CHAPTER NINE.
We must now take a glance at the events which had occurred on the shoresof Kilfinnan Bay since young Dermot O'Neil left his mother's cottage.
The Earl had continued his course of hospitality, or extravagance, as itshould more correctly have been denominated, such as was too much thecustom among most Irish gentlemen of those days, declaring that althoughhis affairs at that time were in a rather embarrassed condition, hecould not afford to commence a system of economy. His table, as usual,was amply spread, and the members of the neighbouring hunt prettyfrequently in the season collected at the castle, which during thesummer months was seldom otherwise than full of guests. Lady Nora, whowas now growing into a beautiful young woman, saw with regret the lavishexpenditure in which her father indulged, knowing very well from whatshe had heard, that it was more than his income could afford; still healways contrived to supply Barry amply with money, and Nora was allowedevery luxury she could wish for. Her tastes, however, were very simple,though in her visits with her father to the gay Irish capital, she wascompelled, much against her will, to mix in its frivolous society, whenat the castle she was content to take her usual rides about the country,often with no other attendant than a young lad on a rough pony to holdher horse, should she wish to alight.
Lady Sophy still continued to be for the greater part of the year herconstant companion. Occasionally, they looked in upon Mr Jamieson, theminister, and his blind niece, Miss O'Reilly. They did not forgeteither the old fishwife, the Widow O'Neil. Whenever they saw her, theydid not fail to inquire about her son; but she shook her head, with amelancholy look.
"He will come back some day, I know he will. He promised me he would;but he does not write to me--he sends me no messages. Perhaps, as heknows I cannot read, he thinks it will be no use writing; but, oh, heloves me dearly; and it is for no want of love he does not write. Hewill come back to me, dear young ladies, some day; and, oh, with whatpride I shall have to bring him to you. He will be a fine, strong ladby that time. Maybe you would not know him. He must be altered greatlysince the day you took his picture, when he was a young fisher-boy."
Mr Jamieson, however, was more surprised than any one else at nothearing from Dermot. He had been fully prepared for Dermot's goingaway, but he did not for one moment suppose, from what he knew of thelad, that he would not have kept up a correspondence with his friends athome. Still, he had received no letter, and had seen none from him toany one else, since the epistle brought by mad Kathleen a few days afterhis departure. Had it not been for this, he would have supposed he hadmet with some foul treatment from the rebels, or that some fearfulaccident had befallen him. Still, whenever Miss O'Reilly spoke to thewidow, the old woman expressed her firm belief that Dermot was living,and would most assuredly come back to her. That thought seemed to keepher alive, and to give her strength of mind and body to go through heraccustomed duties. Sometimes, however, it appeared to the blind lady,when she listened to the old woman, that her mind was not altogetherright, for she spoke of strange things she had seen and done in heryouth, the meaning of which Miss O'Reilly could not comprehend. Shecould not, however, listen to her speaking of Dermot without feelingtouched by the deep love which formed, as it were, a part of her being,for her young son. There was one person, however, who could have givenmore information about the matter than anybody else, if he had chosen--that was Father O'Rourke. For purposes best known to himself, he hadgained an undue influence over the authorities at the post-office, andthus he had the means of examining any letters which he thought it worthhis while to look into. Though such a thing might be impossible at thepresent day, at that time it was easy of execution.
On one occasion when he was glancing over the letters, he found one, thesuperscription of which he examined carefully. Taking it aside, hebroke it open.
"O, and so you recommend your mother to go and listen to the counsels ofthe heretic minister. Is that your idea, Master Dermot?" he exclaimedto himself. "We shall see how that is carried out. And you declareyour love to her; and you vow that, Heaven protecting you, you willreturn, you trust, with wealth in your pockets, and that you will placeher above want; and you hope that she has accepted the faith which youyourself now profess."
