5T OF 
 BOrfAST! 
 
 V- 
 
c/^ 
 
THE 
 
 GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE 
 
 VOL. I 
 
THE GHOST 
 
 OF 
 
 DUNBOY CASTLE 
 
 BY 
 
 HUBERTO 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I 
 
 LONDON : 
 SIMPKIN, xMARSHALL & CO. 
 
 1889 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
^' 
 
 
 I 
 
 *J TO THE FOND MEIMORY OF 
 
 MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER. 
 
 <^ BY HIS UNREMITTING CARE, 
 
 I, THOUGH MOST UNWILLING, WAS CONSTRAINED TO LEARN 
 
 IN boyhood's foolish days. 
 
 WHILE, 
 
 BY HER GENUINE PIETY, EXAMPLE, AND PRECEPT, 
 
 WAS IMPRESSED ON MY YOUTHFUL MIND, 
 
 AN INDELIBLE REVERENCE FOR CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 .'^ 
 
 4 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 " Arcades Ambo." — Horace. 
 Two Blockheads. 
 
 '* Teh erlauhe mir von Hirer Oiite Oebrauch zu maclien und die- 
 selhen Ihrer heaondern Aufmerhsamheit zu empfehlen " — 
 
 HAUS>rANN. 
 
 I avail myself of your kindness to introduce these Gentlemen to 
 your particular consideration. 
 
 Author, I am about to lay before you in the 
 following pages, the narrative of a true 
 ghost-story. 
 
 Critic. Pooh, pooh. 
 
 Author, Your remark has the characteristic of 
 brevity more strikingly developed than 
 that of considerate politeness. 
 
 Critic, When your proem is absurd non- 
 sense, you surely cannot expect eulogy 
 or encouragement. 
 
 Author. Be so good as to explain yourself. 
 
 Critic. An explanation is unnecessary. A 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 '' true ghost-story " carries on its title its 
 own confutation, and announces its 
 innate — its intrinsic — absurdity. 
 
 Author, You do not believe in ghosts or 
 ghost-stories, and dogmatise when you 
 should remember that infallibility is not 
 your prerogative — forcing me to the 
 conclusion that you believe your indi- 
 viduality and error are antipodes. I 
 presume your motto is Ccesar sum, et 
 alter, nullo numero homo. 
 
 Critic, Sir, you court criticism when you 
 protrude your composition on the public, 
 and when the honest critique is not 
 eulogistic, instead of deriving profit and 
 returning thanks, your Billingsgate 
 propensity finds egress in impolite per- 
 sonalities. 
 
 Author, It would require a cargo of Christian 
 resignation, and a mental calibre singu- 
 larly susceptive of advantage, to enable 
 one to return thanks, or derive profit 
 from such expressions as ''pooh, pooh" 
 and ''absurd nonsense." Moreover, un- 
 supported assertions, advancing abstract 
 theories, which have the counterpoise of 
 
PREFACE, ix 
 
 high authorities, can hardly be considered 
 ** honest criticism." 
 
 Critic, No man endued with common sense 
 would believe what you call '' a true 
 ghost-story." It would be as rational to 
 say '^ a true falsehood;" '* an honest 
 thief," — the expressions are antagonistic ; 
 the avowal a paradox. 
 
 Author, Excuse me. Have you ever read the 
 life of Wesley, and his experiences con- 
 cerning ghosts ? 
 
 Critic, No ; and never will. Methodism com- 
 mends itself neither to my sympathy nor 
 support. 
 
 Author, If your criticism on the title of my 
 story is only of equal value with your 
 opinion of Wesley's narrative, which you 
 have never read, I am quite satisfied both 
 are worthless, for prejudice, not careful 
 examination, must be the foundation of 
 your decision. 
 
 Critic. Then let us agree to differ. 
 
 Author, Is your opinion of Professor Huxley 
 as adverse as that of Wesley ? 
 
 Critic. Certainly not ; Huxley is a first-class 
 scientific man, who has too much sense 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 to believe in such unscientific nonsense 
 as " ghosts," or ''true ghost-stories." 
 Author, Then let me read from one of his 
 works a quotation which he makes from 
 Sir David Brewster :—** On the 17th of 
 
 March, Mrs. A was preparing for 
 
 bed. She had dismissed her maid. On 
 raising her eyes, she saw, seated in a 
 lar^e easy chair before her, the figure of 
 
 a deceased friend, the sister of Mr. A . 
 
 The figure was dressed as had been usual 
 with her, with great neatness. Mrs. 
 A tried to speak to it, but experi- 
 enced a difficulty in doing so, and in 
 about three minutes the figure dis- 
 appeared." 
 
 Again. *' Mrs. A was preparing 
 
 to go to bed, about eleven o'clock at 
 night, and, sitting before a looking-glass, 
 was occupied in arranging her hair, when 
 she was suddenly startled by seeing in 
 the mirror the figure of a near relative. 
 The apparition appeared over her left 
 shoulder, and its eyes met hers in the 
 glass. It was enveloped in grave clothes, 
 closely pinned round the head and under 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 the chin, as is usual with corpses ; and, 
 though the eyes were open, the features 
 were solemn and rigid. A feeling like 
 what we call fascination compelled her 
 for a while to gaze. After a few moments 
 she turned round to look for the reality 
 at her back. It was not visible. It had 
 also disappeared from the glass when 
 she looked again." 
 
 Critic, Does Huxley quote that nonsense ? 
 
 Author, Yes, most certainly he has made that 
 quotation, but it is not nonsense. 
 
 Critic, Then what does he say of it ? 
 
 Author. He clearly admits that the sights 
 were seen — that is, he acknowledges the 
 truth of the story — indeed, he does not 
 appear, for one moment, to question the 
 veracity of the lady who made these 
 circumstantial and minutely particular 
 details. 
 
 Critic, If he had questioned her sanity, I 
 should not have been surprised. 
 
 Author But he has not done so ; no, nor by the 
 smallest innuendo insinuated that he had 
 any ground for so doing. 
 
 Critic, Then I should like to read the whole 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 account for myself, meanwhile reserving 
 the right of remaining a sceptic so far 
 as the reality of the apparition is con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Author. Well, if that does not convince you, 
 what are we to understand when we read : 
 "Samuel said unto Saul, Why hast thou 
 disquieted me to bring me to life ; " or 
 what is the meaning of : " And the graves 
 were opened, and many bodies of the 
 saints which slept arose, and came 
 out of the graves, and appeared unto 
 many?" 
 
 Critic. I don't profess to explain what you 
 call the '' Holy Scriptures," but if I did, 
 I would suggest, that a ghost is supposed 
 to be a spirit, and your quotation says 
 expressly, " the bodies arose," in one 
 instance, and implies it in the other, so 
 they will not aid you much, or advance 
 your argument. 
 
 Author. Yes, the quotation does say '* bodies," 
 but please remember it also says, **the 
 bodies that came out of the graves." 
 That is a most particular addition. We 
 learn from it that the bodies of these 
 
PREFACE. xiii 
 
 saints had lain in their graves. They 
 had been inmates of their tombs. The 
 Scripture narrative does not inform 
 us how long. The probability is, that 
 some of them had slept there for a con- 
 siderable time, for it is improbable that 
 all these saints had died and had been 
 buried together on the same day, or the 
 same week, or the same year. Hence, 
 the conclusion is irresistible that the 
 bodies which had been buried must also 
 have become decomposed. I suppose 
 you will admit this ? 
 
 Critic, Well, yes ; but what does this tend to ? 
 What do you conclude from it ? 
 
 Author, Simply this. As the work of decom- 
 position must have destroyed the buried 
 bodies, the bodies that arose must have 
 been new bodies, different bodies, resur- 
 rection bodies. 
 
 Critic, If, for argument sake, I admit this, 
 what follows ? 
 
 Author. Then you must also admit that we 
 have no reason to suppose that resurrec- 
 tion bodies were composed of flesh, and 
 bones, and blood. It is more probable 
 
xiv PREFACE. 
 
 that they were immaterial, bearing, per- 
 haps, to mortal gaze the similitude of the 
 departed, but nothing more. 
 
 Critic, I know nothing of Necromancy, or 
 witchcraft, or resurrection bodies, and so 
 do not feel called on to make any con- 
 cession, or admission, or to give any 
 explanation concerning your statements, 
 whose foundations rest, in my opinion, 
 on no stronger basis than pure surmise. 
 
 Author, At all events, you will allow that man, 
 in all ages, has been possessed of an 
 intuitive knowledge, or, if that be too 
 strong ^n expression; an intuitive feeling, 
 of the existence of the supernatural ? 
 
 Critic, Well, perhaps he has ; but that is no 
 proof that his supposition, for it is only 
 a supposition, is founded on truth, or has 
 the stamp of truth impressed upon it. 
 
 Author. Then let us leave this line of proof and 
 take another. He '^ who spake as never 
 man spake," did not '' pooh, pooh " the 
 matter, when his affrighted disciples 
 mistook him for a spirit. He did not say 
 there was no such thing ; quite the 
 contrary, he spoke to them of the nature 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 of spiritual existences, informing them 
 " that a spirit hath not flesh and bones 
 as He has." 
 
 Critic . I must repeat I do not feel called on to 
 give any explanation in this matter. 
 You are on your trial, not I. 
 
 Author. I will not seek further to influence you. 
 There is an old saying, " Convince a 
 woman against her will, She's of the 
 same opinion still," and as far as my 
 experience goes, the distich is as appli- 
 cable to many men as it is to women ; 
 however, this is a true ghost-story, and you 
 will credit it, when you ^-ead it, I stake 
 MY word for this. 
 
 Critic. You stake your word ! Who are you ? 
 
 Author. If you would ask our Grand First 
 Principal — our Grand Master — His Eoyal 
 Highness the Prince of Wales that ques- 
 tion, he could answer it with the greatest 
 ease ; but, on the contrary, it is the most 
 difficult question you could ask an 
 obscure individual. All I can say in 
 reply is, I shall be pleased to send you, 
 or any other reader of my Story, my 
 photo, as a means of identification, if you 
 
xvi PREFACE. 
 
 send me a stamped envelope with your 
 address and twelve stamps enclosed. 
 
 Critic. Excuse me, but really I would not 
 give the twenty-fourth part of that 
 amount, that is, one halfpenny, for it. 
 
 Author, Well, I would give double what you 
 specify for yours, or that of any other 
 reader of my book. I would send it in 
 postage stamps, and pay the postage too, 
 provided the applicant informed me what 
 incident he or she considered most 
 interesting. 
 
 Critic, Agreed ; I shall read your book, 
 absurd as its title is, and if your ghost- 
 story be true, I will accept your offer, and 
 send you my photo., particularising at 
 the same time what I consider your best 
 hit. But are you a Freemason, as an 
 allusion you just now made leads me to 
 suspect ? 
 
 Author. When you read my book you may be 
 able to answer that question for yourself. 
 
 Critic. One question more. Would you con- 
 sider it unpardonable inquisitiveness or 
 presumption were I to ask the object you 
 have in view in writing ? It would pain 
 
PREFACE. xvii 
 
 me to suppose that your sole intention 
 was to try to engraft on the minds of 
 your readers a belief in spiritual appari- 
 tions, from which I cannot see what 
 possible good could result. 
 
 Author. So far from considering such an 
 enquiry presumptuous, or replete with 
 inquisitiveness, to answer it gives me 
 sincere satisfaction. My object is to 
 picture character; not as it ought to 
 be, but as it exists. Remembering 
 Shakspeare's direction : ** Nothing exten- 
 uate nor ought set down in malice." It is 
 my desire to shew, as far as in my power 
 lies, that no one is altogether good ; ay, 
 and that no one is altogether bad. 
 
 Critic, And what is your corollary or grand 
 conclusion from this outline ? 
 
 Author. Simply this, that the undercurrent of 
 the story will suggest that we should 
 exercise charity when considering the 
 failings of others, and remember for our- 
 selves, that happiness lies in the path 
 of rectitude, honour, unselfishness and 
 truth, and that vice, selfishness and 
 crime, bring down a weight of woe. 
 
xviu PREFACE. 
 
 Critic. If I find what you describe exempli- 
 fied in your book, then my wish will be 
 that it may have success, meanwhile, 
 good-bye — tatta — so-long. 
 
 Author. (Smiling f and hissing his hand), Good- 
 bye, tatta. 
 
 January 1st, 1889. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lovely Mary 0' Sullivan 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The Murdered Man's Ghost 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Running the Blockade - - - - - - 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Pretty Nora Harrington and her Old Admirer - 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A Handsome Young Soldier on the Tapis - - 59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Infidel Doctor - - - - - 75 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Poor Little Cattie 91 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mary, Gerald, and the Gipsy - - - - - 110 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Rosa and the Doctor - - - - - - 129 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Unparalleled Villainy - - - - - - 148 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Freemasonry 165 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Captain Lovell and the Cook .... 184 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Mary 0' Sullivan takes the Poison - - - - 202 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Gerald and Lovell Fight with Swords - - - 220 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 In the Dark Passage with the Ghost 
 
CHAPTEE I. 
 
 LOVELY MARY O'SULLIVAN. 
 
 " Time, on wliose arbitrary wing 
 
 The varying hours must flag or fly, 
 Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, 
 But drag, or drive us on to die." 
 
 Thus Byron, contemplatively sad, commences 
 one of his occasional pieces, and his words are 
 adopted as the *' Maiire de la ceremonie " to 
 introduce this narrative. This aforesaid, as the 
 lawyers say, old Time, with his scythe and hour- 
 glass, and other emblems of decay and symbols of 
 destruction, had closed the curtains on another 
 day. Another day, another daughter of Time, 
 had finished her ephemeral existence. The 
 world's business people, with closed windows, 
 testified their appreciation of her loss. Night, in 
 seeming sympathy, spread round her pall of 
 darkness, and all creation, in emblematic mourn- 
 ing, assumed the sable vestment — the judiciously 
 selected garb which so well symbolises disfigur- 
 ing melancholy. Yes, another day had passed — 
 had passed away for aye — had died as mortals 
 die, to see this world no more, and solemn mid- 
 
2 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 night was now approaching. In one brief half 
 hour the clock on the stately castle tower would 
 commence to chime its twelve. As Shakspeare, 
 that master in knowledge of human nature, and 
 language, and prejudice, describes — 
 
 " 'Twas now, the very witching time of night 
 When church-yards yawn, and Hell herself breathes out 
 Contagion to the world." 
 
 This hour, which superstition invests with uncir- 
 cumscribed mysteriousness, was quickly drawing 
 on ; but, as yet, the three inmates of the 
 spacious old room — with its lofty vaulted ceil- 
 ing, its high and dark oak-wood wainscotting, 
 and its life-size pictures of passed-away proprie- 
 tors, with their heavy carved frames, from within 
 which the penetrating eyes seemed still to peer 
 and follow the observer round the apartment, 
 regardless how often he might change his posi- 
 tion — yes, the inmates of this room had not 
 dared to sleep. Though very much fatigued by 
 the uninterrupted travelling of the last three 
 days, and worried by broken rest and severe 
 exercise, anxiety had hitherto overcome drowsi- 
 ness. The alarm they anticipated, from what the 
 general rumour of the neighbourhood assured 
 them they were destined that night to see, preyed 
 on their minds. The forewarning they had 
 received, in ominous accents and with appalling 
 gestures, accompanied, too, with a detail of the 
 consequences likely to result from their foolhardi- 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 3 
 
 ness in the venture, had, up to this late period, 
 overcome the cravings of wearied nature, and 
 expelled the thoughts of genial balmy rest. The 
 hour for the advent of the apparition was draw- 
 ing near, and the conversation, which the three 
 college friends had kept up with much anima- 
 tion in the earlier 23eriod of the evening, had 
 at length dwindled down to curt sentences, with 
 long intervening pauses, varied alone by loud, 
 though suppressed yawns. 
 
 "- How I wish," at length said one of the party, 
 *' how I wish, Murty, that ghost would come, and 
 let us see the worst of him, for I'm blessed if my 
 eyes will stay open any longer." 
 
 As the thread of the narrative has been taken 
 up in the middle, it will now be necessary to par- 
 ticularise that the speaker's name was Richard 
 McSweeney, eldest son of an old and influential 
 family in the County Tipperary; that he 
 addressed thus familiarly Mortimer O'SuUivan, 
 whose guest he was, and of whom by and by 
 more particulars will be unfolded; while the third 
 party was Eugene Fitzgerald, whose early years 
 were spent in Yalentia, an island on the western 
 coast, where now stands the stately residence of 
 the Knight of Kerry, who still rejoices in this 
 family name. 
 
 **Yes, Dick," rejoined Murty, "I wish if he 
 intended to come, he would make his appear- 
 ance ; but you know," he added vauntingly, " I 
 do not believe in ghosts, for, if there be such 
 
4 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 things at all, they are immaterial, and men of 
 science inform us that our eyes are so constituted 
 that they cannot see immaterial objects, and 
 therefore, come or not come, it will be to us all 
 the same, for it will be impossible for us to 
 behold them." 
 
 ** And that is my opinion, too," chimed in 
 Eugene, having at first with difficulty opened his 
 eyes, while his mouth opened spontaneously to 
 give vent to his fiftieth yawn. 
 
 Scarcely had they spoken, when a low rumbling 
 in a distant corner of the room, made all three 
 hurry from their seats, and place themselves in 
 standing posture, closely side by side, while every 
 eye is directed anxiously towards the quarter 
 whence the noise had come. 
 
 Then was tested the strength of Mortimer's 
 philosophy, and the sincerity of McSweeney's 
 wish. The philosophy — the lately accredited 
 philosophy — ^had yielded without a struggle to 
 the awakened impulse of early superstition, and 
 the wish, transformed by fear, chameleon-like, 
 had changed, and turned into its very opposite. 
 At that moment McSweeney longed for anything 
 rather than the accomplishment of the previous 
 moment's aspiration. 
 
 Soon they all breathed freely again. A few 
 moments' attentive listening convinced them that 
 the dreaded noise was but the gnawing of a 
 mouse, and with a general hearty laugh at their 
 common fear, and the trivial circumstance that 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 5 
 
 caused such agitation, they soon resumed their 
 places, and forthwith fatigued nature renewed 
 her cravings for repose. 
 
 Just then the old castle clock had struck its 
 portentous twelve, but yet no ghost appeared, and 
 though not one of the party was sufficiently 
 courageous to suggest that they should retire to 
 their different bedrooms, to enjoy the sleep they 
 so much needed, yet all were unanimous that it 
 would be very foolish indeed, even if possible, to 
 stay awake all night. 
 
 '•'■ Let us watch in turns," says Fitzgerald, 
 *' one hour each ; one awake to give the alarm, 
 the other two asleep, and let us cast lots to see 
 who must watch the first hour. 
 
 ** Agreed," said the other two ; and soon the 
 lots prepared and drawn constituted Mortimer 
 0' Sullivan the first hour's watcher. Whereupon, 
 taking an old book, entitled Marx^ 0' Sullivan^ her 
 Friends and Influence, written in two volumes, 
 from a bracket in the room, he sat down to read. 
 
 And now, kind reader, do not forget this book, 
 and yet, dismissing it from thy thoughts awhile, 
 see in imagination, Mortimer, sitting in his chair, 
 alone awake. Close by, McSweeney, on the 
 hearth-rug, before the still blazing fire, at full 
 length, reposing his wearied limbs; and hear 
 Fitzgerald, on the sofa, with two great coats 
 spread over him, in lieu of blankets, rivalling his 
 sleeping friend, if not in comfort, most certainly 
 in the monotonous vigour of his snores. 
 
6 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 But Mortimer is alone — alone awake — his 
 anxious ear listens for every noise. He has 
 promised willingly that he will call his com- 
 panions on the first signal of danger, and this 
 danger his excited feelings conjure up almost 
 from everything. He frequently turns in his chair, 
 and casts many a wistful glance on the dark 
 corner behind him, as though it were his firm 
 belief that thence would be the advent of the 
 expected, but unwelcome, visitor. And now, as 
 the unreplenished fire is sinking on the hearth, 
 and the unsupplied ash blocks have ceased to 
 emit their bright flames, the light becomes more 
 dim, more suppressed, till, to his fancy, as the 
 gifted American, Edgar Allan Poe, describes — 
 
 " Each flickering dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor, 
 Tiien eagerly hs wished the morrow." 
 
 And, as if anxious to anticipate its approach, he 
 left his seat, and going to the window, cast his 
 eyes towards the east, along the unrufiled billows 
 of spacious Bantry Bay. 
 
 The words '* unruffled billows " have not been 
 used unwittingly. The boisterous east winds 
 which prevailed the preceding days had violently 
 disturbed the sea, but the storm had for some 
 hours died away, and was followed by a breathless 
 calm. The only consequence of the previous fury 
 of the wind was what seafaring men denominate 
 " a heavy ground swell," whose tops displayed no 
 curling surge or agitated foam, but which, un- 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 7 
 
 afifected by external causes, were moved in their 
 swervings and upheavings by no other impulse 
 than their innate individual strength. 
 
 And as he looked along those billows, which 
 rolled from the Atlantic through the western 
 entrance, between Bere Island and the opposite 
 projecting headland, into the extensive bay, he 
 saw the reflection in a thousand different places 
 of the dichotomised moon, whose borrowed light 
 the earth had half obscured, apprehensive lest 
 the eventful issues of that mysterious night, if 
 seen in full effulgence, might prove dangerously 
 alarming to her excited offspring. He saw, too, 
 the unnumbered stars twinkling in their exalted 
 spheres. He heard the hoarse murmur of the 
 encroaching waves, as, restless of restraint, they 
 dashed against the rock-bound shore. To his 
 vision also, in the distance, rose the towering 
 cliffs, which, in the imperfect light of night, 
 appeared like murky mists. But while contem- 
 plating, the grandeur of the scene thrilling his 
 romantic soul, another object suddenly arrests 
 his view, the first sight of which is accompanied 
 with a strange mysterious feeling of alarm. His 
 heart redoubles its beating. A cold sensation, 
 like a chill serpent's coiling, glides over his entire 
 frame, and his hair seems to rise on his temples 
 and stand erect in fixed rigidity. 
 
 Yet, why these symptoms of fear ? What 
 reasonable cause for their existence ? His eyes are 
 fixed upon a distant light, a pale dim light — 
 
8 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 unlike a lamp or torch, but such as surrounds the 
 moon, the halo which the weather-wise inform us 
 is a signal premonitory of rain. It comes appar- 
 ently from the direction of the ocean. As he looks, 
 it approaches nearer and nearer, and his fears 
 magnify. Already it has come so near that his 
 straining eyes can distinguish a boat — a boat not 
 empty, but which contains several men, whose 
 garb bespeaks them men of arms, but whose 
 uniform is not of modern date. \ 
 
 With intense anxiety he observes each move- 
 ment, and now the boat has neared the shore, 
 and the strange light gives our solitary watcher a 
 more perfect view. Ah ! now he can distinguish 
 accurately. They approach the landing under- 
 neath the castle — his castle — the dwelling-place 
 of his forefathers. Are they pirates — robbers 
 of the sea, returning loaded with the pilfered 
 booty which they have rifled from some passing 
 merchantman, whose crew they have murdered, 
 and then sunk the vessel in the deep, that no 
 witness, no evidence, might remain to tell the 
 story of their enormity ? Have they made his 
 hereditary mansion their rendezvous — their 
 treasure-house — finding it untenanted, and now 
 in the lone stillness of midnight will they murder 
 him and his companions, that none other may 
 venture to encroach on their appropriated pro- 
 perty, and that henceforth the inheritance may 
 be theirs ? Thus for a moment he thinks, and 
 concludes it is full time to awake his slumbering 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 9 
 
 companions, that all may devise together some 
 mode of defence : but then, again, the thought 
 arises that they may be smugglers in disguise who 
 have selected this late hour of night to land their 
 contraband goods, and so escape the vigilance 
 of the coastguard, and his friends roused from 
 repose before the allotted time, may deem him a 
 coward swayed by groundless fear, and may 
 reproach him with pusillanimity. No. Better 
 danger than this. He will not call them yet, but 
 will wait till peril comes more imminent and 
 definite. 
 
 It is time to describe the personages that 
 Mortimer observed, whose appearance so power- 
 fully aroused his apprehension, and this shall be 
 done as briefly as possible. In the stern of the 
 boat, and holding the tiller ropes, sat one whose 
 stately and majestic mien, as well as the differ- 
 ence of his armour, pointed him out as the leader 
 of the party. He looked about twenty-five years of 
 age. His long, dark, and glossy hair, fell in 
 thick clustering curls on his shoulders. His well 
 developed chest and colossal frame evinced him 
 at once well fitted to take part in daring enter- 
 prises, and a formidable foe for those who would 
 oppose his will. His forehead high and ex- 
 panded, his nose aquiline, his features regular, 
 all constituted a contour singularly handsome 
 and beaming with intelligence, but in the minute 
 expression the physiognomist might read a fixity 
 of purpose, and in the rapid glancing of the eye 
 
10 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 an unsatiated desire, mingled with what might be 
 attributed either to a present feeling of pain, or 
 an intense, unwavering longing to obliterate past 
 indignities by a signal vengeance and an atoning 
 retribution. There might also be deciphered the 
 traces of deep-felt melancholy in that counten- 
 ance. It was pale too — wonderfully wan — and 
 this paleness the long dark beard and drooping 
 moustache, by its contrast, made to look almost 
 the pallid wanness of death ; so Mortimer's fancy 
 thought. But then, death is not wont to shew 
 such signals of vitality. Limbs, too, encased in 
 panoply of steel, the huge dagger, the heavy 
 claymore, the helmet with its waving plume ; 
 these are not the accoutrements of the inhabit- 
 ant of the grave. 
 
 And now we may leave the description of this 
 person — whether a mortal or an unearthly visit- 
 ant, our narrative will presently unfold — and turn 
 to his companions, who were five in number, four 
 of them grim in appearance, powerful in form, 
 well armed too — but their armour shewed not 
 distinction and influence, but was such as ruffian 
 desperadoes would adopt, or dependent menials 
 would assume, when ordered to share in some 
 desperate exploit of their superior. 
 
 There is some one in recumbent position in 
 the bottom of the boat. A long white robe is 
 visible — of delicate texture too — more fitted for 
 the drawing room and its genial warmth than 
 the cold, rude sea and the freezing chillness of 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 11 
 
 that night. A shawl, also of costly fabric, may be 
 seen. It partly envelopes a head which leans 
 against the mail-clad warrior who guides the 
 rudder. Such clothing surely is not masculine, 
 nor is that little foot which just appears below 
 the robe, nor that tiny white hand which looks so 
 beautiful as it rests listlessly on the reclining 
 bosom. Thus Mortimer thought, as looking from 
 the window he beheld, and seemed entranced by 
 rapture as he gazed. That dress, that foot, that 
 hand, ay, and that face and form of beauty 
 unsurpassed, who can describe it ? A forehead 
 white as snow and perfect in its outline, each side 
 of which bright golden tresses decorate and fall 
 in luxuriant curls, extending far below the waist. 
 A nose which the Grecian or Italian sculptor 
 would long to constitute his model, and though 
 chiseling with exactness and elaborate care, yet 
 would vainly try to emulate. The eyes, which long 
 dark lashes fringe, are closed apparently in 
 sleep. The mouth, through whose slightly parted 
 lips the tips of pearl-like teeth, of form exact, 
 appear, wears a smile, the sweetness of whose 
 expression words are too feeble to portray, while 
 the chin, rounded in perfect proportion, completes 
 an attempt to describe those varied charms, 
 whose tout ensemble presented to young Mortimer's 
 fancy the very acme of loveliness, which to see 
 was to admire, and to observe closely was to 
 adore. 
 
 Who can she be ? Torn from a happy home, 
 
12 THF GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 perhaps, by these rude men. Oh ! has she been 
 subjected to indignities ? Has any man so vile 
 yet breathed the air, who would venture in the 
 blackness of a fiend heart to offer her an insult ? 
 No fear now for himself, no dread of ghosts 
 remains. One all-absorbing thought occupies his 
 mind. He burns to know the fair one's history, 
 and if enemies one so beautiful and so angelic 
 could have, his soul longs to free her from them, 
 or to pour out his life blood, drop by drop, in 
 the chivalrous attempt. 
 
 And now the approaching boat has reached the 
 land, and clustering evergreens obscure his perfect 
 view. '* Who can she be ? " again he cries. *' Oh ! 
 doubt is terrible — is unbearable. I cannot brook 
 it longer. All, even at the risk of life, I shall, I 
 must know ; " but while he meditates, and is 
 preparing to suit the action to the word, suddenly 
 a balmy fragrance scents the genial air, and 
 music's most harmonious strain thrills his loud- 
 throbbing heart. It is far away, yet it is near. 
 It is low and soft, and yet it is distinct. It is 
 sad, aye, passing sad, and yet though so melan- 
 choly, it is exquisite. He listens in attention most 
 profound, while a gentle voice, in tenderest pathos, 
 which the harp's sweetly reverberating tones 
 accompany, pours forth these stanzas to the air. 
 
 Oh ! weep for thy country, her glory has vanished, 
 
 Ye matrons of Erin, restrain not your tears. 
 The stranger, by numbers, thy brave sons has vanquished, 
 
 And doomed them in bondage to pine for long years. 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 13 
 
 Yet, weep not for those who by dying betoken 
 
 They valued not life, when sweet liberty fled, 
 But weep for the living, whose spirits are broken, 
 
 Who, grieving in thraldom, now envy the dead. 
 
 Bring lilies in handfuUs, and short blooming roses, 
 To strew o'er the tombs of the fair and the brave ; 
 
 Tread softly ! here honor and virtue reposes, 
 Here tyranny's victims, find peace in the grave. 
 
 And thou, lovely maiden, now gently reposing, 
 The destitute poor ne'er besought thee in vain, 
 
 But when the afflicted ones' woes were disclosing, 
 
 You soothed their distress first, then wept o'er their pain. 
 
 Glad ! glad was thy heart e'er the stranger invaded, 
 To murder thy kindred and claim thy demesne, 
 
 While vain of his pomp and his power paraded. 
 He tried to dishonour thy fair virgin fame. 
 
 Thine aged widow'd mother, heartbroken with sorrow. 
 Then sought thee through castle and hall and dark room. 
 
 Till tidings most woful arrived on the morrow, 
 And brought her grey hairs down with grief to the tomb. 
 
 But weep not, kind mother, nor poor ones, when fainting 
 With hunger ; ye think how she gave you her bread ; 
 
 With honour unsullied — a base life disdaining. 
 Behold her ! she sleeps in the stillness of death. 
 
 The music ceases. The sweet voice dies on 
 the rising breeze, and the strange light concen- 
 trating displays the beauteous form, no longer 
 breathing vital air, but now a pale, a rigid, a 
 lifeless corse. 
 
 Mortimer cannot bear the sight. His head 
 reels, his eyes swim, and with difficulty he 
 prevents himself from sinking to the ground ; 
 but vigor soon returns, then, with hands upraised 
 towards heaven, he prays for vengeance on the 
 
14 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 guilty, and swears with solemn oath, his life-long 
 aim shall be to trace the villain out, and vent a 
 condign punishment on the murderer's head. 
 But, at this moment the door of the old room 
 opens, its lock has noiselessly given way, its bolts 
 have parted mysteriously, and the steel-clad 
 ^Yarrior, in colossal form and stately majesty, 
 stands full before his view ; while from outside 
 the window, the united wailing of several female 
 voices uttered most plaintively and distinctly the 
 following words : — 
 
 " oil ! how we grieve for you, Mary O'Sullivan; 
 Kind to the poor, to j'our motlier so dutiful, 
 Lovely and virtuous, so good and beautiful; 
 Murdered while pure and young, Mary O'Sullivan." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MURDERED MAN's GHOST. 
 
