CHAPTER XXXII.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 17, 23 January 1891, Page 23

CHAPTER XXXII.

Maurice pondered long over the Dews thus told him— told him in words an cold and unimpassioned that he never dreamt of the crnel wounds in the heart of him that uttered them. They wer<» now in the patrimony of the O' Byrnes, where it stretches into Kildare. Arrived among their own people, ttoe weary and worn horsemen stopped for refreshments and rest. Many of them were wounded, but all tired, weary, and worn, and bearing within them the depressing sense of defeat. It wis here that Colonel O'Bvrne learned of the serious condition of his brother. Wounded and ill, he ba<, when banded over to the clansmen by Maurice on the causeway through the bog, lifted bis spirits ia the prospect of soon seeing his native hills. But he bad no sooner been lifted from the saddle than it became evident his wounds were very serious. Oney Na Coppal, whose skill in human ailments was bat little inferior to bis knowledge of those in the animal from whom he took his cognomen, was called in. He saw at oace that the lamp of life was fast fading. The strong, buoyant spirit and courage of the youth carried him thus far ; it could bear him no farther. He died ia his brother's arms during the night. Ia the dawn of the morning, when the first faint rays of light began to tint the summits of the hill with gold, they Bet forward on their march, over which an additional and darker shade of gloom was cast. Those who were stroogest, youngest, and unwounded formed a rough couch with their lances, an i on this they carried the dead form of the gallant youth over the bids to his late home. It was a melancholy journey, and a sad welcoming at tae end of it. The warning apparition at the foot of the oak-tree, arranging her tresses ia the moonlight, had proved prophetic enough. The wounds which Maurice had received were not considerable. Wicklow men were skilful from long habit in treating wounds, and as goon as he had rested he hastened to see Carrie Mordaunt. He was uneasy to be away again. Insensibly he had grown anxious for the cause be had so reluctantly and by sheer accident joined ; the dauntless zeal of lully, the enthusiastic hopefulness of O'Moore, and the chivalrous disinterestedness of the Wicklow chieftan had impressed him. He felt for the cause so helpless and hopeless, needing the necessary war material, and resolved to use all his energies abroad to have them supplied. He had many friends still, as in the days of his pagehood at the court of Spain, aod he hoped to get their aid. To this end the s >oner his wedding with the fair Saasenacb took place the befer. They cou'd travel over the sunny regions of Spain and Fiance, and the health and strength which had been sadly tried by the events of the pist tew months would fiid ample room tor recuperation in these delightful lands. The world, so har>i and harsh of late, would lose its unpleasant features in one delightful dream of love. Maurice could scarcely delay to take the needful rest before he visited her. The sequestered vale ot Aughavumagh was to him the one sweet spot on earth worth visiting— the grey fortalice far exceeding in interest the prouiest palace on earth. Nowhere could tre sun shine so brightly, nowhere the mountain airs come more soft and fragrant. Her face was in his dreams whilst he rested, was in his thought when he awoke. Tbe flash of the sunbeam on the leaping cascade reminded him of tbe love-h^rt leaping from her eye ; whatever was beautiful in sea or sky of the supreme loveliness of her face. Never was crusader home from warring on the sands of Palestine more anxious to see the " ladye of his pledge " than Maurice to see the sister of him whose hand bai been raised with such deadly intent so lately. The hate that he entertained for her brother— the deadly malignity that exuted between them— seemed but to add to the intense and passionate love that he bore her. Accordingly, a few days after his return, when the decencies of mourning bad been complied with, Maurice, taking Oney with him, mounted his horse and rode across the heathy hills, reversing the course taken the last time th y had crossed them. His heart wa9 unaccountably heavy. He could not help remembering the youth who, in the pride of life and opening manhood, had ridden with him, theo full of enthusiasm, high spirit, and chivalry, but who was now lying in tae earth of the graveyard. The fate of Ireland might be h^ht or lowly, victory or defeat might surround her banners, but it would never either way stir the dead pulses of his heart. In accordance with tbe sad story, the heath and mountain, even the sea in the distauce, and the sky overhead, seemed to assume a tint of gray melancholy. To dispel it, and his gloomy thoughts, he entered into conversation with his companion. From him he learned much that had passed during his illness — learned more of Ellen Maguire's fortunes than Roger Leix had time to tell ; learnei what he paused a moment in surprise to hear, that Raymond Mordaunt bad been entrusted with high command in the Parliamentary forces in England, and that he had made arrangements to sail as sooa as he reached Dublin. From him Maurice learned, too, to his utter astonishment, that the Parliament in England had actually jointd issues with the King's troops on tae battle-field, and that the Earl of Warwick had command of the fleet. and the Karl of Essex of the land forces, and that Charles was likeiy to be Lard pressed. " From whom did you learn all this '" asked Maurice, in amazement.