The priest literally ground his teeth with anger. "You warn her tobeware of one, your right and lawful spiritual adviser, do you? Sheshall, at all events, remain faithful to the true Church. I will takecare she does not set eyes upon that heretic, Mr Jamieson. Well! well!you think yourself clever at forming a plot; but I will soon show youthat I can counteract it. You tell her that you will write to MrJamieson, do you? I will take care he does not get a letter either. Ismy authority thus to be set at defiance by a--well, no matter what youare. I know more of your affairs than you do, or than your poor,ignorant, half-witted mother does herself; though she is cunning enoughto hide away those documents which would, could I find them, place youand her, and some other persons, too, entirely in my power. I'll findthem still, however, some day; but that English minister, by teachingyou to read, has made the management of the business far more difficultthan it would have been. However, I'll not be baulked. We see whatfolly it is to let any but the priests and the wealthy classes to betaught to read. They would be managed ten times more easily than theywill be in a short time, if this sort of thing goes on. Ah! I wasthinking of that, lad. You may be clever, Master Dermot, but I willprove to you that there is one here cleverer than yourself. Did I knowwhere to write you, I would soon prove that; but, ere long, I doubt notthat another of your letters will come under my inspection, and then Iwill quickly settle the matter."
Such were the thoughts--for they were not words--which passed throughthe mind of the Romish priest. Poor Dermot! little did he think whatwas to be the fate of the loving letter he had written to his mother,the first he had had the opportunity of inditing after he had left theshores of England.
Days, and weeks, and months passed on and the widow had heard nothing ofher son. The priest, however, after watching month after month, atlength found a letter, which seemed to give him infinite satisfaction.Its contents need not be revealed; but Father O'Rourke had at lengthfound the means, so it appeared from his ejaculations, by which he couldcommunicate with Dermot.
The day arrived when the Earl and his family were to quit KilfinnanCastle. Their neighbours and friends, and the surrounding peasantry,turned out to bid them farewell.
Numberless were the expressions of affection and regard given utteranceto, as persons of all ranks came forward to pay their adieux to theEarl, but more especially to Lady Nora, and her cousin, Lady Sophy.Lady Nora shed many tears. She was bidding farewell to the spot sheloved, where the gentle mother whom she could just recollect hadbreathed her last, and round which were centred all the pleasantrecollections of her youth. She was going to a strange land, to acountry where she had heard of pestilence stalking forth in the noonday,and her heart sank within her, to think of the dangers to which herfather might be exposed. Yet one thing consoled her--she hoped there tomeet her brother, who was still, she knew, on the station, though areport had come that the ship was about to leave it.
Among the guests were Mr Jamieson and his blind niece. The Earl shookthem warmly by the hand. "If anything happens to me, Jamieson, rememberI charge you to look after my young boy. He is a good and a braveyouth, but he requires a friend; and Nora, Miss O'Reilly, I would ratheryou had charge of her than anybody on earth, and yet I am afraid she isgrowing too old to be under the guidance of any one; I suspect, too, shecould only be led by the hand of love. She is a dear, sweet girl, and Ioften think if I am taken away, what is to become of her in this cruelworld. Jamieson, I need not conceal from you that I believe my affairsare cruelly disarranged. It is hard work, you know, to get in therents, and of late years, my steward has told me, and I believe him,that it has been harder than ever. I do not like to press the tenants;I never yet had a distress executed, but without it I am afraid thereare some of
them who will never be ready to pay."
"Trust to our merciful Father, my dear lord," answered Mr Jamieson."Do your duty and try to serve Him. There is no use denying it, you arenot free from blame for this state of things, and I am very certain,that may be said of the greater number of landlords of this country, sothe only advice I can give is to retrench for the future, and when youcome back, to set manfully to work to get your affairs in order."
"Thank you, Jamieson, I think your advice is excellent," said thegood-natured Earl; "farewell, I will try and follow it out."
Numbers of gentlemen, and farmers, and peasantry, accompanied thecarriages of the Earl and his party on horseback, as they took their waytowards Cork, whence the line-of-battle ship which was to take them onboard was to sail.