 *' Cut off, ev'n iu the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unliousel'd, unappointed, unaneal'd. 
 No reck'ning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head. 
 Oh, horrible ! oh, horrible ! most horrible ! " — Hamlet. 
 
 The news rapidly circulated round all the neigh- 
 bourhood that three young gentlemen had arrived 
 at Dunboy Castle, and had made preparations to 
 spend the night there. Their bravery, their fool- 
 hardiness, as some called it, was the topic of 
 conversation in every house in the little village of 
 Castletown, and, presently, excited groups might 
 be seen in the most frequented parts of the 
 streets, discussing, with earnest volubility and 
 manifest excitement, the ominous particulars of 
 the situation. 
 
 '' Have ye been west, why?" said Mr. Gillohy, 
 the leading grocer of the locality, to Mr. James 
 Doonan, who had acted as caretaker and resident 
 at the Castle since the family had ceased to reside 
 there, some fifteen years before. 
 
 ''Yis," replied Mr. Doonan, *' and have lift 
 the three young gintlemin in the ould oak room. 
 
16 THE GHOS T OF D UNB OV CAS TLE. 
 
 They seems lively and happy enough jist now, 
 and full of their fun, and appears to think it foine 
 divarsion to wait for the ghost, but, be me word, 
 they'll have another kind of look on their faces in 
 the mornen." 
 
 ** Tell us what ye seen, Mr. Doonan, when ye 
 lived there, and tuck care of the place," asked 
 Mr. Gillohy. 
 
 ** Faiks, Oi seen more than Oi'd care to see 
 agin," responded Mr. Doonan, '* but Oi'll tell ye 
 how it was. Mesef and the wife, and the wife's 
 sister, wor all in the house, to keep the fires lit 
 reglar, and the rooms and furnitur dusted and 
 tidy. At first we all slept in the sarvents' apart- 
 mints, but after a while, jist to keep the beds 
 aired like, we thought we'd sleep in the best bed 
 rooms, and so we did. And the first night, 
 nothen at all, good or bad, happened, and the 
 second night jist the same took place, but the 
 third, after we wint to bed, Oi thought Oi heerd 
 like a lame step on the stairs, every second one 
 coming heavy like, and every other light. And 
 with that Oi ups and says to the wife, ' sure it is'nt 
 anybody has got into the house ? ' 
 
 '* ' Go asleep,' says she, ' 'tis dreaming ye are, 
 and don't be disturben me with yer nonsinse.' 
 
 *' But me mind filt oneasy like, so up Oi gets, 
 lights the candle, and goes down stairs, and niver 
 cried stop until Oi looked over the ontire place, 
 but the dickens a soul could mesef see. With 
 that Oi was coming back agin to bed, and jist as 
 
THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 17 
 
 Oi reached the fust landen, something or another 
 made me lift me oyes and look up. Oh, by- 
 gonnes ! Oi shall niver forget it if Oi lived a thou- 
 sand years. There stood, right foreninst me, an 
 ould gintleman, with a green cut off coat, knee 
 breeches and top boots, staring me into the two 
 oyes. His face was as pale as death, and fresh 
 blood seemed to be runnen down won of his 
 cheeks. The big could drops began to trickle 
 from me forehead on to me oyes and nose and 
 whiskers, me knees shuck and knocked togither, 
 so that I was hard set to stand, and Oi could hear 
 meself saying, ' A a a a a aa,' till me jaw fell and Oi 
 could utter no more. But as Oi looked, he moved 
 away towards the three marble figures that stand 
 on the slab on the left-hand side of the landen, 
 on the top of the stairs. He thin pointed to a 
 spot about twenty inches under their feet, jist 
 above the wainscoten, steady as a rock for about 
 two minits, and thin he vanished through the 
 wall, jist the same as if it was an open door." 
 
 " The Lord be between us and all harm," said 
 an old woman, who stood listening on the out- 
 side of the crowd. 
 
 " 'Tis ye may say so," continued Jim, '*but 
 Oi hav'nt finished me story yit. Well Oi niver 
 opened me mouth to the wife about what Oi seen, 
 Oi kept it all to mesef ; but the nixt night we 
 were up rather late, and after we wint to bed, the 
 wife forgot something in the kitchen and wint 
 down for it, and no sooner was she gone than Oi 
 
18 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 heered the same lame step on the landen. ' Och 
 mm'der,' says Oi to mesef, * Oi'm lost ontirely, 
 shure and sartin Oi am.' If he had to come into 
 the room Oi'd have died there and thin. So with 
 that, to tell no lie about it, Oi was that afeerd 
 that Oi hid me head under the bed-clothes, and 
 there Oi stopped, nearly smothered as I was, until 
 Oi felt a hand come down heavily on me side. 
 The sinses were just laven me whin Oi heerd a 
 voice saying * Och, Jim, Jim, Oi'm kilt ontirely.' 
 
 " With that, Oi raised me head from out the 
 coveren, and, not letten on that Oi was frightened, 
 says, * whatever is the mather with ye, Biddy, ye 
 looks rale bad ? ' 
 
 *' ' Och ! ' says she, * Oi've jist seen, out on the 
 landen, a gintleman, in a green cut off coat, knee 
 breeches and top boots, and as Oi looked at him 
 he vanished right through the wall, close by the 
 three marble figures. The house is haunted,' says 
 she, * Oi would'nt sthop another night in it for 
 the world.' 
 
 *'' Don't be talking yer nonsense,' says Oi, 
 letten on to be very brave, * 'tis dramin ye were,' 
 though, to tell the truth, the fear was in me own 
 heart, and Oi could scarce keep me teeth from 
 chatteren, for 'twas the very same Oi mesef had 
 seen the night afore — and sure if Oi tould her 
 what Oi seen she might have imagined she seen 
 the same, but the niver a word Oi tould her, and 
 yet she spake into me two ears the very sight Oi 
 seen mesef. 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 19 
 
 " Why did'nt ye call me, says Oi. 
 
 *' *0i had'nt the power to spake,' says she, 'and 
 sure its ready to faint Oi am now with the dint of 
 the fright/ 
 
 ** And thin Oi tuck to persuaden her that it was 
 all in her own mind it was, and tould her not to 
 say a word to her sister, and she promised me she 
 wouldn't. And so two days wint by, and mesef 
 was anxious to stay in the house if Oi could at 
 all, for ye know it saved me the expense of paying 
 every week for lodgens or apartments, but still the 
 fear was in me heart and in Biddy's too, for whin 
 wonst the night came Biddy would not go a step 
 be herself, and if Oi had to go to any part of the 
 house, she would not be left alone, but came along 
 with me, and, fakes, to tell the truth, the niver a 
 step would mesef go only she did, though Oi did 
 not let on to her, but only laughed at what Oi 
 called her nonsinse. But, manewhile, the sister- 
 in-law wint over the house without a bad thought 
 in her head or a fear in her mind. We could 
 hear her run down to the kitchen and come back 
 agin, singing as she was used to do, been a foine 
 singer too, and this too in the late hours, when 
 we were in bed. So, at last, both the wife and 
 mesef began to think there was nothen in it but 
 our own fancy, and with that our courage began 
 to git up agin. Until one night, when we were 
 both asleep, Kitty, that's the sister-in-law, rushed 
 into our bedroom, and fell down dead as a corpse 
 on the flure. Oh ! she was awful to look at as 
 
20 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 she come to. She trembled from head to fut, 
 and when we axed her what was the matther, she 
 up and tould us of the same ould gintleman, with 
 the green cut off coat, and the knee breeches and 
 top boots. 
 
 ** Well, ye know if only one of us seen it, it 
 might, perhaps, be a fancy, but when the three of 
 us, all at diff'erent times, without ever tellen won 
 another won word, seen the same speret, walken 
 disconslate the house, in the dark hours of night. 
 Shure there's no goen bey ant that anyhow. The 
 next day Oi med a clane confission, and tould 
 them how Oi had seen the same with me own two 
 oyes, and another night in that house we niver 
 spent, though we light the fires and dust and tidy 
 the rooms as usual every day." 
 
 As Jim spoke, every eye was fixed on him, and 
 well nigh every mouth of all that surrounded him 
 was open too, taking in every word he said. 
 
 When he finished, one of his audience said, 
 ''There must be a pot of gould or preshus stones 
 in that place to which the ghost pointed so 
 hard — did ye ever look for 'em, Jim ? " 
 
 "Is it want me to pull down the wall of the 
 house ye would," responded Jim, while an old 
 woman in the company exclaimed, " Wisha, bad 
 luck from ye, its yer soul and not gould ye ought 
 to be thinken about, when ye hear of troubled 
 speret s wanderen about like that." 
 
 " That was the ould gintleman," said Mr. 
 Gillohy, "that was murdered in the castle over 
 
THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 21 
 
 eighty years ago. Oi rimimber liearen the whole 
 account of it from me father." 
 
 "What was it, Mr. Gillohy," said several voices 
 together, *' tell ns about it." 
 
 ''The family, at the time," said Mr. Gillohy, 
 " consisted of the ould gintleman, who was about 
 sixty-five years of age, and always dressed jist as 
 ye mentioned, with the green cut off coat, and the 
 top boots, his wife, two sons, and a daughter. 
 They all lived at the castle, but the sons were 
 much of their time away, pleasurin and sportin. 
 About half way between Christmas and Easter, 
 they all wint from home to spend some time on a 
 visit with relations of theirs in Tipperary ; and 
 after they were away about three weeks, the ould 
 gintleman came home the day afore the rest, to 
 see that everything was comfortable like and 
 ready for them. He niver looked more hale 
 and hearty in his life, nor, as Oi was tould, in 
 better spirits, but little he knew, poor man, what 
 was afore 'im. 
 
 " The nixt day, when the wife and family 
 arrived, there they found him lyen dead, on the 
 fust landen, leaden from the bed room ; there 
 was also in the lobby an ould sou'wester, torn 
 and covered with blood; also a piece of a coat 
 with the button on it, that had, in the struggle, 
 been torn from the breast of one of his murder- 
 ers, showen that he fought hard for his life. It 
 was also ivident that as he was strugglen with 
 one, another struck him on the back of the head 
 
22 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 with some heavy iron bar, most Hke, for his skull 
 was fractured and the brain was showin through 
 the deep wound that cut through the skin and 
 broke in the bone afore it." 
 
 *' And were the murderers discoverd ? " said 
 several voices. 
 
 *'No," said Mr. Gillohy, ''rewards were offered, 
 but no trace or tidings could be got high or low. 
 He was a man that was much beliked, and no 
 one thought that he had an inimy, and the 
 general belief was that the horrible murder was 
 committed by some Spanish sailors, whose ship 
 was lyen in the bay that night, but sailt away the 
 nixt mornen." 
 
 *' Perhaps it was for robbery they entered the 
 the house," suggested an old man. 
 
 '* No, that was not so, for no then was taken, 
 not a stick from the whole house — nothen what- 
 ever was missen. There was his watch and chain, 
 and there was his money, and there was the 
 jewels of the family, but not a thing was toucht ; 
 but till me, Mr. Doonan, did any one ever see the 
 ghost but yerself and yer own family ? " 
 
 *' Shure it isn't come to Castletown ye did 
 yisterday," replied Mr. Doonan. *' Ye must have 
 heerd often and often enough yerselves if any one 
 else seen him." 
 
 '* And so we did Jim, but ye tould the story 
 so well, we wanted ye to tell us more — that's how 
 it is." 
 
 " 'Tis a good man that tells what happens 
 
THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 23 
 
 liissef, and lets other people's bisness alone, so ye 
 may tell the story yersef, Mr. Gillohy." 
 
 *^Well," said Mr. Gillohy, *^it was tould me 
 that the place was lit to a family from the 
 County Kerry for twelve months, and that, after 
 they were there six weeks they lift it, and all 
 through the same speret with top boots." 
 
 " And true it was too," said Mr. Doonan, '' for 
 their servantman tould me all about it, and how 
 he seen him, hissef, and how the housemaid seen 
 him too, and how they gave notice to lave, as 
 been afeerd to stop in the house ; and how both 
 the master and missus, who at first said it was all 
 nonsense and superstition, both, at different times 
 met him on the landen, till they declared they 
 would not stay another day in the place — no, not 
 if they got it for nothen — and lift it within six 
 weeks, though they had to pay the full year's 
 rint." 
 
 With that, they looked so steadfastly towards 
 Dunboy, as ever Neapolitan in Resino or Portici 
 gazed at the flames that burst from the dread 
 crater of Vesuvius, as if at that moment they were 
 doomed to see the pale old gentleman with the top 
 boots ; and as they looked they observed the light 
 still burning in the dark oak room. And some 
 continued their anxious watching until they heard 
 the solemn strokes of twelve, and some never 
 discontinued the lookout till one, when the lights 
 were still to be seen ; but watching and waiting 
 are weary work, and tired out nature needs 
 
24 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 repose. So at last all retired to rest, but great 
 was the impatience which awaited the report of 
 the next day, and great was the longing to know 
 how it fared with the three young men in the 
 Castle. 
 
 And now, hush ! disturb not the sleepers in 
 Castletown; let not even the gentle footfall of 
 imagination awaken an echo to arouse one wearied 
 one from sweet repose ; but, as they sleep, hasten 
 with us to the old oak room, and, peeping over 
 the shoulder of Mortimer, let us peruse together 
 a page or two of the old volume, which absorbs 
 his attention, with the detail of the history of 
 his ancestor, — Marij 0' Sullivan : her Times, her 
 Acquaintances J and her Influence. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 
 
 *' My fate cries out, 
 And malces each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve." — Hamlet. 
 
 *^To the war! To the war!'' This was the 
 shout that rose long and loud in that dismal year 
 of Ireland's trouble, 1651. It resounded in every 
 town in the south and west of Ireland, and found 
 its echo in every village and hamlet, aye, and in 
 every homestead, too. And the chapel bells in 
 every parish rang their peals, not summoning to 
 the solemn duty of public worship, but as the 
 tocsin announcing approaching calamity, and the 
 necessity of repelling the danger with armed 
 force. On every hill, too, the bonfires blazed, 
 summoning to joint council and united action the 
 inhabitants of the land. Convening them, that 
 together their bravest sons might join the stand- 
 ard of defence, and hasten forward in their 
 strength and their numbers to protect the city of 
 Limerick, and drive back the invader who came 
 to desecrate their altars and desolate their homes. 
 In 1649, Henry Ireton, commander-in-chief of 
 Cromwell's forces, made all preparations for an 
 
26 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 early campaign, and, having received some rein- 
 forcements from England, resolved to commence 
 operations by besieging Limerick. The Parlia- 
 mentary army was ordered to rendezvous at 
 Cashel, from which place Ireton marched, by way 
 of Nenagh, down by the silver mines, and across 
 the roads to that part of the Shannon which 
 flows opposite to Killaloe. 
 
 The Earl of Castlehaven, chief-in-command of 
 the province of Munster, marched with what 
 forces he could draw together, and encamped on 
 the other side of the river, to observe the move- 
 ments of his adversary. He had about two thou- 
 sand horse and foot, and arranged them in the 
 most suitable positions to prevent Ireton and his 
 soldiers crossing. 
 
 During a temporary absence of the Earl, 
 who was summoned on important business by 
 Ormonde, money and bribes effected what 
 strength and courage could not do. So, to his 
 intense horror and surprise, on his return, he 
 found that Colonel Fennell had sold the pass, 
 and that the English leader and his troops had 
 crossed in safety, and were pouring down on the 
 doomed city. 
 
 It was at this juncture that the cry to arms 
 was raised. Each locality sent its most daring 
 youth to beat off the assault of the enemy. Beara 
 was not unrepresented. A strong contingent of 
 hardy peasants threw away the implements of 
 agriculture, donned the soldier's dress, and unani- 
 
MARY O' SULLIVAN: HER TIMES AND FRIENDS. 27 
 
 mously selected as their leader one whose fame 
 for courage, skill, energy, and daring, was wide- 
 spread through all the parishes around. 
 
 Their young captain, who was one of the 
 family from Dunboy Castle, marshalled his men 
 in the market square of Castletown ; appointed 
 from their number, as he found intelligence and 
 suitability, his corporals and sergeants ; and all, 
 full of hope, having bid those who were near and 
 dear to them at home good-bye, hastened by 
 forced marches to the help of the besieged. 
 
 To obtain information of the hardships, the 
 sufferings, and the trials of the succeeding 
 months, we must investigate the pages of Irish 
 history, and seek some borrowed rays of light 
 from the authentic annals of the past. The 
 November morning fog on the Thames, the 
 Mersey, or the Shannon, requires the incidental 
 activity of some atmospheric disturbance to dis- 
 sipate its density; to unravel the thread of this, 
 sad page, we, too, must requisition the breath of 
 history's muse. As we peruse that history, we 
 find that the wars of Ireland furnish a long cata- 
 logue, in which cruelty and infatuation, treachery 
 and incompetence, obtrude with a frequency and a 
 similarity which, while calculated to generate the 
 contempt of the unprejudiced foreigner, must be 
 as heartrending to the feelings, as destructive to 
 the hopes of the enthusiastic nationalist; yet, 
 even in the dark detail, the proverbial silver 
 lining adorns the blackest clouds, for examples 
 
28 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 are not wanting of bravery the most noble, of 
 virtue the most pure, of affection the most ge- 
 nuine, and of honour the most unsuhied. Such 
 instances may be found in the campaigns in 
 which Hugh O'Neile, Prince of Tyrone; Hugh 
 O'Donnell, Prince of Tyrconnel ; and Donal 
 O'Sulhvan, Chieftain of Beara, occupied the lead- 
 ing positions, and achieved the principal noto- 
 riety. 
 
 In that tedious struggle, Spain was, to some 
 extent, the ally of the Irish chiefs ; and the 
 proximity of the Carbury and Beara headlands to 
 the Iberian peninsula, and the facilities afforded 
 by the deep bays and safe harbours for the land- 
 ing of expeditions, envoys, arms, and subsidies, 
 gave the district with which our story is con- 
 nected an importance which for many years it 
 retained. 
 
 Long was the fight maintained, great were the 
 sufferings endured. At the conclusion of the 
 wars, the lands of the conquered were seized on 
 and appropriated by the conquerors, and in many 
 cases were divided among the officers of the 
 victorious army. This was the case all through 
 Ireland, and will account for the Norman, French, 
 Dutch, and English names which still represent 
 the proprietors of estates in nearly every county. 
 
 Yet, oh ! the cruelties and the inflictions, the 
 hardships and the violence, the degradations and 
 the murders, consequent in many instances on 
 such a change ; when the fierce soldiery, in- 
 
MARY 0' SULLIVAN: HER TLMES AND FRIENDS. 29 
 
 flated by victoiy, thought unrestrained Hcen- 
 tiousness a portion of their legitimate preroga- 
 tive ; and when the slaughter or subjugation of 
 the father, or the husband, or the brother, was 
 deemed sufficient justification to break down 
 every moral rampart which guarded the virtue of 
 the wife, or the sister, or the daughter, of the 
 vanquished ! 
 
 But leaving now the general detail, our history 
 must be more minute. During the famous siege 
 of Limerick, Fergus O'Brien, who led the con- 
 tingent from Beara, was one of its defenders. Of 
 the lineage of the Irish kings, by his valorous 
 actions and surpassing bravery, he did credit to 
 his noble pedigree. Over six feet in height, 
 and of uncommon muscular power, he was a 
 formidable antagonist. On several occasions, with 
 half a dozen comrades possessed with spirit and 
 prowess like his own, he had sallied from the 
 beleaguered walls and did not return till he had 
 dealt death and destruction among double the 
 number of besiegers ; but the starved-out garri- 
 son had to succumb at last, and Fergus, knowing 
 that on the morrow the surrender would be made, 
 could not brook the idea of the captive's chain, 
 or, what he deemed as equally ignoble, to make a 
 compact with the invaders of his country — to 
 surrender to them his sword, and bind himself by 
 honour's word to fight no more against them. 
 ** No ; a thousand times no ! " he exclamed, " the 
 land that gave me birth I love too well to enter 
 
30 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 into compromise with her enemies ; and if 
 through love of hfe I made so base a bargain, 
 oh ! what would mother say ? and what would 
 Mary say ? " Mary, the girl he loved, whom he 
 had left at home in Beara. Mary, who though 
 rent with grief at his departure, said not one 
 word to keep him back when Erin needed his 
 assistance to repel the advances of the alien. She 
 loved him too well to let him tarnish the fair 
 name of patriot ; and loved her country too well 
 to keep from its defence the arm her ardent love 
 had deemed invincible. And so, love of country, 
 love of Mary, and honour prompting him, he 
 formed his resolve to leave the beleaguered city 
 that last night of its freedom, and, if possible, 
 escape the surrounding foes, or, if discovered, 
 fight his way through their ranks, or die a 
 soldier's death in the attempt. 
 
 As that last day of Limerick's independence 
 passed over, the sun, which for some hours had 
 shone in unmantled splendour, became overcast 
 with clouds, a drizzling rain closed in the even- 
 ing, and heavy torrents poured down at night. 
 From the watch-towers on the walls Fergus with 
 keen eye observed the camp-fires of the enemy, 
 and how one by one they disappeared. He heard 
 the sounds of wakeful watchfulness grow less and 
 less, till at last, the sentry's step alone broke the 
 still monotony of the night. Lowering himself 
 from the rampart by a rope, the end of which he 
 had fastened to a beam of wood, he soon was 
 
MARY O' SULLIVAN : HER TIMES AND FRIENDS. 31 
 
 beyond recall, in the quarters of the enemy, with 
 no other friend but his sword, and no other 
 security but his courage. Taking pradent obser- 
 vation, he cautiously advanced, guiding his way 
 where the darkness was deepest, and where he 
 knew the sentinels were stationed most apart. 
 In half an hour— a time which seemed an age to 
 thrilling anxiety — the first line was passed. Once, 
 to escape observation, he had to lay himself 
 prostrate on the soaking ground, when the feet of 
 the patrolling guard came within a few yards of 
 his head ; as soon as their retreating backs were 
 turned he quietly slipped away again, and so at 
 last reached the outermost line. If this were 
 passed, then he might proceed in safety and 
 unmolested. This he knew full well, and the very 
 thought of his success, acting on his naturally 
 daring and adventurous spirit, buoyed him with 
 increased courage and daring, and almost made 
 him regret the journey had been so uneventful. 
 He now no longer courted obscurity, but walked 
 with head erect and bold defying step, and even 
 dared to whistle as he walked. Yes ; but in his 
 w^ant of circumspection, and in his fool-hardiness, 
 he all at once became cognizant of the fact that 
 he was walking into the very arms of a sentinel, 
 who, well armed himself, and with half a dozen 
 comrades well armed too, w^ere close at hand, 
 standing under shelter from the rain, by a blazing 
 tire, in a temporary watch-house. And Fergus, 
 when too late to change his course, saw the fire, 
 
32 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 and saw the armed men standing round it ; and 
 saw the sentry advancing towards him so directly 
 that it was evident his approach had not escaped 
 observation, though so dark and gloomy was that 
 tempestuous night. 
 
 A flood of thoughts at once besiege his mind. 
 To fly for his life ? No, never. To fall on the 
 sentinel and strike him to the ground, or be 
 struck down in the attempt ? The chances were 
 fairly equal, and he had confidence in his own 
 activity and strength. But then, the comrades, 
 close at hand too ! This was a consideration to be 
 discounted. To fight with them ? The odds were 
 too heavy. Then thoughts of death came. Death, 
 of which he had no fear, and which he much pre- 
 ferred rather than be taken captive ; but death 
 away from a loving mother, and away from Mary, 
 who would never hear of his fate, and who would 
 pine in the purgatory of uncertainty, a condition 
 more full of grief and mental anguish than any 
 which the most harrowing definite intelHgence 
 could produce ! Thus, thought after thought ran 
 with electric speed through his excited brain, while 
 still with seeming unconcern he walked, and still 
 he whistled. And now the sentry was within a 
 dozen yards distance, and Fergus each moment 
 expected to hear him challenge, when, to his 
 surprise, he saw him turn on his twelve yards' 
 beat, and march towards the guard-house, not 
 with hasty step, as though to summon his com- 
 panions, but with the measured stereotyped tramp 
 
MARY a SULLIVAN : HER TIMES AND FRIENDS. 33 
 
 of one who tried to while away the time, the 
 slowly moving time, which must be spent on some 
 monotonous duty. '' He takes me for one of them- 
 selves," thought Fergus — **the worst compliment, 
 in my opinion, I ever yet was paid, and yet, per- 
 haps," he reflected, *'the most seasonable and the 
 most beneficial. I at least shall not undeceive 
 him," he determined, and whistling still, and 
 walking still with head erect, he passed out 
 unmolested, through the last line of the enemy. 
 '' Safe and unhurt — a wonderful escape," he mut- 
 tered, and as he spoke a secret impulse rose 
 within his heart to pay the tribute of thanks- 
 giving. Aye, and well he might, for a mother's 
 prayers were passing on the wings of faith and 
 hope to heaven that very moment, for the preser- 
 vation of her soldier boy; and Mary's voice of 
 supplication ascended with his mother's, for both 
 had the same longing for his safety, and both the 
 same fears, and both the same fond love. They 
 had met and offered up their joint orisons, and 
 as the prayer went up on angels' wings, with 
 lightning speed the answer downward flashed, 
 and rescued Fergus from the guns of the 
 sentries. 
 
 Saturated with rain, bespattered and begrimed 
 with mud, grieving at heart for the fate of the 
 city to be surrendered on the morrow, moaning 
 in spirit, too, that another struggle had been 
 made in vain for his country's freedom, he 
 hurried away to put as long a distance as he 
 
34 THE GHOSr OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 could before the next clay's dawn between himself 
 and the army of his enemies. Nor were these his 
 only feelings. Within his breast he experienced 
 a radiant hope — that hope, which by nature's kind 
 provision, amid all reverses, is the unwearied 
 attendant of youth and bravery. Now that 
 Limerick has capitulated, he thought, the alien 
 dogs will be at liberty to commence their cruel 
 work of pillage, murder, plunder, and devastation. 
 A pang of unutterable woe seemed to grip his 
 heart and stop his breath, as imagination con- 
 jured up the apparition of villain mercenaries 
 making onslaught on the fair home, where his 
 mother and his Mary were now unguarded 
 and defenceless. Homeward, homeward he must 
 hasten. "• I may have time to bring together a 
 a band of valiant men. In the wilds of the west 
 we may make another stand. Victory may crown 
 our efforts. We may drive the desolater back. 
 My loved ones may be saved. Our home may be 
 held inviolate, and the news of our success will 
 spread, and others will take courage too, and 
 all Ireland may rise in proud resentment, nor lay 
 her armour down until we have driven back 
 the Sassenach from our shores." Thus in 
 wild reverie he gave unbridled liberty to his 
 thoughts, and as he thought, hurried on his 
 way with redoubled energy, forming all the 
 while his plans, gathering in crowds his com- 
 rades, fighting in anticipation with his enemies, 
 scattering their hordes, and viewing with unre- 
 
A/AI^Y O'SULLIVAN : HER TIMES AND FRIENDS. 35 
 
 strained delight the defeated remnant of marau- 
 ders hurrying away in their boats from the shores 
 of Erin. 
 
 Oh ! ye castles in the air, ye need not even the 
 foundation masonry of probability. Story after 
 story, ye rise to a stately consummation, soar- 
 ing to height unlimited, on the unfettered wings 
 of sanguine imagination. This perhaps was 
 the framework in old Horace's mind when he 
 wrote 
 
 " Exegi moDumentum oere perennius." 
 " I have reared a monument more durable than brass," 
 
 or this, perhaps, was the personified imagery of 
 Virgil, when he composed verses of her who 
 ascended higher, and higher, *'till she hid her 
 head in heaven, and nestled in the clouds." But 
 lo ! how quickly does reason raze the edifice, and 
 reflection pull down the battlements, till in the 
 words of Shakspeare — 
 
 " The baseless fabric of a vision 
 Leaves not a wreck behind." 
 
 Fergus suddenly remembered, that all the trusted 
 comrades of his youth had already joined the 
 wars ; that some were slain, some imprisoned, 
 some besieged in Limerick, from whence if they 
 escaped alive, it would be on honor's bond to leave 
 the country, or to fight no more against their 
 victors. His castle in the air, like yours — like 
 mine — like that of thousands before and since his 
 
36 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 day, crumbled, as quickly as erected, into nothing- 
 ness. The rolling rivers of anticipated success were 
 but fantastical delusions, like the hope-inspiring 
 phantasmagoria of the visionary mirage. He 
 stays his urgent speed. He stands a moment in 
 deep thought. The unvarnished truth has broken 
 on his mind. He is discomfited but not van- 
 quished. "- Then I shall go alone," he soliloquises, 
 ** this body shall form a barrier between my 
 dearest ties and their enemies; or, if God will 
 that I shall fall, then, and not till then, shall the 
 hireling plunderer enter the home of my pro- 
 genitors." Alas ! it was another castle in the 
 air. He knew not that a fever caught three days 
 before from cold, and worry, and hunger, and 
 exposure, was making fast inroads on his health. 
 Just then, as he stood, for the first time he felt 
 the cold wet clothes sticking to his burning body, 
 he felt the throbbing pulse, as with redoubled 
 emphases it seemed to repeat the every heart beat 
 in his aching brain, while alternate shive rings 
 and glows of unnatural heat fast sapped his 
 manly vigor and undermined his youthful endur- 
 ance. He had travelled in eight hours, nearly 
 fifty miles. Fatigue and sickness at length had 
 gained the mastery. He sank down by the side 
 of the hard high road, a delirious, raving, helpless, 
 friendless maniac. 
 
 From the prostrate soldier, we would invite one 
 short glance of kindly feeling, and tender interest, 
 towards the soldier's mother. 
 
AfAJ?Y a SULLIVAN : HER TIMES AND FRIENDS. 37 
 
 She grieves in silent solitude, and thinks upon the da}^ 
 When first, to join his country's wars he went from her away, 
 The fame of martial glory seemed to fill his mind with joy, 
 While breaking is the mother's heart, to lose her darling boy. 
 The rumored battle fills her mind with dread suspense and pain. 
 Each new despatch may write of him, as numbered with the slain, 
 In dreams she hears the dying groan, she sees the slaughtered 
 
 heaps. 
 And waking from her restless sleep, she thinks of him, and weeps. 
 
 Nor deems she him unmindful of her fond maternal care. 
 Of when she nursed him tenderly, and breathed for him her prayer, 
 How o'er him sick she fondly watched, and with what gladness she 
 Marked his first steps and prattling voice, in tender infancy. 
 Yes ! though the war-like trumpet sound the son and mother part. 
 Still beats beneath the scarlet coat the fond and feeling heart, 
 For brave though be her soldier son, she heard him heave a sigh, 
 And viewed the big tear, when he turned, to say to her goodbye. 
 
