Luttrell Of Arran Part 76

"Be gorra, it was your own self said that! and it was a lie they tould when they said you were altered!" And almost as if by magic the fellow's ill-temper gave way, and he laughed heartily. "Listen to me now, Miss O'Hara, or Miss Luttrell, or whatever you call yourself."

"My name is Luttrell," said she, calmly.

"Well, Luttrell, then; it's the same to me. As I told you already, I came here more on _your_ account than my own; and here's what brought me. You know that lodge, or cottage, or whatever they call it, that Vyner built up here in the glen? Well, there's creditors of his now wanting to get possession of it."

"Creditors of Sir Gervais Vyner? Impossible!"

"Possible, or impossible, it's true, that I can vouch for, for I saw the bailiffs that came down with the notices. At any rate, your old grandfather thought that after Vyner himself _he_ had the best right to the house and the bit of land, for Vyner told him one day that he'd settle it on you for a marriage portion, and there was others by when he said it, so your grandfather went up and told Tom Crowe, the attorney, how it was, and Tom said, 'Keep it open, Malone,' says he--'keep it open till we see what's to be done in it. Don't let the other creditors get a hold of the place till I get an opinion for you.' And on that, old Peter goes back and gets a few boys together, and they go down to the glen just in time to see the sub-sheriff, Barty Lambert, riding up the lawn, with six or eight men after him. The minute Lambert saw your grandfather, he cried out, 'Here's Peter "the Smasher;" save yourselves, boys!' And he rode his horse at a wall, jumped it, and made off as hard as he could. Two of the others followed, but the rest stood their ground. Old Peter then stepped out, and ordered them to lay down their arms, and give up the writ, and whatever other papers they had. Some were for this, and some against; and Peter, wanting to finish the business at once, stepped up to Joe Maher, the sub-sheriff's man, and said: 'Joe,' says he, 'I made you ate a process once before, wax and all, and maybe I'd have to do the same now. Give it up this minute, or------' Just then Maher drew out a pistol, but before he could level it old Peter was in on him, and they grappled each other, and a terrible struggle it was, for the others never interfered, but left them to fight it out fair! At last the pistol went off, and the ball pa.s.sed through old Peter's cheek; but if it did, it didn't prevent him getting over Joe's breast as he fell, and beating his head against the ground, till he rolled over him himself out of weakness and fatigue; and when Peter came to himself--Maher didn't, for he was dead!"

"Dead!" exclaimed she--"murdered!"

"Not a bit murdered, but killed fair! Anyhow, the others ran away, and old Peter, as soon as he was able, made off too, and got into the mountains, and now the police is after him, and a reward of fifty pounds offered for him, as if he was a wild beast. British law and justice, my darling; the beautiful code of laws that was made to civilise Ireland four centuries ago, and hasn't done much to talk about up to this!"

"This is a very dreadful story," said she, after some time of silence.

"And what is to become of this poor old man?"

"That depends on you, Miss Kate--Luttrell," added he, after a brief struggle with himself.

"On _me?_ How can it depend upon _me?_"

"Here's how it is, then. If they catch Peter, what between the character he has already, and what's known of his sons, they'll make short work of it he'll 'swing,' as sure as you are there this minute. So there's nothing for it but to get him away to America by any of the s.h.i.+ps coming round from the north, and it would be easy enough for him to get on board; but what's not so easy, Miss Kate, is to pay his pa.s.sage. He hasn't one s.h.i.+lling in the world. The boys got together last night, and all they could make up was eleven and fourpence; there it is, and a p.a.w.n ticket for an old pistol, that n.o.body would give half-a-crown for----"

"But what can I do?" broke she in, pa.s.sionately. "What can I do?"

"Help him with a few pounds. Give it or lend it; but let him have enough to make his escape, and not go to the 'drop' for want of a little help."

"There is not one belonging to him poorer than me," began she. "Why do you shake your head? Do you disbelieve me?"

"I do; that's just it."

