Robert Williams Buchanan

“ There is nothing you can ask me I will not do, no burden that you can lay upon me that I will not gladly bear.’
‘I hope,’ said Desmond, after a short pause, ‘that you won’t think what I’m going to tell ye is a burden. Faith, ’tis hard to know where to begin! Supposing—mind, I only say supposing—supposing my mother were not dead at all, supposing she were alive, and came back here, would you make the same amends to her as you say you’ll make to me?’ ‘You—you torture me!’ cried Kilpatrick. ‘Why rake up these painful recollections? Why ask questions of this sort, when they can do no good? ”

“ His lordship laughed, but with no aspect of enjoyment.
‘You’re an assuming old scoundrel, Peebles. My conscience? Gad!—my conscience, indeed!’
‘Ay, and your conscience says, “Make amends to your own begotten son, the bairn of the puir lass who died for your sake, and who loved ye, Lord Kilpatrick.”’
The old lord’s head sank upon his breast; his eyes were dim with a sudden moisture.
‘I loved her, Peebles—I loved her!’
‘And yet ye played that deil’s trick on her, with the aid o’ yon scoundrel Blake.’
‘How could I marry one so much my inferior?’ asked Kilpatrick tremulously. ”

“ Blake unsteadily poured out a second bumper of spirit, and the glass rattled against his teeth as he drained it.
‘And what’s the news with his lordship this day?’ he asked.
‘Still very ill,’ answered Conseltine.
‘He’s been upset by that old fool Peebles, who’s been hammering at him all day long to recall that brat of a by-love of his.’
‘Faith!’ returned Blake, ‘and he might do worse, by a great deal. ’Tis a fine lad, Desmond, as clever and handsome as that cub of yours is stupid and ugly. Don’t stand there, ye imp of perdition, glowering at me like a ghost. ”

“ That river has washed all the old impudence out of you.’
Her raillery could not altogether conquer Desmond’s gloom.
‘It can’t be, Dulcie. You’re only opening the door to a fool’s paradise for me. I’ve lived in one long enough. ’Tis time I came out and looked at the world as it is. It can never be. It’s madness to think of it. Even if it were different, even if the trouble had never fallen on me, I could never have hoped to win you. You’re a lady. I’m only the Squireen.’ ‘You’ve grown mighty humble all of a sudden,’ said Dulcie. ”

“ Peebles started at the sound:
‘Tho’ I lave thee for ever, my darling, and go,
Thine image shall haunt me in sunshine and
snow;
Like the light of a star shining over the foam,
Thy face shall go with me wherever I roam.’
‘Lord save us!’ cried Peebles. ‘’Tis himself.’
‘Who?’ cried Moya wildly. ‘Desmond? My son?’
‘Ay! your son Desmond. Wheest, woman! He’s coming this way.’
‘Though waves roll between us, sweet star of my
love,
Thy voice calls unto me——’
Desmond’s voice rose again as he spoke, nearer and more distinct. ”

“ Blake,’ said Desmond. ‘Men don’t fight duels nowadays.’
‘No, by the saints!’ cried Blake; ‘they stab each other with inky pens, and suck each other dry with lawsuits, by the help of such parchmint-scrapin’ vermin as Jack Feagus. ’Tis a dirty world we live in, Desmond, my boy, but sure that’s all the more reason that the few decent men should stick together. I’m goin’ on to Widdy Daly’s shebeen, and if ye’re inclined for a drink at the stone cow, I’ll be proud of your company.’
‘Later, perhaps,’ said Desmond. ”

“ You don’t know what it is you ask me. ’Tis more than I can do.’
‘For my sake, Desmond!’
‘I can’t,’ cried the poor, proud boy; ‘I can’t, even for your sake.’
‘And where are ye going?’ asked Peebles. ‘Eh, Desmond, lad, what will ye do?’
‘Do! Hide myself at any rate from those that have known me. The world’s wide, old friend; don’t fear for me!’
And he made a movement to the door.
‘Stop!’ cried Peebles. ‘Since ye will gang, listen to a word I hae to say to you. Never think shame o’ the mother that bore ye, Desmond. I kenned her, lad; I kenned her weel. ”

“ Speak!’ cried Desmond—‘speak! I must know!’
‘She was named Moya Macartney,’ said Kilpatrick. ‘She was—she——’
‘She was not your wife?’ said the boy. ‘Then I am—I am what he called me!’
‘Convention!’ cried Kilpatrick—‘mere convention! I acknowledge you as my son. Who will dare to point at you? Take witness, all of you!’ he cried, rising from his seat, ‘Desmond Macartney is my son. Those who will receive him and treat him as such are welcome here. Those who will not, let them go their ways.’
‘Uncle!’ cried Dulcie, ‘God bless you! Desmond——’
‘Hush, Lady Dulcie!’ cried Desmond. ”

