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The Heir of Kilfinnan: A Tale of the Shore and Ocean, a novel by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 9 |
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_ CHAPTER NINE We must now take a glance at the events which had occurred on the shores of Kilfinnan Bay since young Dermot O'Neil left his mother's cottage. The Earl had continued his course of hospitality, or extravagance, as it should more correctly have been denominated, such as was too much the custom among most Irish gentlemen of those days, declaring that although his affairs at that time were in a rather embarrassed condition, he could not afford to commence a system of economy. His table, as usual, was amply spread, and the members of the neighbouring hunt pretty frequently in the season collected at the castle, which during the summer months was seldom otherwise than full of guests. Lady Nora, who was now growing into a beautiful young woman, saw with regret the lavish expenditure in which her father indulged, knowing very well from what she had heard, that it was more than his income could afford; still he always contrived to supply Barry amply with money, and Nora was allowed every luxury she could wish for. Her tastes, however, were very simple, though in her visits with her father to the gay Irish capital, she was compelled, much against her will, to mix in its frivolous society, when at 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 hold her horse, should she wish to alight. Lady Sophy still continued to be for the greater part of the year her constant companion. Occasionally, they looked in upon Mr Jamieson, the minister, and his blind niece, Miss O'Reilly. They did not forget either the old fishwife, the Widow O'Neil. Whenever they saw her, they did not fail to inquire about her son; but she shook her head, with a melancholy 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 he knows I cannot read, he thinks it will be no use writing; but, oh, he loves me dearly; and it is for no want of love he does not write. He will come back to me, dear young ladies, some day; and, oh, with what pride I shall have to bring him to you. He will be a fine, strong lad by that time. Maybe you would not know him. He must be altered greatly since the day you took his picture, when he was a young fisher-boy." Mr Jamieson, however, was more surprised than any one else at not hearing from Dermot. He had been fully prepared for Dermot's going away, but he did not for one moment suppose, from what he knew of the lad, that he would not have kept up a correspondence with his friends at home. Still, he had received no letter, and had seen none from him to any one else, since the epistle brought by mad Kathleen a few days after his departure. Had it not been for this, he would have supposed he had met with some foul treatment from the rebels, or that some fearful accident had befallen him. Still, whenever Miss O'Reilly spoke to the widow, the old woman expressed her firm belief that Dermot was living, and would most assuredly come back to her. That thought seemed to keep her alive, and to give her strength of mind and body to go through her accustomed duties. Sometimes, however, it appeared to the blind lady, when she listened to the old woman, that her mind was not altogether right, for she spoke of strange things she had seen and done in her youth, the meaning of which Miss O'Reilly could not comprehend. She could not, however, listen to her speaking of Dermot without feeling touched 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 given more information about the matter than anybody else, if he had chosen-- that was Father O'Rourke. For purposes best known to himself, he had gained an undue influence over the authorities at the post-office, and thus he had the means of examining any letters which he thought it worth his while to look into. Though such a thing might be impossible at the present day, at that time it was easy of execution. On one occasion when he was glancing over the letters, he found one, the superscription of which he examined carefully. Taking it aside, he broke it open. "O, and so you recommend your mother to go and listen to the counsels of the heretic minister. Is that your idea, Master Dermot?" he exclaimed to himself. "We shall see how that is carried out. And you declare your love to her; and you vow that, Heaven protecting you, you will return, you trust, with wealth in your pockets, and that you will place her above want; and you hope that she has accepted the faith which you yourself now profess." The priest literally ground his teeth with anger. "You warn her to beware of one, your right and lawful spiritual adviser, do you? She shall, at all events, remain faithful to the true Church. I will take care 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 you that I can counteract it. You tell her that you will write to Mr Jamieson, do you? I will take care he does not get a letter either. Is my authority thus to be set at defiance by a--well, no matter what you are. I know more of your affairs than you do, or than your poor, ignorant, half-witted mother does herself; though she is cunning enough to hide away those documents which would, could I find them, place you and her, and some other persons, too, entirely in my power. I'll find them still, however, some day; but that English minister, by teaching you to read, has made the management of the business far more difficult than it would have been. However, I'll not be baulked. We see what folly it is to let any but the priests and the wealthy classes to be taught to read. They would be managed ten times more easily than they will be in a short time, if this sort of thing goes on. Ah! I was thinking of that, lad. You may be clever, Master Dermot, but I will prove to you that there is one here cleverer than yourself. Did I know where to write you, I would soon prove that; but, ere long, I doubt not that another of your letters will come under my inspection, and then I will quickly settle the matter." Such were the thoughts--for they were not words--which passed through the mind of the Romish priest. Poor Dermot! little did he think what was 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 the shores of England. Days, and weeks, and months passed on and the widow had heard nothing of her son. The priest, however, after watching month after month, at length found a letter, which seemed to give him infinite satisfaction. Its contents need not be revealed; but Father O'Rourke had at length found the means, so it appeared from his ejaculations, by which he could communicate with Dermot. The day arrived when the Earl and his family were to quit Kilfinnan Castle. Their neighbours and friends, and the surrounding peasantry, turned out to bid them farewell. Numberless were the expressions of affection and regard given utterance to, as persons of all ranks came forward to pay their adieux to the Earl, but more especially to Lady Nora, and her cousin, Lady Sophy. Lady Nora shed many tears. She was bidding farewell to the spot she loved, where the gentle mother whom she could just recollect had breathed her last, and round which were centred all the pleasant recollections of her youth. She was going to a strange land, to a country where she had heard of pestilence stalking forth in the noonday, and her heart sank within her, to think of the dangers to which her father might be exposed. Yet one thing consoled her--she hoped there to meet her brother, who was still, she knew, on the station, though a report had come that the ship was about to leave it. Among the guests were Mr Jamieson and his blind niece. The Earl shook them warmly by the hand. "If anything happens to me, Jamieson, remember I charge you to look after my young boy. He is a good and a brave youth, but he requires a friend; and Nora, Miss O'Reilly, I would rather you had charge of her than anybody on earth, and yet I am afraid she is growing too old to be under the guidance of any one; I suspect, too, she could only be led by the hand of love. She is a dear, sweet girl, and I often think if I am taken away, what is to become of her in this cruel world. Jamieson, I need not conceal from you that I believe my affairs are cruelly disarranged. It is hard work, you know, to get in the rents, 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 there are 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 are not 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, so the only advice I can give is to retrench for the future, and when you come back, to set manfully to work to get your affairs in order." "Thank you, Jamieson, I think your advice is excellent," said the good-natured Earl; "farewell, I will try and follow it out." Numbers of gentlemen, and farmers, and peasantry, accompanied the carriages of the Earl and his party on horseback, as they took their way towards Cork, whence the line-of-battle ship which was to take them on board was to sail. _ |
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