 Between them now, the raging sea may spread its foaming wave, 
 And he may find, in distant lands, a lone imnoticed grave ; 
 No mother's hand to cool his brow, no mother's voice to cheer, 
 No mother near to shed o'er him affection's golden tear 
 But lo ! amid her sorrow's gloom, she finds a soothing peace, 
 Which quells her soul's disturbing fears, and gives her fond heart 
 
 ease. 
 She thinks of Him, whose guardian care preserved him to that day; 
 And feels the same Almighty arm can guard him when away. 
 
 Oh ! the unmeasurable magnitude of a mother's 
 love — how pure ! how deep ! how sincere ! how 
 unselfish ! how unalterable ! What but it could 
 bear the restless weary nights, and daily, hourly, 
 slavery of infancy, the waywardness of childhood, 
 the insolence of boyhood, the neglect of opening 
 manhood, and the transferred affection of after 
 years ? What but it could feel atoned by truant 
 glimpses of affection, when the heart service of 
 
38 THE GHOST OF DUMBOY CASTLE. 
 
 the live-long life would not be commensurate re- 
 muneration ? What like it can see perfection, 
 when the world sees only faults ? And what like 
 it can find excuses, when all others blame ? Oh ! 
 sacred mother's love, unfading, unfaltering, un- 
 withering, till the cold earth closes over the last 
 remains ; and then — even then — not effaced ; for, 
 if the memory of prayers taught at a mother's 
 knee — if the recurrence to the mind of fond 
 pleadings to live for heaven, and anxious warnings 
 to avoid the snares of sin, returning with strong 
 emphasis in temptation's hour, be a signal of any 
 import — then, surely, we may recognise her as 
 not the least concerned in that '* great cloud of 
 witnesses," with which, the highest authority tells 
 us, ** we are surrounded." 
 
 Fergus's mother did not know that her son had 
 sunk down sick and exhausted on the cold wet 
 road, but her thoughts were hovering round him, 
 and her prayers, like incense, were ascending for 
 him, towards the Throne on high. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PRETTY NORA HARRINGTON AND HER OLD ADMIRER. 
 
 A 
 
 '* Otez Tamour de la vie, vous en otez les plaisirs." — Moliere. 
 
 '* No matter where in all the world j^ou rove, 
 There are no pleasures, if you banish love. ' 
 
 Not far from the Bogra mountains, in the 
 north-west of the County Cork, away from the 
 high road, and in part obscured by trees, a 
 pretty Httle house was situated on the sloping 
 grounds which, by gentle gradient, descend from 
 the hill country to the banks of the Blackwater. 
 It was two stories high. The hall door or 
 front entrance was in the middle, and covered by 
 a portico, which, projecting about seven feet, 
 was supported by six stone pillars, which rested 
 on a stone platform rising about ten inches 
 from the well gravelled carriage-drive. The 
 jasmine and honeysuckle wound in graceful 
 wreaths round the pillars, and mantled the top, 
 suggesting the idea of taste and beauty, on the 
 visitor s first approach. This front door opened 
 into a square hall; on the right was the parlour 
 with the library leading off it ; on the left the 
 drawing-room, one window of which had a full 
 
40 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 view of the well planted lawn in front of the 
 house, and the second window looked into the 
 garden, where violets and roses and stockgilly 
 fio^vers, in turns, by their exquisite perfumes, 
 sweetened the air and made the room redolent of 
 their fragrance. The fire-place was directly 
 opposite to this window, and the large mirror 
 which surmounted it, reflecting the flowers and 
 fruits of the garden, had a charming effect, leading 
 to the thought that nature poured her choicest 
 gifts in wasteful profuseness round this little 
 rural paradise. The clock, an unerring monitor 
 of quick passing time, nearly faced the hall door ; 
 to its left, a w^eather glass; to its right, a door 
 which opened into a passage leading to the 
 kitchen, the servants' apartments, and the back 
 of the house, and off this passage a stairs which 
 led to the second story. At the top of this 
 stairs there was a landing or lobby, from which 
 the bedrooms branched. Over the drawing-room 
 was the best bedroom, which, like the drawing- 
 room, had one window looking on the lawn, and a 
 second into the garden, while over the parlour 
 was one bedroom to the front, a second to the 
 back, and a passage leading to a third over the 
 library. The whole house was neatly and taste- 
 fully furnished, the general appearance suggesting 
 the independence and comfort of the well-to-do 
 farmer, but not the affiuence, the extravagance, 
 or the aesthetic taste, which characterises the 
 mansions of the nobility. A long and shady 
 
MAR Y as ULLl VAN: HER FRIENDS AND I NFL UENCE. 41 
 
 avenue, whose sides were bordered by the well 
 trimmed privet hedge, led by a graceful tour from 
 the public road to the front door. This public 
 road conducted in one direction to Kanturk, and 
 in the other to Millstreet, two little towns some 
 miles distant. 
 
 Generation after generation this quiet country 
 house had been the abode of the Harrington 
 family. They called it from the neighbouring 
 mountain, Bogra Vale. A valuable farm of about 
 eighty acres, bounded by an extensive bog, where 
 turf for fuel could be obtained in summer, and 
 which abounded with snipe in the winter, consti- 
 tuted the inheritance. The land adjoining the 
 mountain was covered with forest trees — the 
 larch, the fir, the pine, the sycamore, and the 
 oak, — and from the mountain, fed by a hundred 
 rivulets, rushing down in foaming impetuosity at 
 one part of its course, and gently gliding at 
 another, flowed a tributary to the noble Black- 
 water, which abounded in golden trout ; and 
 which, by the design and engineering skill of the 
 Harringtons, formed an artificial lake of about 
 two acres extent, with a well planted island in the 
 middle, giving much romantic beauty to Bogra 
 Vale, while the tastefully arranged evergreens and 
 winding paths around almost favoured the idea of 
 a little fairyland. 
 
 Grandpapa Harrington — for we need not trace 
 further back the pedigree — when a young man of 
 twenty-two, went on a visit to his brother, who 
 
42 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 was a curate at Clonakilty, and was by him 
 introduced to a young lady three years his junior, 
 who, besides the adornment of a very pretty face 
 and elegant figure, was also the heiress to one 
 thousand pounds. Her natural charms and very 
 pleasing manner soon made captive the young 
 man's heart, and so enamoured of her did he 
 become, that he told his brother '* if she had not 
 the possession of a penny he would not hesitate 
 to make her his wife." After about six months 
 courtship, during which time Tim Harrington 
 paid frequent visits to his brother, the loving pair 
 came to the determination to take one another 
 *' better for worse " and were married, and having 
 spent a fornight's honeymoon at Killarney, 
 quietly and happily settled down at Bogra Vale. 
 Two sons were the issue of this marriage, the 
 eldest, Tom, called after his uncle, and the 
 younger, Timothy, named after his father. The 
 second birth was followed by a sad misfortune. 
 The loving husband lost his much prized wife, 
 who only survived her confinement ten days. 
 The infection of puerperal fever was carried to 
 her healthy home by the monthly nurse, and 
 notwithstanding the consultation of two medical 
 men, one brought from Kanturk, and the other 
 from Cork, at an expense of thirty guineas, she 
 sank exhausted. Tim Harrington almost went 
 mad under the sorrow of his bereavement, and, 
 though but twenty-eight years of age, determined 
 no other wife should ever occupy her place ; a 
 
MAR Y 0' SULLIVAN: HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 43 
 
 resolution which he firmly kept, for he never 
 afterwards was known to pay the least attention 
 to another girl, and never even walked with one 
 as he returned from prayers on the Sunday. 
 
 As the boys grew up, the eldest, Tom, seemed 
 fond of the farm and the farm work, while Tim's 
 entire predilection was for books, so, his father, 
 favoring his wishes, had him educated for the 
 ministry, sending him to a French college, 
 whence he returned with a good education and 
 unbigoted liberal views, and in due time became 
 curate to his uncle, who was now the parish 
 priest of Charleville. 
 
 Tom, after his father's death, which occurred 
 suddenly from inflammation of the lungs, paid 
 steady attention to his farm. He disliked low 
 company, and was never seen in a public house. 
 Pond of shooting and fishing, all his spare time 
 he spent after the snipe in the bog, the woodcock 
 on the hillside, or the trout in the stream. 
 When twenty- six years of age, the daughter of a 
 neighbouring farmer captivated him ; he was 
 introduced to her by her brother, who was a 
 frequent companion, being as fond of shooting 
 and fishing as young Harrington himself. In 
 due time they were married, and Nora Daly, 
 now Mrs. Harrington, took up her residence 
 at Bogra Vale. From this marriage there were 
 three sons and one daughter. The eldest son, 
 called after his father, Tom. The second entered 
 the ministry, was duly ordained, became curate 
 
44 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 to his uncle, after whom he was called Tim ; and 
 the third, Richard. Richard joined the fortunes 
 of his country, and was one of the defenders of 
 Limerick, where he was killed by a musket-ball 
 from the enemy. Before this sad event there had 
 been trouble at Bogra Yale. The fever which 
 had been carrying off many victims at Kanturk, 
 was caught by the old man when attending one 
 of the fairs which was held there. A few days 
 after his return home he was compelled to take 
 to his bed. His wife, who with fond care attended 
 him, and his daughter, and his son, were all 
 seized by this most infectious epidemic. Dr. 
 Armstrong, of Kanturk, the family physician, was 
 sent for. He regularly paid his visits, bestowing 
 all the care and attention a medical man in large 
 practice could possibly accomplish. He knew 
 that it would go hard with the old people, and 
 his prognosis from the first was unfavourable. 
 Experience had taught him that up to twenty 
 years of age the constitution will, with few excep- 
 tions, overcome the fever, but that the older the 
 patient the less the probability of surviving. Old 
 Mr. Harrington and his wife both succumbed to 
 the disease, there were but two days between 
 their deaths ; and as the young people, though 
 recovering, were unable to leave their beds,, the 
 doctor with much kindness arranged and super- 
 intended the funeral. Yes, the funeral — there was 
 but one ; they were both carried away together, 
 and both laid in the same grave. In after years 
 
MAR V a SULLIVAN: HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 45 
 
 a tombstone marked the spot, and bore the 
 inscription : — 
 
 ** In life united, and separated not by death." 
 
 Our readers will perhaps be sufficiently inter- 
 ested to allow a further introduction to the 
 brother and the sister. Tom was now twenty- 
 five, and Nora, who bore her mother's name, 
 was but seventeen. 
 
 Tom was, what might justly be called, a very 
 fine young man — tall, well-proportioned, and 
 exceedingly athletic. His was an honest, hand- 
 some face — the sure and certain indication of a 
 good and kind heart. He always loved his sister 
 tenderly, but more so since his brothers had left 
 home, and since his parents' death. She was 
 with him in his walks; she accompanied him 
 went he went to fish ; they took joint counsel 
 about every domestic arrangement; and never 
 was Tom absent from home but Nora could tell 
 where he was, and when he would return. And 
 now a word about Nora. Her figure resembled 
 her brother's ; she was tall, elegant looking, and 
 graceful. Her waist did not require the con- 
 strictions of a corset to squeeze it into shape, 
 it was symmetrically proportioned without it. 
 When the fierce fever attacked her, the doctor, 
 with his own hands, shaved her head, declaring 
 *' he never did anything before more against his 
 will;" for her beautiful, rich, glossy, blue black 
 hair, when combed out, nearly reached the 
 
46 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 ground in a profusion of waves and ringlets. It 
 must have been fully five -and- a-balf feet long. 
 Now it was growing again, and formed clusters of 
 curls, on her forehead and round her head, which 
 defied restraint, and were exceedingly becoming, 
 conferring an impression of vivacity and exuber- 
 ance of spirit, which appeared more subdued 
 when the hair lay close to her face by reason of 
 its length. Her eyes were large and deep blue, 
 with long dark lashes that swept her cheeks. 
 The outline of her features was exquisite. In a 
 word she possessed extraordinary loveliness, and 
 when she spoke that beauty was enhanced by the 
 display of pearly teeth which were perfectly 
 regular, and by the sweet expression which 
 flowed from her eyes, which were full of 
 vivacity, good humour, and kindness. Unlike 
 dark beauties of the French type, there was no 
 embryo moustache fringing her upper lip ; and, 
 instead of the foreign complexion of dark hue, 
 the delicate fair cheek displayed a rich damask 
 tint, which faded off from its centre invisibly, 
 until it blended in the matchless clearness of the 
 circumference. 
 
 At the time to which our narrative relates, 
 some three months had elapsed since the death of 
 her parents, yet the doctor never let a week pass 
 without a friendly visit. Much engaged as he 
 was, he always found time to get to Bogra Vale ; 
 and would, by some fortuity, so arrange his call 
 that it always occurred just when her brother was 
 
MAR V a SULLIVAN : HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 47 
 
 from home. The truth began to dawn on him, 
 that his attendance, during the fever, was suffi- 
 ciently long to make a deep impression on his 
 heart. At first he could scarcely believe it him- 
 self, but now he discovered the reality with all its 
 power, for he felt he was never contented, or 
 satisfied, or at rest, unless when thinking of Nora, 
 or pondering on the pleasure of his next visit. 
 
 There can be no wonder; it is only natural 
 that one so charming would captivate any 
 ordinary man, who was fortuitously so much in 
 her society, and on such intimate terms ; but 
 to do Nora justice, she had not the smallest 
 sympathy with such feelings, nor, in fact, the 
 slightest idea of their existence. 
 
 Doctor Kobert Armstrong had just entered his 
 fortieth year. He was exactly five feet six inches 
 in height. An excessive pair of heels to his 
 boots, an arrangement he never neglected, made 
 him five feet seven, or exactly Nora's stature. 
 He was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built man, 
 who held his head well up, and threw his 
 shoulders well back; his complexion was clear, 
 and of that description which is generally called 
 "fresh." His hair was deep chesnut, and 
 inclined to curl. The frequent application of 
 the barber's scissors effectually prevented the 
 exhibition of this development, except on the 
 temples and top of the head, where some 
 luxuriant semi-rings were allowed to remain, 
 all the rest being cut closely off. His cheeks 
 
48 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 and chin were cleanly shaven ; but his moustache, 
 which was heavy and very much lighter than his 
 hair, was permitted to assume full growth, with 
 the long ends turned upwards. His features were 
 very regular and rather small, except his eyes, 
 which were full and deep blue in colour. The 
 impression conveyed by a general survey of 
 the countenance suggested keenness, acuteness, 
 quick penetration, and unmistakable animal pas- 
 sions. He was considered clever in his profession : 
 nothing wrong was ever proved against him, or 
 brought him into public unenviable notoriety ; 
 but the undercurrent of whispering about his 
 moral character was deep and extensive. When 
 on friendly terms, he had a certain amount of 
 fascination in his manner, and could make him- 
 self very agreeable ; but when annoyed, could give 
 vent to a temper that few would like to encounter 
 a second time. The saying of the country people 
 was: "If you provoke the doctor, there's no 
 mistake at the first opportunity he will poison or 
 murder you, but if he takes to you, there's no 
 warmer friend." 
 
 It is not surprising that Nora, only seventeen, 
 should not be forthwith smitten by the attentions 
 of one old enough to be her father, moreover, one 
 whom she had known since a child ; but it must 
 also be remembered that there was no rival in the 
 field. It is true the doctor had not declared his 
 affection, and we must not even surmise what 
 would have been the result if he had. All the 
 
MARYO'SULLIVAN: HER FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE. 49 
 
 country knew that he was rich, that his income 
 from his practice was considerable, and that he 
 was the owner of many of the best houses in 
 Kanturk. The wonder was that he remained an 
 old bachelor, for the general impression, in which 
 he entirely concurred, was, that no woman would 
 think of refusing so good an offer. 
 
 The attendance at Bogra Vale seemed gradually 
 to make a considerable difference in both his 
 appearance and habits. He used of late to be 
 rather slovenly, now he is almost an "exquisite." 
 He disregarded for some time the condition of his 
 house, now it is newly painted and set off to 
 the best advantage. Instead of his usually 
 employed gig, a beautiful new brougham, pur- 
 chased at Cork, is enlisted into his service. His 
 old gray mare is superannuated in favour of a 
 splendid young bay horse. His driver used to 
 wear a very dilapidated hat and a nondescript 
 coat, but now he is equipped in new and 
 becoming livery. True, such a metamorphosis 
 was not unprecedented ; a similar revolution had 
 characterised several previous occasions, so the 
 occurrence throughout the neighbourhood was 
 merely debited as an indication that the medical 
 gentleman had entered the initial stage of some 
 new courtship, but still, a courtship which be- 
 tokened more reality and earnestness than any 
 previous effort foreshadowed. 
 
 Tom and Nora spent their evenings happily 
 together. They did not want or wish for other 
 
50 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 society ; both were musicians, who loved instru- 
 mental and vocal harmony. His was a fine bass 
 voice, and hers such as would ensure the success 
 of a prima donna in an Italian opera. When 
 Nora played the piano, Tom would accompany 
 her on his violin ; and sometimes they would sing 
 duets together, and sometimes, alternately, solos. 
 Having finished a musical practice which both 
 thoroughly enjoyed, they were about sitting down 
 for a quiet game of. bezique, when Tom, who had 
 looked anxiously at his sister many times during 
 the evening, at last, drawing his arm round her 
 waist, said in gentle tones, which were not devoid 
 of emotion, "Nora, dear, I fear you have not 
 been very well for some time, and yet you have 
 never told me." 
 
 ** Indeed, Tom, I would tell you if there was 
 anything the matter ; but what put such an idea 
 into your head, making you look so thoughtful ? " 
 "- The doctor comes to see you every week, and 
 has continued his visits regularly since you had 
 the fever." 
 
 Nora slightly coloured as she said '* Yes." 
 ''Does he ask to see your tongue, or does he 
 feel your pulse ? " 
 
 '' He never asks to see my tongue, but he 
 catches my hand in his, and puts the fingers of 
 his other hand on my wrist, and holds it, oh ! so 
 long ; but he talks all the time, and does not 
 seem to count." 
 
 **That is strange; but perhaps experience 
 
MAR Y a SULLIVAN : HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 51 
 
 enables him to count as he talks, just as you 
 can play the piano when you are speaking. 
 When will he come again ? " 
 
 *' Two clays ago, when he was here, I men- 
 tioned to him that you had arranged a shooting 
 party for to-morrow, when he said, that was the 
 only day that he could find time to come again 
 this week." 
 
 " Then, dear, we may expect him to-morrow, 
 and I shall put off my shooting, and will remain 
 at home to meet him." 
 
 And so the conversation about the doctor 
 ended, but Tom felt sad. He tried not to appear 
 so. He thought the glow of health on Nora's 
 cheek was never brighter, and that her spirits 
 were never better ; but he had a latent fear that 
 she was ill, and that this was the cause of the 
 doctor's continued attention, and he longed for 
 the next day and the expected visitor. 
 
 Next morning came, ushering in a day which 
 was dark but dry, calm but cold. During the 
 night, it had frozen hard. The fields looked 
 white, a hoary garment enveloping each blade of 
 grass. The pools of standing water and the lake 
 were fit for skating. It was just the day to find 
 the snipe at the springs and the woodcock in the 
 hillside cover ; but it mattered not. Tom had at 
 early morning sent messages to his friends 
 altering the arrangements to another day, and 
 weariedly he now strolled about, anxiously and 
 fearfully awaiting an interview, which would 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 either dispel his alarm, or fill his heart with a 
 heavy grief. 
 
 The doctor seldom left his sm-gery before twelve 
 o'clock, but this morning, not being very busy, 
 he commenced his round of visits at half -past 
 eleven, and was enabled to arrive at Bogra Vale 
 by half past tw^elve. Just as the big clock at the 
 stables was striking its half-hour, the wdieels 
 rumbled on the avenue, the brougham soon after 
 stopped before the door, and the doctor, ushered 
 into the drawing room, started with surprise, 
 when he found awaiting him, not Nora, whom he 
 expected, but Tom, whom he thought was engaged 
 in a shooting expedition, and at that moment 
 probably miles away. 
 
 ** Doctor," said Tom, after the first salutation, 
 " your visits here, of late, have made me extremely 
 uneasy. Such discomfort have I experienced, that 
 I felt constrained to put off arrangements I had 
 made wdth friends for to-day, and have waited 
 here purposely to have this interview with you." 
 
 Tom's anxiety made him look stern and pale. 
 The doctor, whose conscience was not guiltless, 
 quailed before his penetrating glance. He knew 
 not what was coming next. The suspense was 
 not long. ''My sister's health," continued Tom, 
 ** has been the subject of my apprehension. I 
 have concluded that there must be something 
 wrong as you continue to visit her, and that 
 your kindness of heart has kept it back from 
 me." 
 
MAR V O' SULLIVAN: HER FRIENDS AND I NFL UENCE. 53 
 
 Keassured by these ^Yords, and regaining his 
 composure, the doctor quickly repHed, " My dear 
 Tom, there is no ground whatever for your alarm, 
 but," added he, with emphasis and well assumed 
 seriousness, ''you know your sister is very young, 
 she has grown wonderfully the last two years, she 
 has had a serious illness, and being an old friend 
 of the family — I hope I may consider myself in 
 that light," — he added with suppressed voice, '* I 
 thought I should like to watch her for awhile, lest 
 asthenia should favour the accession of consump- 
 tion, or lest any other of the not uncommon 
 baneful sequelae of fever, should sap her constitu- 
 tion, and so undermine her health. Hitherto, I 
 am delighted to inform you, I have not diagnosed 
 any such results ; and, although my prognosis is 
 most favourable, I felt it my duty to look in 
 occasionally, just to be in time, if necessary to 
 guard against anything untoward." 
 
 Words could not embody honest Tom's gratitude 
 at this explanation. " My dear doctor," said he, 
 *' you have proved yourself an old friend, and a 
 good friend of the family. We are proud to look 
 on you as such. And oh, pray continue your 
 visits as long as you think any danger exists. 
 It will give me real satisfaction to discharge the 
 obligations which such a loss of your valuable 
 time will entail, for you know, Nora is very dear 
 to me." And then Tom, having rung the bell, 
 and told the servant to acquaint Miss Nora 
 of the doctor's arrival, and having warmly 
 
54 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 shaken hands, and offered a second time profuse 
 thanks, left the room with a Hght and grateful 
 heart. 
 
 And now, as the weeks passed over, the visits 
 of the doctor were uninterrupted. He felt that 
 the words he had spoken to Tom were sufficient 
 to insure his welcome. He had become more 
 unreserved in his intercourse with Nora. He 
 chuckled with inward delight that he had obtained 
 her brother's sanction, nay more, his request to 
 come and see her. Sometimes, now, they would 
 walk out together, sauntering by the sides of the 
 lake, or through the shady walks towards the 
 wood. At one time he w^ould present her with a 
 pretty silk handkerchief; at another, with some 
 yards of Limerick lace ; at another, with a beautiful 
 case of scent bottles, mounted in gold and filled 
 with choice perfumes ; at another, with a pretty 
 diamond ring ; and Nora thought him very kind, 
 and told him so, and, not having any other 
 gentleman acquaintance, longed for the time of 
 his visit, and felt impatient if that time was 
 overpassed by half an hour. 
 
 Oh, propinquity ! propinquity ! propinquity ! 
 how potent are thy spells to thaw the frozen 
 iceberg of indifference, to fan the tiniest spark of 
 congenial sentiment into tenderest interest, or to 
 envenom the molecule of inherent dislike till it 
 culminates in positive aversion. It is often thy 
 prerogative to mould the destiny and to entrap 
 the heart. 
 
MAR V a SULLIVAN : HER FRIENDS AND I NFL UENCE. 55 
 
 The impression he had made did not escape 
 the observation of the cunning doctor, who, while 
 offering the most fierce love by all his attentions, 
 never breathed the most remote approximation, 
 by even one word uttered. He thought he saw 
 his way to accomplish his obiect, and this 
 satisfied him. ''Yes," said he, *'I shall marry 
 Nora, but not just yet ; " and then he muttered 
 between his teeth, '*how I wish 1 had never 
 known that woman" — that woman — yes, that 
 woman! Such, was now his contemptuous 
 description of one to whom he had told many 
 flattering tales, whom he had led to believe he 
 would make his wife, and of whom just then the 
 little town of Kanturk began to whisper un- 
 pleasant remarks. 
 
 The evening after the doctor had presented the 
 diamond ring, Tom and Nora sat together, as 
 usual, in their cosy little drawing room. Nora 
 had played a new piece which both considered 
 very pretty, and then sung, so sweetly, an Irish 
 melody which was all about love. When it was 
 ended she came over to her brother, and laying 
 her hand on his shoulder said : — 
 
 ' * I wonder why the doctor gave me that scent 
 case and that valuable ring ? " 
 
 " I think I know" said Tom. *' When I got his 
 bill it was so ridiculously small, for all the trouble 
 he has had coming from Kanturk here, I sent 
 him a ten pound note in addition, asking him to 
 accept it in token of our gratitude. He now 
 
56 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 makes you these presents, to show us how pleased 
 he is at our recognition of his services." 
 
 '' I suppose that is the reason. Of course you 
 are always right, Tom," said Nora, with an 
 involuntary sigh which escaped the observation of 
 her brother. 
 
 *' Not always, dear, not always right," said 
 Tom, *'it is only your affection which thinks so. 
 Can I do anything for you in Kanturk to-morrow? 
 There will be a fair there, and I want to buy one 
 or two cows, so will start with the light. I shall 
 take Jim with me. (Jim was the out-of-door 
 servant of all work, who had been with the 
 family for ten years, and enjoyed their fullest 
 confidence.) He can bring the horse and cart, 
 for we want a load of sea coal ; and now tell me, 
 dear, what I can buy for you ? " 
 
 *' Except some few things from the grocers, of 
 which I will give you a list, I do not think 
 anything else is required." 
 
 '' What ! nothing for yourself? " 
 
 *'No, dear,'' said Nora, **you have already, 
 with thoughtfulness, supplied all my wants and 
 all my wishes. I am sure no other girl ever had 
 such a darling brother. I want nothing more 
 but your good self safe home again." 
 
 And so the evening passed; and in the early 
 morning, just as the dawn was breaking, Tom 
 and his man set off, Tom walking, and the man 
 comfortably seated on an armful of fresh straw 
 which he had thrown into the cart. The morning 
 
MAR V O'S ULLIVAN : HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 57 
 
 was wet, and cold, and foggy ; regular November 
 weather. Making what speed they could, they 
 proceeded on theb four miles journey. The 
 horse when hurried went at a jog-trot, and Jim 
 gradually increased his lead until, when about 
 half the way, he was fully eighty yards ahead. 
 
 Tom was musing, as he walked, about his 
 intended purchase, and held his head stooped to 
 avoid the drizzling rain which was beating in his 
 face, when suddenly his reverie was broken by 
 the loud shouts of Jim. 
 
 *' Masther Tom ! Masther Tom ! hurry up, hurry 
 up, for yer life hurry up ! The Lord be between 
 us and all harm, but there is here a fine young 
 man lyen dead on the side of the road. Shure 
 mysef would not have seen him only the horse 
 shied." 
 
 And Tom ran at full speed. He was beside 
 the body before Jim could get out of the cart. 
 A man dressed in military uniform lay before 
 him. The emblematic green showed he belonged 
 to the army of the country. He was evidently a 
 gentleman, and held the rank of an officer. On 
 his finger was a diamond ring, worth at least 
 a hundred pounds, and through the embroidery, 
 on the breast of his tunic, the links of a massive 
 gold chain appeared. 
 
 " Limerick is lost " were the first words that 
 burst from Tom's lips. '' This is some trusted 
 chief who has escaped with important messages, 
 and who has fainted from fatigue on the road. 
 
58 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 Oh ! he is still warm," he exclaimed, as he 
 touched his forehead. '' The pulse still beats, 
 but so quickly and so weak," as he put his finger 
 on his wrist. *' Quick, Jim ! back over the cart, 
 take out the tailboard and give me a hand, we 
 must lift him in on the straw, and hasten back 
 with all speed home. He is drenched to the skin 
 with rain, poor fellow ! " 
 
 Almost as soon as spoken the work was done. 
 Then Tom sat in the body of the cart, supporting 
 the exhausted man, while Jim whipped the horse 
 as he never had done before, and in about twenty 
 minutes the cart, with its occupants, came to a 
 stand before the front door of Bogra Vale. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A HANDSOME YOUNG SOLDIER ON THE TAPIS. 
 
 " Now, here's another discontented paper. 
 Found in his pocket, too, " — Othello. 
 
 Tom's explanation concerning the doctor's gifts 
 made a deep impression on Nora. She did not 
 entertain the smallest doubt as to its correctness, 
 but she felt disappointed. If he had only said, 
 ** perhaps, dear, you have captivated him, and he 
 has adopted this mode of shewing his love and 
 affection," then she would have been completely 
 satisfied. When she returned to her bedroom, 
 the thought haunted her, as she brushed mechan- 
 ically her curly hair; as she knelt upon her knees, 
 it intruded on her devotions ; and when she lay 
 down to take her rest, it drove away her sleep. 
 She wondered at the feelings she experienced. 
 She could not understand them. The fact was, 
 that her young and susceptible heart had been 
 impressed by the studied and long practiced arts 
 of the wily old Lothario. 
 
 Although she was in bed by half-past ten, she 
 heard the chime for half-past two before she 
 dropped off into unconsciousness, and then, before 
 
60 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 her excited fancy, rose diamond rings of various 
 shapes and forms, some as big as children's 
 rolling hoops, and some as small as a needle's 
 eye ; and sometimes she would see gold- mounted 
 scent bottles, alternately, as small as thimbles and 
 as large as decanters; then she would hear the 
 kind expressions of polite attention, until, at last, 
 the strange impression of a kiss on her very lips — 
 a kiss from the doctor, too — started her from her 
 sleep just as the clock struck six, and convinced 
 her she had been dreaming. Unable to compose 
 herself again — for what girl could allay excite- 
 ment after such a stimulant ? — she heard her 
 brother's footsteps as he passed from his room 
 and quietly closed the hall door after him ; and, 
 no sooner had he left the house, than she jumped 
 from her bed and began to dress herself, though 
 she had to light the candle, so dark and gloomy 
 was, still, the early morning. 
 
 It was Nora's habit to make her own bed and 
 tidy her bedroom before she left it. This was 
 not a heavy task, for everything in that room was 
 always in its own place. It had a suite of furni- 
 ture that had been selected with exquisite taste. 
 The very dearest little French bedstead, with the 
 most becoming curtains lined with pink and 
 fringed with lace. A stand, for basin and jug, 
 surmounted with white marble, and quaintly 
 figured tiles at the back and sides. A dressing 
 table, a la duchesses with mirror in the middle 
 suspended between two sets of little drawers. A 
 
MAR V a SULLIVAN : HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 61 
 
 magnificent wardrobe, lined with fragrant cedar 
 wood, containing unnumbered drawers of all 
 sizes and shapes, besides copious provision for 
 hanging up dresses, whose texture and beauty 
 forbad them to be crushed into a constricted place, 
 and marked with folds; and a carpet, which seemed 
 to rise at least two inches from the floor, and to 
 rebound, as though it were elastic, beneath each 
 gentle foot-tread. 
 