"Shall I swear it--shall I take my oath to you, that except the trifle that remains to me of what I had to pay my journey here, I have not one farthing in the world?"

"Then what's the fine story of the great castle where you were living, and the grand clothes and the jewels you used to wear? Do you mean to tell me that you left them all behind, when you came away?"

"It is true. I did so."

"And came off with nothing?"

She nodded, and he stared at her, partly in astonishment, and partly with some show of admiration; for even to his nature this conduct of hers displayed a degree of character that might be capable of great sacrifices.

"And so," said he, after a pause, "you can do nothing for him?"

"What can I do?" asked she, almost imploringly.

"I'll tell you," said he, calmly. "Go up to John Lnttrell, and say, My grandfather is hiding from the police; they have a warrant out against him, and if he's taken he's sure to be condemned; and we know what mercy a Malone will meet at the a.s.sizes of Donegal. Tell him--it's just the one thing he'll care for--that it wouldn't be pleasant for him to be summoned as a witness to character, and have to declare in open court that he married the prisoner's daughter. Say a ten-pound note, or even five, is a cheap price to pay for escaping all this disgrace and shame; and tell him, besides, when old Peter goes, you've seen the last of the family. He'll think a good deal of that, I promise you----"

"Stop," said she, boldly. "You know nothing of the temper of the man you talk of; but it is enough that I tell you he has got no money. Listen to me, O'Rorke. It was but yesterday he sent off a little ornament his wife nsed to wear to have it sold, to pay a county rate they were threatening to distrain for----"

"Where did you get all your law?" said he, jeeringly; but, not heeding the gibe, she went on, "I would have offered him the few s.h.i.+llings I had, but I was ashamed and afraid."

"How much is it?"

"A little more than two pounds. You shall have it; but remember, I can do no more. I have nothing I could sell--not a ring, nor a brooch; not even a pin."

"It's better than nothing," muttered he, surlily, below his breath. "Let me have it."

"It is up at the Abbey. Wait, and I'll fetch it. I'll not be an instant." And before he could answer she was gone. In less time than seemed possible she was back again, breathless and agitated. "Here it is," said she, placing the money in his hand. "If you should see him, tell him how grieved I am to be of such little service to him, and give him this silk handkerchief; tell him I used to wear it round my neck, and that I sent a kiss to him in it--poor fellow! I almost wish I was with him," muttered she, as she turned away her head, for the hot tears filled her eyes--she felt weak and sick.

"I'm afraid this will do little good," said O'Rorke, looking at the money in his open palm.

"And yet I can do no more!" said she, with deep sorrow.

"Wouldn't you venture to tell your uncle how it is? Sure he might see that the disgrace, if this old man is caught and brought to trial, will spread to himself?"

"I dare not--I will not," said she, firmly.

"Then I suppose the story is true, though old Peter wouldn't believe it, that John Luttrell made you sign a paper never to see nor speak to one of your own again?"

"I signed no paper, Sir, nor ever was asked to sign any. What pledges I have given my uncle are not to be discussed with you."

"Well, you don't deny it, that's clear."

"Have you anything more that you wish to say to me?" asked she, controlling every show of temper.

"No--not a word," said he, turning to go away. "Only, if I see old Peter--it's not unlike that I may--he'll be asking me how tall you are, and how you're looking. Will you just come out from under the shade of that tree and let me have a fair look at you?"

Kate took off her bonnet and threw her shawl from her, and stood forward with an air as composed and a.s.sured as might be.

"Shall I tell you what I'll say to him?" said O'Rorke, with an impudent half grin on his face.

"You need not, Sir. It has no interest whatever for me. Good-by!" She took up her shawl as she spoke, and walked slowly away.

O'Rorke looked after her; the mocking expression of his features changed to a look of almost hatred, and he muttered some angry words between his teeth. "I read you right, Miss Katty, when you weren't much higher than my knee. I read you right! You may have plenty in love with you, but by my conscience you'll never have Tim O'Rorke."