“ The old man stepped nearer, peering on her with a look of mingled expectation, incredulity, and superstitious horror. The face was white, thin, and wrinkled, but he recognised it in a moment; and as the great black eyes dwelt on Peebles’ face, the thin lips murmured a name which struck on his astonished ears like a veritable echo from the grave.
‘Moya!’ he cried. ‘Moya Macartney! No! It can’t be!’
‘It is, sir,’ said Moya. ‘I’m Moya Macartney. Old and gray now, Mr. Peebles, but the same colleen ye knew once in Kenmare.’
The hidden listener raised his head cautiously. ”

“ Moya shook her head.
‘He’s young,’ she replied, with a world of meaning in her tone. ‘A heart as young as his won’t break for such a trouble as he’s suffering now. He’ll go out into the big world, where the shame’s not known, and win his way. What would I be to him—a nameless vagabond, a poor, ignorant ould woman! I should only kape him down and disgrace him. No; ye must tell Desmond nothing—yet. Ye asked me just now,’ she went on after a pause, ‘if I had no other reason to come here afther all these years but just to see my boy?’
‘Weel?’ asked Peebles. ”

“ Isn’t it time that you began to take life seriously, and to think of doing something?’
‘Faith, I suppose it is,’ said Desmond. ‘I’ve been trying for the last six months to find what kind o’ life I’m fit for. I’ll take to something by-and-by. As to why Lord Kilpatrick’s so good to me, you know just as much as I know myself, Lady Dulcie; Mr. Peebles, that knows more of his ways than anybody else, says ’tis to aise his conscience.’
‘To ease his conscience?’ the girl repeated. ”

“ God knows my very bones are full of desire for the child I love; I was near crying out who I was last night when I kissed him; but I’ve borne the bitter pain of solitude now for eighteen years, and sure my time here will not be so long. I’ll bear it to the end rather than disgrace and shame my child!’
‘But, Moya, he kens!’ cried Peebles. ‘He kens you were not married to his father. I winna say but, if he had never learned that, ye wad no’ be in the right to keep apart from him; but he knows it. He’s cast off his father; he has barely a friend in the world, barring me, and how can I help him. ”

“ I’ve got you, and I mean to keep you.’
‘You—you love me, Dulcie?’ said Desmond, breathless with wonder and delight.
‘A wee little bit,’ said Dulcie; ‘just the least little bit in the world. Now, just sit down like a good sensible boy and listen to me. No more nonsense, if you please, about “shame” and “disgrace.” Our parents don’t consult us as to the how and the where of our being born, and I don’t see why we should trouble our heads about them! A boy’s a boy, and a girl’s a girl, and this boy and girl quite understand each other. ”

“ Man, ’twould break my lord’s heart! His ain brother, Mr. Blake! his ain brother’s son! No, no. They must be let gang, for the honour o’ the family, though it’s a hard lump to swallow, and goes terribly against my conscience, that twa such wretches should be free while many a decent man’s in prison. But there’s just no help for it. And noo, just tell me, Mr. Blake, are ye sober—sober enough, I mean, to know the value of what ye’re saying?’
‘Sober, is it?’ cried Blake. ‘Soberer than I’ve been this five-and-twenty years, bad luck to me!’
‘Then listen to me,’ said Peebles. ”

“ A fine lady I’d make for any lord, wouldn’t I? and much at me aise I’d be among the grand folk he’d introduce me to? But Desmond’s a gintleman—as good a gintleman as any in Ireland, as Henry himself—and if the title’s his by rights, he shall have it. I shan’t trouble him. I shall go as I came, when I’ve seen him happy and honoured in his place. The thought has been food and drink, fire and shelter, to me these months past, since God sent the message that it might be so. Will you help me, Mr. Peebles?’
‘Will I help ye?’ cried Peebles, springing to his feet with the vivacity of a young man. ”

“ Rosie’s instinct had not deceived her, for that night Desmond was found sitting in the kitchen of the rude hostelry kept by the Widow Daly, listening to the strains of Patsey Doolan’s fiddle, and sombrely watching the dance of boys and colleens, in which, for the first time during their long experience of him, he had declined to take part. Rosie delivered her message. Desmond heard it with a half-averted face, which did not hide from the girl’s keen eyes a flush of pleasure on his cheek. He pressed her hand gratefully, but shook his head with a sad smile.
‘’Tis like her, Rosie—’tis like her. ”

“ There’s no word o’ shame for her in all the story, whatever shame there may be for others.’
‘All I think of now,’ continued Desmond, ‘is the thought of the grief I brought her.’
‘Ne’er believe it, lad,’ cried the old man; ‘ne’er believe it. Ye brought her comfort and hope.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘Many’s the time I’ve grat o’er your cradle, and noo, old fool that I am, I’m greeting again. Bide a bit, lad; God may help us yet! There, there!’ he continued, as the impulsive young fellow threw his arms about him, ‘ye’ll not be for hugging old Peebles. ”