uieui. '• Father Tully," said Oney, simply. " Father Tuliy seems to know everything, Oney," said Maurice, reflectively. " riow dvd he come to kuow this ? " " Whj could tell ? Faix, v's himself does know everybody and everything. If there was many like him in Ireland, it's the different way things 'ud be. D'ye know what he was doing when he gave me the message to bring to you — to hurry an' lava this lana an' go to France I "No. 11

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11 Well, he was kneelin', wid his stole around his n j ck an' a soldier's coat upon him, attendin' to the dyin' on the hillside— hearin' confessions afore they went to the other world. But Ireland As so strong in his bead that he could not, even at that moment, keep from couosellin' what was best." " He is a wonderful man, Ooey." "Wonderful?" said Oney, enthusiastically, "wonderful is no name for it. He spares himself no hardship or danger if he can do good or forward the cause. But he has not been the same since Ellen Maguire left us. He is downhearted like." " Sorry for her, Onev ?" " Ah, they were old friends since they were little. If Frank Tully had not become a priest Lady Ellen Maguire would have taken him before the son of a king. But his mind was tha other way. And may be it was all for the best. Hut it'a a pity — ob, my t what a pityshe should have given up her own, in creed and land, an' joined the foe and the stranger ; joined the Sassenach with his cold creed, and his hate an' scorn for hers and her race. Oh, my I " Maurice's reflection left him but little room to attend to the jeremiad of Oney Na Goppal ; his thoughts went from E.len Maguire and Raymond Mordaunt to the radiant girl brightening like a ray of sunshine the gray castle of Aughavumagh. A gleam of sun-bright glory, streaming in through storied window in some graynnd falling in mellow radiance on silver shrine, was the only parallel the cavalier could call up in his mini. His thoughts grew so intense that his anxiety to see her redoubled in his breast ; and he was about giving the word to Oney to ride quicker when his attention was attracted by a curious figure advancing towards them. Puzzled immeasurably, be reined up his horse. " Oney, what's that ?" he asked. Oney 'sthonghts, like Maurice's, had been absorbed, but indifferent w&ys and for different reasons, but now he raised his head, looked in the direction indicated, and after a pause said : " That's the weaver— Manus." " Wno ? ' asked Maurice. " Mnnus, the weaver — don't you remember? — in the nook at Dublin Castle — who came to the ship at " "Yes, to be sure. Is this he ? Why, so it is, I declare. What brings him here ? How strangely he looks ! " Manus did indeed look strangely. He would, from his hunchback and dwarfed form, have seemed strange anywhere on horseback, but here he seemed a veritable elf grown out of the surrounding heather. Maurice looked at him with curious interest whilst he advanced and came near. " Colonel O'Connor — Colonel Maurice O'Connor " "Yes, Manus," said Maurice, with unaffected delight. "I'm glad to meet you, and to thank you for " " Maurice O'Connor, I wa9 about going as messenger for you. Miss Mordaunt— sent me for you — wants to see you — as quick as you can go " " To see me ! " said Maurice, with a pleasurable sensation, diffusing a thrill of joy at his heart. " Aye. Ride, ride swiftly— that was her desire," said the weaver with a curijus expression on his face. Djn't delay a mmit." " Carrie, sweet love, is as impatient as myself," thought Maurice blithely, as he put spurs to his horse and galloped off. Arnvei at the castle, he entered the courtyard ; threw his reins over the iron crook that stood beside the door; passed through the ever open entrance ; and ran up the broad and wide oak^n staircase. He knew where Carrie generally read or reposed, and needed no guide. But at the head of the stairs he was confronted by one of the young la lies clad in deep mourning. She placed her finger on her lip in token of silence Maurice paused in silence. " Colonel O'Uoanor," said the pale girl, "sorrow comes to al 1 they say. It came to us. I fear it is c imiog to jou. Prepare yourself for a surprise-" Maurice, taken aback, thought that by some curious change in events, Raymond Mordauut had come to demand his sister, and almost looked around for the armed forces. " Where is Carrie, Qua?— let me see her," he said— not knowing what else to say. Silent herself from deep sorrow and sleepless nights she led him along the conidors. Through one window the mountains were visible, through the opposite the line of distant sea gemmed the horizon. The young lady opened a chamber door at the end. " Follow me I " she whispered, •' and command yourself." Maurice entered. "You are juet in time, Colonel O'Connor." whispered a young lady who knelt by the bedside, arising and greeting him. " Carrie Mordaunt is not long for this world — she is dying." Maurice, dazed , could not comprehend. " She took ill this morning, and the doctor says she cannot last long. Heart disease," said the young lady, explainingly, " but she sees you — knows you too, poor girl I Look. !" With something of the sensation of one suddenly plunged from a height into pure space, conscious of some vague, imoending danger which he could not stay, Maurice turned his gaze in the direction indicated. The blue evts, filled with love-light, brght with rejoicing at his presence, were turned to him, and the sweet face still so full of wonderous loveliness, but, ob, how changed ! " Maurice ! " *• " Carrie, Carrie 1" he cried, ■' is it thus I see you ? Oh, Carrie, why was I not made aware you were ill ? " He placed his arms around her, and she threw bars around his neck. " Maunce it came suddenly. The shock and fright of that night in the manOit s, and the long rile afterwards I lam Borry to leave you, Maurice, for I loved you well and dearly — but it cannot be helped. Keep your arms round me, beloved of my heart, and let me feel when 1 am Jying that you are near ! "

