessly as he came.
To creep forth with the dark hours, and stand at this window, becamewith Owen, now, the whole business of life. The weary hours of the daywere passed in the expectancy of that brief season--the only respitehe enjoyed from the corroding cares of his own hard fortune. The dog,recognising him, no longer barked as he approached; and he could standunmolested and look at that hearth, beside which he was wont once to sitand feel at home.
Thus was it, as the third week was drawing to a close, when old Larry,who had ventured down to the village to make some little purchase,brought back the news, that information had been sworn by the bailiffagainst Owen Connor, for threatening him with death, on pain of his notabandoning his farm. The people would none of them give any credit tothe oath, as none knew of Owen's return; and the allegation was onlyregarded as another instance of the perjury resorted to by theiropponents, to crush and oppress them.
"They'll have the police out to-morrow, I hear, to search after ye; andsure the way ye've kept hid will be a bad job, if they find ye afterall."
"_If_ they do, Larry!" said Owen, laughing; "but I think it will puzzlethem to do so." And the very spirit of defiance prevented Owen at oncesurrendering himself to the charge against him. He knew every cave andhiding-place of the mountain, from childhood upwards, and felt proud tothink how he could baffle all pursuit, no matter how persevering hisenemies. It was essential, however, that he should leave his presenthiding-place at once; and no sooner was it dark, than Owen took leaveof old Larry and issued forth. The rain was falling in torrents,accompanied hy a perfect hurricane, as he left the cabin; fierce gustyblasts swept down the bleak mountain-side, and with wild and melancholycadence poured along the valley; the waters of the lake plashed and beatupon the rocky shore; the rushing torrents, as they forced their waydown the mountain, swelled the uproar, in which the sound of crashingbranches and even rocks were mingled.
"'Tis a dreary time to take to the cowld mountain for a home," saidOwen, as he drew his thick frieze coat around him, and turned hisshoulder to the storm. "I hardly think the police, or th
e king's throopseither, will try a chase after me this night."
There was more of gratified pride in this muttered reflection than atfirst sight might appear; for Owen felt a kind of heroism in his owndaring at that moment, that supported and actually encouraged him inhis course. The old spirit of bold defiance, which for ages hascharacterised the people; the resolute resistance to authority, orto tyranny, which centuries have not erased, was strong in his hardynature; and he asked for nothing better, than to pit his own skill,ingenuity, and endurance against his opponents, for the mere pleasure ofthe encounter.
As there was little question on Owen's mind that no pursuit of him wouldtake place on such a night, he resolved to pass the time till day-breakwithin the walls of the old churchyard, the only spot he could thinkof which promised any shelter. There was a little cell or crypt