“ I’m tired of doing dirty work for one that hasn’t the brains of a brent goose, or the pluck of a louse—I am, sir! How will ye get out of it all? tell me that.’
‘We sink or swim together,’ answered Conseltine. ‘I didn’t come here to listen to abuse. I want your advice.’
‘Then come in to the fireside,’ snarled Feagus, moving towards the inn.
‘No! Can’t you understand that something must be done at once? That old fool is against us, so is Blake; and when Desmond Macartney hears that we’re concerned in his mother’s death, he’ll never rest till he’s hunted us down. ”

“ What can she have to say to a poor devil like me? She’s up there with the reigning government of angels, and I’m down here with the opposition. Well, never mind! The world’s wide, and there’s room in it somewhere for us all. Don’t stand staring at me there, Rosie, as if I was a show in a fair. There’s Larry dying to shake the rheumatism out of his legs. Play up, Patsey, you rogue, and put the music into their heels!’
‘Ye’ll dance yourself, Mr. Desmond?’ said Rosie. ”

“ Left alone, Peebles stood for some moments in a cataleptic condition, till he recovered his senses, and refreshed his brain with a liberal pinch of snuff from his waistcoat pocket.
‘Peebles, ye old villain!’ he said to himself, ‘what’s gone wi’ your morality, lettin’ the lassies kiss you at your age! Aweel! a kiss like that from a pure lass is better than a bad man’s blessing. Never fear, Lady Dulcie, nae mischief shall befall Desmond Macartney if I can save him.’ ”

“ Before he could realize his own dread, Conseltine stood by him, panting for breath.
‘Look yonder!’ Conseltine gasped, gripping his companion by the arm, and pointing up the mountains.
Light now broke from the clouds—gloomy light with livid rays; and it fell full on a great green stretch of bogland covering the mountain side. The mountain itself seemed rocking as if with earthquake, and simultaneously the bog itself, like thick and slimy lava, seemed to be moving downward!
‘Holy saints defend us!’ cried Feagus. ”

“ Desmond, as bright and quick as he himself was lumpish and dull, compared with him to his disadvantage at every turn. The poor Squireen, who owned not a single acre of soil, and was dependent upon Richard’s uncle for his daily bread, for the clothes he wore, was the idol of the district. Mr. Richard Conseltine, the independent young gentleman of birth and means, was everywhere tacitly, and not unfrequently overtly, set at naught. In those exercises which are popular in all rural districts, and especially among the sport-loving people of Ireland, Desmond was easily Richard’s master. ”

“ Now, Blake,’ he leaned further across the table, and fixed his keen eyes on the face of the drunken squire, ‘the time has come for a definite understanding between us.’
‘Well?’ asked Blake. He made an obvious and partially successful attempt to sober himself. ‘Give me that jug o’ water.’ It was passed to him, and he drained it—to the great apparent refreshment and steadying of his wits. ‘A man has need of all his brains, Dick Conseltine, when ye speak in that tone of voice. ”

“ I’ve been upset, and in my state of health the least thing excites me—ask Peebles.’
‘Ay,’ said the Scot, ‘that’s true—you’ve a troublesome temper.’
‘Never mind,’ said Dulcie; ‘we’ll coddle you up and comfort you. I’ll play a game of backgammon with you, and if that doesn’t cure you, I’ll send over to Galway for mamma.’
‘For your mother!’ cried Kilpatrick. ‘My sister Matilda!’
‘She’s a capital nurse,’ said Dulcie. ‘She’ll set you right in a jiffy—as Desmond would say.’ The bit of slang passed unnoticed by his lordship in his terror at the suggestion it conveyed. ”

“ They can prove nothing, let them talk as they may. Feagus will hold his tongue for his own sake, for if the case comes before the court there are three to swear that he suggested the business. There’s no danger at all, except from your cursed cowardice. Pull yourself together, and trust to me. They can prove no motive. Why should you and I go burning mills and killing old peasant women? Feagus is the only creature alive who knows that we were aware of Moya’s identity. ”

“ Here she had struck up a friendship with young Desmond, who had for years been a sort of protégé of Lord Kilpatrick. Only in the wild west of Ireland are such intimacies common or even possible, but there, where the greater and the smaller gentry still meet on terms of free and easy equality, and where the vices of more civilized society are still unknown, they excite no comment.
Mr. Blake’s abrupt and angry departure from the Castle left anything but comfortable feelings in the breasts of one or two of his late convives. ”