 The sound of wheels startled her, from the 
 torment of her one absorbing thought — *' these 
 presents, and why they were presented." She 
 hastened to the window, saw Jim hurrying the 
 horse, her brother sitting in the cart, which, in a 
 moment, filled her mind with a thousand fancies, 
 and made her turn pale with fright, until her 
 quick eye saw he was supporting someone in his 
 arms. In a second she was at the hall door, had 
 it open the moment they arrived, heard w^ith 
 wonder and intense interest the adventure, and 
 at once decided that the apparently dying man 
 should be carried up to her room. " Yes," said 
 she. "It is the largest and best furnished in the 
 house, and is most fitted for one who has been 
 valiantly fighting for his country, and one who 
 looks so noble and so grand." 
 
 Tom suggested his room. In the generosity of 
 his heart, he would make any sacrifice for the 
 stranger, but did not like his sister to be incon- 
 venienced ; but Nora overruled. 
 
 "You must keep your own room, Tom. No 
 
62 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 one shall take your place. I will occupy the hack 
 room next yours." 
 
 The man appeared to he dying. The case was 
 urgent. No time was to he lost. Nora's arrange- 
 ment was quickly carried out. The powerful 
 Tom, with Jim's assistance, carried him up the 
 stairs as if he were a child. Nora kept the doors 
 open as they passed. Within ten minutes Jim 
 was despatched for Dr. Armstrong, with a hastily 
 written note from Tom, requesting him to come 
 immediately. 
 
 And now, with all the speed he could command, 
 Tom set to work. He removed the saturated 
 clothes, and having put one of his own night- 
 shirts on the unresisting sick man, he laid him 
 comfortably in bed, between the blankets. Next 
 he applied warmth to his hands and feet, which 
 were icy cold, and then, taking the wet clothes, he 
 examined the pockets carefully, with the hope of 
 finding some information to enable him to com- 
 municate with his friends. In one was a purse, 
 containing some gold pieces ; in another, a sealed 
 letter, addressed " To my darling mother." All the 
 others, except the small one that held his watch, 
 were empty. There was no card, no envelope. 
 Nothing to tell his name, his home, or his 
 relations. Having called Nora, they discussed 
 the matter together, and both decided that they 
 should not break the seal, but await the arrival of 
 the doctor, and ask his counsel and advice. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jim was hurrying to perform his 
 
MAR Y O'SULLl VAN : HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 63 
 
 errand. He left the note at the doctor's first, 
 and then proceeded to execute some little com- 
 missions. Nora thoughtfully concluded that 
 beef-tea would be required, so she sent for a 
 supply of fresh meat ; she also ordered some pale 
 brandy. These she thought would be sufficient, 
 for she knew their own larder was well stocked, 
 and that their own cellar contained old and good 
 wines. 
 
 The note, as soon as it was delivered at the 
 house, was handed to the doctor. It was quite a 
 puzzle to him. He ran to the door to get some 
 clue from the messenger, but he was already out 
 of sight. '' Surely Nora is ill," said he, '' perhaps 
 taken dangerously bad. Tom would rnever send 
 me such a note without grave reason.'' He 
 forthwith ordered his brougham, and drove with 
 all speed to the Harrington's. 
 
 Nora, with impatience, was watching for his 
 arrival, met him at the hall door, felt flattered 
 at his expressions of relief at seeing her so well, 
 and at his detail of the anxiety and suspense 
 which he endured when he feared she was the 
 patient, and forthwith hurried him to the sick 
 man's room. 
 
 Tom, who was sitting by the bedside, quickly 
 rose when the doctor entered — told him briefly but 
 accurately the story of the morning's adventure ; 
 where they had found the man by the roadside, 
 and how he was drenched with rain, and insen- 
 sible ; particularized that his clothing was the 
 
64 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE, 
 
 uniform of an officer in the national army ; 
 pointed out the magnificent diamond on his 
 finger; shewed his handsome gold watch and 
 chain ; and, last of all, described the letter 
 he had taken from his pocket, and how it was 
 addressed. 
 
 The doctor, meanwhile, was pursuing his own 
 enquiry in connection with his new patient's 
 condition. He examined accurately his pulse; 
 hstened with attentive care to his heart sounds ; 
 sought for evidences of pneumonia, as the Faculty 
 call inflammation of the lungs, and with difficulty 
 obtained a view of his tongue. His experienced 
 hand served him well, as applying it to the side 
 and chest, he quickly discovered the abnormal 
 increase in temperature ; and, at length, having 
 completed his various tests and trials, turning to 
 Tom, with a look of confidence, as though no 
 lingering doubt remained upon his mind, he told 
 him " The young man is suffering from typhus 
 fever, an epidemic disease, in many respects 
 similar to what you and your sister have just 
 gone through. I have good hopes," continued he, 
 *'to bring him round to convalescence, but at 
 present, it is utterly impossible for me to tell how 
 long the fever will last, whether in fourteen or 
 twenty-one days we may expect the crisis; neither 
 can I tell how soon the patient will be sufficiently 
 strong to continue his journey. Certainly he will 
 not be able to walk before six weeks, and this 
 being the case, don't you think I had better give 
 
MARY 0' SULLIVAN: HER FRIENDS AND INFL UENCE. 65 
 
 you an order for his removal to our county 
 hospital?" 
 
 '^Not for the world," said Tom. '' The best I 
 have he is most welcome to, and I am sure Nora 
 thinks the same. We would never send to the 
 hospital one who has been fighting for our 
 common country." 
 
 "Just as you please," said the doctor, who was 
 not at all indisposed to find a good excuse for a 
 daily visit, " but, I must send you a nurse, for, of 
 course, Nora will not come into this room." 
 
 ''Thank you," said Tom, "please send one as 
 soon as you can, and give her full directions, for 
 she will mind all you say, but no doubt, will treat 
 with dignified contempt anything I may suggest, 
 although I ought to know something about fever; 
 but, tell me doctor, are we likely to take it again, 
 for if so I would send Nora away from the 
 house." 
 
 " Where would you send her ? " 
 
 "To our brother, the curate, of course. It 
 would only be a day's drive." 
 
 The doctor thought that would be a terrible 
 privation, for he would not see her again till the 
 patient had recovered, so he promptly replied — 
 **0h! it is not necessary, one attack of typhus 
 fever secures you, at least, for years, against the 
 recurrence of a second infection." 
 
 **How do you come to that conclusion, doctor?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 ** It has been enforced on my mind by experi- 
 
66 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 ence. I have never known a patient who had a 
 second attack, unless a great number of years 
 intervened." 
 
 '' What do you consider the cause of fever, 
 doctor?" 
 
 '' Its etiology, Tom, is a difficult question. 
 There are many theories, but the conclusion at 
 which I have arrived is, that it is caused by the 
 introduction into the lungs — together with the 
 air inhaled by the nose or mouth — of sonie 
 micro-organism, or very minute living animal, 
 which propagates its species with most prolific 
 development ; that this little animal, or rather 
 numbers of them, pass from the delicate air vesi- 
 cles of the lungs into the blood, permeate the 
 whole frame, and multiply, multiply, multiply 
 as long as the system contains pabulum or food 
 for their support. They do not feed on all parts 
 of the human body, but only on some particular 
 ingredient that enters into its composition. As 
 soon as this ingredient is consumed, the millions 
 of invaders die from starvation, and are cast off by 
 what we call the vis medicatrix naturc&j or, the inhe- 
 rent power of nature to recruit herself, and then 
 the patient, if possessed of a good constitution 
 and a sound heart, recovers ; but if the patient 
 be advanced in years, or have a weak heart, 
 in either case his strength of constitution is 
 impaired, and he sinks before the invaders die. 
 It is because the food, on which these microbes 
 exist, has been abstracted from the system by 
 
THE RACE FOR LIFE. 67 
 
 the first attack, that I think a second infection 
 is impossible." 
 
 **My best thanks, doctor, for your lucid expla- 
 nation. May I still further ask, Has our patient 
 a good constitution and a strong heart ? " 
 
 '* Yes, I examined him accurately and care- 
 fully. He has a fine constitution and a strong 
 heart, but he has been subjected to much priva- 
 tion and fatigue, and has lain, we know not how 
 long, soaked in wet, on the cold ground. This 
 last may not do him any harm. I look forward 
 to the time when the excessive heat of fever will 
 be kept down by cold ablutions, and probably by 
 the cold bath. It seems to me the reasonable 
 treatment." 
 
 '^ I am so delighted to hear your opinion," said 
 Tom. "- Kindly tell me, now, how are we to treat 
 him until we see you to-morrow, when I hope you 
 will be able to come again?" 
 
 '*I shall certainly come in the morning," said 
 the doctor. ''Of course, I feel now his life is to 
 some extent in my hands, and all in my power 
 shall be done to preserve it. You can under- 
 stand, Tom, from what I have already said, that 
 the race for life is between the constitution and 
 the invading hordes. The more the constitution 
 is let down, the less chance the patient has ; the 
 more the constitution is assisted, the better 
 chance. We must, therefore, give all the nourish- 
 ment we can, in small quantities, and often, but 
 must avoid those kinds which are stimulating, or 
 
63 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 calculated to cause additional irritation to the 
 already burning brain, with this necessary pro- 
 viso — unless they are absolutely indispensable." 
 
 "I understand; plenty of beef-tea, and such 
 like, in frequent small doses, but no wine or 
 brandy, unless we see signs of sinking." 
 
 ''You could not express my meaning better, 
 Tom. What a lirst-class medical student you 
 would make ; but, you will agree with me, that we 
 ought to communicate with his friends." 
 
 "We do not know where his friends are. He 
 had no card; no address whatever in his 
 pockets." 
 
 ''Did you not tell me he had a letter in his 
 pocket ? " 
 
 "Yes, but having only the direction 'To my 
 mother,' and, neither Nora nor I would dare to 
 pry into another's secrets." 
 
 "Oh, absurd ! " said the doctor. " For the sake 
 of a sentiment, a mere sentiment, you perhaps 
 deter that mother from seeing her son. Would 
 you like some strangers to act so, if you were in 
 this man's condition ? " 
 
 "Most certainly I would not. I should like 
 them to open the letter, and send word at once to 
 Nora; and to you, too, for I think no one else 
 could cure me." 
 
 "Where is this letter, then?" said the doctor, 
 having first, with a bow, acknowledged Tom's 
 compliment. 
 
 " Nora has it, in the drawing-room." 
 
WORKING GENTLEMAN'S SLIPPERS. 69 
 
 ** Then let us go to her at once," and both, 
 having cast a glance at the still raving, mutter- 
 ing, sick man, went to the drawing-room to Nora. 
 
 Nora was sitting on an ottoman, and beside 
 her were different coloured balls of worsted and 
 skeins of silk. She was busily engaged working a 
 beautiful pair of gentleman's slippers, the pattern 
 of which was very recherche. The doctor con- 
 cluded they were for himself; in fact, he felt 
 quite sure, so made no enquiry. She imme- 
 diately put down her work, and, when asked for 
 the letter, unlocked a private drawer in her 
 escritoire, and, taking it out, handed it to Tom; 
 saying at the same time, '* What do you want 
 with it ? " 
 
 " The doctor says we should open it," was his 
 reply. *' He thinks it may contain some particu- 
 lars about the poor fellow's friends, and that it 
 would be cruel to keep them in the dark, when 
 they may be pining in suspense to know some- 
 thing about him. I must say," he continued, 
 " on second consideration, I think he is quite 
 right." 
 
 This expression of Tom's removed all Nora's 
 scruples, and, wondering if their guest were a 
 nobleman, or perhaps a near relation of one of 
 the Irish kings, and fully expecting that the letter 
 would reveal the intelligence, she sat down, full of 
 interest, while the doctor, to whom Tom handed 
 the letter, opened it without further ceremony, 
 and read aloud its contents : — 
 
70 THE GHOS T OF D UN BO V CAS TLE. 
 
 Limerick, October 27tli, 1651. 
 My darling Mother, 
 
 Our dear Fergus has made up his mind to leave this 
 scene of misery and desolation to-morrow night. He has deter- 
 mined, if possible, to escape through the serried lines of our 
 besiegers, and to make his way to you, his mother, and Mary, 
 with the intention, if possible, to get you all off safely to France. 
 The dangers before him almost make me shudder, accustomed 
 as I am to the terrors of war. Of this, however, I feel sure, 
 if any man can carry out this daring venture, it is Fergus. 
 Although he is my cousin, I must say a braver man, and a 
 more vaUant warrior, never breathed the breath of life. Oh, 
 mother ! if you saw him, charging the crowds of the enemy, with 
 a few brave comrades, and dealing destruction right and left, you 
 would say his life was a charmed one, and that his valour had 
 no equal. If he remained within these walls for two days 
 longer, all hopes of seeing you would then be lost. He would 
 then be bound on honour to leave Ireland for ever, and would 
 have no course open but to go with the remnant of the Nation- 
 ahst Ai-my to France. This I have decided to do. Macmahon 
 and sister Edie are going, too, and, with the help of the 
 Almighty, we hope to meet you, and Mary, and Fergus' dear 
 mother, there, when we may yet be happy, though we lose our 
 much loved home here and see it transferred to the enemy. All 
 this misery and misfortune have been brought upon us, dear 
 mother, by that scoundrel, Colonel Fennell. Before we ad- 
 mitted him and his soldiers within Limerick's gates, without 
 our knowledge, he had sold the pass at Killaloe, and abandoned 
 it to the invader. Now, when our bravest and best generals, 
 ay, and our soldiers, too, are able and willing to carry on the 
 defence, he has sold us all to the enemy, and has told us he 
 would blow up St. John's gate, and give up the city to the 
 besiegers, unless the garrison would consent to capitulate. We 
 had no alternative — with shame and sorrow we had to submit ; 
 and let me here copy for you — word by word — some of the 
 terms of the surrender which were agreed to, and signed this 
 day: 
 
THE TREATY OF LIMERICK. 71 
 
 "Articles, agreed to on the 27th day of October, 1651, between 
 Henry Ireton, the Deputy-Governor, and Barth Stackpoole, 
 Recorder of Limerick, Alderman Dominick White, Nicholas 
 Healy, Esq., Lieut. -Col. Pierce Lacy, Lieut. -Col. Donough 
 O'Brien, and John Baggot, Esq., Commissioners, on behalf of 
 the Mayor and Inhabitants. 
 
 " I. — That the City, and Castle, and all places of strength, 
 be delivered to the Deputy-Governor on the 29th instant, by 
 sunset, for the use of the Protector and Commonwealth of 
 England, for which performance the above-named be retained 
 as hostages. 
 
 " 11. — In consideration of which all persons now in the city 
 shall have their lives, and be allowed to go away, and all the 
 soldiers be allowed to leave the country, except the following 
 twenty." 
 
 Then, mother dear, comes the cruel list of those twenty who 
 must die the martyr's death, because, their bravery could not be 
 overcome, and they were too noble to yield. The first is our 
 gallant governor, Major-General O'Neil, who has done his duty 
 to his country with a courage and true nobility of soul which 
 brooked no compromise. Then in succession follow the other 
 names, among which — can you believe it, mother ? — are those 
 of Edward O'Dwyer, Bishop of Limerick, and Terence O'Brien, 
 Bishop of Emly. 
 
 It would be useless to trouble your kind heart with the 
 record of the other names, but this is not all. We have it on 
 good authority that every Catholic clergyman must quit the 
 kingdom, or be put to death, and that it is enacted against 
 those that remain, " that thej' are deemed guilty of rebellion, 
 and are sentenced to be hung till half dead, then to be be- 
 headed ; their bodies to be divided into four parts, their bowels 
 to be dragged out and burnt, and their heads to be fixed on 
 poles." 
 
 A cry — a piercing cry — from Nora, whose 
 thoughts these words carried away to the dangers 
 
72 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 awaiting her brother Tim and her uncle, at this 
 point stopped the reading. She wept bitterly — 
 she sobbed, and almost went into hysterics. The 
 doctor and Tom flew to her assistance. After a 
 few minutes she became more composed, and 
 urgently entreated the doctor to read on, and, as 
 Tom seconded her application, being anxious to 
 hear the worst, the reading was resumed. 
 
 Mother, dear, we have had an awful time here. Not only 
 the bullets constantly flying, the shells bursting among us, and 
 the charges of the enemy, which we always repulsed, but 
 famine — the black death — and fever, have been mowing down 
 our brave men, killing the people by the hundred, and filHng the 
 city with infection and horrors worse than death. Many of our 
 old men and women have gone outside our walls, and begged 
 the enemy to let them pass. Can you believe it ? — they whip 
 them back like dogs, and, having hung the leaders in our sight, 
 leave their bodies where all can view them from the walls. One 
 young woman, who led a company of twenty helpless ones, they 
 decided to hang. Her poor father, in agony of grief, rushing 
 from the company, prayed to be hanged in her stead. The 
 inhuman monsters raised the gibbet, and strangled her before 
 his eyes, and beat him back with ropes to the city. 
 
 But why should I continue this cheerless letter ? Mother 
 
 dearest, as soon as you receive it, make arrangements at 
 
 once, and fly with Mary and aunty to France. Edie, Mac, and 
 
 I will meet you there. In fondest hope that the parting will 
 
 not be long. 
 
 Your ever loving son, 
 
 DONAL. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe the effects 
 produced by the reading of this letter. They 
 were still in the dark who their visitor might 
 
NORA LEFT 70 HER OWN RESOURCES.. 73 
 
 be. Confused and bewildered, they knew not 
 what step to take, or what course to determine. 
 
 The doctor alone was cool and collected. Full 
 of thought, he remained silent for a while. Then, 
 turning to the brother and sister, he quietly 
 remarked, ** We are safe here. The letter con- 
 tains valuable information. We can send word of 
 its contents to your uncle and to Tim, and they 
 will have plenty of time to take measures to 
 avoid the threatening danger." 
 
 And so, on reflection, Tom thought, and, after 
 Nora's first burst of sorrow, she felt comforted 
 by the doctor's assurances, and looking in a new 
 light at the intelligence, took courage, knowing 
 that "to be forewarned is to be forearmed," and 
 that her uncle and brother would have time to 
 escape. 
 
 The doctor, who had spent at Bogra Yale more 
 of his morning than his many engagements 
 allowed, now took his leave, having first promised 
 to return early on the next day. Tom sat down, 
 forthwith to give a full account to his uncle and 
 brother ; and Nora, left to her own resources, 
 began, not unnaturally, to feel an interest in 
 the handsome young man who had shown so 
 much noble daring, bravery, fearlessness, and 
 energy. 
 
 It was not more than an hour after the doctor's 
 departure when the nurse arrived. As Tom 
 was busy writing, Nora conducted her to her 
 patient's room, where, well conversant with her 
 
74 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 work, she commenced without delay her necessary 
 duties. 
 
 '* Eh, dear ! " she said to Nora, as soon as she 
 looked at her charge, *' what an iligant young 
 man it is ; any mother might be fairly proud of 
 him," and true it was that, as he lay there, regard- 
 less of observation, and completely unaware of it, 
 he did look handsome. The bright blush of fever, 
 now that the warmth of the bed clothes began to 
 restore circulation to his frame, glowed in two 
 pink spots on his cheeks. His light brown hair, 
 full of curls, his silken beard and whiskers and 
 moustache, which never felt the razor's edge, his 
 manly form and aristocratic features, his broad 
 shoulders and expanded chest — Nora never saw 
 anyone so handsome before. She always thought 
 her brother could not be surpassed, but Tom was 
 dark, and Fergus, for now she knew his name, 
 was fair, and she preferred a light complexion, 
 for she was dark too, and women, as a rule, 
 admire their opposites. 
 
 If the doctor had only seen the expression, 
 that, quick as lightning, shot over her pretty 
 face, and observed the interest that she took, and 
 heard her whisper to herself, ''He is not much 
 more than my own age, and the doctor is getting 
 so old," we might pardon him if the feeling of 
 jealousy was awakened, and would feel surprised 
 if he did not conclude, that he had, already, a 
 formidable rival. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE INFIDEL DOCTOR. 
 
 " An absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, 
 Of very soft society, and great show ; indeed, to speak 
 Feelingly of him, he is the card or kalendar of gentry. 
 
 — Hamlet. 
 
 On the outskirts of Kanturk, about thirty yards 
 from the high road, stood a pretty and detached 
 villa. It was approached from the road by a 
 gravelled walk, which went direct, without curve 
 to the front door. An iron paling, with an 
 elegantly devised heading, extending about forty 
 yards, separated the grounds on which the villa 
 was situated from the public highway. This 
 paling had a network of zinc -wire firmly attached 
 for its entire extent. The wire work was about 
 four feet high, to secure the exclusion of cats 
 and dogs. There was a little iron gate in the 
 centre, which swung between two square pillars 
 of fantastic pattern, surmounted by an elaborate 
 arch, which contained a handsome red glass 
 lamp. The little gate would have often rendered 
 the wire work precautions abortive, and would 
 have admitted, not only dogs and cats, but 
 
76 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 likewise pigs and donkeys, so often would the 
 thoughtless visitors have left it open ; but that 
 it had attached a bar, which being acted on by 
 a strong spring, insisted on keeping it closed. 
 
 The villa had two stories, and an attic which, 
 in pentangular projections from the roof, con- 
 tained its windows, giving a Swiss cottage 
 appearance to the whole. At each end of the 
 paling which separated the grounds from the 
 road, there was a brick wall, about ten feet 
 high, which prevented intrusion from the side, 
 and whose appearance was by no means unsightly 
 since variegated ivy and what we call American 
 creepers, of scarlet hue, covered it in joint pos- 
 session. Beside these walls, and inside the rail- 
 ing, were flower beds, about two yards wide, 
 planted with sweet peas, and roses, and dahlias, 
 and mignonette, in their season, and at equal 
 intervals all round, trees of sweetbrier, which 
 perfumed the air, and gave to the villa its name, 
 " Sweet Brier Lodge." 
 
 In the grass, at each side of the gravel walk, 
 were three flower-beds, a circular in the middle, 
 and a diamond-shaped at each end ; and on the 
 iron gate, facing the public road, there was a large 
 brass plate, on which each passer=by might see 
 engraved — 
 
 Dr. Egbert Armstrong, 
 Surgeon, &c., 
 
 while a similar plate, of smaller size, attached to 
 
SWEET BRIER LODGE. 77 
 
 the door of the house, advertised to all interested, 
 the same intelligence. 
 
 The house was as nearly as possible in the 
 middle of the enclosure, which extended as far 
 behind as in front, and, like the boundary walls, 
 had creepers and ivy mantling it; around the 
 portico of the hall-door, circuiting the windows, 
 and almost reaching to the roof. On passing into 
 the house, on the right hand was the entrance to 
 the patients' waiting-room. It was a large, well- 
 ventilated apartment, eight yards wide by ten 
 yards deep, and most comfortably furnished, with 
 a profusion of books, periodicals, and illustrated 
 papers lying on a circular table in the centre of 
 the room. On the left was the consulting-room, 
 where the doctor regularly awaited his patients, 
 being never absent unless compelled by some 
 urgent call; and, off this consulting-room was 
 another, which we must minutely describe. In 
 the first place, it was an addition to the original 
 plan of the house, and was built specially after 
 the doctor's own directions and plans. Through 
 the side wall of the consulting-room — which, 
 unlike modern brick buildings, was just one 
 yard thick — a passage had been made. Short 
 as this passage was, it had at each side a door, 
 one opening into the consulting-room, and one 
 into the new structure which was called the 
 operating-room. When these two doors were 
 shut, no sound of voices in conversational pitch 
 could be heard in the consulting-room, and the 
 
78 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 loudest cries, even of stentorian lungs, could not 
 reach the waiting-room. It was known that the 
 doctor performed many operations. His celebrity 
 as an able surgeon had permeated far and wide, 
 but no one ever heard even one groan from a 
 suffering patient. This circumstance secured 
 for him a high reputation for humanity and 
 tenderness of heart, in all the neighbourhood. 
 
 Well ! this operating-room, though fully eight 
 yards square, had no window in its walls, neither 
 had it a fire-place, and yet it was neither cold nor 
 dark. A cupola or dome, with large panes of 
 plate glass, flooded it with light from the top, 
 and pipes containing hot water, in double tier 
 circuiting the walls, secured a comfortable tem- 
 perature of 60° F., which, to the initiated, 
 means sixty degrees Fahrenheit. 
 
 Far from the road in front, far from the lane 
 that passed at the back, far from the reception- 
 room, without a window in its walls, its only 
 entrance guarded by double-doors ; every precau- 
 tion secured, that any sound uttered or made 
 within that room, would awake no chord of sympa- 
 thy, and cause no sorrow, or divulge no secret to 
 the outer world. It was a most remarkable 
 room ; remember tenaciously its characteristics, 
 you will hear more about it by and bye. 
 
 Take one peep more before you leave it. See, 
 it has a thick pile carpet completely covering it. 
 This carpet, in one part about six feet square, 
 is surmounted by an oilcloth. Along the side of 
 
THE THREE CHAIRS. 79 
 
 one wall, projecting about two feet, stands a 
 narrow mahogany table supporting numerous 
 instrument-cases. These are filled with knives of 
 various sizes and various shapes, saws, bone and 
 teeth and obstetric forceps, gouges, surgical 
 needles and appliances, tourniquets, bandages, 
 etc., etc., sufficient to give a fair start in life to a 
 commencing surgical instrument maker. Besides 
 this table, the only furniture was three chairs, all 
 constructed after the same pattern, and that the 
 doctor's own design. One chair of large propor- 
 tions was suited to an adult ; another, smaller, 
 fitted for a youth; the third, smaller stiil, and 
 adapted for a child. 
 
 The first appearance resembled the chair 
 usually found in a dentist's room, comfortably 
 padded, easy, luxurious. A handle turning like a 
 windlass could elevate the patient's position to 
 any height, or lower it to any desirable standard. 
 Another application of the handle to another 
 part made the chair gradually unfold, so that it 
 might form a comfortable bed. Another turning 
 pivot made the foot of the bed separate into two 
 parts, and for a third of its length divide to 
 about three feet apart, so that the doctor could 
 have full room, and power for any manipulation 
 he might require, during an operation on a 
 patient's foot, or ankle, or knee. 
 
 One arrangement must not escape notice ; but, 
 it must be pointed out to you, and you must look 
 closely, and accurately, before you can observe it. 
 
80 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 It has been so contrived, that strong leather 
 straps, perforated with holes to fasten on buttons, 
 can, almost imperceptibly, be drawn from their 
 receptacles. To the uninitiated these straps do 
 not appear, but pull one of those buttons, which 
 in serried ranks seem intended for mere orna- 
 mental decoration, and out the strap will issue. 
 
 There are several of these covert appliances, 
 one to bind each arm, one to encircle the waist, 
 one to confine each leg above the knee, and one 
 each ankle ; so that each harmless looking easy 
 chair, by a little quiet manoeuvring, becomes an 
 operating table to which, without his knowledge 
 or consent, or even his suspicion, the patient 
 could be bound so fast that he could not move his 
 body, or stir his hand or foot. 
 
 It was a wonderful contrivance, but not just 
 the place you would like to find yourself help- 
 lessly attached to, when there was no connection 
 with the outer world ; where no screams could be 
 heard, no cries for assistance answered, and 
 where some of those dreadful looking knives, 
 or saws, or forceps, could, without any power of 
 restraint on your part, be freely used upon your 
 flesh, and bones, and sinews. 
 
 Robert Armstrong, the proprietor of this 
 charming establishment, and the patentee of this 
 versatile invention, was the youngest child and 
 only son of Joan and Michael Armstrong. They 
 were well-to-do farming people in the County 
 Tipperary. He had nine sisters ; all of them fine, 
 
ROBERT WAS THE PET. 81 
 
 healthy, fresh-looking gh'ls, with blue eyes, white 
 eyelashes, and red heads^ Yes, unequivocally red 
 heads. Auburn hair, sandy, carrotty, reddish ; not 
 one of these qualifications would do. The accurate 
 description was red. The Tipperary boys called 
 it *'foxy." This style of beauty, accompanied as 
 it generally is with a bright transparent skin, 
 being much admired in that part of the country, 
 they all, in succession, became comfortably 
 married ; and, in due course, the respective pro- 
 prietors of large families, ranging in numbers 
 from nine to twelve. As most of the offspring 
 inherited the complexion of their maternal pro- 
 genitors, the supply of little foxes in the 
 neighbourhood seemed likely to last — in prayer- 
 book phraseology — '' world without end. Amen." 
 Nevertheless, with their future history, our 
 narrative has no further connection. 
 
 Eobert was the pet, and this was not un- 
 natural, being the only boy amid such a profusion 
 of girls. Sometimes, indeed, he was the spoiled 
 pet of his mother, who, with maternal affection in 
 the ascendant, thought him the prettiest baby first, 
 and, subsequently, the most intelligent boy in 
 existence. He was well educated ; brought 
 up carefully in Christian principles ; and mani- 
 fested for some time such a tone of piety, that 
 his parents almost decided to devote him to the 
 ministry. About this time, however, his father 
 met with an accident. He fell from a haycock, 
 which, at the end of the season, he was rearing 
 
82 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 in an inclosure near his farmyard, and sustained 
 a compound fracture of the tibea and fibula, or 
 the bones of the lower part of the leg. 
 
 Eobert evinced such interest, such skill in 
 bandaging, and such an aptitude in following the 
 directions of the medical man who attended, that 
 he became quite interested in the lad, and 
 strongly advised his father to bring him up to the 
 profession for which nature seemed to fit him so 
 admirably. The boy ardently seconded the 
 doctor's advice. The parents consented, and the 
 church was abandoned in favour of the pill and 
 the lancet. 
 
 Being endowed with good abilities, in a short 
 time he passed his preliminary examination, and 
 was sent by his father to Dubhn, to study in the 
 Medical School. 
 
 He soon distinguished himself among his 
 class-fellows, became prosector to the lecturer in 
 anatomy, passed his primary professional with 
 honours, and in due course obtained the diplomas 
 of the Royal College of Surgeons, the Eoyal 
 College of Physicians, and the Apothecaries' Hall ; 
 and wrote to his father with no small pride, 
 adding to his name the portentous letters, 
 L.R.C.S.L, M.K.Q.C.P.I., L.M.R.H., L.S.A. The 
 last two respectively meaning Licentiate in Mid- 
 wifery, Rotunda Hospital, and Licentiate of the 
 Society of Apothecaries. 
 
 For the first two years of his study, he was 
 remarkable among his fellow- students for his 
 
THE YOUNG DOCTOR'S TEMPTATIONS. 83 
 
 steadiness and religious turn of mind. He never 
 joined with them in their Ucentious debauches, 
 always kept good hours, and on Sundays regu- 
 larly attended church. The jeers and laughter 
 and ridicule of his class-mates were not suffi- 
 ciently potent to turn the bent of his strong 
 mind ; but, alas ! and alas ! this firmness 
 did not last. **Evil communications corrupt 
 good manners," says the proverb. Time and 
 example, and worst of all, what the professors 
 in the medical school taught, at first unhinged 
 his mind and made him absolutely miserable, 
 and subsequently made havoc of his early incul- 
 cations — the teachings of his father, and the 
 impressive, deeply rooted, early lessons learned at 
 his fond mother's knee. 
 
 It is interesting to observe how this moral 
 ruin was brought about, and the detail is not a 
 long one. When a student learning the bones of 
 the human skeleton, he saw at the base of the 
 skull a deep indenture, called from its resem- 
 blance to a Turkish saddle, ^' the Sella Turcica." 
 When in the dissecting room he formed acquaint- 
 ance with its stately occupant, a little figure 
 protruding from the brain, called the '* pituitary 
 body." He read that this little figure was by 
 the ancients supposed to be the residence of the 
 soul, and that modern investigation cannot define 
 its use or obligation. 
 
