A Wonderful Woman.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 450, 1 March 1890, Page 6

A Wonderful Woman.

By MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “Guy Earlescourt’e Wife,” “A Terrible Secret," “ Lost for a Woman,” “A Mad Marriage,’’ etc BOOK IL CHAPTER IX. SIX YEA ns JJEKOKK. * Axi) is it the road to Torryglin their honors is axin aftiier? Arrah ! get out o’ me road, Murty, an’ I’ll spake to the quality meself. Torryglin is it, yer honor’s spakin’ av ? said MrTimothy Cronin, landlord of the popular shebeen, 4 /he Lilt It JJhudeen m the town of Bailynahaggart, County Fermanagh, Ireland, pulling oil'his caubeen and making the quality a low bow. The Earl of Rnysland and his daughter sat in. their saddles before the door. It was drawing near the close of a cloudy, chill, autumn afternoon. The wind was rising to a ‘ steady gale, and overhead spread a dark, fast-drifting threatening sky. ‘ Yes, Torryglen,’ his lordship answered, impatiently; ‘ how many miles between this and Torryglen, my good fellow ?’ ‘Six, av yer honor takes the road—three, maybe not so much, av ye take the mountains.’ ‘ The mountains —but I don’t know - ‘Shure, ye can’t go asthray—it’s as straight as the nose on yer honor’s face. Crass the Glin there beyant—the path’s before ye so plain a blind man cudn’t miss it. Thin turn to the light and crass the sthrame, whin ye get to Torrybahman ’ ' ‘ But, my good man,’ cried the earl, still more impatiently, ‘ I don’t know your confounded “sthrames!’ or “ Torrybahms,” and we’ll go astray to a dead certainty if we take this winding bridle-path you speak of. The mountain lakes and streams are flooded beside, they told me in Enniskillen —the way you speak of may be shorter but dangerous.’ * Sorra danger !’ said Timothy Cronin, disdainfully. ‘ Yer bastes will take it in tjie clappin’ av yer hands. But if yer afeered, yer honor—an’ shure it’ud be a thousands pities to have the purty young | lady beside ye belated,sure there’s a dacent boy here that’ll convoy ye a piece o’ the road an’ welcome. Mickey—Mickey avic— i come hero !’ Mickey came—the ‘dacent boy’ of Mr Cronin’s eulogy—a stripling of perhaps five-and-forty summers. ‘ Mickey was smoking a little black pipe, a.nd gave his forelock a pull of respect to the gentry. ‘This is Mickey, yer honor—Micky McGuiggan —as soople a boy as any in the town lan’ ; knows ivery fut av the road bether thin his prayers, an’ goes over it aftener. It’s Torryglin that’s wantin’, Mickey—an’ shure this is the lord himself—an’ ye’ll take him acrass the hills and Torrybahm afore nightfall, an’ good luck to ye.’ ‘ Come on then, my man,’ the earl said to Mickey, aud flinging the landlord of the ‘Little Dbudeen ’ a crown for his civility, the guide, barefooted, his pipe still in his mouth, skipped ahead with the fleet-footed rapidity of a peasant born and bred on the spot, the two equestrians following at a tolerable pace.’ The scenery was wild and picturesque. Here and there a thatched cabin with its little potato garden—the only sign of human habitation - purple and russet moorland, towering cliffs, and black beetling rocks. Away in the distance the roar of mountain torrents, swollen by recent heavy rains, and over their heads that black, heavily drifting sky, threatening another downpour. ‘By Heaven ! Cecil,’ the earl exclaimed, looking upward ‘at the frowning canopy, ‘ the storm will be upon us before we reach Torryglen yet. What a fool I was not to remain at Enniskillen until to-morrow.’ 4 Only three miles, he said, papa, and we have surely ridden one of them already. A 3 for the storm, a wet jacket won’t hurt cither of us, and I suppose they will give U 3 a good fire and a hot dinner when we reach the house.’ 4 Divil fear thim but they will !’ muttered Mr McGuiggan, ahead, ‘ sorra hate I’m towld thim English does but ate and dhrink. Lasliins o’ whiskey every hour in the twenty-four av they plase. an’ beef and mutton ivery day av their lives, Fridays, an’ all. An’ it’s the lord himself I’m conveyin’ and hfs daughter; troth, but she’s a purty craythur, too.’ ‘Papa,’ Lady Cecii said wistfully, ‘is it possible people really live, and eat and sleep in these wretched hovels ? I have seen poverty before, but never such poverty as this.’ ‘ They are little better than savages, my clear, and as might be expected, live in a semi-savage state. The scenery is wild enousrh and grand enough at least. Look at those black bestling cliffs crowned with arbutis and holly. If we were artists, qiueenie, we might paint this, and immortalize ourselves. ‘ The storm is coming,’ Lady Cecil cried, as a great drop splashed upon her upturned face, and the hills shook with the sullen roar of distant thunder. You were right, we are in for a wetting alter all.’ 4 How many miles to Torryglen now , my man ?’ the earl called anxiously, 4 Betther then wan an’ a half,’ responded their guide ; ‘an’ troth ye’ll ketch it! D’ye hear that roar? That’s the mountain lakes spoutin, an’ whin they do that, be me word, there’s danger in crassin the sthrame. An’ ye must crass it to get to Torryglin this night. A chile cud do it dhry shod in the hate o’ summer, but now—bedad ! I hope your bastes is good shwimmers, or ye’ll niver see the other side. There’s a cui’rent there that wud carry an army o’ men over, an’ a fall to back it thirty feet deep.’ 4 Then what the devil !’ cried the earl angrily, ‘ did that rascally landlord mean by saying there was no danger, and recommending this way ? Why did he nob permit us to take the high road as we intended ? It might have been longer perhaps, bub at least, it would have been safe.’ 4 Faix, that’s true for yer honor. Shure a short cut any where’s always the longest way in the ind. Troth meself’s tbinkin’ the high-road wud have been the shortest cut this blissid night. An there’s the sthram6 for ye now, and be gomentie3 it’s roarin’ like mad !’ Mr McGuiggan paused—Lord Ruysland and Lady Cecil drew up their horses aghast. A foaming torrent crossed their path swollen to the width of a river, rushing over the rocks with the fury of a cataract, and plunging wildly over a precipice thirty yards distant. 4 There it is for ye,’ said Mickey, stolidly ; /an’ if ye’re afeerd to cross, troth there’s nothin’ for it bub jisb turn roun’ and ride back to Bailynahaggart. An’ meaelf’s tbinkin,’ conshideren’ the bewtiful young lady yer lordship has wid ye, it ’ud be the wisest thing ye cud do. Shure ye’ll be dhrowned intirely,. wid the rain and the ’lightnin’, except in case that yer horses can shwim it. An’faix meself has'doubts of that* fame.

