CHAPTER 11.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 8, 21 February 1901, Page 23

CHAPTER 11.

Humphrey Bedin-Stld made bid way safely to the camp at Drogheda and there found his cousin, the worshipful captain, awaiting him. There were mutual expressions of wonder that the years had wrought such changes in each. Of the two, however, Bedinerfield showed less sign of wear and tear. He still preserved hn hardy, spare, figure, but the soldier looked heavier than such a seasoned campaigner had a right to be. There was no appearance, though, of the Puritan about Sir William— the twinkle in his eye came and went too often, and the self-indulgent lips and chin spoke volumes for his tastes. It could easily be seen that here was a man who accepted the rigid tenets of the Ironsides merely because it suited his purpose, not because he had any especial love for psalm singing and a cropped head.

' Well, lad, an' here you are ! Bat, i' faith 'tis not the same man,' he cried in greeting. ' Somewhat sedater than of old, an' more cautious it may be — though you were ever discreet, even in our boyhood — an' grizzled a bit about the temple?. Who seeks Time'B mercy is a fool, good cousin, for he spares neither the sage like yon, nor the merry like myself. lie has left me stouter than at our last meeting, and less nimble of foot, so that I feel betimes a home and rest would be pleasant. But the Lord Protector, whom God defend, is loth to spare me in his Bcourging of this unhappy country.' ' Ay, truly an unhappy oountry,' Bedingfield muttered Badly. ' Ifc is plain your sympathies are not with us, cousin, from the manner in which you have said iiiut>e wuru». Bui you a.re sa*c with me. You are my flesh and blood, an' it may be that Will Kendricke hath many faults, but it ne er lialu bwu Jiciigcd to him that he forgot the claims of kindred. An' I well remember too how you screened me from the blame of many a wild escapade when we were boys together.' ' I loved you, Will,' said Humphrey simply. 1 But tell me, cousin, what about the Papist wife. It is hinted, too, that you have joined her Faith and practise her Popish mummeries.' • Speak gently of her, Will, for my Papist wife is the dearest and best wife ever man had. Never, I think, was there so faultless a helpmate as mine. And if I adopted her Faith it was because I esteemed all things that were dear to her.' ' Spoken like a man,' cried Sir William heartily, clapping the other on the shoulder. ' I must see this paragon some time or other. Are ye blessed or cursed with children V 1 Neither the one nor the other, alas I' ' Well, well. Yet hearken, Humphrey. It would be discreet to show yourself at church when you go to dwell at Carra, for I mutt have you in the stewardship — that is settled. Cromwell is astute beyond belief, and there are ever those about him who whisper tales into his ear It will screen your wife and you, and I need not tell you that the war against the Irish is a war to the death.' 'It would break her heart Jif I did such a thing. I had rather die.' Sir William stared at him. Then he turned abruptly to hia desk, and began sorting his papers, while in a serious tone he explained to Bedingfield what was demanded of him as steward, to all of which the latter listened attentively. Finally, he left the captain's presence armed with the necessary authoritative documents, and the passport signed by Cromwell, which would convey ' Humphrey Bedingfield, silk mercer ; his wife, and three servant maids, from Dublin to the lands of the O'More in Northern Meath.' The journey to Carra was not accomplished without some vicissitudes, not the least of which was the difficulty of keeping Una's identity undiscovered. It was known that O'More had left an only daughter — a girl of great beauty — so Dame Honora's heart held a burden of fear those days lest the carefully prepared disguise should not be sufficient. But the passport won them respect and consideration from the Puritan soldiers, their only interceptors, for the kindly native Irish and the Norman-Irish of the Pale, with few exceptions, had been driven to ' Hell or Connaught'by orders of Cromwell. All along the way the burnt and shattered homesteads bore evidence to his ' civilising methods of warfare,' for so he had the audacity to term his policy of devastation. The castle by the Boyne side looked but a sorry sight, under the sinking sun, when the little cavalcade halted in the ruined courtyard. Una burst into tears as she gazed upon the desolate home of her fathers, but Dauie Houora drew her aside and whispered to her to restrain her grief, lest the soldiers who had attended them to their destination, should suspect any personal reason for her sorrow It had taxed the good woman's patience and ingenuity to baffle their curious interest m the shy servant maid during the journey, and now that they had arrivtd at the end, a very slight indiscretion might undo all their carefully arranged plans. Fortunately, however, there was no accommodation for the escort in the tower, which was to be the dwelling-place of the little family — so, grumbling at the necessity, they turned the heads of their tired horses towards Drogheda, ana rode off as quickly as fatigue would allow. Una, before she w^uld consent to appease her hunger, made a survey of the tower roomc. hhe found them stripped of almost all their furnishings — certain evidence that the troopers Sir William Kendricke had left to guard his posßessions until the coming of Humphrey had availed of their custodianship to appropriate everything of value. One room only was untouched, because undiscovered — the priest's room — to which phe introduce 1 Bedingfield, explaining to him the secret of the nprin^ lock, and of the flight of Bteps that led to a passage way underneath the building. 'It was here Father Donogh lived,' she said, ' and it will be necessary for you to remember what I have told you, since it is likely euough that he will follow us before long.' Dame Honara. with true housewifely aptitude, settled down contentedly to her new conditions of life. In a short time she had made the place fairly habitable, and bat for the gaping walls of the castle and the huge stones that lay in fragments all around there was little sign to show that a marauding army had so lately ravaged that smiling country. Una had regained some of her young fresh bloom, though her eyes had not lost their sadness. She spent most of her time about the ruins ; wondering on what spot her father had fallen and seeking carefully among the stones for some chance memento of him. She was anxious, too, of news of her lover, Con O'Hanlon, who, with his people, was under sentence of banishment into Connaught. He had not ventured near Carra since Una's return, though a message, carried by a priest disguised as a soldier, had reached them.

O'Hanlon conveyed, in this way, to Una hia plans for their marriage and flght to Spain, though he warned her that it might be some time until an opportunity should offer to permit the accomplishment of his scheme. She felt restless and unhappy in the dread that she had brough trouble upon Humphrey and Dame Honora. Then the household were menaced with another grave danger — this was the question of their religion. It would be diffloult to account for their non-attendance at the Protestant worship at Drogheda, even though Sir William Kendricke had voluntarily tried, when questioned on the subject, to explain it by a statement that hia steward, Humphrey Bedingfield, was a follower of the 4 true faith ' and would in due course frequent church like any other God-fearing Protestant, hnt that at present, being a sufferer from rheumatism, he was unable either to walk or ride, and the way was too long and too dangerous for hia women-folk to travel unprotected. This explanation sufficed for the occasion, and meantime Dame Honora and Una prayed fervently night and noon for the safe coming of Father Donogh Heggerty, with his kindly advice and the spiritual comfort that made him an eagerly welcomed guest in ail quarters of the land. He arrived one October evening, storm-buff etted and spent; his ragged clothing sodden with rain, and his bare feet bleeding with the flints and thorns of the fields and roadways. The news he conveyed was heart-rending. Cromwell'B murderous march still continued, and everywhere innocent blood was orying to heaven for vengeance. The priest-hunters were particularly active, since the price on the head of a cleric had been raised from five pounds to ten. Father Donogh had run the gauntlet of their suspicion more than once on his journey to Carra, but God had not decreed that he should fall a victim as yet. He remained but a few days before leaving them to go into the Fens— his native place. Both Dame Honora and Una aped the parting with many tears. But the brave old priest begged them to be of good cheer, ' for,' said he, ' I am on my father's business and He will guide me aright. Not even one hair of my head shall be touched unless it be His holy will., {To be concluded in our next itsue),