 He had learned also accurately the particulars 
 of the " OS sacrum," or sacred bone, concerning 
 
84 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 which the Jewish rabbis entertained the notion 
 that this part of the skeleton, which they called 
 "luz/' would resist decay, and become the germ 
 from which the body would be raised.. 
 
 Smiling in contempt at these fantasies, he 
 could find no other part of the body dedicated, 
 even by fable, to the spiritual inheritor. Then he 
 heard often from his teachers of the ''unity of 
 type," which means, the similiarity of man to 
 other animals ; not only to animals living on 
 the dry land like himself, but also to animals 
 living in the sea. For example, in all known 
 mammalia, with two exceptions, there are 
 exactly seven cervical vertebrae. In the whale, 
 which seems to have no neck, there are just the 
 same mystic seven as in the giraffe or in man. 
 
 Again, he saw the bones in the human fcetus 
 ossifying from a certain number of " centres of 
 ossification," which is the anatomical term for 
 those little specks, where the cartilage or gristle 
 of infant life, first assumes the appearance and 
 constituents of bone ; and this occurring in every 
 child in exactly the same manner. Nor, as he 
 ponders, can he discover any object why a human 
 bone should have this number of centres ; and, as 
 he enquires, he can get no satisfactory explana- 
 tion until he reverts again to the ' * unity of 
 type ; " and there he finds, that each separate 
 *' centre of ossification" in the skeleton of man, 
 represents a distinct bone in some of the lower 
 animals. 
 
INFINITE POWER, RELENTLESS REGULARITY. 85 
 
 His mind too was led by examples, constantly 
 before bis eyes, to consider bow tbe body of a 
 man differs notbing from tbe body of a dog ; bow 
 botb " ripe and ripe and rot and rot " alike ; bow 
 decomposition lets tbe gases off alike, and tbe 
 blue bottle lays its fly blows on eacb alike, 
 and tbe worm devours eacb alike, and evapora- 
 tion dries eacb alike; until tbe residue proves 
 botb alike composed of tbe one original con- 
 stituent — dust. And tben, in no unnatural 
 sequence, be reflected on tbe suffering lot of 
 some. Tbe exquisite agony endured for long 
 montbs, by tbe cancer patient, for no fault of bis ; 
 tbe lingering deatb and joyless life of tbe con- 
 sumptive, for no fault of bis ; and tbe cruel, 
 tortured deatb of otbers, by wbat tbe word calls 
 '' accident." Tbns, by a cbain of tbougbt, 
 wbose links seem reasonably united, be began 
 to drift on tbe dreary and shoreless sea of 
 incertitude, until tbe bark of bis religion was 
 foundered on tbe rocks of agnosticism and doubt, 
 materialism and bopelessness, cbance and infi- 
 delity. 
 
 Still, being an accurate observer, be recognised 
 in tbe world evil and good, suffering and joy, 
 order and design. He recognised a power and a 
 regularity — infinite power, relentless regularity — 
 a power and a regularity steadfast in their 
 career, and, although replete with benefits to the 
 many, regardless — utterly regardless — wbat agon- 
 izing throes, what unmitigated sufferings, what 
 
86 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 broken hearts lie crushed beneath the revolutions 
 of its progress ; and thus, bewildered by his con- 
 templation, he owned, at last, necessity alone as 
 the presiding ruling power ; what we call nature, 
 as the sole minister of this unyielding autocrat ; 
 his own life as an accident, his soul as a myth, 
 and death as a word synonymous with extermina- 
 tion. 
 
 Joyless, hopeless, heavenless creed. The 
 necessary consequence, not of the investigations 
 of science, but of man, imagining that his mind 
 can measure the decrees of infinite wisdom, his 
 ignorance understand infinite knowledge, and 
 his experience estimate the results of infinite 
 intention. 
 
 The same course of study has made an impres- 
 sion widely different on other students of nature. 
 Their surprise, as they dissect the ** fearfully 
 and wonderfully made " tabernacle, is, that a 
 mechanism so complete, and at the same time so 
 frail, can in any case last for twenty years, not to 
 think of the allotted seventy, and the sometiaies 
 surpassed one hundred. Their conclusion is 
 that to speak of chance in connection with the 
 maintenance of such delicate workmanship, or 
 accident as the cause of its existence, bears the 
 impress of such absurdity that the contradiction 
 is a work of supererogation. Their littleness 
 leads them to consider the Creator's greatness, 
 their short life His eternity, their worthlessness 
 His goodness, their ignornance the necessity for 
 
THE SEA OF TROUBLES. 87 
 
 His revelation. In the varied lot of humanity, 
 and the absence of punishment following guilt, 
 they recognise the strongest argument in support 
 of a future assize. They do not acknowledge 
 casualty, believing that even *' the fall of a 
 sparrow is observed." In "unity of type" they 
 find an additional proof that the same power is 
 the great Creator of all, and instead of lapsing 
 into infidelity, and striving to lull the fears and 
 doubts of a tormenting conscience by the hope- 
 less theory of annihilation, they cherish the 
 plant of immortality which they find growing 
 spontaneously within them, and, full of hope, 
 look on death as nothing more formidable than a 
 dark passage that leads to the confines of eternal 
 life. 
 
 It is an insane effort, they think, for the 
 anatomist to attempt to identify the perishing 
 with the immortal, the dead with the living, the 
 dilapidated house with the departed tenant, the 
 casket with the jewel which has been removed 
 from its keeping to decorate an unfading crown. 
 When the student in the dissecting room prys 
 into the arcana of nature, as the disciples of old 
 into the ** tomb in the garden," the angel voice of 
 revelation still proclaims, 
 
 " He is not here, he is risen from the dead." 
 
 It is hard to find words to pourtray the '' sea 
 of troubles " which tossed and buffeted the mind 
 of young Armstrong, as his Christianity gave way 
 
8S THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 to infidelity, and his early home inculcations to 
 the newly fledged theories of immature science. 
 Even still, one good companion could have 
 turned the scale in favour of religion, but such 
 was nowhere to be found. His boat was drifting 
 wildly in the surging rapids, there was no assist- 
 ance near to rescue him from the precipitate falls. 
 
 Anxious for improvement, and very desirous 
 to derive all the information that could be pro- 
 cured in connection with his profession, he went 
 from Dublin to Paris. During the first part of 
 his sojourn there, he might sometimes be seen 
 wending his way by the banks of the meandering 
 Seine, until he crossed the bridge to the little 
 island in its course, whereon is built the imposing 
 structure known as the Archbishop's Cathedral of 
 Notre Dame, and there he would enter and join in 
 the devotions. Sometimes, too, he would wander 
 into a quiet little church, not far from where, 
 opposite the Eue Eoyale, now stands the " Made- 
 leine "; but, in a few weeks this was discontinued, 
 and, as ** Saul among the Prophets prophesied," 
 so young Armstrong in the company of infidels, 
 became a practical and an avowed infidel 
 
 Swift the days and weeks passed on, and soon 
 his six months' course of study was ended, and his 
 six months' constant attendance at the hospitals 
 completed, and then, he left for home in dear old 
 Tipperary, at once a well-educated physician, a 
 fluent French scholar, and a decided unbeliever. 
 At this time, his mind was fully made up on two 
 
HE SE TTLED DO WN A T SWEE T BRIER L ODGE. 89 
 
 points — the first, that he would not, by the 
 smallest hint, give his parents to understand 
 the mighty change that had passed over his 
 opinions; and the second, that as life was 
 short, and nothing but annihilation beyond it, 
 he would enjoy himself in every way in his 
 power, and gratify, as far as he could, his every 
 wish, his every instinct, and his every propen- 
 sity. Ay ! and steep his senses in sin and lust, 
 and all that a perverted mind calls pleasure ; 
 avoiding alone that publicity which might injure 
 his prospects, and assuming that cloak of hypo- 
 crisy, and outer garb of religion, which was 
 necessary to conceal his real character, and pre- 
 vent the discovery and, as far as possible, the 
 suspicion of anything which society might 
 condemn. 
 
 With these principles fully established in his 
 mind, and this line of conduct accurately marked 
 out in the map of his intentions, he settled down 
 to practice at Sweet Brier Lodge, where his 
 ability secured considerable success in his profes- 
 sion, and where his tact and talent made him 
 looked up to as a blunt, straightforward, honest, 
 moral man, and a highly respectable member of 
 the community. 
 
 We shall, by and bye, invite our readers to 
 take a peep behind the scenes, and, unobserved, 
 to enter even the " sanctum sanctorum " — that 
 operating room, with its windowless walls, its 
 security against intrusion, and its careful provi- 
 
90 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 sions against the egress of sound— that operating 
 room, with its wonderful chairs, and their wonder- 
 ful arrangements to hold the human frame and 
 every separate limb in strait-waistcoat security, as 
 long as the operator might deem requisite, and 
 the necessity of the case demanded. 
 
 But, we must not forget to chronicle, how great 
 the ovation was when the doctor, on the comple- 
 tion of his studies, returned to his parents' house. 
 His relations were all of the farming class. He 
 was the first professional man, the first gentleman 
 of the family. Mr. Armstrong, Junr., had a string 
 of letters after his name ; Mr. Armstrong, Senr., 
 never had a letter after his name but once. It 
 was when an epistle came from a miller in Kil- 
 larney, directed to Mr. Michael Armstrong E,S,Q. 
 
 But, independent of all this, the welcome was 
 hearty, the delight was genuine. They all felt, 
 as the country people said, " that blood was 
 thicker than water." So, nothing was too good 
 for Kobert, and the parents manifested true love 
 for their returned boy. In justice it must be 
 added, also, that Bob was as glad to see the old 
 folks as they were to see him. He was not devoid 
 of affection, and, as his father shook his hand, he 
 felt his heart grow full ; and when his mother 
 drew him to her bosom, and he felt her tear of joy 
 roll down his cheek as she kissed him ; his tear of 
 joy mingled with hers, and he clasped her in his 
 arms as lovingly as she clasped him. 
 
CHAPTER YII. 
 
 POOR LITTLE CATTIE. 
 
 Tutti gli uomini sono fratelli, e quando si tratta d'assisterli 
 non bisogna informarsi di cio che credono ma di cio che sofrino. 
 
 — Italian Proverb. 
 
 One common brotherhood unites mankind 
 In bonds, which snff'ring should more closely bind ; 
 Away all thought of envy, worth, or creed ! 
 Compassion onl}^ asks, " What does he need ? " 
 
 " What in the wide world, at all, at all, are we to 
 do ? Oi've sould every stick out of the cabin, 
 and nothin' remains but the bed we sleep on, and 
 the metal pot to bile the praties. Och ! Biddy, 
 darlint, whatever in the world are we to do ? 
 Whatever are we to do ? '' 
 
 " Mesef don't know, Pat, no, the niver a bit! 
 shure and sartin, we niver was so reduced afore. 
 'Tisn't that we drink our share in the public- 
 house, or that we spind it careless; Hisn't that 
 we're lazy and won't work, but not a scrap of work 
 can we git — and now, cowld, and raw, and wet as it 
 is, we have nothin' but a handful of praties in the 
 place to stay the childer's hunger, and not even 
 a sod of turf to bile them, and not a penny to buy 
 a bit of bread." 
 
92 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 " Threw enough for ye, Biddy, and mesef 
 would not mind it so much, for shure, 'tis used 
 to the hardship we are, only it kills me to think 
 of poor little Cattie, and she so wake and sick. 
 Och, Biddy, Biddy, Biddy ! 'twould break me 
 heart to lose her, the crather." 
 
 '' And so 'twould mine too, Pat. Many the 
 noight Oi niver closed me eyes, strivin' to aise her 
 pains, rockin' her in me arms, and walken back 
 and forward to try and git her a wink of shleep ; 
 and well Oi knows how often ye purtended ye had 
 no wish for food yersef, and would not ate a 
 morsel, that the childer might have the more, and 
 thin, how ye wint out with an empty stomach, 
 and tried to git a bit of work, or to run a message, 
 or to turn yer hand to anything, to strive to earn 
 an honest penny to buy a scrap of bread. Och, 
 Pat, Pat, Oi knows it all ! "' 
 
 '' Oi don't mind so much for the other childer 
 now, for they are strong and healthy — although 
 their cryin for a bit to aise their hunger stabs me 
 to the heart — but this little crathur is so angish, 
 and so wake, Oi'm afeard of me life she'll die afore 
 the mornen, and thin, Biddy asthore, whatever 
 would Oi do ? Whatever would Oi do ? " 
 
 And, with these words, the poor, ill-clad, half- 
 starved looking man, with his gaunt, lean figure, 
 and his sunken eyes, and skin-drawn face, fairly 
 broke down, and sobbed bitterly. 
 
 And Biddy could not keep her heart up, 
 either. The tears ran down her pale, worn cheeks, 
 
TAKE ME SHOES AND SELL THLM. 93 
 
 too, but she tried, in her distress, to be brave, 
 and support her despairing husband. 
 
 '' Oi'll tell you what it is, Pat, take me shoes ; 
 ye'll be able to get a couple of shillins on tbim. 
 Ye remimber, Oi gave five shillins for thim, last 
 summer, whin we got that bit of work, maken 
 the turf, and they are as good as new, for Oi niver 
 wore thim since, except whin we wint to prayers. 
 Anyhow, ye'll git a couple of shillins for 'em, and 
 thin go straight to the docther ; till him we'll pay 
 him the rest, honest, as soon as we can git a bit 
 of work to do ; give him. there and thin, one 
 shillin, and pray and beg of him to come and see 
 our poor little Cattie. With the other shillin, ye 
 can buy a bit of white bread, and a taste of mate, 
 if the docther says she wants nourishment/' 
 
 ** Ah ! Biddy," said Pat, '' ye're a good wife to 
 me ; ye always know the way out of trouble. 
 Oi'll take yer shoes, acushla, but sore aginst me 
 heart it is to see yer poor feet cowld and bare; 
 but what can we do ? " 
 
 '* That don't trouble me, Pat, but all Oi'm afierd 
 of is, that the docther won't come a step for that, 
 but will want his half-crown. But ye can try 
 him, Pat, anyhow. Oi knows he refused Tom 
 Sexton the other day, and would not lave the 
 house till he got the money down." 
 
 '' Yis, Biddy, that's the truth, but he knew Tom 
 Sexton could pay if he liked, and people say the 
 docther is not a bad-hearted man to the poor. 
 So Oi'll try him, and if worst comes to worst, 
 
94 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE, 
 
 Oi must give him the two shillins, and, manetime, 
 ye can gather a few sticks, and bile the praties 
 for the other childer afore Oi gits back." 
 
 "May the Lord send ye good luck," said 
 Biddy, as Pat took her shoes, and set off in the 
 rain, to try and raise the money, to bring the 
 doctor to his sinking child. 
 
 Pat and Biddy Brady were man and wife. 
 There is no question but they lived constant, and 
 true, and loving to each other, in sickness and in 
 health, in sorrow and in joy, when they had a bit 
 to eat, and when they had not. They rented a 
 little thatched hut— cottage would be too grand a 
 name for it — for which they paid two shillings a 
 month, and here they managed to subsist for the 
 past twelve years ; sometimes being able to have a 
 cup of tea and bread and butter, and a bit of meat 
 for the Sunday's dinner ; and sometimes having 
 nothing but potatoes and milk for every meal. 
 " Twinty-one times a week for variety," as Pat 
 would say, while a suppressed smile played upon 
 his lip, and a twinkle just showed its existence in 
 his eye. 
 
 Whatever came, they were thankful for ; they 
 never murmured, never repined. They did not 
 know the requirements of those who have been 
 brought up in the lap of luxury, and their aspira- 
 tions never soared higher than to have the means 
 wherewithal *'to pay the rint, and enough to ate 
 for thimselves and the childer." 
 
 Their eldest was a fine, strong, inteUigent, 
 
LITTLE C ATT IE OFTEN HAD A COUGH. 95 
 
 healthy lad, and was now nine and a half years 
 old. The second was also a boy, of just eight 
 years, and as healthy and rosy-cheeked as his 
 brother, and both were, as their mother said, '* the 
 best boys alive, and the liven image of their 
 father." 
 
 The youngest child was a little girl ; perhaps 
 owing to the privations which her father and 
 mother had to endure in hard times — when food 
 was scarce and dear, and neither had more to eat 
 than was just sufficient to keep body and soul 
 together — she was a pale-faced, puny, little, 
 delicate thing. She seemed to catch cold every 
 other day, and no sooner was one attack gone 
 than she got another. Her parents said she 
 took colds easily, but you or I would not wonder, 
 when we reflected that the little mud-built hut 
 had but one room, and that the curtainless bed 
 was opposite the door, under whose bottom, when 
 shut, a mouse might creep, and through whose 
 chinks the cold and frosty wind blew. 
 
 Little Cattie often had a cough ; sometimes she 
 could not eat the potatoes, especially when there 
 was no milk to wash them down, and not a bit of 
 butter to give them a taste ; but, worst of all, she 
 was born with her two little feet deformed, both 
 the heels were drawn up, and both the soles were 
 reversed inwardly, so that when she came to walk, 
 the instep was the part that came to the ground. 
 In common language, they were "club-feet." 
 They need no further description. Perhaps every- 
 
96 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 one is familiar with the appearance, and has seen 
 more than one unsightly example. 
 
 The more delicate she was, by Natiire^s kind 
 decree, the more loving were her parents. Both of 
 them would deny themselves anything to give the 
 more to Cattie, and little Cattie had a loving 
 heart and an affectionate manner. She would 
 nestle on her mother's bosom, and cuddle up 
 close to her side. She would meet her father 
 every day on his return home, before he reached 
 the threshold, waiting for the hour of his 
 approach with anxious eyes, and then she would 
 lie satisfied and content in his strong arms, and 
 run her tiny fingers through his hair, or pre- 
 sently fold her loving arms around his neck, and 
 whisper, in fond affection's soothing tones, " My 
 pappa, my pappa." 
 
 Oh ! how fond of her was that poor pappa ! 
 What tongue could tell it, w^hat pen could write 
 it ? He loved her more than the eyes in his 
 head, and every time her little frame looked 
 weaker, and her little pale face looked thinner, his 
 heart seemed to enwrap itself closer and closer 
 round her. He seemed to love her more and 
 more, till he felt that heart would break if he 
 should lose her, and that he would die of grief if 
 God Almighty took her from him away. 
 
 At the time in which we introduce her to our 
 readers, poor little Cattie had been more than 
 usually unwell ; her little head was hot, her 
 eyes dim, appetite she had none — she could not 
 
SHE COULD NOT SPARE TO LOSE HIM. 97 
 
 eat the boiled potatoes. She was just six years 
 old, but did not appear to be five, so far as stature 
 was a criterion, and yet her little worn, wrinkled 
 face looked more like ten or twelve, 
 
 " Pappy, do not leave yer little Cattie, for Cattie 
 very sick ; pappa kiss little Cattie, for Cattie 
 loves pappa;" and pappa's tears fell down like 
 rain, and pappa felt as if the grief would burst 
 his soul. 
 
 ** Anything, anything in the world, Oi will do 
 for me darland," he muttered, trying in vain 
 effort to steady his voice, and stooping down at 
 the same time to give the asked for kiss. 
 
 As he raised his head again, she too raised her- 
 self slightly, as though she could not spare to 
 lose him, and having twined one little arm 
 around his neck, her eyes appeared to close and 
 her lips to move as if engaged in prayer. Then, 
 looking at him with a smile of unutterable affec- 
 tion, she whispered : 
 
 '' Ye'll think of little Cattie sometimes, won't 
 ye, pappy ? Yis, Oi know ye will." 
 
 ''Oh, me child," exclaimed her father, with a 
 groan of irrepressible anguish, ** don't spake to 
 me like that; Oi cannot bear it. Shurely the good 
 God will be marciful, and not take ye from me 
 
 yit." 
 
 He spoke the last words as if to himself, and 
 bowing his head beside her, hid his face against 
 the blanket. 
 
 Cattie seemed to feel his grief, and passing her 
 
98 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 little thin hand softly over his hair, she said in 
 tenderest tones, *' Oh, don't cry, pappy dear, Cattie 
 did not mane to make ye unhappy ! Ye mustn't, 
 ye must'nt." And again she tried to raise herself 
 up, that she might kiss his tears away. 
 
 He clasped the child fervently in his arms for a 
 moment, then gently laid her down. She rested 
 for an instant, and was silent. Then, with an 
 anxious look, as if afraid to cause him pain again, 
 said : *' Let me give ye, pappy, one kiss more ? " 
 
 He gazed at her through his blinding tears, 
 and tried to choke them back ; then, said as calmly 
 as he could, " Ye must not leave me darlint, Oi 
 could not live without ye. God is good, and with 
 his help, ye will soon be betther." 
 
 "• Perhaps he will let me be yer little guardian 
 angel to watch over ye, and then Oill be near 
 ye, although ye won't see me." 
 
 And as the child spoke, a far-away look 
 appeared to pass over her features, and her eyes 
 turned from the face and form she loved best on 
 earth, as if she almost caught a vision of the 
 angels' home. 
 
 The sorrowing man seemed lost in thought, 
 and sat with one hand clasped in Cattle's, the 
 other covering his face. Presently the blue eyes 
 turned to him again. *' Give me jist won promise 
 to make me happy, pappa ? " 
 
 *' Oi promise," said her father, but he added no 
 more ; his grief seemed greater than he could bear. 
 
 '' Promise me ye will not fret, pappa dear ? '' 
 
DEAR FAPFA, ARE YE STILL THERE? 99 
 
 ** There is nothen Oi would not do for me 
 darland," he replied. 
 
 But Cattie saw a big tear trickle through his 
 fingers as he spoke, though he tried to be com- 
 posed, and determined for her sake not to give 
 way again. 
 
 *' Will me little darland try and take a sleep ? 
 She must not talk for a little bit, 'twill tire her 
 too much." 
 
 ' ' Ye will stay with me a little longer, pappa, 
 wont ye ? Oi like to feel ye near, all me own ! " 
 and, with hand locked in his, she closed her eyes, 
 and seemed to doze off quietly, but her father 
 sat and watched with a breaking heart, and then 
 by the side of that bed the strong man bowed his 
 rebellious head, and determined that if his child 
 was spared he would live a better life. After a 
 time she opened her eyes, — *' Dear pappa, are 
 ye still there ? " 
 
 **Yis," he answered, '* and now it is time ye 
 had somethen to ate, and I have only a drink of 
 water for me starven child." 
 
 Their minds were fully made up, Cattie was so 
 ill ; comfortless, helpless, friendless, almost starv- 
 ing as they were, they determined to sell poor 
 mamma's shoes, and try to get one visit from the 
 doctor. 
 
 Now let us turn back to where we commenced. 
 Poor Pat, with a sorry heart, went out to sell the 
 shoes ; and first he went to one neighbour, and 
 then to another ; for one they were too large, for 
 
100 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 another too small ; one offered him one and 
 sixpence, another a shilling ; for nearly an hour 
 and a half he toiled at his painful errand, hut, at 
 last, to his delight, got the expected amount, 
 and, without a moment's further delay, he hurried 
 to the **docther." 
 
 It was not quite twelve o'clock, and the doors 
 of Sweet Brier Lodge were not yet closed against 
 the morning patients; the very last was just 
 departing when Pat arrived. In a few moments, 
 with bead uncovered to show respect, and hat in 
 hand, and full of fear least his petition should be 
 refused, he stood in the consulting room before 
 the doctor. 
 
 *'0h! docther, will ye come see me little 
 darland ? I'm afierd of me life she's dyen." 
 and as he spoke he could scarce keep in the tears 
 that floated within his eyelids. 
 
 The doctor, viewing him coldly, asked, " Where 
 do you live ? " 
 
 '* In Cooks' Lane, docther, the second cabin at 
 the far end." 
 
 " Why ! that is best part of a mile from this ? " 
 
 "Indeed, it is, docther, but won't ye come ?" 
 
 " Wont I come ? What can you pay ? That 
 visit would take quite an hour of my time, and 
 you don't look as if you were worth a penny 
 piece." 
 
 " Docther, yer honor, if Oi had the manes ye 
 should have yer full fee, and welcome. Oi know 
 Oi can't offer ye what ye ought to git, but Oi 
 
SHO W THA T MAN O UT. 101 
 
 have jist sold the wife's shoes for two shilHns, 
 and, though Oi've not a bite of bread in the 
 house for the sick crater, ye shall have it all ; 
 for her mother and me would die wud the grief if 
 she should die, and no one see her." 
 
 " Two shillings,'* said the doctor, with a tone 
 of marked contempt." ** Two shilHngs ! well, 
 what insolence ! " Then, raising his voice, *' do 
 you think I'm going to waste my time for 
 nothing ? " and turning on his heel, he rang the 
 bell, and ordered his servant to '* show that man 
 out." 
 
 Not one word did Pat say. The tears that he 
 kept back, with difficulty, now dried up ; all his 
 hope was gone. He felt utterly crushed; the 
 doctor's words seemed to him the death sentence, 
 telling him his child must die. With dejection 
 and despair marked upon his countoDance, he 
 turned towards the door, following the servant 
 that was showing him the way. 
 
 But the strong man's dejection, and the 
 heartstricken look that overspread his face, and 
 the tottering knees that betokened the broken 
 spirit — the spirit broken by poverty, sickness, and 
 grief — were more than the heart of Eobert 
 Armstrong could bear; so, rushing to the door, he 
 asked, in roughest accents, *' What's your 
 name ? " 
 
 And the man, with a stifled sob, replied, " Pat 
 Brady, docther." 
 
 ** Then Pat," said he, ''just wait a minute till. 
 
102 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 I pull on my coat, and order the carriage, and I 
 will give give you a seat, and we will both go 
 together to your house, to see your little patient." 
 
 Pat was struck dumb. He was so overcome 
 with gratitude that he could not speak, nor had he 
 time to collect his thoughts. The doctor quickly 
 completed his arrangements, took Pat beside him, 
 as he promised, and, having ordered his coachman 
 to drive fast, they soon drew up before the second 
 house in Cook's Lane. 
 
 "Biddy," said Pat, jumping from the carriage 
 and rushing into the little hut, " Biddy, here is 
 the docther, and he has not only comed hisseff, 
 but has druv me with im, as if Oi was a gintle- 
 man." 
 
 *' May the Lord bless him," said Biddy, as she 
 hurried to the door to give her most genteel 
 courtesy, and to welcome the visitor. 
 
 The doctor put out his hand, and shook 
 warmly the cold thin fingers of the poor, hungry, 
 grieving woman. He could not have acted more 
 courteously if his patients had jC5,000 a year, 
 and were about to give him a fiver for a fee. 
 
 And soon poor Biddy felt more at home, and 
 answered, intelligently, each enquiry about the 
 little one's complaints, telling how easily she 
 caught cold, how little she could eat, and how 
 delicate she had been ever since her birth. 
 
 Having obtained as many particulars as he 
 deemed requisite from the mother, the doctor 
 turned to the occupant of the miserable looking 
 
THE LITTLE CREA TURE SEEMED BUT SKIN AND BONE. 103 
 
 and uncomfortable bed, and, taking the little one 
 by the hand, began to speak to her as lovingly 
 and as kindly as her loving father could. 
 
 *' Do you feel a pain anywhere, my little love ? " 
 
 *' Is; just here," putting her hand on the pit of 
 her stomach. 
 
 '' No pain in the little head ? " 
 
 •'No, never pain dare." 
 
 " Could my little pet take some nice beef tea," 
 said the doctor, as he looked, with surprise, at 
 the wonderful emaciation ? The little creature 
 seemed but skin and bone. 
 
 " Is," said little Cattie, vividly. 
 
 ** Could she take some nice little bits of beauti- 
 ful white bread in it ? " 
 
 '' Is," and her eyes opened wide, and seemed to 
 look for the dainties the doctor mentioned. 
 
 ''Does she feel cold? " 
 
 "Is," me little feet like ice," and the doctor, 
 putting down his hand, found that it was even so, 
 and that her little limbs were cold too, for she 
 had only one thin blanket over her, and the day 
 was chilly and damp, and there was no fire in the 
 wretched hut. 
 
 He felt her pulse, he listened to the puerile 
 breathing as, without the smallest crepitation, it 
 sounded both in the upper and lower lobes of the 
 lungs. He listened to the heartbeats too, and 
 almost expected an anaemic murmur, but it did 
 not exist, and, having made a careful examina- 
 tion of his little patient, he concluded that 
 
104 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 want and starvation were the only destroyers he 
 had to contend with. He therefore ordered the 
 child beef tea, and taught Biddy how to make it ; 
 told her the child required another blanket, and 
 where, using his name, she might most cheaply 
 purchase it ; and, promising to call again the next 
 day, he put half a sovereign into her hand, 
 instead of taking Pat's two shillings. 
 
 Day after day the doctor called, day after day 
 he brought little delicacies from his own house 
 for the child, and day after day left money with 
 Biddy. Soon little Cattie looked stronger and 
 better than she ever looked before, and Pat and 
 Biddy began to lose their starved looks, and the 
 two elder boys had again the red cheeks of health. 
 The doctor, when taking his leave, brought 
 Pat aside, and told him to go that evening to 
 Squire Barry's, for he had got a job of work for 
 him there as stableman, and that he was to get 
 fifteen shillings a week. A big fortune to one 
 who had never more than five shillings a week 
 before. 
 
 The doctor's connection with this poor family 
 had not yet terminated. During his attendance, 
 the deformity under which little Cattie suffered 
 had not escaped his observation, and he had 
 arranged with her father, that she should be 
 brought to his house, as soon as her health was 
 quite re-established. He told him not to be afraid, 
 that he wished to examine the child to see if any- 
 thing could be done, and that he promised him, 
 
HE LED HER INTO THE SANCTUM SANCTORUM. 105 
 
 that no one should hear the smallest cry from 
 her. 
 
 And Pat and Biddy joyfully consented. They 
 had proof enough of the doctor's kindness of 
 heart to trust their loved child to him, and so at 
 nine o'clock one fine morning, Biddy and little 
 Cattie appeared at Sweet Brier Lodge, and, 
 being the first patients, the little one was at once 
 admitted by the servant to the doctor's consulting 
 room. 
 
 The child was glad to see him. He took her 
 on his knee and kissed her, and then presented 
 her with a whole paper of sweets. Having fully 
 gained her confidence, he led her by the hand 
 into the ** sanctum sanctorum," and closely 
 fastened both its doors. 
 
 " Come, Cattie," said he, '* see this pretty 
 little chair, it is just big enough for you, come 
 and sit down on it." 
 
 ** Ta, ta, docther," said Cattie, as with her little 
 club feet she toddled over, and took her seat in 
 the pretty little chair. 
 
 *' Now,'' said the doctor, '' tell me how many 
 you have there," putting, at the same time, a 
 small basket filled with rosy little apples into her 
 lap. 
 
 And Cattie began to count, and as she counted 
 one strap was drawn from its secret repository, 
 and one arm was fixed immovably to the chair, 
 and a second arm was bound, and the strap was 
 drawn round the waist, and the chair was lowered 
 
106 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 to a bed, and the legs were bound above the knee 
 and above the ankles, and the foot of the bed 
 dividing drew the legs wide apart. 
 