The rain was falling now in drenching torrents, the roar of the thunder and rushing waters commingled in a dread diapason : from crag bo crag the living lightning leaped and before them, barring farther progress, poured madly by the rushing, furious river. ‘ What shall we do,Cecil the earl asked, with the calm intensity of despair. 4 1 don’t know, papa,’ Lady Cecil responded ; and in spite of the danger and disagreeableness generally, there was a smile on her lips as she watched Mr Michael McGuiggan standing amid all the sublime, savage grandeur of the scene and the storm, his hands in his tattered corduroy pockets, his little black pipe in his mouth, scanning the prospect with calm philosophy. ‘lt may be dangerous to go on, and yet one hates to turn back.’ ‘ I’m d d if I turn back !’ muttered the earl, savagely, between his teeth. ‘Do you come with us, my man, or does your pilotage end here ?’ ‘There it’s for ye,’ responded Mickey, dogmatically, nodding toward the river; * take it or lave it, but sorra sliooaside will I commit this night. Av yer bastes wor Irish now,’ looking with ineffable disdain at the thorough-breds ridden by the earl and his daughter; ‘but— Oh, wirra ! wirra ! there they go, and, av Providence hasn’t said it, they’ll be dhrowned afore me eyes !’ ‘Come on, Cecil!’ the earl*exclaimed ; 4 our horses will do it, and every moment we spend here is a moment wasted.’ He seized her brid e rein, and the animals plunged headlong into the flood. Lady Cecil sat her horse as though part of the animal, and grasped the reins with the strength of desperation. Beth she and the earl strove to head their horses against the boiling current, but, after the first plunge, the terrified horses stood amid the seething foam as if spell-bound. Lord Ituysland, his teeth set, struck his own a savage blow with his whip. lie sprang madly forward, leading the other in his wake.