" Carrie, Carrie," he whispered, brokenly, whilst a great weight pressed like red hot iron at his heart, do not speak so — it is a miltake — it cannot be. Death is not near. It cannot be. Heaven could not permit it ! " " Maurice, let me feel your arms around me. Speak to me— there are strange noises io my ears. Keep your face near me — strange lights are before my eyes. Maurice, my heart and my love was yours — remember me when *' There was a shiver through the frame ; Sne bad lifted herself to press her lips to his when she fell back. The light had fled from her eyes ; the pulses ceased at her breast ; the voice and breath failtd simultaneously. The throb of life was over — death, that cometh to us all at some time, bad laid his cold hind on her beart— and all was still 1 Maurice was led from the room ; and for many months hovered between life and death— between the lamp of intelligence and reason always crowded, and sometimes well-nigh extinguished and still seeking to recover itself, and recurring periods of reason and intelligence. The combat ended in his favour ; the light of reason grew once more through the mists and clouded night of unconsciousness, and the life, well nigh stilled in his breast, grew and developed again. But the struggle lasted many months, and the form that was helped on the deck of the " Chartreuse " in one of the Wicklow bays, on his way to Spain, was very unlike the bright and handsome young cavalier wbo landed on the streets of Dublin city twelve short months before. " Maurice O'Connor," said O'Byrne, who Baw him aboard, " do you know who this is ? " " Oney Na Coppal," said Maurice, with a faint smile. " And these two ladies, Maurice ? " Maurice shook his bead ; be did not remember them. Oney whispered him. '' This i 6 Becca, Colonel O'Connor, and this is — " " Maurice, do you not remember me 1 Maurice O'Connor, could you — could you — forget me ? " cried the second, with an expression of blended pain and mortification, in her musical voice. " Lady Clare 1 " " Ob, Maurice O'Connor, Manrice O'Connor— if yon bad only taken my advice that summer night, amidst the thnnder and the lightning, and gone back, what pain and tronble and torment would have been saved I Ob, Maurice O'Connor," she cried, as she held his hand and looked at his shattered form, " wnat an unhappy land this Ireland is I There seems a spell of sorrow and malediction over it. Will you let me sail with you away from it — never more to come near it ; never more to come near the blood-stained and warring shores? Will you let me sail with you 1 I— Maurice O'Connor — I shall be your guiding star in the future." And Maurice said — " Yes I " Maurice O'Connor recovered his strength of mind and body rapidly. To the efforts he made in Spain and France the Confederate Council owed their ability to carry on the war for freedom in Ireland so long as they did. By degrees the incidents in Ireland became to him like a hazy dream, dimly recollected, like a painful legend travelling down the long decsent of centuries and having no connection witb the present and so by degrees there grew up another love in his heart on the ruins of that which had once been thera, a love which was true and sincere as the first, and in wbicn there came the shadow of no parting. Lady Clare 0 Connor had sufficient influence at Court to make reconciliation between her husband and t^e king, if, indeed, in the hour when trials and reverses surrounded him, he needed any better negotiator than the recommendation of a stout heart and strong arm. In many of the bloodiest battles of the War of the Revolution he rode beside Prince Rupert, and when tha Cavalier chivalry weat down before the Puritan spears and were rolled in tbe dust on the bloody day of Naseby the regiment that guarded the beaten monarch to Hereford an I afterwards Abergavenny wa9 commanded by Colonel Maurice O'Connor. But he never saw Ireland again. (THE END.)