 "Now, Cattie, since you cannot count the 
 apples, you may go to sleep," said the doctor, 
 throwing a red silk handkerchief over the child's 
 face. " Sing for me now," said he, "one of the 
 songs mammy sings for you when she is putting 
 you to sleep ? " 
 
 And little Cattie was quite amused, she thought 
 a great game was being played, and, to do her 
 part, began her little warbling; but soon her 
 little song was ended. 
 
 "Oh, docther ! there is a pin goen into me 
 ankle," and the child gave a shriek with the pain ; 
 and soon she cried again, "Oh, docther! there is 
 another pin." 
 
 But the doctor was deaf, and heard not, he 
 was too much engaged about his work. The 
 cries of the child became loud, and sharp, and 
 piercing. But they awaked no cord of sympathy 
 even with her mother, for nobody heard them. 
 
 At first glance the doctor understood the 
 nature of the case. " It is a compound variety of 
 club foot," said he to himself. "In medical, 
 or rather surgical language, we would call it 
 ' talipes equino varus,' and it is perfectly capable 
 of cure. The tendons must be cut, the tendons 
 of the muscles that, by unnatural contraction, 
 distort the joint." 
 
 Then, remembering his experience in Paris, he 
 
TO CUT THE ARTERY, IS THE ONLY DANGER. 107 
 
 muttered : " L^ premier effet de la section clu tendon 
 d'un muscle retracte est Vecartement de ses deux 
 bouts, mais la continuite se retahlit,*' The first 
 effect of cutting through a tendon is the separa- 
 tion of its parts, but they will unite again, 
 and," continued he, *' in this case, I must divide 
 the tendo AchilHs at the back, and the tendons 
 of the flexor longus digitorum, and of the tibiahs 
 posticus at the inner side, and that of the tibiahs 
 anticus in front. True ! there is a big posterior 
 tibial artery close to the tendon of the flexor 
 longus digitorum, but that is about the only 
 danger, and if I don't know how to avoid it, my 
 name is not Bob Armstrong." 
 
 Again, remembering his Parisian practice, 
 he muttered to himself: '^ Quelques chirurgions 
 passent le tenotome au.dessus du tendon; d'autres 
 entre le tendon et le peau.'' Some surgeons pass 
 the knife beneath the tendon, others between 
 the tendon and the skin. He added^ " I believe 
 in the first ; put the tenotomy knife under the 
 tendon, entering the skin at the side of the artery, 
 and cutting in the direction of the toes ; by this 
 means you easily avoid the artery ; but if you 
 pass your knife between the tendons and the 
 skin, and then cut down, I do not see how the 
 artery can escape." 
 
 And thus he mused and muttered, as tendon 
 after tendon gave way under his w^ell- directed 
 knife. With one sweep he severed the flexor 
 longus and tibialis posticus ; with another the 
 
108 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 anticus, and with a third the tendo Achilhs ; and 
 then, taking firmly the foot in both his hands, 
 with powerful strain he turned it to its natural 
 position; and having braced on a splint of his 
 own contrivance, to keep it in shape, he went 
 through the very same course on the second 
 foot. 
 
 Only three little pin-holes were visible on each 
 foot, so beautifully and carefully did he perform 
 the operation; not two tablespoonsful of blood 
 were lost, and instead of taking half-an-hour at 
 each foot — like some slow coaches, who, in their 
 vanity think themselves good operators — the 
 whole was completed in less than twenty-five 
 minutes. 
 
 As soon as all was finished, he drew the hand- 
 kerchief from over little Cattle's face, having first 
 let loose and returned to their places all the 
 straps. He then restored the chair to its original 
 shape, and having, by kind words, tried to make 
 friends again with his patient, he pointed to her 
 feet, saying : 
 
 " See, dear, your feet are as straight as your 
 brother's now." 
 
 *' Oh, docthor, it did pain," said the little 
 sufferer, whose face was still wet with tears. 
 
 *' Yes, Cattie, but no naughty boys can laugh 
 at you now, and you will soon be able to run 
 about and play as well as any of them." 
 
 *' Ah ! will Oi docther," said the child, wiping ? 
 off her tears. 
 
WITHOUT MONEY AND WITHOUT PRICE. 109 
 
 But the doctor had more sweets in store, and a 
 pretty doll, for which he paid a whole shilling, 
 and when little Cattie got possession, she never 
 felt so happy before in her life. All the tears 
 were dried. You would not know she had 
 shed one. And then, after not many more than 
 thirty minutes' absence, the doctor carried her 
 back to her mother, who, having never heard one 
 cry from her child, and seeing her little feet 
 straight, and the child laughing and playing with 
 the doll, thought a miracle had been wrought, 
 and that an angel had touched the parts and 
 made them whole. 
 
 It was a happy home at the Brady's that night. 
 Their little darling was no longer to be a cripple 
 doomed to pity or insult for her live-long life ; and 
 there were tears of gratitude, and heartfelt thanks 
 for the kind and clever man who had, like his 
 heavenly exemplar, *' done such great things for 
 them without money and without price." And 
 they remembered it was somewhere written, 
 
 *' Blessed is the man that provideth for the sick and needy ; the 
 Lord will deliver him iu the time of trouble." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MARY, GERALD AND THE GIPSY. 
 
 Cui talia fanti 
 Ante fores subito non vultus, non color unus, 
 Non comtse mansere comse ; sed pectus anhelum, 
 Et rabie fera corda tument. 
 
 — Virgil. 
 
 As soon as e'er she speaks, her visage takes strange form, 
 Her hair dishevell'd grows, her color flees away ; 
 Out from her heaving breast, with passion's impulse warm, 
 Prophetic words demonstrate inspiration's raj-. 
 
 For the first few days, Fergus lay in his com- 
 fortable bed so still and listless, as to convey the 
 strong impression that his muscular strength was 
 reduced to a considerable extent. He was hot, 
 flushed, and thirsty. His position was supine, he 
 lay flat upon his back, and his characteristics 
 were indifference and stupor. The doctor said 
 his pulse was hard and frequent, and that his 
 symptoms were expressive of grave affection both 
 of the nervous and sanguiferous systems. 
 
 But soon there appeared to be a great change. 
 Delirium was next the prominent and unmis- 
 takable condition. At first, this was evidenced 
 by disturbed sleep, and by the strangeness of his 
 demeanour in awaking; then by a fixed deter- 
 
THE FIRST MAN ON THE CLASSICAL TRIPOS. Ill 
 
 mination to leave his bed and wander from his 
 room, which at times, took all Tom's strength to 
 resist. This was subsequently succeeded by a 
 tranquil rambling state, with the most supreme 
 indifference to all that took place around ; mutter- 
 ing disjointed words, or unintelligible sentences ; 
 as though his mind was far away, and busily 
 occupied with some cherished and absorbing 
 pursuit. 
 
 And so it was. The leading topic which 
 engrossed his thoughts, was the intellectual 
 struggle, in which he had contended at Oxford 
 some years before. It was his final examination. 
 He had come out in the first class. The con- 
 clusion of the severe test proclaimed him the first 
 man in the classical tripos. Presently, with his 
 heart brimful of joy at his victory, he thought he 
 was returning home. His restless spirit then 
 endured all the fatigue of the long journey to 
 Milford Haven, and again went through, not in 
 panoramic view, but in interest, exertion, and 
 turmoil, all the changes of scene which had 
 accurately attended his actual travelling in the 
 past. When at Milford, he had examined with 
 much interest the magnificent harbour which 
 nature has provided, so spacious, so sheltered, 
 so well constructed that no artificial toil of 
 civilized man could venture a comparison. Then 
 he took ship to Ireland. Viewed the Tuscar rock 
 and lighthouse with much delight. Watched from 
 the deck the land, as he coasted along the 
 
112 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 southern shores of Wexford ; and was struck with 
 the beauty of the scenery, when having steered 
 round the tower of Hook, he passed up to 
 Waterford, between the picturesque and villa- 
 studded banks of the noble river Suir. Then, in 
 imagination, he drove on by public conveyance to 
 Cork. Leaving the stately Commeragh mountains 
 on his right hand, and having taken a bird's-eye 
 view of the beautiful and expansive harbour, 
 he determined to pass on to Blarney, instead of 
 taking the straight course for home. Blarney 
 was too famous to deny a visit to it, when it lay so 
 near, for what young man could resist the advan 
 tages that were guaranteed ? '•' When once your 
 lips have touched that famous stone," so says the 
 strong voice of tradition, ' ' for ever after, even 
 were you to live to the age of Methuselah, you 
 would never lose the power of being able to make 
 yourself agreeable. The sweetest and most 
 suitable compliments would never fail your 
 tongue. Instead of feeling ' short of an idea,' 
 and not knowing * what on earth to say next,' 
 you would henceforth almost require a double 
 curb chain to restrain the torrent of your 
 eloquence, and the effervescence of your witty, 
 graceful power of retort." 
 
 And then, his trembling and agitation in his 
 bed seemed great, as in imagination he felt him- 
 self held by the heels on a sloping rock, with a 
 precipice before him. Knowing all the time, that if 
 a single finger slipped of those that held him, he 
 
THE WISHING STONE OF BLARNEY CASTLE. 113 
 
 would be whirled over the edge and dashed to 
 pieces by the tremendous fall. He could only, as 
 he kissed the famous stone, desire to be back 
 safely again ; although just before his attempt he 
 was forbidden to forget, ''that if another wish, 
 than that for eloquence and wit and powers of 
 fascination monopolised his thoughts, that wish, 
 and that alone, would be confirmed by the stone 
 of Blarney." 
 
 When at Blarney, he was not far from the 
 Bogra mountains, and the comfortable home of 
 the Harringtons. Of this he knew nothing at 
 that time, neither had he ever heard of Sweet 
 Brier Lodge or of the doctor who was then attend- 
 ing him, so, having no inducement in that direction 
 he passed on to Bantry. This old place he viewed 
 with interest, situate on the eastern extremity of 
 the spacious bay. A smile passed over his face, 
 as looking over the waste of waters, he knew that 
 at the western limit lay his home. Without delay 
 he passed on to Glengariffe, a place of exquisite 
 beauty and majestic scenery ; whose stupendous 
 heights are always green, and where the abundant 
 foliage spreads down the sloping sides, nor stays 
 its luxuriance until it reaches the very edge of the 
 water. Then taking a boat, and a man to gently 
 pull two oars, he went out on the lovely little 
 creek, and being an adept on the violin, played 
 a sweet Irish melody. When lo ! two ponderous 
 looking seals forsook their hidden haunts, and, 
 charmed with the music, forgot all thoughts of 
 
114 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 danger, and swam in trustful confidence around 
 him. 
 
 Winding up the hills from beautiful Glengarilie, 
 the restless, muttering, raving, sick man turned 
 off, in imagination, to Killarney. Presently he 
 reaches the mountain top, passes through the 
 tiny tunnel that divides the Counties of Cork and 
 Kerry, when, like a fairy land, the far famed 
 lakes spread full before his view. Much did he 
 wish to linger there awhile, but love of home 
 prevailed, and backwards he turned his course to 
 Castletown. And as he stood there on the edge of 
 the coast, with the bright green sea water splash- 
 ing at his feet, waiting for a boat, he cast his eyes 
 to the land on the right, as, with graceful curve, 
 it branches out towards the ocean. A stately 
 castle soon absorbs his thoughts, for there are 
 those he loves, and there is his cherished home. 
 The hills are densely wooded at the back, and 
 slope with gentle undulation to the water. The 
 Castle is begirt with the foliage, yet its tower, in 
 defiant grandeur, peeps out through the leaves, 
 and extensive and elegantly constructed wings 
 projecting from each side of the stronghold, 
 appear above the evergreens that grow between 
 them and the water. Oh ! he knows every rose- 
 tree that blooms before the door ; every stone in 
 the little creek before the windows into which his 
 boat will soon enter ; and every room in that 
 grand edifice where his happy childhood, his 
 boyhood, and his early youth, were passed. 
 
MAR V OSULLl VAN AT D UNBO V. 115 
 
 Who were the occupants of the Castle to which 
 Fergus, in the raving insanity of his fever, went, 
 traversing with the troubled accuracy of delirious 
 pertinacity, the very journey he had made three 
 years before ? To this our narrative will give a 
 prompt reply. 
 
 Mary and Kate were the two daughters of Donal 
 Fitzgerald. He was of noble family and consider- 
 able w^ealth, moreover, the inheritor of a consider- 
 able estate and spacious mansion in the County 
 Kerry. 
 
 Mary married Eugene 0' Sullivan, of Dunboy 
 Castle ; and Kitty, who was the younger, married 
 Miles O'Brien, of Galway. 
 
 Both Eugene 0' Sullivan and Miles O'Brien 
 were slain in their country's wars against the 
 invaders, but left their widows well provided for. 
 
 Mary had four children, but Kitty had only 
 one. 
 
 Mary's children were two sons and two 
 daughters, Donal and Eugene, Edie and Mary. 
 
 Kitty's only child was Fergus. He was her 
 darling, her pride, the subject of her thoughts 
 from morn to eve. When she lost her husband, 
 being much attached to her sister, Mrs. 0' Sullivan, 
 she left her own home, and went to live at 
 Dunboy. 
 
 Edie, who was several years older than Mary, 
 married Colonel Macmahon, and being of a 
 fearless disposition, and very fond of her husband, 
 would not quit his side, but accompanied him to 
 
116 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 Limerick, never left him during the horrors of 
 the siege, and after the surrender of the garrison, 
 went with him to France. 
 
 Donal, Eugene, and Fergus also went to the 
 wars. Eugene was killed in a skirmish outside 
 the walls, when he joined in a daring sally with 
 his brave cousin, Fergus. Donal went with his 
 brother-in-law, Macmahon, to France, and Fergus, 
 you will remember, we traced from Limerick, 
 and left in raving fever at the House of the 
 Harringtons. 
 
 When the boys departed, with patriotic impulse 
 and dauntless bravery, to defend their country 
 against the enemy, Mary had one child left — her 
 lovely youthful daughter, called, too, after her 
 own name — but Kitty was desolate. 
 
 Long months had past since they went away, 
 yet there was no intelligence. It was impossible 
 to send news from Limerick, so closely did the 
 besiegers hem them in. Yet day by day, and 
 hour by hour, the mothers thought upon their 
 sons continually. Mary knew not that Eugene 
 had fallen ; she knew not that Donal was unable 
 to leave the besieged city ; and Kitty knew not of 
 Fergus' daring escape, nor of the letter which he 
 carried, nor of his burning fever, nor of his lying 
 sick and raving at the house of Bogravale. 
 
 Mary's daughter was like a guardian angel to 
 her mother and her aunt. She encouraged them 
 by her cheerfulness, prayed with them for the 
 absent ones, and to all the poor of the neighbour- 
 
SHE GAVE HER BREAD TO THE HUNGRY. 117 
 
 ing Castletown and district, was a kind giver and 
 generous benefactor. 
 
 No poor one came to seek her help, and went 
 away with aching heart and disappointed hope 
 from the Castle. She gave her bread to the 
 hungry, and her clothes to the destitute, and far 
 and wide, her name was known for acts of kind- 
 ness, benevolence, and charity. 
 
 But Mary, whose beauty was surpassing, was 
 not without one who gave many evidences of his 
 love, and who found a chord responsive in her 
 heart. Her own brothers were by some years her 
 seniors. Absence from home at school, and, subse- 
 quently, active service in the army, had debarred 
 them from the society of their younger sister. 
 Fergus, her cousin, was the playmate of her 
 youth, and one whom she loved as a brother. 
 But Gerald Fitzgerald, a distant relative on her 
 mother's side, became deeply smitten by her 
 charms, and being a fine, manly, handsome fellow, 
 and having wooed with the earnestness of sincerity, 
 he won the affection, which, of all the world, he 
 prized the most. 
 
 Mary was but seventeen, and Gerald twenty- 
 two. As they walked together through the main 
 street of Castletown, many were the prayers from 
 grateful hearts that followed Mary, and many 
 were the fervent wishes that '* the beautiful young 
 couple should soon be married, and that all happi- 
 ness should attend them." 
 
 In the course of true love there is always some 
 
118 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 impediment that defers, if not debars, the consum- 
 mation. And so it was in this case. Urgent need 
 of help and assistance, both in men and the 
 ammunitions of war, was required from Spain, 
 and it had been arranged that Gerald should start 
 from Bantry Bay to Madrid, to obtain the timely 
 succour, before Limerick should be forced to 
 yield. 
 
 The day, before his departure, was ushered in by 
 one of those genial mornings, whose grateful, 
 balmy air resembled more the refreshing breezes 
 of May, than the usually cold, chilly blasts of 
 October. A warmth, like that of spring, poured 
 from the bright sun's rays the live-long day, and 
 before the evening closed, the mild zephyr played 
 so gently on the bay, that Gerald and Mary were 
 beguiled to saunter, on a romantic looking path, 
 that led from the Castle close by the water's 
 edge. 
 
 The conversation at first referred to the close 
 approaching voyage, and the probable length of his 
 absence, and many were the enquiries made, and 
 many were the hopes expressed. At length, when 
 every point was well discussed, Gerald leant against 
 a sturdy oak, and drawing his arm round Mary's 
 waist, pressed her with fond affection to his heart, 
 and she, with head turned back to rest against his 
 bosom, looked up to gaze into his much loved 
 face, and then he stooped and kissed her snow- 
 white forehead fervently, and said, 
 
 '* Mary ! I never asked thee to be mine, ne'er 
 
ALL, ALL, HAD PLEADED WELL MY SUIT. 119 
 
 in set needless phrase made such unrequisite 
 enquiry. My heart's devotion in the past ! when, 
 all my happiness on thy preference hung sus- 
 pended ; the sun of joy that beamed when thou 
 wast nigh, the black condensing cloud that 
 spread around its panoply of woe, when rose a 
 thought of separation ; the longing to anticipate 
 thy unpropounded wish, to be the slave of thy 
 expressed desire, to kiss the ground whereon thy 
 footsteps pressed. All, all, had pleaded well my 
 suit to thy perception, and met such ample recog- 
 nition in thy smile, that left no doubt or dark 
 uncertainty of thy consent to their appeal. 
 Those eyes, long since vouchsafed to me reply, 
 in language far more eloquent than any form of 
 words. I heard in every sigh, I saw in every 
 blush, I felt in every gentle pressure of thy 
 hand, responsive to my own, all that my soul had 
 longed for. Ay ! and from a thousand tiny 
 things, which like the fabled straw that points 
 the river's course, there poured such rich corro- 
 boration ; that nothing but hypocrisy, or disin- 
 genuous dissimulation, could dare to ask a 
 question, as still involved in doubt, which honesty 
 felt bound to own, was long since fully answered." 
 '* Thanks, dearest Gerald. Why ask the ivy 
 will it cling to this strong oak ? Why ask that 
 blue convolvulus will it embrace the close 
 approaching branches of that laburnum ? Why 
 ask yon evening star will it reflect the brilliant 
 beams of the retiring sun ? 'Twere needless 
 
120 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 waste of words. So thou with needless words, 
 would not, for lack of conversation, lay such 
 reproof on my poor intelligence, as to suggest the 
 thought, that I could neither read thy heart nor 
 estimate its worth. Nor yet would'st thou infer 
 that most uncomplimentary alternative, that this 
 unworthy object of thy affection, so prudish was, 
 and so luxuriant in insincerity, that she, with 
 false pretence, would fain not to understand, 
 what all thy love had taught her so impres- 
 sively.'' 
 
 ''Dearest, the thanks are due to thee, not me. 
 Just one kiss more, and then we must go back. 
 The dew already has commenced to fall, and this 
 most worthy recipient of all the love I have, is far 
 too precious to me, to allow the risk of catching a 
 bad cold." 
 
 '' Yes, dear, let us go, mother and aunty will 
 be looking for us." 
 
 Early next morning Gerald started for Madrid. 
 ** Good bye, darling," were his last words, as the 
 white sails veered round to the wind, and wafted 
 his vessel from the harbour. 
 
 And Mary's heart felt a pang as she too, 
 in response, spoke these same saddest words ; 
 and the big tears filled her eye, and ran in quick 
 succession down her cheeks as she watched him 
 out of sight ; and then returned to Dunboy to pray 
 for his safe return. 
 
 Ah ! he was a noble looking man, stately and 
 majestic in his mien, and of colossal strength. 
 
SHE WAS AS FAIR AS HE WAS DARK. 121 
 
 A high expanded forehead, aquiline nose, singu- 
 larly handsome expression of features, withal 
 beaming with intelligence. It was not his first 
 visit to Spain, and his appearance was somewhat 
 modelled by foreign habits. His long dark hair 
 fell in loose curls under his Spanish helmet, with 
 its waving plumes. His heavy black moustache 
 and beard displayed admirable suitability to his 
 pale sunburnt face. And she was fair as he was 
 dark. Bright golden tresses waved in luxuriant 
 folds, even below her waist. Long dark eye- 
 lashes fringed her eyes, and, every feature perfect 
 in its place, setting off each other, gave to the 
 entire expression the sweetness of unsurpassed 
 beauty. 
 
 And so, Mary and her lover parted. In his 
 absence she continued her works of kindness, and 
 when unoccupied with affectionate attention to 
 her aged mother and aunt, spent her time in 
 supplying the wants, and consoling the sufferings 
 of the poor. 
 
 One morning, among the destitute ones who 
 came to seek her aid, appeared a woman of 
 strange looks. She was old, and wrinkled, and 
 small. The first impression suggested the 
 thought, that for years no blood had circulated 
 in her face ; so thin, so pale, so cadaverous was 
 her countenance. Her large black eye, alone, 
 retained the fire and rapid glance of youth. She 
 could fix it, as though the gaze would pierce one 
 through ; and, on whomsoever that glance would 
 
122 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 rest, it seemed to enforce immediate recognition of 
 its power, in constrained attention to her person, 
 her glance, her thoughts, her words. 
 
 ** Kind lady, may a stranger ask a charity at 
 your hands, a stranger, who has no claim, but her 
 want and her misery ? " 
 
 And Mary said : *' Come here, and sit beside 
 me, and tell me what you would like ? Can I 
 not get you something more delicate than I have 
 given to the others, for you seem weak and worn, 
 even more than they ? And if you be a stranger, 
 this is no demerit ; nay, rather should it remind 
 us, that somewhere it is written, that in extending 
 hospitality to strangers, ' some have even enter- 
 tained angels unawares/ " . 
 
 *' Kind lady ! you are good, and may a rich 
 reward be yours for ever." 
 
 Then taking from her hand the better fare 
 she offered, the old woman ate it with avidity. 
 Again Mary supplied her want; again the 
 hungry woman devoured. At length, being 
 satisfied, and having offered many thanks to 
 her benefactor, she seemed about to leave ; 
 but suddenly turning, as if some new thought 
 had struck her, she fixed those dark eyes on 
 Mary, who at once seemed rivetted by her gaze, 
 and asked in gentle tone, '' Kind lady, may 
 I tell your fortune ? " 
 
 Mary did not believe in fortune-tellers. The 
 name was always associated in her mind with 
 deception, credulity, and superstition ; but she 
 
THE SPIRIT OF UNREST DRIVES ME. 123 
 
 wished to gratify the poor creature's wish, and 
 therefore answered pleasantly, '* You may." 
 
 Then the old woman drew near, and took in 
 hers, the little white hand of Mary. The long, 
 cold, wiry fingers of the stranger seemed to chill 
 her as they touched. And long, in silent contem- 
 plation, the old woman gazed, and marked with 
 deepest interest all the palmar lines. 
 
 " For fifty years," said she, ** IVe roamed and 
 wandered up and down the world. I've felt the 
 heat of India's broiling sun, and the keen bitter- 
 ness of Siberia's cold. In Southern Asia, too, 
 I've passed long years ; and Egypt's far-famed 
 seers have taught me how to prophesy. I've 
 mixed in rank and wealth, and grovelled in the 
 mire of poverty and wretchedness. I've slept in 
 golden rooms on beds of down, and lain beneath 
 the hedgerows, with no covering but the canopy 
 of heaven. To stay in any country or in any 
 clime I cannot. The torturing spirit of unrest 
 has occupied my bosom, and drives me, ruth- 
 lessly, a vagabond and a wanderer through the 
 earth." 
 
 Then a strange change passed over her coun- 
 tenance ; pale as she was before, a deathlike 
 pallor seemed to seize her now. Her sharp 
 piercing eyes seemed to lose all their fire, and to 
 look inward, with the absorbing, disregarding, 
 inattentive gaze of one whose thoughts are far 
 away, and much too occupied to think of what is 
 going on around. It seemed as though she had 
 
124 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 passed into a trance, and ceased to feel, or 
 breathe, or live. Fear fell on Mary, and she 
 thought she would disengage her hand, and hurry- 
 to the castle for some restorative ; but, at that 
 moment, the old woman's bloodless lips began to 
 move, and hollow, dismal accents broke upon the 
 ear. ''Solemn! Solemn! Solemn!" Then, 
 with changed voice, as though she wept, and 
 some keen grief gnawed at her heart, *' Sorrow! 
 Sorrow ! Sorrow ! " Then, in a hurried scream 
 that thrilled the listener's ear, and seemed to 
 necessitate immediate action, ''Danger ! Danger ! 
 Danger ! " 
 
 Then, as though she was slowly coming back 
 to life, she drew deep sighs. The tears ran down 
 her withered cheeks, and, casting again that 
 penetrating look on Mary, she said in gentlest 
 accents : — 
 
 " Kind lady, ask me what you will. I feel you 
 doubt my power, and, this being so, I cannot 
 speak. 'Tis well, perhaps ; for oh ! you are so 
 good, so kind, so generous. I do not wish to 
 utter one sad word, to throw a pall of sorrow over 
 thy fond heart." 
 
 "Oh, tell me all!" cried Mary anxiously, for 
 to her inmost soul these last words went direct. 
 *' Oh, tell me all the worst, the very worst ! I 
 long to know. Suspense is dreadful ; and now 
 I feel, even this moment, to believe that you have 
 power to tell me." 
 
 " Nay, you are still in part incredulous. The 
 
YOU LOVE TJIV, OF WHICH FIRST? 125 
 
 question rises in your mind, why should I be 
 alarmed, for what can this poor outcast know ? 
 Therefore, I cannot speak, but ask me of whom 
 you will, or secrets most concealed, or of events 
 not yet accomplished, and still looming in the 
 undeveloped future. Then will I speak and tell 
 thee — for lo ! as a mighty picture, they shine in 
 bright paintings, full before my view." 
 
 Then, raising her eyes, and looking into the 
 clear sky, she exclaimed, '^ I see it ; I see it all ! " 
 
 Mary felt the truth of her remark. The very 
 want of confidence, the old woman mentioned, 
 had just that moment risen in her mind, yet 
 still, she longed to hear, and, as though to test 
 the stranger's power, replied, *' Tell me of him 
 I love ! " 
 
 "- You love two," said the woman, altering not 
 the direction of her look, '' of which first ? 
 
 'Tis true — astonishing ! She knows by some 
 strange inspiration, but still I doubt. So, I will 
 test her still. '' Who are the two ? " 
 
 *'Your lover, kind lady, and he, whom as a 
 brother, you love." 
 
 '* 'Tis even so, I must admit, but can you tell 
 me their names ? Can you describe them ? " 
 
 '* Yes. One is dark, with flowing hair and black 
 moustache and beard. Oh, splendid looking 
 man ! The other is fair, and handsome too, with 
 soft, silken curly hair, and beard, and moustache." 
 
 " Their names," said Mary, bewildered with 
 astonishment. 
 
126 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 *' The dark one's name is. See, see it is written 
 there." Pointing to the vacant air, and wildly 
 staring into emjjtiness. ''Yes; see it written 
 there — there. The letters are as large as trees. 
 They are G— E—R— A— L—D— Gerald." 
 
 " You are right, most right, strange woman. 
 " What news have you of him ? " 
 
 " To seek for help for his devoted country, 
 he has left thy side. The storm tosses his ship. 
 See, see, she reels — she sinks! He is not 
 drowned, but will come back to thee. He is 
 coming, he is coming. But will arrive — but will 
 arrive — one day too late ! " 
 
 " Thank heaven, he's saved," said Mary, con- 
 vulsively, for the old woman's words had worked 
 her up to a pinnacle of excitement. *' Oh ! he 
 cannot come too late ! Whenever he comes my 
 heart shall bid him welcome. But who is the 
 other ? " 
 
 *' Cannot you see his name there, written 
 again, in letters as large as trees ? See, see," 
 pointing into space. 
 
 " I only see the bright blue skies, and not one 
 shade or shadow where you point." 
 
 " Then let me read again— F-E-R-G-U-S— 
 Fergus." 
 
 "And what of him? Now, I can doubt no 
 longer ; nay, I am all belief." 
 
 Excitement seemed to thrill the clairvoyante, 
 as she replied. "He has tried a work of great 
 danger. He has won. He has escaped." Her 
 
TAKE THIS LITTLE VIAL, LOSE IT NOT. 127 
 
 voice grew lower as she added *' He carries a 
 letter to his aunt. He comes — he comes — he 
 falls." xigain she speaks as though she wept. 
 '* He lies as dead upon the road. A stranger 
 takes him home, and, with great kindness, 
 nurses him. Oh, see him lying in that pretty 
 room, on that soft bed. Ah ! he too longs to 
 come, but is not able ; but he will come, he will 
 come, when all is over, and it is too late ! " 
 
 *' Your answers make me full of fear, and yet 
 they bring me comfort, for you tell me they will 
 come. I want to hear no more. It seems too 
 much for me." 
 
 " Lady, 'tis well, 'tis well, for thou hast won 
 my heart, and it would rend that heart that thou 
 hast won, to tell thee. But, take this," handing 
 her a small vial filled with pink liquid, '' take 
 this, and, lose it not. Keep it beside thee day 
 and night, when thou art sitting in the house, and 
 when thou walkest out, when thou art at thy 
 home, and, when thou fleest from home. Keep it 
 about thy person, where no eye can see it And, 
 for it must be spoken, when thou hast no other 
 help, no friend, no defender within reach, and 
 danger worse than death approaches, then drink 
 it, drink it all, and it will make you conqueror." 
 
 And Mary took the little vial, and placed it, 
 safely, in a secret pocket in the bosom of her 
 dress, where she always carried a gold locket, that 
 contained her father's, and her mother's hair. 
 And, when the old woman went away, full many a 
 
128 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 thought passed through her mind of Gerald, and 
 his shipwreck, and how he would come one day 
 too late ; and of Fergus, and his illness, and how 
 he would come too late, also. Ay, and many a 
 time she thought of that bitter day, when she 
 would find herself in danger, and no other friend 
 to help her, but that mysterious little bottle. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ROSA AND THE DOCTOR. 
 
 Facilis descensus averno ; 
 Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis ; 
 Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras, 
 Hoc opus, hie labor est. — Virgil (ZEneid.) 
 
 The downward road to sin no turmoil hath : 
 The gate of vice lies open night and day. 
 But to retrace the steps, re entering virtue's path, 
 Is often, more than mortals can essaj''. 
 
 As the doctor was driving, one forenoon, on his 
 mission of mercy to the family of the Brady's, 
 and to little Cattie in particular, he happened to 
 raise his eyes from a French work on surgery, 
 which he very much admired, and, looking out, 
 saw, passing at the moment, two ladies. The 
 elder appeared about fifty, and from the expensive, 
 well selected dress, and general contour, suggested 
 the idea that she moved in a higher circle than 
 the general class of his acquaintances. There 
 was, at once, the look of money about her, and 
 also the indications of refinement; yet, her 
 appearance did not detain his observation for 
 half a moment. 
 