4 Courage, Cecil courage !’ the earl shouted. 4 We will ford this hell of waters yet!’ But even as he spoke, at that instant she Was unseated, and with a long, wild cry was tossed like a feather in the gale down straight to that awful precipice below. No mortal help, it seemed, could save her. Her father made frantic efforts to reach her, but in vain. Near, nearer, nearer to that frightful, hissing chasm, to be dashed to atoms on the rocks below. In the midst of the waters the earl sat his horse, white, powerless, paralysed. ‘ Oh, God !’ he cried, ‘can nothing save her ?’ - Yes; at the last moment a wild shout came from the opposite bank, a figure plunged headlong into the river, and headed with almost superhuman strength toward her. 1 Cling to the rock for the love of God !’ shouted a voice through the din of the storm. Through the din of the storm, through her reeling senses, she heard the cry and obeyed. She caught at a rock near, and grasped it with the tenacity o»f despair for a moment; another, and she was torn away, held with iron strength in the grasp of a strong arm. There was a last, desperate struggle with the surging flood—a struggle in which bo:h she and her rescuer were nearly whirled over the chasm. Then, in the uproar aud darkness, there came a lull ; then the tumult of many voices in wild Irish shouts ; then she was lying on the opposite bank, drenched from head to foot, but saved from an awful death. ‘Hurrah !’ shouted a wild voice. ‘Long life to ye, Mister Redmond ! Shure it’s yerself is the thrue warrant for a sthrong arm and a sthout heart! Begorra! though, ye war near it ! Upon me sow!, there isn’t another man in the barony but yerself cud av’ dun it.’ ‘ Oh, stow all that, Lanty !’ answered an impatient voice, as Lady Cecil’s preserver gave himself a shake like a water-dog. ‘l’ll hold you a guinea it’s the English lord and his daughter on their way to Torryglen. Were they mad, I wonder, to try and ford the torrent in this storm ? See how ho breasts the current—he’s down—no, he’s up again—now lie’s gained the bank. By the rock of Cashell ! gallantly done —a brave beast ! Lanty, if you can do anything more for them, do it. I’m off.’ He bounded away in tiie rainy twilight with the speed of a young stag. The peasant addressed as ‘ Lanty’ looked after him,