“ Your troubles are over, Desmond—and hers.’
‘You have a right to congratulate me on that, haven’t ye?’ asked the boy with scornful anger.
‘Faith! and if I haven’t, who has?’ replied Blake unabashed. ‘And look here, Desmond Conseltine; in regard to the matter ye mentioned just now, sure there’ll be no difficulty whatever. ’Tis not myself that’ll take refuge behind a black coat and a white choker. Twenty paces or a six-foot ring will do for me, and so, my service to ye. ’Twould ease your heart and end the bad blood between us, maybe. ”

“ Man alive, I believe they mean murder!’
‘Murder!’ gasped Peebles.
‘Isn’t it life or death to them to keep Moya out o’ the way? Run, man! Run every step o’ the road! Ye’ve time to save her yet. They daren’t try it before nightfall. Doolan’s farm is on the way, and ye’ll find Desmond there. If ever ye loved him, run!’
Peebles, knowing the men with whom he had to deal, needed no further warning, but after a few more hasty words with Blake, ran rather than walked from Blake’s Hall. ”

“ The mouth’s prettier, and more “convanient,” as you’d call it. Ah!’ she continued, with a sudden gush of tenderness, ‘don’t think me too bold! don’t think me an outrageous little flirt! It wasn’t till I felt your trouble that I knew my own heart, and learned that I loved you so much.’ She broke into a sudden sob. ‘Tell me you’re not miserable any more!’
‘Miserable!’ cried Desmond, almost sobbing too; ‘I’m the most miserable and the happiest man in Ireland. But, oh, Dulcie, darling, I’ve sworn——’
‘But you mustn’t!’ said Dulcie, laying her fingers on his lips. ”

“ We are all apt to fancy that our neighbour’s conduct in any given conditions will closely resemble our own conduct under like circumstances. Richard knew, and—no criminal being ashamed of his own instincts—confessed to himself quite openly and with no embarrassment, that if he, in Desmond’s place, had learned the secret of his birth, the effects of the knowledge would certainly not be those foreshadowed by Peebles. ”

“ What about his shame and anguish, his loss of respect and belief in all his kind, because you, the one man he loved and trusted most, turned to base metal in his sight? And ye are hardly treated! Gin ye had your deserts, Henry Conseltine, Lord Kilpatrick, ye’d be on the treadmill at this minute. There’s many an honester man than you that’s praying God this minute for bread and water to stay his carnal pangs, while ye sit here, full o’ meat, and puffed out wi’ idleness. ”

“ Conseltine, his son Richard, and old Mr. Peebles, my lord’s butler, valet, general factotum, and tyrant, Blake might have had cause to regret his outrage on his host’s hospitality.
‘The beggarly bankrupt brute!’ he cried. ‘By the blood of the saints, Mr. Conseltine, if ’Twas not for the respect I owe you as my lord’s brother—ye used me ill, sir, in holding me back!’
Conseltine, a dark man of late middle age, with an inscrutable face and a manner of unvarying suavity, poured a bumper of burgundy, and held it out to the angry attorney.
‘Drink that, Mr. Feagus. ’Tis a fine cure for anger. ”

“ Is it true what I hear all about the place, that you’re to marry Richard Conseltine?’
‘Nonsense!’ said Dulcie, flushing redly. ‘I’m not going to marry anybody!’
‘Ah!’ said Desmond dryly, ‘that’s what all the girls say, but they never mean it.’
‘I mean it. I think marriage is absurd. Don’t you?’
‘Sure I do,’ responded Desmond. ‘But the priest says it’s convenient, if the world is to continue. Tell me, now, what d’ye think of Master Richard?’
‘Think of him?’ said Dulcie slowly. ”

“ Too late for what?’ cried the old man.
‘Richard Conseltine and his boy, and Feagus the attorney—bad cess to the lot of ’em—were here this forenoon. They know Moya’s alive! They know where she lives! Oh, my head, my head! what was it the blackguards said? Ah!’ he screamed, ‘the mill! ’tis at Larry’s mill that Moya’s living!’
‘Yes!’ cried Peebles. ‘She’s there. But what of that? Speak, man! what is it?’
‘They mean to burn the mill, and her with it!’ cried Blake. ‘For the love o’ God, run and find Desmond, and get Moya out o’ the place. ”

“ I’ll send up Peebles to help you to undress.’
He went; and Kilpatrick, rising from his seat, began to pace the room from end to end among the gathering shadows.
‘What the devil makes Dick Conseltine so tender all of a sudden?’ he asked himself. ‘Dictate of nature and justice, indeed! He hates the boy like poison, that I’m sure of. I can see it in his eye, sly and smooth as he is, every time he looks at him; and so does that bull-headed young fool, his son. It’s natural, I suppose. Faith, then, one sees the hatred that money breeds—brother hating brother, father hating son, son father ”