CHAPTER XLVII. HOW KATE WAS TASKED

For several days after this scene, Kate thought of nothing but her old grandfather, whether he still wandered an outcast through the wild mountains of Donegal, or had succeeded in making his escape to America.

At moments her anxieties became so intense, from fears lest she herself might prove blamable if his escape could not be effected, that she was almost resolved to go to her uncle and reveal all to him. Luttrell's manner had, however, been unusually cold and reserved for some time back, and she had not courage to take this step. Indeed, whole days would now pa.s.s with nothing but a mere greeting between them, and at length, one entire day went over without her seeing him at all. It was said that he was very busy, had received a number of letters by the post, and was engaged a great part of the night in answering them. On the morning that followed this day, Kate was preparing the little basket in which she carried her luncheon with her to the hills, whenever she meditated a longer excursion than usual, when her uncle entered hastily, and with evident signs of agitation in his face.

"I have had disagreeable tidings, Kate," said he, with a forced calm of manner and voice. "I would have kept them from you if I could, but it is not possible. Some weeks ago there was a resistance to the sheriff by a party of country people, led on by that old man--no stranger to such conflicts--Malone. There was a fight, and a man, the sheriff's bailiff, was killed. There was no doubt who killed him. It was Malone. He made his escape, however, into West Donegal, waiting, as it was supposed, till, by some s.h.i.+p pa.s.sing--North about--he could reach America. The police, however, got possession of his plan, secured a revenue-cutter, and, lying in wait, arrested him in the very act of getting on board.

Another struggle ensued here, and Malone fought with such desperation, that one of the men is badly wounded, and another drowned, for the small boat was upset in the conflict, and it is said that, had not Malone's arm been broke by a pistol-shot, he might yet have escaped by swimming around the s.h.i.+p, which was in full trim to have made sail when he should get on board. They captured him, however, and he is now in gaol; he will be tried at the next a.s.sizes, and of his fate there can be no doubt."

"Condemned?" said she, in a low roice.

"Yes," he continued, "that he must be executed is also clear. The very name he bears is an indictment against him. The fellow, however, is full of the impression that everything he has done was in self-defence; he maintains that he merely resisted a personal attack, and he has the madness, in the face of all the convictions that have befallen his family, to declare that he belongs to a most irreproachable set of people, long known and respected in this neighbourhood, and he has the daring effrontery--here in my hand is the letter that conveys it--to require that I should come forward to vouch for his character and acknowledge the relations.h.i.+p between us. Nor is this all," added he, in a voice husky with pa.s.sion; "he demands--it is no prayer, no entreaty--he demands from me a sum sufficient to defray the costs of his defence. He a.s.serts that though he himself is ready to take his chance, and, if need be, brave the worst the law can do to him, it might not suit Luttrell of Arran to sit under a two hours' cross-examination, and have his whole life laid bare for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the world. You cannot, without knowing the man, believe how seriously these threats are uttered; he is the most recklessly daring fellow I ever knew, and I can well conceive what questions he will suggest to his counsel to put to me if I once appear on the table. To-night I am to give my answer. The man he sends over here to receive it is the most offensive messenger he could have found had he searched Europe from one end to the other. He is a fellow named O'Rorke, who once before placed me in a position almost similar to what I am now threatened with, and drove me to seek the shelter of this desolate spot. On that occasion, however, I escaped the indignity of personal exposure, and of that open shame that rise now before me. The demand is precise and clear. Twenty pounds down, fifty on the day before the trial comes on, and my name to a bill for fifty more if the jury bring in a verdict of not guilty. For this he pledges himself--these are his words--'never to be any longer a charge to me nor mine.' I am well aware that the letter I hold here is not his own, for he cannot write, but I can trace through certain expressions--and, above all, certain repet.i.tions--phrases inserted at his instance." "Am I spoken of, Sir? Does he allude to me at all?" "Never; not once. Indeed, he even says, 'I hope that whatever you decide to do in this business will be your honour's own mind and n.o.body else's, for I write this in confidence between man and man, and only want Yes or No between us.'"