‘ By the powers, but it’s like ye and all yer breed, seed, and gineration, to go to the divil to save anyone in disthress, and thin fly as if he were afther ye for fear ye’d get thanked. Oh, but it’s meself that knows ye —father an’ son—this many a day well. God save your honor kindly.’ Lanty pulled off his hairy cap. * Troth, it was a narra escape yer honor had this night, an’ the young lady. Oh, thin, it’s a sore heart ye’d have in yer breasht this minit, av it hadn’t been for the young masther.’ ‘ That gallant youth,’ the earl cried,Hinging himself off his horse. ‘ I never saw a braver deed, Cecil—Cecil, my darling,thank Heaven you arc saved ! Cecil, my dearest, are you hurt ?’ He lifted the golden head and kissed the wan, wet face. In all her sixteen years of life, Lord Ruvsland had never fully realised how he loved his only child before. She had not fainted. The high courage of the peer’s daughter had upheld her through all. She had raised herself now and smded faintly. ‘ Not hurt, only stunned a little by the fright and the whirl of the water. And you, papa?’ ‘ I am perfectly safe, but—good Heaven ! ivliat an escape it has been. In live seconds you wonkl have been over that horrible gulf. Why, that lad has the heart of a very lion ! the most gallant thing I ever saw done. He risked his life without one thought, I verily believe. A brave lad—a brave lad. And he has, as far as I could see, the air of a gentleman,' too.’ Lanty overheard, and looked at his lordship with supreme disdain. ‘ A gintleman, is it? Faith he is that, an’divil thank him for it! Shure he’s the O’Donnell—no less; an . iverybody knows the O’Donnells wor kings and princes afore the time o’ Moses* Gintleman indade! Oh, thin it’s himself that is an’ his father an’ his father’s father afore him. Wern’t they kings of Ulsther, time out o’ mind, and didn’t they own ivery rood an’ mile av the counthry ye’re travellin’ in the days o’ Henry the Eighth, till himself wid his wives an’ his black-guarden tuk it from thim an’ bestowed it on dhirty divils like himself ? My curse an’ the curse o’ the crows be on thim, hob an’ heavy this night!’ ‘lndeed,’ said the earl; ‘and who are you, my good .fellow ? A retainer of that kingly and fallen house, I take it!’ His companion gave a second polite duck of his hairy cap. ‘l’m Lanty, yer honor—Lanty Lafferty, avit’s plazeen toye—called afther me grandfather on the mother’s side—God be good to him, decent man ! I’m Misthor Redmond’s own man, an’ it’s proud an’happy lam to be that same.’ * You like your young master, then ?’ ‘ An’ why shouldn’t I like him ? Is there a man or baste in the County Fermanag

wudn’t shed ther last dhrop for the O’Donnell ? More betoken there isn’t his like for a free-handed, bould-heartetl gintleinan from here to the wurruld’s ind. But arrah, why nade I be balkin’—-sure yer honor knows for yerself.’ ‘I do, indeed, and I honour him the more for fiving to escape my gratitude. Bub as we are to be neighbours, 1 perceive, I insist upon our being friends. Tell him it is my earnest wish —that of my daughter too —that lie shall visit us, or permit ns to visit him. Ho need not fear being overwhelmed with thanks—l feel what lie has done too deeply to turn lino phrases. A brave lad and a gallant ! And now, if you'll guide us to Torryglen, my good fellow, you’ll do us a last great service.’ ‘ 111 do that wid all the “ veins,’” cried Lanty Lallerty ; ‘it’s no distance in _life from this. Faix, it ud be a thousand pities av the purty crathur beside ye got cowld, for, upon my conscience, it’s more like an angel she is than a young woman.’ Torryglen lay nestling in a green hollow amid the rugged hills and waving wealth of gorse and heather. A trim little cottage set in the centre of a flower garden, and fitted up within and without with every comfoib and elegance. The earl’s, valet and Lady Cecil’s maid had gone on in advance, and glorious peat fires, dry garments, and a savoury dinner awaited them. For Lanty Lofferty, he was regaled in the kitchen, and when, hours after, he sought out his young master, lie was glowing and flowing with praises of ‘ the lord ’ and his daughter. ‘Oh, the darlin’ o’ the worruld ! Wid a face like roses an’ new milk, an’ two eyes av her own that ud warm the very cockles av’ yer heart only to look at, an’ her hair for all iver you seen like a cup of coffee !’ ‘ Coffee, Lanty.?’