 The second lady, who was young, and looked 
 about seventeen, at once caught his eyes, capti- 
 
130 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 vated his fancy, and thrilled his heart. '' Oh ! 
 she is lovely," he exclaimed to himself. ''What 
 a splendid girl, really magnificent. By Jove, I 
 never saw finer ; " and, looking out of the carriage 
 window after her, '' Oh ! what a beautiful figure, 
 and such a foot and ankle ! " The latter, with a 
 wee bit of the leg, he just caught a glimpse of, 
 as, raising her dress, she stepped over a little 
 pool of water, which lay in a rut on the road. 
 He forthwith pulled the stop string. His 
 servant drew up the carriage, and, leaving the 
 box seat, came to his master. 
 
 " Do you know that old lady ? " said the doctor, 
 with inimitable sang froid, just as if he was 
 perfectly indifferent, and would be as well pleased 
 to hear, in reply, " no " as '' yes." 
 
 " Mesef don't," replied Mat Dooley, *' but Oi 
 seen the young lady, two days ago, dhriven in an 
 open carrage with Lady Johnson." 
 
 *' Is that all you know about them ? " 
 
 ''Yis, docthor, except that they stopped the 
 carrage at Collier's, the plumber, and giv him 
 some orthers, and thin druv away." 
 
 " Drive on," said the doctor, '* it is no matter." 
 He remembered that incident too. But, some- 
 how, he could not get that girl's face and figure, 
 and foot and ankle, out of his head. They 
 haunted him. ** I would nearly as soon have her 
 as Nora. She has more life, more vivacity, more 
 animation, more of the animal about her. Only 
 that I admire dark beauties more than fair, I 
 
HOW THAT HORRID MAN STARED. 131 
 
 really would give her the preference. I must say, 
 she far surpasses any I ever saw before." 
 
 Only two days elapsed, and again, when going 
 on the same mission, for the second time, he 
 passed the same two ladies. On this occasion he 
 had a better opportunity of observing them, for 
 he too was walking. His heart seemed to jump 
 into his mouth as he advanced. It beat, without 
 exaggeration, at double its previous speed, and 
 he looked at the object of his admiration so 
 pointedly, as he stepped out on the road, to leave 
 them the full possession of the narrow footpath, 
 that the young lady's eye caught his, and he 
 almost fancied she smiled. 
 
 He was right ; but, if he had heard the con- 
 versation that ensued, he would not have felt 
 particularly pleased or flattered. 
 
 '' Oh, mamma ! did you see how that horrid 
 man stared ? " 
 
 '* No, my dear, perhaps you only imagined it. 
 At all events, you would not have known it unless 
 you had been looking at him, so one is as bad as 
 the other." 
 
 *'No, indeed, mamma, I did not stare. I 
 merely raised my eyes, but, he looked so rudely, I 
 almost burst out laughing in his face. Was it 
 not awfully vulgar of him ? I am sure I shall tell 
 Simon, for I hate rude men to stare at me so." 
 
 '' Well, dear ! if you nearly burst out laughing 
 in a man's face, you cannot wonder if he stares 
 at you. You never see them staring at me." 
 
132 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 *' No, mamma, not just now, but I dare say you 
 remember when they did ? " 
 
 *'I cannot say I do, Kosa, but then, I always 
 looked down when a stranger was passing, but 
 you raise those provokingly wicked eyes, and look 
 at them defiantly. I have often remarked it, 
 dear, so don't expect my sympathy, but learn a 
 useful lesson." 
 
 "It is not my fault if my eyes look wicked. I 
 always feel full of life and fun, but I don't think 
 that should make men rude, especially a man of 
 his age, who ought to have sense." 
 
 '^Ah! my dear, you have got to learn, that 
 age does not give men sense. Indeed, the older 
 they grow, the less they appear to possess of that 
 commodity. A pretty girl can make a fool of a 
 man of forty, fifty, sixty, or seventy, at any time 
 she pleases." 
 
 "Do you really think so, ma? Well! I 
 thought, that after thirty they became as sensible, 
 and as wise as Solomon." 
 
 " Perhaps they do, dear ! but that does not say 
 much for them. I think you forget his history." 
 
 "No, ma, I don't forget, but am I to under- 
 stand, that, the wiser a man is in other respects, 
 the greater the fool he makes of himself when a 
 lady is in the question ? " 
 
 Mamma's experience, as well as her recollection 
 of Solomon's history, would have answered yes, 
 but she did not like to stamp such a lesson with 
 the impress of maternal authority, so, she wisely 
 
AN EXCELLENT FAMILY RESIDENCE TO LET. 133 
 
 turned the conversation, and passed into a shop 
 to make a purchase. 
 
 But where did these ladies come from, and 
 who were they ? Let us see. On the outskirts 
 of Kanturk, and about half a mile from it on the 
 north-west side, the undulating hills formed a 
 gracefully sloping ground, on various parts of 
 which, strong and comfortable villas of stone- 
 masonry had been erected, in succession, by an 
 enterprising builder. They were all built on the 
 same plan, and were considered to possess all the 
 comforts and advantages which a gentleman's 
 family could require. They had their library, 
 their bath-room with hot and cold water, besides 
 the usual parlour and drawing-room. The correct 
 square hall. The kitchen, well at the back, on the 
 ground floor, not down in an excavation like most 
 town houses. The wide staircase, with massive 
 turned oak balusters and polished mahogany 
 hand-rail, leading to a comfortable suite of bed- 
 rooms in the second storey. When one was com- 
 pleted and occupied, the builder immediately set 
 about the erection of another, intimating, as he 
 built, his willingness to part with the desirable 
 property ; for, a large board, attached to an 
 upright about eight feet high, with white letters 
 on a black ground, gave notice — 
 
 " This excellent Family Residence to be Let or Sold." 
 
 As years passed on, there was quite a colony of 
 retired professional men and merchants, from 
 
134 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 Cork and other adjacent places, who occupied 
 these houses. Some bought the fee simple, and 
 improved the property by adding, in some cases, a 
 greenhouse, and in one or two instances a billiard 
 room, to the original structure. Each house 
 stood, well back, from the road. Evergreens, and 
 flower-beds, and rockeries, artistically arranged, 
 according to the taste of the occupiers, made 
 them look not only comfortable, but so pretty, 
 that they attracted the admiration of every passer 
 
 by- 
 
 In one of the prettiest lived Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gibson and family. He had amassed a fortune of 
 some twenty thousand pounds, as a merchant in 
 Cork, and, becoming tired of the turmoil, and 
 care and anxiety of business, and wisely reflect- 
 ing that what he had gained by speculation 
 might be as easily lost, retired to the country 
 with his wife and two children ; a son and a 
 daughter. 
 
 Old Joe Gibson, as he was called, to distinguish 
 him from his son, young Joe, was now in his 
 sixty-fifth year ; his wife was twelve years his 
 junior, and, as he had not married when very 
 young, his son was now but twenty- three ; and his 
 daughter, eighteen. 
 
 Young Mr. Gibson spent little time at home ; 
 he had been educated for the law, and now was 
 out of his time, and the junior partner of a 
 prosperous firm in Dublin. 
 
 Eosa, his daughter, had also been well edu- 
 
ROSA WAS ABOVE THE MEDIUM HEIGHT. 135 
 
 cated. She was not only carefully read in the 
 history of her own country, and in that of ancient 
 Greece and Eome, but was also a good musician. 
 She could play the piano, guitar, and violin, and 
 accompany herself on the first and second. She 
 sung sweetly, and with unimpeachable taste. 
 
 Being a very pretty girl, she had many ad- 
 mirers among the young men of the neighbour- 
 hood, and it was reported, that more than one 
 whom she had met, during her stay in Cork, were 
 so sorely smitten by her charms, that thoughts of 
 business, or study, for some weeks, were totally 
 out of their heads. 
 
 Eosa was above medium height. She might be 
 described as in good condition, but was not one 
 bit too fat. The development of her bust was 
 splendid ; her waist small ; her hands and feet as 
 pretty as you could imagine ; and, her face, quite 
 attractive enough to alter the determination of 
 the most fastidious old bachelor, and make him 
 long for the sw^eet sociableness of married life. 
 Her very light brown hair fell in clusters on her 
 shoulders. Between its division in the middle, 
 appeared a forehead, as fair, as girl ever had. Her 
 eyes w^ere large and hazel, and always seemed to 
 laugh, or to defy. Her nose was slightly — very 
 slightly, if at all — aquiline. Her complexion was 
 clear and bright. Her mouth, which was 
 rather large, possessed a magnificent set of teeth, 
 which were surrounded by the most perfectly 
 formed and pretty lips, which had neither crack, 
 
136 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 nor roughness, nor dryness, nor contracted com- 
 pression, but were always shining, rosy, and moist. 
 This was due perhaps in part, to the school-girl 
 habit, of quickly drawing the tongue out and in, 
 when she looked particularly playful, or wished 
 thoroughly to defy her admirer's gaze and 
 compliments, or to provoke his further admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Strange to say, the fortunate young man, who 
 seemed destined to obtain this prize, was her very 
 opposite. 
 
 He was rather tall, about five feet eleven, and 
 perfectly straight; indeed, he seemed incapable 
 of bending his back. While her temperament 
 was saDguine, warm, ardent, his was decidedly 
 and distinctly phlegmatic. His straight black 
 hair, which was always long, seemed to stick 
 to his head, and gave one half turn, not out- 
 wardly, as curls generally do, but inwardly, 
 towards the collar of his coat, to which it closely 
 approached. He always wore a tall silk hat, and 
 never was seen without an umbrella, or a walking 
 stick, which he-always held by the middle, in his 
 left hand, which never adopted the usual pen- 
 dulum action, but remained as a fixture by his 
 side. His regular features well suited his very 
 sallow complexion, and from his blue eyes, which 
 were always one-third closed, as though their lids 
 were too heavy ; and from his thin, compressed 
 lips, you could not, however closely you scrutinised 
 him, come to the conclusion, whether he was 
 
SIMON HAD NEVER SOWN ANY WILD OATS. 137 
 
 good or bad tempered, clever or dull, pleasant or 
 morose. 
 
 He was one of those good young men, who had 
 never sown any wild oats. Some ill-natured 
 people said ** he never had any wild oats to sow." 
 He was fond of reading — can you believe it ? — 
 novels, especially those of that mild type, which 
 help the circulation of some Sunday publications, 
 whose mental pabulum is deemed suitable for 
 Christian delectation on the Sabbath day. He 
 was also fond of chemistry ; was never known to 
 take a gun into his hand, or cast a line over a 
 trout stream, or to laugh loudly, or to speak fast; 
 and, to complete his description, his name was 
 Simon Goodman, which was, in general estima- 
 tion, as good an example of onomatopaeia, as it 
 was possible to conceive. 
 
 Simon was the only son of a retired solicitor, 
 who had made a large fortune. It was said of the 
 old gentleman that he never undertook a case in 
 Chancery, or Equity, or Common Law, but his 
 clients, whether successful or unsuccessful, were 
 always beggared. At all events, by a strange 
 coincidence, the suit always terminated by the 
 lawyer becoming the proprietor of everything 
 they had. 
 
 The young people had known each other 
 exactly ten years. It was at that time that Mr. 
 Goodman senior, became possessed of the fee 
 simple of one of the villas in the neighbourhood. 
 It had been the property of a former client, Mr. 
 
138 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 Power, who instructed him to enter an action for 
 defamation of character against an old gentleman, 
 a retired grocer, whose wife had stated that '* Mr. 
 Power was an upstart, and no gentleman." The 
 action went on from term to term, and there were 
 short consultations, and long consultations, and 
 letters to lawyers, and from the lawyers, and con- 
 ferences with defendant's solicitors, and regular 
 fees to counsel for opinions, and retainers, 
 attendances on self, and witnesses, to no end. 
 Ultimately the case never came to trial. The 
 grocer gave a written apology which was pub- 
 lished in all the Cork papers. But, the bill of 
 costs ! oh ! it was a folio ! and the conclusion 
 was, that Mr. Power retained his character 
 unsullied, and Mr. Goodman got his house. 
 
 Young Goodman at this time was twelve, and 
 Kosa Gibson was nine. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson 
 duly called on Mr. and Mrs. Goodman, and an 
 intimacy became established. The families were 
 on visiting terms, and the young people who first 
 played together as children, afterwards became 
 attached ; and finally, Simon and Eosa were 
 engaged to be married as soon as she attained 
 her eighteenth year. Simon very wisely thought, 
 that no young man should be married before he 
 was twenty-one, otherwise, the nuptials might 
 have been celebrated sooner. 
 
 Mr. Goodman had purchased another house in 
 the neighbourhood for his son, and Mr. Gibson 
 had agreed to give his daughter a handsome por- 
 
SHE WAS TO BE MARRIED IN A FORTNIGHT. 139 
 
 tion, SO all parties, both old and young, were 
 satisfied ; and, as Rosa was to see her eighteenth 
 birthday in a fortnight, all preparations were 
 being made for the happy event. 
 
 It has not been mentioned before, that there 
 was another doctor practising in Kanturk besides 
 Dr. Armstrong. He was now an old gentleman 
 in his sixty-sixth year. He had been in the 
 neighbom-hood before Dr. Armstrong ''invaded 
 it," as he expressed the occurrence ; and, not 
 unnaturally, felt anything but pleased that any- 
 one should trespass on his preserves. Accordingly 
 he never formed any acquaintance with the 
 intruder ; refused to meet him at consultations ; 
 and, while he shrugged his shoulders, and pro- 
 nounced a most expressive " Oh ! " when anyone 
 referred to Dr. Armstrong's treatment ; indicating 
 thereby, that nothing could be more stupid or 
 worthless, or more likely to be the means of 
 killing rather than curing ; the other plainly 
 spoke of him, as an "old woman," obsolete in 
 his ideas, and more fitted for a minister than 
 a medical man. 
 
 Dr. Otway was a married man with a large 
 family. Though of late years Dr. Armstrong 
 began to displace him with some of the county 
 families, yet he still retained most of the upper 
 classes ; indeed, in the neighbourhood of the 
 Gibson's and Goodman's Dr. Armstrong was 
 never called in. The feeling concerning the 
 two ran almost as high, and as deep, and as 
 
140 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 bitter, as that which characterises the opposing 
 parties in political elections. The admirers of the 
 one would almost consent to die, rather than 
 solicit the advice of the individual admired by the 
 others. 
 
 It so happened that there was no dentist in the 
 neighbourhood ; and, while Dr. Otway refused to 
 pull out a tooth, considering it a degradation to 
 his profession, Dr. Armstrong had a high reputa- 
 tion for his skill in dentistry. Not only could he 
 extract teeth carefully, but, being naturally a 
 mechanical genius, he could make and adapt 
 artificial ones; and, could stuff those that had 
 commenced to decay, so admirably, with an 
 amalgam he had invented, that the decay was 
 immediately arrested, and it became impossible 
 to detect that the tooth had ever suffered. 
 
 A lady friend, Mrs. Barry, when calling on the 
 Gibsons one day, showed Mrs. Gibson two teeth 
 in the front of her mouth that had recently 
 been stopped. They were really, beautifully 
 done. 
 
 '*You know, my dear," said she, '* I always 
 consult Dr. Otway, but Lady Johnson showed me 
 a tooth, a Dr. Armstrong at the other side of 
 Kanturk, had stopped for her. Oh ! it was so 
 nicely done, and she advised me so strongly, that 
 I called two days afterwards and had mine done 
 too. I must add, the man was very polite and 
 attentive, and most reasonable in his charge. Not 
 that I would think of engaging him as my physi- 
 
/ DO NOT LIKE THAT MAN, MAMMA. 141 
 
 cian, but, I can indeed recommend him as a 
 dentist." 
 
 *' Where you and Lady Johnson extend your 
 patronage, my scruples are entirely overcome. I 
 thought really, dear Mrs. Barry, that nothing 
 could induce me to accept the services of that 
 man ; but, I have two teeth that cause me much 
 annoyance, and besides it would be dreadful to 
 have a chasm in the front of one's mouth. It 
 would prevent me from speaking plainly, and it 
 would look so hideous." 
 
 *' You are quite right, dear, especially when you 
 can avoid it. I would advise you to go without 
 delay." 
 
 *' And I have quite made up my mind to take 
 your advice," said Mrs. Gibson. *' I shall go 
 to-morrow ; and, Eosa, you can come with me just 
 for company. I would not like to go alone. I am 
 so nervous. Is it very painful, Mrs. Barry ? " 
 
 " Not at all, dear. The man was as gentle 
 as a child, and seemed to understand his work 
 thoroughly. He did not give me the slightest 
 pain." 
 
 ''But you know," interposed Eosa, "I do not 
 like that man, mamma." 
 
 " Why, my dear child ? " said Mrs. Barry. 
 
 " I have passed him in the street three times, 
 and he always stared at me so rudely, that I told 
 Mr. Simon Goodman all about it." 
 
 "What did you tell him, dear?" said Mrs. 
 Barry. 
 
142 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 ' ' I told him I was driving in the carriage with 
 Lady Johnson, and how he stared at me/' 
 
 *' And what did he say ? " 
 
 '' He only said, ' Y-e-e-s.' Then I told him 
 how I was walking with mamma, and how he 
 stared at me again." 
 
 " And what did he say to that ? '' 
 
 ** He only said * Y-e-e-e-s,' again. So I told him 
 how he we met on the footway, and how he 
 stepped out on the road to make room for mamma 
 and me, and, as he did so, how he stared so 
 rudely at me again." 
 
 *' And what did he say, then ? " 
 
 "He only said, ' Y-e-e-e-e-s,' again. I felt so 
 hurt, I could have shaken him. I know, if I saw 
 a young lady looking rudely at him, it is not 
 * Y-e-e-e-e-e-s ' I should say, but I would call and 
 ask her what she meant ; or, maybe, would pull 
 her bonnet off." 
 
 ''Perhaps, dear," said Mrs. Barry, '*the man is 
 short-sighted, and fancied he had seen you before, 
 or had met you somewhere, and that he did not 
 at all mean to be rude. I assure you there was 
 not the slightest attempt at rudeness when I 
 called." 
 
 Eosa was about to suggest, that Mrs. Barry's 
 age, over fifty years, might have had something 
 to do with it, but thought it more prudent to 
 hold her tongue; when, Mrs. Gibson remarked, 
 *' Dear Mrs. Barry, I told Eosa that, if she had 
 not looked at Dr. Armstrong, she would not have 
 
MRS. BRADY AND THE DOCTOR'S KINDNESS. 143 
 
 known that he looked at her, so that one was as 
 bad as the other." 
 
 And Mrs. Barry laughed heartily in acqui- 
 escence, and presently the visit ended. But the 
 conversation had much interest for Mrs. Gibson. 
 The remembrance of the chasm in the front of 
 her mouth occupied her thoughts. It had been 
 a source of much anxiety to her for several 
 months. Even at her age she did not like to be 
 disfigured. Which of us would, gentle reader, 
 even if revolving years have totted up for us the 
 half century ? Accordingly, as soon as breakfast 
 was over, next morning, she ordered the carriage ; 
 and, taking Rosa with her, drove to Sweet Brier 
 Lodge. 
 
 They arrived soon after little Cattie had gone 
 with the doctor into the consulting room. They 
 heard from Mrs. Brady of the ** docthor's kind- 
 ness and goodness of heart." Indeed, they were 
 supplied with a full and embellished detail of all 
 he had done for her, her husband, and child. 
 They felt not the time passing, as they sat for 
 nearly half an hour, to see the result of the 
 surgeon's efforts for " the poor little cripple." So 
 the mother called her child, having first described 
 the unsightly shape of her little club feet. And, 
 they were quite favourably impressed with the 
 character of the doctor, before he came back to 
 the waiting room. They had listened, but, having 
 heard no cry, they concluded the operation was 
 abandoned. And, therefore, they were the more 
 
144 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE, 
 
 astonished at his skill, when they saw him return 
 with the child in his arms, smiling and playing 
 with her doll, and her little feet perfectly and 
 completely restored to natural shape. 
 
 Dr. Armstrong did not take the slightest notice 
 of his new visitors, until he had dismissed Mrs. 
 Brady and her little girl. This he did in the most 
 kind manner ; as respectfully and courteously as if 
 it had been Lady Johnson herself. Then, ignoring 
 the presence of Kosa, he turned coldly, but most 
 politely, to Mrs. Gibson, and enquired, *' Madame, 
 is there anything that I can have the honour of 
 doing for you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gibson presented her card. 
 
 Mrs. Gibson, 
 
 SiLVERLEA, 
 
 and, having expressed her admiration of the 
 wonderful triumph of his skill which she had just 
 seen ; to which compliment the doctor only coolly 
 bowed acknowledgment ; she told him the 
 information she had received from Lady Johnson 
 and Mrs. Barry. Then dilated on the trouble 
 caused by her front teeth, and how their loss 
 would prevent her from being able to utter her 
 words with sufficient distinctness to be under- 
 stood ; but, did not make the slightest allusion to 
 the probable effect on her good looks. 
 
 The doctor listened with unlimited patience 
 
NOT PUFFING LIKE A GRAMPUS, INTO HER FACE. 145 
 
 and attention, acquiesced in each remark, and, 
 having heard all, asked, ''Would the ladies 
 kindly accompany him to his surgery ? " 
 
 They entered with him the consulting room. 
 He opened, and left wide open, both doors of his 
 operating room, and, having gracefully pointed 
 the way, passed after them into it. 
 
 There was not the slightest trace visible of the 
 last operation. The servant had been there and 
 had removed every stain. The chairs were in 
 their usual upright form, looking as comfortable, 
 and enjoyable, and harmless, as though they were 
 incapable of being made beds of torture. 
 
 He asked Mrs. Gibson, ** would she be so good 
 as to take a seat?" Holding his open hand, at 
 the same time, in the direction of the largest 
 chair ; and then, with a bow, pointed Miss Eosa 
 to that of middle size. 
 
 He then quickly, but most carefully and gently, 
 examined his patient's mouth. Not holding his 
 face close to hers, and puffing out his breath, like 
 a grampus, into her face, as some ungentlemanly 
 dentists do now-a-days ; but keeping at a respect- 
 ful and convenient distance. He then, as 
 tenderly as if he were operating on the eye, 
 removed the caries or dead parts, and having put 
 in a plugget of cotton wool, which diffused a 
 fragrance, as though it had been soaked in sweet 
 smelling liquid, asked **if Mrs. Gibson would 
 kindly favour him with a call about the same 
 time, or a little later, if more convenient to her, 
 
 L 
 
146 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 next day? When," he informed her, ''he hoped 
 to complete all that was necessary/' 
 
 Mrs. Gibson, when leaving, was so pleased 
 that she extended to him her hand, which he 
 politely received. To Miss Gibson he bowed 
 most courteously, not giving her an opportunity to 
 offer her hand, even if she were disposed to 
 follow her mother's example; and, having rung 
 his bell, ordered his servant to see the ladies to 
 their carriage. 
 
 ''How could you imagine that man rude?" 
 was the first enquiry made by Mrs. Gibson to her 
 daughter. " He really is quite a gentleman, and 
 certainly, no one could possibly be more polite and 
 attentive ; and, at the same time, so reserved and 
 deferential." 
 
 And Kosa began to think she had made a 
 mistake, or, if she had not, that Mrs. Barry's 
 explanation must have been the correct one, when 
 she suggested, that he must have imagined that 
 he had met her before, and had looked in expecta- 
 tion of her recognition. " Surely," said she to 
 herself, *' he is quite as cool and cold and 
 reserved as Simon." 
 
 As for the doctor, he was perfectly charmed 
 with their visit. He preferred it to that of any 
 nobleman in the land. If he thought Rosa 
 lovely before, he considered her ten times more 
 so now. She completely charmed him. His every 
 act and seeming unconcern were to disarm suspi- 
 cion, and, a struggle to ingratiate himself with 
 
HE COULD ONL Y THINK OF THE COMING MORNING. 147 
 
 her mamma. That they should call, too, when, 
 undesignedly on his part, it fell to his lot to 
 exhibit a triumph of his surgery ; and that they 
 should have had a tete-a-tete with poor Mrs. 
 Brady, who was sure to herald his praises, he 
 considered most fortunate. He could only think 
 of the coming morning, and hope that Mrs. 
 Gibson would not come alone, but that, again, 
 she would bring Eosa with her. 
 
 N.B. — On mature reflection, he did not think 
 it necessary to visit Bogra Yale that day. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 UNPABALLELED VILLAINY. 
 
 " Oh, villain, villain, smiling damned villain ! 
 My tables — meet it is, I set it down, 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
 At least, I'm sure, it may be so in Denmark." 
 
 — Hamlet. 
 
 Mrs. Gibson gave her husband a most glowmg 
 account of her visit to Sweet Brier Lodge, detail- 
 ing both the attention she had received, and the 
 wonderful, painless cure of the little girl's club 
 feet. Soon after breakfast the next day, accom- 
 panied by Rosa, she again went to the doctor's, 
 and, after a short delay in the waiting room, was 
 again ushered into the consulting room. 
 
 Immediately on entering she held out her hand 
 to the doctor, and cordially saluted him, and 
 Rosa, following her mamma's example, did the 
 same. It was the first time that hand had 
 touched his. He felt it like an electric current 
 flying through his entire frame. Carefully 
 concealing his emotion, he addressed no remark 
 to Rosa, but, turning towards her mamma, ex- 
 pressed his pleasure at seeing them ; assured 
 
ROSA IS TO BE MARRIED NEXT MONDA V WEEK. 149 
 
 them he would do his best to save them the 
 trouble of such another disagreeable visit at 
 such an inconvenient hour ; then, pointing the 
 way, he followed his visitors into the inner 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Gibson was soon seated in the comfortable 
 chair. The temporary stuffing w^as removed, and 
 the amalgam was introduced so gently, that when, 
 looking up from his work, he told her all was 
 completed, and asked her to look in a mirror, 
 which he presented her, she was really delighted. 
 The tooth looked as well and as healthy as in her 
 most youthful days, and all was accomplished 
 without the slightest pain. 
 
 '* You have still," said Dr. Armstrong, " some 
 teeth at the back which require looking after, or 
 you will lose them. The loss will be great, for 
 you will, to a great extent, be unable to masticate 
 your food. Besides, when the nerves become 
 exposed, you will be subjected to toothache, 
 which is very annoying, and, perhaps, to swollen 
 face, which is anything but becoming." 
 
 ''My time is rather busy just now," said Mrs. 
 Gibson, " for Kosa is to be married next Monday 
 week, her eighteenth birthday, and, as you may 
 suppose, I have many little arrangements to 
 make ; but, as this is only Tuesday, I shall try to 
 call again to-morrow, or on Thursday at the very 
 farthest." 
 
 " Will you allow me to congratulate you on the 
 happy event," responded the doctor ; though the 
 
150 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 announcement cut like a knife into his heart, 
 "and you, too, Miss Gibson? I sincerely hope 
 your happiness may be very great, and very long 
 continued." 
 
 Rosa blushed, as she gracefully tendered her 
 acknowledgments for his good wishes. As she 
 did so, she gave him one of those flashes of her 
 eyes, which came to her naturally, and which 
 could not be copied, thrilling him, by its effect, to 
 the very soul. At that moment he thought she 
 looked prettier than ever he had seen her before, 
 and felt he would give the world, if he had it, to 
 rush to where she was, to grasp her in his arms, 
 and to kiss her lovely lips; but, so far from 
 following this impulse, he dropped his eyes before 
 the glance, and affected not to feel an influence, 
 so powerful, that it created a throbbing over his 
 entire frame. 
 
 "And now, doctor," said Mrs. Gibson, "kindly 
 let me know what I am in your debt. * Short 
 accounts make long friends,' says the proverb. 
 Let me assure you, at the same time, I was never 
 more satisfied in all my life, and I feel that 
 money cannot adequately repay you, either for 
 your kind attention, or for your skill." 
 
 "My dear madam," rejoined the doctor, "I 
 never make charges for anything I can do in 
 dentistry. I am a physician. My college would 
 ignore me if I condescended to ally a trade with 
 my profession. Being of a mechanical turn of 
 mind, it is an amusement to me to do a little 
 
REALLY, DOCTOR, YOU ARE TOO KIND. 151 
 
 occasionally in that way ; and, let me assure you, 
 it has been a source of great gratification to me, 
 to have it in my power to be even of the 
 slightest service to you." 
 
 Mrs.' Gibson, whose weak point was a love of 
 money, was dehghted. She expected to be 
 charged a good heavy sum, and unexpectedly 
 found that she had got off scot free. 
 
 "Really, doctor, you are too kind. I cannot 
 find words to thank you ; but, of course, I cannot 
 think of victimizing you again, when you will not 
 allow me to show my appreciation, for your 
 considerable loss of time, and your great dexterity 
 and talent." 
 
 " I shall conclude that my humble efforts have 
 not insured your satisfaction, and that you have 
 appraised me a clumsy botch, if you do not come 
 again. Besides, please remember, you have 
 arranged to come again to-morrow, or Thursday 
 at farthest, and I shall wait at home, especially 
 for you, on both days." 
 
 It need scarcely be added that the ladies parted 
 from the doctor, this second day of their visits, 
 not as new acquaintances, but as positive and 
 advanced friends; and, the doctor was moreover 
 assured, what pleasure it would give Mr. Gibson 
 to form his acquaintance. 
 
 " And had you really no pain, mamma ? " said 
 Rosa, as they drove towards home. 
 
 " Not the slightest, dear, I can assure you ! " 
 
 '' And won't you go and have the back teeth 
 
152 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 preserved, and escape the swollen face and the 
 other etceteras ? " 
 
 *' Indeed, I shall, dear ! and very glad of the 
 opportunity ; but, you know, it is really too much 
 to so engross his time, and he a perfect stranger 
 to us." 
 
 ** Yes, dearest ma, that is quite true, but don't 
 you think he would be offended, and consider you 
 ungrateful, if you kept him waiting for you, and, 
 you did not call ? *' 
 
 **I certainly shall not keep him waiting, for it 
 is a great chance, and a great piece of good luck 
 to get such an opportunity to save my teeth. 
 Only imagine, Eosa, not being able to eat my 
 food, and to see the cheeks falling in." 
 
 '* Do you know, mamma, I hurt one of my back 
 teeth the other day, cracking nuts and plum stones 
 with them. I fancy the stone got on the edge 
 and splintered a piece off. If anything happened 
 it, would my cheek fall in ? " 
 
 *' I suppose it would to some extent ; but why 
 did you not show it to the doctor ? " 
 
 '* I did not like to do so. I was afraid it would 
 pain if he touched it ; besides, he is so reserved 
 and distant with me ; he is twice as friendly with 
 you." 
 
 ** You know, dear, I am more of his age, and, 
 no doubt, he is one of those sensible men who 
 never look at young girls." 
 
 *'He may keep his looks as far as I am con- 
 cerned. I am sure if he gave them I should not 
 
THE FRIENDSHIP WAS CEMENTING RAPIDLY. 153 
 
 feel either gratified or honored," said Eosa, with 
 a toss of her head. And so the conversation 
 ended. 
 