‘ Ay, coffee—an’ wirra ! but it’s little av’ the same we get in this house. Shure I had a beautiful cup over there beyant an hour ago. Like coffee—not too sthrong, mind—ail’ with jisb a notion o’ crame. That’s its colour; an’, mus’na, but it’s as purty a colour as ye’ll find in a day’s walk. An’ whin she looks up at ye—like this now—out of the tail av’ her eye, an’ wid a shinile on her beautiful face —oh, tare an’ ages ! av’ it wudn’t make an ould man young only to look at her !’ The young O’Donnell laughed. Ho was lying at full length on the oak floor—before the blazing peat fire—in one of the few habitable rooms that remained of what had once been the ‘Castle of the O’Donnell.’ He had not troubled himself to remove his wet clothes—he lay there steaming unconcernedly before the blaze —a book at his side, the ‘lliad;’—a superb specimen of youth, and strength, and handsome health. - 4 She appears bo have made an impression upon you, Lanty. So she is as handsome as this, is she? I thought so myself, but wasn’t sure, and 1 hadn’t time to take a second look before his lordship rode up, and I made off.’ 4 An’ wudn’t it have been more reasonable, now, and more Christian-like, bo have stood yer ground ? Whin an O'Donnell niver run away from danger, arrah ! Where’s the sinse av' phowderin’ away like tnad aflker it ? Shure he wanted bo thank ye, and so did the elliganb young crathur hereilf.’

‘ The very reason I fled, Lanty. I don't want their thanks—l don’t want them for that matter. What are they coming here for? What attraction can they find in our wild mountain district that they; should risk their necks seeking Torryglen : It is to be hoped they have got enough of it by this time.’

‘Troth, then, masbher darlin", bub that ould lord’s a nice, quiet, mighty civilspoken gintleman, and he does be sayin’ be wants you to call and see him, or give him an’ the fair-haired colleen lave to come up here an’ call on ye.’ 4 On me—call on me. !’ The young man (he was two-and-twenty or thereabouts) looked up with a short laugh. ‘ Oh, yes, let him visit O’Donnell Castle, by all means. See that the purple drawing-room is swept and dusted, Lanty, and the cobwebs brushed from the walls, and the three years’ grime and soot washed from the windows. See that the footmen wear their be3t liveries and put on their brogues for the occasion. Come up here ! Upon my life, this lord’s daughter will be enchanted with the splendours of Castle O’Donnell. Lanty, if they do happen to call, which isn’t likely—and if I happen to be in, which also isn’t likely—tell them I’m up in the mountains, or in the inoon ; that I’ve gone to Bailynahaggart, or—the devil—that I’m dead and buried, if you like. I won’t see them. Now be off.’ And then Mr Redmond O’Donnell went back to the sounding hexameters on his ‘ Iliad,’ and tried in poetry to forget; bub the fair palo face of the earl’s daughter arose between him and the page—wet. wild, woful, as he had seen it, with the fair streaming hair, the light, slender form, that he had clutched from the very hand of death. And she was coming, this haughty, high-born, high-bred English patrician, to beho’d the squalor, and the poverty, and the misery of this heap of ruin called O’Donnell Castle, to make a scoff' and a wonder of Irish poverty and fallen Irish fortunes. v.

4 I’ll nob see them,’ the youth resolved, his handsome, boyish, open face settling into a look of sullen determination. 4 1 don’t want their visit or their thanks. I’ll be off up the mountains to-morrow, and stay there until this fine English lord and his daughter leave, which will be before long, I’m thinking. A week or two in this savage district will suffice for them.’ Bub still the fair face haunted him—the novelty of such a neighbour was nob to be gob over. He flung the 4 Iliad ’ away at length, and going out on the grassy plateau, looked down the valley to where the cottage lights twinkled, far and faint, two miles off. And from her chamber window, ere she went to bed, Lady Cecil Clive gazed up at the starlit sky, and the-ruined towers of what had once been a great and mighty stronghold. The storm had spent its fury and passed, the autumn stars, large and white, shone out, the fresh hillside wind blew down in her fair wistful face.. It was a sad fate, she thought—the last scion of a kingly and beggared race, brave as a lion and penniless as a pauper, dwelling alone in that ruined land.

4 Poor fellow !’ Lady Cecil thought. ‘So young and so .utterly friendless !—too proud to labour, and too poor'too live as a gentleman—wasting his life in these savage ruins ! Papa must do something for him when we return to England. He saved my life at the risk of his own, and so heavy a debt of gratitude as that must be paid.’ (To be continued. ) j