 Next morning, heing anxious ahout her molars, 
 as the dentists call the back teeth, and not wish- 
 ing to keep the doctor waiting, Mrs. and Miss 
 Gibson again visited the Lodge. The friendship 
 was evidently cementing rapidly, and the cement 
 fixing as quickly as applied. The meeting was 
 very cordial— handshaking and complimentary 
 wishes were exchanged, and then that unfailing, 
 everlasting topic, the weather, was fully discussed. 
 After that, the molars were tenderly and carefully 
 prepared for the next day, Thursday ; and at her 
 mamma's request, Eosa submitted to an examina- 
 tion of as pretty a mouth and teeth as any girl 
 ever possessed. The doctor's quick eye soon 
 detected where the mischief was supposed to be. 
 "- You must have squeezed a stone between your 
 teeth, and smashed it too, for it has splintered 
 one of your teeth in the effort. I can make it all 
 right," he added, '' and I am so glad it has been 
 shown to me, for it would have commenced to 
 decay, and then, by a strange coincidence, the 
 one opposite w'ould decay also, and so by degrees 
 the others, and then the cheeks would fall in." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say any more of such dismal and, 
 I trust, distant consequences," said Eosa, inter- 
 rupting him, " I shall willingly submit to any 
 pain, to escape such a gloomy catalogue." 
 
 "But you shall not be put to the smallest 
 
154 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 pain," said the doctor coolly, and addressing 
 himself to Kosa; all the previous remarks being 
 addressed to her mother. 
 
 Having quickly applied to Eosa's tooth the 
 necessary preparation, and having informed 
 Mrs. Gibson that her daughter had better attend 
 with her next morning also, the visitors again 
 took leave of their friend, having first duly pro- 
 mised to come about the same time next day. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Gibson to her daughter, as 
 they drove towards home, "• did the doctor hurt 
 you ? " 
 
 " Not in the least, mamma, he could not be 
 more gentle and kind." 
 
 *' I told you so, dear, so you see you have not 
 anything to be afraid of." 
 
 " Oh no," said Eosa, ** I have not the slightest 
 fear now." 
 
 " But the loss of time is something dreadful," 
 said Mrs. Gibson, " especially when I have so 
 many things to do. Only think we have been 
 there Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and 
 must go again to-morrow. The week will be 
 gone ; and remember, child, you are to be 
 married next Monday week, and I have not yet 
 got my dress ordered, for the occasion." 
 
 " Let us go about it now," said Eosa, '' there is 
 no time like the present." 
 
 With this idea Mrs. Gibson immediately 
 acquiesced. Accordingly, she directed her coach- 
 man to drive to the silk mercers — the leading 
 
YOUNG MAN, LEARN FROM THE OLD ONE. 155 
 
 shop in the little town — where, having described 
 what she required, the tradesman informed her, 
 that it would be necessary to send to Cork, as he 
 had not anything that would exactly suit in his 
 estabhshment. " But, if you will have the good- 
 ness to call on Monday morning," he continued, 
 '' I shall have it quite ready. When you have 
 made your selection, the costume maker shall 
 have directions at once, and it will be finished, at 
 the farthest, by this day week ; but please, 
 madam," he added, " be particular to call early 
 on Monday, or it may not be completed in time." 
 
 For the last time, as they expected, they called 
 next morning at the doctor's. He was waiting to 
 receive them, and expressed much gratification at 
 their arrival. "I was afraid," said he, "you 
 had changed your mind, for, as you see," point- 
 ing to his watch, " the time you were so good 
 as to appoint has passed. Indeed, if it were 
 anyone else I should have acted on my apprehen- 
 sion and gone on my rounds, but, Mrs. Gibson, I 
 would not think of leaving, as long as any chance 
 remained of seeing you." 
 
 Ah ! inexperienced young man, you may learn a 
 lesson from the old one. If at any time you are 
 captivated by a young lady's charms, your surest 
 avenue to success lies through her mamma. 
 Secure her confidence and her favour by marked 
 attention, by politeness, and by compliments when 
 not out of place, and, when you are absent, she 
 will extol you, and sound your praises to the object 
 
156 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 of your affections; but if you neglect her, the 
 game will soon be up, and you will be described 
 as a senseless creature, unworthy of any intelli- 
 gent girl's love. 
 
 Mrs. Q-ibson felt flattered by the doctor's com- 
 pliment, and thanked him warmly, adding : " I 
 trust this will be the last time we may have to 
 impose on your great kindness." 
 
 Again was the comfortable chair occupied ; 
 again the doctor set about his work with the skill 
 of an adept in his art. Soon he had the satis- 
 faction to inform Mrs. Gibson that ** all she 
 required was completed, that now she need 
 not fear decay or discomfort for years, and 'that 
 his only regret was, that he should not see again 
 one who was so patient, and paid such flattering 
 testimony to his poor efforts." 
 
 Mrs. Gibson, for years unaccustomed to com- 
 pliments from her husband, began to think him a 
 delightful man ; and assured him "' that all the 
 compliments were due to him ; that she considered 
 him a public benefactor; that his skill could 
 not be surpassed; and that really in all her 
 experience, she had never met any one so truly 
 generous and obliging, and so totally devoid of 
 mercenary motive." 
 
 They were about to leave, when Eosa quietly 
 suggested : *' He has not looked at mine yet, 
 mamma." 
 
 " Quite true, dear ; the doctor's unequalled kind- 
 ness quite put your trouble out of my head." 
 
FORGOT IT!— NO T LIKEL Y. 157 
 
 Then turning to the doctor, she added, with one 
 of her blandest smiles : '' We must still impose on 
 you ; you were so good as to prepare Kosa's tooth 
 that she so incautiously injured, may we ask you 
 to see it again ? " 
 
 "- Most certainly," said the doctor, '' how rude 
 of me to forget it. Please, Miss Gibson, let me 
 look at it now. I hope you will forgive my most 
 culpable negligence." 
 
 Forgot it ! — not likely. It never escaped his 
 memory for a moment, but he artfully affected 
 the oblivion, to lead both mother and daughter to 
 suppose, that he never gave the beautiful Eosa a 
 thought. Indeed, if the truth were known, he had 
 never ceased to think of her, except on those 
 occasions when he was conversing with Nora. 
 
 " Pray do not mention it," said Eosa. "- 1 
 have only too many reasons to be grateful to 
 you. Your many calls and many engagements will 
 naturally prevent you from remembering every- 
 thing, particularly a small matter like this. You 
 must indeed be very clever to recollect as well as 
 you do." She then occupied the chair lately 
 vacated by her mamma. 
 
 The doctor was soon by her side, and having 
 commenced his examination, said, with a well 
 timed sigh : '* Something has removed what I 
 put in your tooth. It is quite gone. Miss Gibson, 
 and it will be necessary to repeat what I did for 
 you yesterday." 
 
 ** Oh ! how stupid of you, Eosa," said her 
 
158 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 mamma, hastily, ''you really ought to have been 
 more careful. The doctor has never had to 
 repeat anything he did for me." 
 
 Good reason too ; mamma's teeth had large 
 excavations, but there was really nothing the 
 matter with Eosa's. The doctor had only gone 
 through the form, because he loved to touch that 
 pretty cheek, to catch the fragrant breath that 
 issued from between those lips, and to look into 
 that lovely face — so close, so near, so dear too ; 
 but soon to be with another, and to be another's, 
 far, far away, from his view. 
 
 "It is indeed of no consequence,'^ said the 
 doctor, not liking to hear the harsh words of 
 Mrs. Gibson, '' I shall not consider it a trouble 
 but a pleasure to prepare it again. Perhaps," 
 turning to Mrs. Gibson, '' as I shall be very busy 
 both to-morrow and next day, you would kindly 
 bring Miss Gibson on Monday." 
 
 " Oh, Rosa," said Mrs. Gibson, again petulantly, 
 "we shall be so busy on Monday morning." 
 Then regaining her equanimity, she turned to the 
 doctor with quite a different expression on her 
 countenance and said : 
 
 " Most certainly, doctor, I shall bring her at 
 whatever time suits your convenience, and it is so 
 kind of you to make such allowance for her care- 
 lessness. I am sure, if I were you, I should not 
 do it for her again." 
 
 " 'Tis but a few moments' work," replied the 
 doctor, " and be assured I do not consider any- 
 
FRIDAY WAS A DULL DAY. 159 
 
 thing I can do for you or Miss Gibson a 
 trouble." 
 
 He then quickly went through the form of 
 preparing Kosa's beautiful tooth; and, thinking 
 within himself, ^' what shall I do when Monday is 
 over, and I shall not see her again/' he heaved a 
 heavy sigh. Indeed, he could willingly have 
 spent an entire day at the task, so agreeable to 
 him was the occupation ; but, he knew that it was 
 necessary to guard against the smallest shadow of 
 suspicion. So, having assured Mrs. Gibson that 
 all was now in a state of satisfactory progress, 
 after the usual formal interchanges, he bid his 
 most interesting visitors good morning. 
 
 Friday was a dull day. There was no visit 
 from the Gibsons, and the doctor felt peevish and 
 dissatisfied. Saturday was worse. He strolled 
 through the town in the hope of casually meeting 
 them, but no such good fortune presented. It 
 would have been like balm to a wounded spirit if 
 even Mrs. Gibson, without Rosa, had crossed his 
 path, but even this was denied him. Sunday 
 was not so bad. It was lit up with a gleam of 
 hope, in anticipation of the next day ; and, at last, 
 as though it would never come, Monday morning 
 dawned. 
 
 All were at sixes and sevens that morning at 
 Silverlea. By some ill fate, every one had slept 
 it out. They were late in getting up, late at 
 breakfast, late in attending to the calls of several 
 tradespeople, who had come concerning orders 
 
160 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 they had received in connection with the approach- 
 ing marriage ; and, when Mrs. and Miss Gibson 
 were fairly on the road to the doctor's, and only 
 just in time to fulfil their a^Dpointment with him ; 
 Mrs. Gibson recollected, that she had to call at the 
 silk mercer's about her dress, and that if she did 
 not do so early, she had been duly warned, it 
 could not possibly be ready in time. 
 
 There was nothing else for it. She must go. 
 The idea of appearing at her daughter's wedding 
 with an old dress — one which people had seen 
 her wear before — was out of the question. What 
 would Mrs. Barry think ? What would Mrs. 
 Goodman think ? What would Lady Johnson 
 think ? It did not trouble her to consider what 
 the gentlemen would think, for, judging by her 
 own husband, she concluded that they would not 
 know whether it was silk or satin, velvet or 
 velveteen, costly or inexpensive, old or new. *' I 
 shall not be long making the selection, Rosa, and 
 giving the directions. So, dear, you had better 
 set me down at the shop, and then drive on to 
 the doctor's, and when you have been dropped at 
 the gate, send the carriage back at once. Give the 
 coachman a strict direction not to delay any- 
 where, and I shall be with you, perhaps before 
 you are called in." 
 
 Rosa demurred. She did not like to go to 
 the doctor's by herself. She did not think it 
 would be correct or proper, and she preferred to 
 wait until her mamma was ready to accompany 
 
ROSA DROVE TO SWEET BRIER LODGE. 161 
 
 her; but Mrs. Gibson said, *'It would be very 
 wrong to keep him waiting, after his great 
 kindness, and the sacrifice of his time which he 
 had ah'^ady made." She reminded, too, of the 
 quiet hint he had given them, when they detained 
 him before; ''and, besides," she added, ''it is 
 not as if you were going to the house of a young 
 man. Pity knows, he is cool and reserved and 
 steady enough." 
 
 " Quite true, mamma," said Rosa, " and, if he 
 has any penchant ^ it is not for me, but for you ; " 
 and so, as there appeared to be no alternative, 
 Mrs. Gibson was set down at the mercer's, and 
 Rosa drove to Sweet Brier Lodge. 
 
 As soon as she arrived at the gate, she told the 
 coachman to hasten back to the shop, as her 
 mamma would be waiting for him ; and then, 
 having passed up the neat, well-kept gravel walk, 
 was soon seated in the waiting room. 
 
 *' The doctor has been waiting for you, 
 madam," said the servant, "he ordered me to 
 show you and your mamma in as soon as you 
 arrived." 
 
 Rosa longed to delay until her mother's arrival, 
 but could not find words for an excuse, so, follow- 
 ing the servant, she was soon all alone ; sitting in 
 the easy chair ; in the sanctum sanctorum of her 
 admirer. 
 
 Having bid her good morning in his usual cool 
 way, the doctor asked for her mamma. Where 
 was she ? As though she monopoHsed all his 
 
162 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 thoughts ; and, having been informed that she 
 had gone by appointment to the silk mercer's, and 
 that she would be with them in a very short 
 time ; he quietly left the room for a moment ; 
 clapped the hall door loudly ; and then, having 
 rung the bell for the servant, told him if Mrs. 
 Gibson called, he was to tell her, that Miss Gibson 
 had been, but had gone away some time ; and, that 
 if she asked for him, she was to be informed that 
 he had gone out too. 
 
 On this occasion, when returning to his 
 patient, he . locked the door of his consulting 
 room on the inside, and removed the key, putting 
 it into his coat pocket, then, passing into his 
 sanctum, he carefully closed both doors. True, 
 he felt his heart throbbing into his mouth, but 
 took a sedative, combined with sal volatile, to 
 steady his nerves. 
 
 Then, most gently, and with an air of indiffer- 
 ence, approaching his very beautiful patient, he 
 commenced to busy himself about her teeth. 
 '' Please hold your head well back, Miss Gibson," 
 said he, " I shall then have more power," 
 
 Then, as with one hand he continued to touch 
 with his instrument her tooth, with the other he 
 drew out one concealed strap ; and then, reversing 
 hands, he again touched with the instrument the 
 tooth, as he drew out the other strap ; and so, 
 before Miss Gibson had the slightest idea, for he 
 told her not to move, or she would spoil his work ; 
 he had both her arms safely and firmly confined. 
 
. HIS VICTIM WAS NOW SECURED. 163 
 
 Telling her again not to stir, as a movement 
 would interrupt his progress, he pretended to 
 drop some of his preparation. This enabled him, 
 without awakening any suspicion, to stoop ; when 
 he quickly released the lower straps, and securely 
 confined her feet. Kising again, by another 
 finesse, as though something dropped on her 
 knees, he was enabled to draw the encircling 
 binder round her waist, and make it fast. 
 
 His victim was now secured; safely in his 
 power ; without the possibility of her loudest cries 
 being heard, and far from all assistance, and 
 chance of escape ; neither was there a possibility 
 of any intrusion, or of any interruption. 
 
 **I want you a little lower, but you must not 
 yet stir," said he, as he applied his windlass 
 handle, and, turning it, changed the shape of the 
 chair into that of a most comfortable lounger or 
 bed ; till, at last, Eosa, finding that she was being 
 lowered too much, made an effort to rise, and, to 
 her horror and surprise, found herself prostrate, 
 lying on her back, and incapable of moving hand 
 or limb. And, at the very same moment, she felt 
 the doctor's arms around her, and a succession of 
 warm kisses implanted on her lips, and, then, the 
 ardent words fell upon her ear. 
 
 "My darling, my dearest darling, I have 
 loved you so long, and so deeply, but dared not 
 tell you. Now you are mine, and no power on 
 earth can take you from me.'' 
 
 She screamed, and strained her every nerve 
 
164 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 and muscle to get free ; but could not stir. She 
 expostulated next ; then she pleaded ; alternately, 
 she reviled and threatened — but — all in vain. She 
 reminded him that she was to be married to 
 another, whom she loved, that day week; and, 
 that she hated him. She wept, she prayed, she 
 screamed again at the top of her voice ; but, as 
 with the Priests of Baal, on Mount Carmel long 
 ago, '' There was neither voice, nor any to 
 answer, nor any that regarded." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FKEEMASONRY. 
 
 •iny-i ■'•33 nm c'^i^i im brian ^ns 
 
 I" •• .. : -AT • : -AT iv : - : jv : - 
 
 — Proverb xxvii, 17. 
 
 As iron addeth increase unto iron's power, 
 
 So brotherhood, to man, has proved a vantage-tower. 
 
 According to the articles of agreement, Limerick 
 was surrendered on the evening of October 29th, 
 1651. The Governor of the city, the brave Hugh 
 O'Neil, met General Harry Ireton, son-in-law of 
 Cromwell, and chief in command of the besieging 
 army, at the gate of the city, and handed to him 
 the keys. Two thousand five-hundred soldiers, 
 not townsmen, then marched out, several of 
 whom dropped from the ranks as they went, and 
 died of the plague. 
 
 The conditions of the treaty stipulated, that no 
 mercy was to be shewn to twenty of the most 
 daring, most dauntless, and uncompromising 
 defenders, who would not listen to the offers of 
 bribery, and whom no selfish considerations could 
 induce to act the traitor's part. This number 
 embraced Edward O'Dwyer, Bishop of Limerick, 
 
166 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 and Terence Albert O'Brien, Bishop of Emly. 
 The latter had been offered 40,000 golden crowns, 
 and permission to retire wherever he liked, out of 
 the kingdom, if he would only cease to exhort the 
 people against surrender, but, his heroic soul 
 spurned the temptation. 
 
 When the besiegers entered, he was taken 
 captive in the pest-house, and with him, two men 
 of the devoted ones, namely, Francis Woulfe, a 
 friar; and Major-General Purcell. Another of the 
 number, Domenick Fanning, surnamed '' the 
 lion hearted," was taken in the churchyard of St* 
 Francis, concealed in the tomb of his forefathers. 
 
 Bishop O'Brien was hanged, he was then 
 decapitated, his head was fixed on a lofty stake, 
 and placed on the top of King's Fort. General 
 Purcell's head was also fixed on a stake, and set 
 over St. John's gate. Fennell, who sold the pass, 
 did not escape, but met with the punishment he 
 so richly deserved. He was executed on the 
 scaffold. Strange to say, Lieut. -General Hugh 
 O'Neil, though the first on the list of the twenty 
 doomed ones, was the only one of the number 
 who did not pay the penalty of death. 
 
 As he was led to execution, brave and un- 
 daunted, without showing the smallest symptoms 
 of fear, some secret impulse induced him to give 
 " t\ie Masonic signal of a brother in distress/' 
 One of high standing in the company of his 
 captors saw it, and by representing to General 
 Ireton, that an officer of O'Neil's rank, should not 
 
THE EARNEST EFFORTS OF A BROTHER MASON. 167 
 
 be punished with death without a trial, obtained 
 a respite until the tribunal should decide. A 
 court martial was then summoned; they met, 
 and he was condemned to die. A second time 
 they met, so powerful was this secret influence 
 employed by his brother Mason ; but, again was 
 he condemned. A third time they met, and so 
 energetically was the secret power exerted, that a 
 majority of the votes was secured in his favour, 
 and his life was saved. 
 
 What is life to a brave and true man, if it 
 entail bondage ? Nothing. Sent back to his 
 confinement in the dank, dark cell, he grieved 
 that he had not fallen as a soldier ; and fiUed with 
 despair and miserable forebodings, longed for 
 death. Wearied nature at last gave way, he 
 sank to sleep on his hard plank bed, where sweet 
 forgetfulness brought him for awhile a respite, 
 but it was not long. In the dark and quiet mid- 
 night hour he was awaked. A stranger, one 
 whom he had never seen before, had gained 
 admission to his prison, and with a dark-lantern 
 turned fully on his face, shook him by the 
 shoulder, saying at the same time, "Awake, 
 awake." 
 
 " Has the sentence been altered again," said 
 the General, lifting himself on one elbow, and 
 trying to get a view of his visitor's face, "and 
 has the death message come ? It is welcome. 
 It is good news. Anything, rather than the 
 confinement in this dungeon." 
 
168 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 ** Gently," said the stranger, '* raise not your 
 voice, it is worth my commission to be found 
 here. 'Twas I who saw your signal of distre,ss ; 
 'twas I who obtained your trial ; 'twas I who got 
 the verdict, at last, in your favour; come now with 
 me, for I have all things ready and prepared for 
 your escape — don't speak one word." 
 
 Then taking him by the hand, he led him past 
 the warders, and conducted him by back and 
 quiet ways to the banks of the Shannon. A boat 
 lay there in readiness, a pair of oars, and plenty 
 of provisions. 
 
 *' Heaven speed thee now, my Brother," said 
 the stranger. 
 
 "And bless you for your noble act," responded 
 O'Neil, who feeliog himself a free man once 
 again, gently paddled down the stream, away, far 
 away from the hordes of his enemies. After 
 various troubles and dangers, vicissitudes, and 
 changes of fortune, he eventually in safety escaped 
 to France. 
 
 What is the teaching of Christianity but "uni- 
 versal Brotherhood ? " And, what better word than 
 ** universal Brotherhood" can we select to describe 
 ** Freemasonry ?" Some who know not its details 
 may, in their ignorance, condemn it. Some may 
 anathematize it because it is a secret society, and 
 because its secrets are inviolate; but, many an 
 one has had reason — as he roamed a stranger in 
 foreign lands, or when the bitter hand of distress 
 was crushino: him at home — to be for ever thank- 
 
BANDS OF MARAUDERS SCOURED THE COUNTRY. 169 
 
 ful that he entered the lodge ; passed the degrees; 
 and met in time of need the faithful Brother, who 
 rescued him from death ; or saved him from over- 
 whelming trouble ; or, who enabled him to feel as 
 he passed away, that there was some one to take 
 care of his fatherless, unprotected, and unprovided 
 for children. 
 
 General Ireton took the plague at Limerick, 
 and fell a victim to it. General Lambert suc- 
 ceeded him, but did not long hold the appoiut- 
 ment. He left to take possession of large grants 
 of confiscated land in Wexford, and General 
 Fleetwood, who married Cromwell's daughter, 
 who was also Ireton's widow, was appointed in 
 his place. 
 
 The levies on the City of Limerick, for the 
 exigencies of the Puritan army, and the require- 
 ments of the new Governor, were enormous. 
 Oppressive taxation, fearful burdens, confiscation, 
 and savage executions, followed each other in 
 quick succession; nor did this terrible experi- 
 ence soon pass away, for military government 
 continued in Limerick till 1656, nearly ^-^Oi 
 years. 
 
 Nor were the exactions and confiscations con- 
 fined to the city alone. Bands of marauders 
 scoured the country, far and near, in all direc- 
 tions. It would be a work of history to follow all 
 the depredators through the various scenes of 
 their villainy and rapine, when the country 
 families and peasants were treated with equal 
 
170 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 indignities and violence; yet, the course of one 
 company we may de^oict. 
 
 The soldiers of General Ludlow, before they 
 took part in the seige of Limerick, were noted 
 for their ferocity. They had taken and sacked 
 Gurtenshegore Castle, near Gort, which belonged 
 to Sir Dermot O'Shaughnessy. Shortly after- 
 wards they attacked a fort in the middle of the 
 Kiver Shannon, on the great Lax Weir, where 
 the ruins may still be seen. When taken, the 
 merciless soldiery, whose hearts were steeled 
 against humanity, put the defenders to the sword, 
 and perpetrated such cold-blooded slaughter that 
 L'eton was compelled to condemn, and even 
 ordered a court martial, when a colonel and a 
 captain were cashiered. 
 
 This cruel detachment, one hundred strong, 
 when relieved by the surrender from active 
 warfare, again turned their course, to glut their 
 immorality and love of pillage on the undefended 
 towns. From Limerick they went to Bruff ; then 
 to Kilmalloch ; from there to Charleville, on the 
 borders of Cork ; then to Doneraile and Mallow. 
 Fortunately for the inhabitants, having passed 
 by the Bogra Mountains and Kanturk, and 
 having left them on the right, they proceeded to 
 Macroom, and from there to Dunmanway and 
 Bantry; from Bantry they advanced to Castle- 
 town, leaving desolation and sorrow, and weeping 
 females, and breaking hearts, to mark their guilt- 
 stained course. 
 
CAPTAIN LOVELL WAS TALL AND HANDSOME. 171 
 
 Having exacted contributions, to supply their 
 pampered tastes, from all who could, by any 
 means, meet their arbitrary demands ; some 
 settled down, comfortably located, in one town or 
 neighbourhood, and some in another, with the 
 consent of their captain ; so that, when they 
 arrived at Castletown, they did not number more 
 than fifty men. 
 
 These were under the command of Captain 
 Lovell, a man of powerful strength and great 
 military experience. He was in his twenty- 
 seventh year, and had left a pretty young wife 
 and three children at his home in Somersetshire, 
 when he started for the Irish campaign. He had 
 given free reins to his unbridled passions 
 wherever his successful army had given him the 
 mastery. The flower of the Irish youth having 
 been defeated in battle, and then forced to depart 
 for foreign shores ; the remnant, who remained 
 at home to till the ground or mind the shop, were 
 so depressed by the continued success of the 
 oppressor, that they had not heart or courage to 
 resist. And, consequently, the haughty com- 
 mander, unopposed, acted as a despot, with 
 unrestricted will, wherever he went. 
 
 Lovell was tall and handsome, with deep, heavy, 
 dark moustache ; the rest of his face close shaven ; 
 his whole bearing was like a soldier; his heart was 
 naturally kind, his passions were naturally hot ; 
 his military career of unvarying success, added 
 to his innate desire to do whatever he pleased. 
 
172 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 When satisfied with the exactions he had made 
 at Castletown ; Dunboy Castle, with its majestic 
 beauty, attracted his attention, as he gazed list- 
 lessly on the bay. So, taking half a dozen 
 men with him, he rowed over, with intent to take 
 from its inmates, anything that might attract his 
 fancy, or perhaps, be worth the trouble of carrying 
 back to his English home. 
 
 Having entered roughly through the castle 
 door ; which happened to be open, though the in- 
 mates did not expect a visitor ; he walked, with the 
 air of one who was the proprietor of it all, from 
 room to room. 
 
 Mrs. O'SuUivan and Mrs. O'Brien, the two old 
 ladies, were sitting in the drawing-room, when 
 he, and his soldiery at his heels, entered, all with 
 helmeted heads. Seeing the ladies, like a gentle- 
 man as he was, he took off his helmet, and holding 
 it in his hand, " begged pardon for the intrusion, 
 but would be glad to see the master of the house." 
 
 Perceiving that they were unexpectedly in the 
 power of their country's enemies, and conjectur- 
 ing the probable object of the visit, the ladies 
 were filled with fear. Then Mrs. O'Sullivan, 
 rising to her feet, said, '' Our sons are away. 
 We in our sorrow, know not where, nor have we 
 seen them for several months. Our anxious 
 hope is that they may return soon. We miss 
 them the more, because we both are widows." 
 
 W^ith the gallantry of a soldier, he bowed; 
 assured the ladies they had no cause for apprehen- 
 
MARY CAPTIVATES THE CAPTAIN. 173 
 
 sion, again offered repeated apologies for encroach- 
 ing, and enquired, if not too great a liberty, 
 might he ask for a bowl of wine for his men before 
 his departure ? 
 
 Mrs. 0' Sullivan rang the bell, and ordered her 
 servant to supply anything in the house which the 
 officer and his men desired. 
 
 With well expressed thanks and multiplied 
 apologies, he retired ; but w^hen he had reached 
 the Hall, Mary^ who had been out on a mission 
 of mercy to some sick and poor, just entered by 
 the still open door, and met the unexpected 
 visitors when on the eve of departure. 
 
 Captain Lovell was immediately captivated by 
 her uncommon beauty. He thought he had never 
 seen one so lovely before ; her pink and white wrap 
 and brigand's hat, which Gerald had brought her 
 from Spain, setting off admirably her exquisite 
 features; while her unrestrained hair flowed in 
 golden wealth around her. Again, with helmet 
 in hand, he lowly bowed ; again apologised for his 
 trespass, and sought by every means in his power 
 — and he was an accomplished adept — to make a 
 favourable impression. 
 
 To make a favourable impression on Mary, who 
 already loved— deeply and truly loved — Gerald; 
 to make a favourable impression on Mary, who 
 would not keep back her much loved Fergus from 
 waging fiercest war against the invaders ; a favour- 
 able impression on Mary, who loved her country 
 too well, to love her country's foes. 
 
174 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 As he evinced no inclination to depart, Marj, 
 who recognised by the uniform some of the ahen 
 army, without noticing Captain Lovell's remarks, 
 coldly asked : 
 
 *' May I enquire why we are honoured with 
 this unsolicited visit ? 
 
 ** Fair lady," replied Captain Lovell, *^ candour 
 and truth have always been my motto, therefore 
 I must frankly tell you, though at the risk of 
 your displeasure ; the appearance of your castle 
 attracted me, and I came with the intention of 
 appropriating anything that might engage my 
 admiration. When I saw two old ladies up- 
 stairs, I could not think of shewing them any 
 incivility, and was about to depart, as they told 
 me they were widows and their sons away, when 
 I had the great good-fortune to meet your 
 exquisitely pretty self." 
 
 ''I am glad," said Mary, **to find that those 
 who invade our homes, and appropriate our 
 property, are not so devoid of manly feeling as to 
 molest unprotected ladies; then let me con- 
 gratulate you on the possession of this feeling, 
 and prove the reality of its existence, by bidding 
 you, good morning." 
 
 " I could never think of terminating, so 
 abruptly, such a desirable acquaintanceship. 
 May I have the pleasure of spending the 
 afternoon here, and, at the same time, of 
 enjoying the sweet pleasure of your company ? " 
 
 ** Sir," replied Mary, '* the hunted hare has no 
 
LOVELL MAKING LOVE. 175 
 
 inclination for the society of the hounds, and 
 those who are, perhaps, bereaved and desolated 
 by the warfare of invaders, have no desire for the 
 familiarity of their bitterest enemies." 
 
 '* Never before,'' rejoined Lovell, **did I 
 experience regret, that I did not belong to the 
 number of those whom you deem friends, but you 
 have altered all my cherished wishes and my 
 hopes; and, to win your favour, I would fain 
 become a deserter to your cause, did it not bring 
 a stain upon a soldier's honour ; but, can we not 
 be friends ? Cannot you allow me to be an 
 admirer ? Cannot you suffer me, on bended 
 knees, to plead my love before you ? for I must 
 confess I am captivated by your beauty." 
 
 ''Because I am unprotected," said Mary, 
 ''does the vaunted honour of a soldier scruple 
 not to insult me ? " 
 
 " Insult you, no ! but love you I cannot help." 
 
 " Then keep your love for those that will 
 appreciate it — I'll have none of it. If you have 
 the feelings of a man of honour, leave me." 
 
 " Then, as you spurn my love, my affection, 
 my adoration, and scornfully refuse my pleading 
 as your abject suitor, I have but one course 
 left." 
 
 " To go, as I have asked you ? " 
 
 " Nay ! to stay as I have power, and use that 
 power to subjugate your haughtiness, which so 
 pompously and heartlessly spurns me." 
 
 "Do my ears deceive me, or does my weak 
 
176 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 intellect erroneously misconstrue your words, as 
 though some honourless brigand, and not a 
 soldier, spoke ? What do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 *' I mean to stay, fair lady. To take up my 
 abode here, instead of at the hotel in Castletown, 
 and to ask you for a kiss, which I hope you will 
 not refuse me now." 
 
 Mary, who was full of intelligence, from this 
 speech, fully appreciated the character of the man 
 she had to deal with. She knew resistance was 
 impossible, and that violence and indignities 
 awaited her, unless she could out-manoeuvre the 
 unscrupulous roue who stood before her ; so, 
 changing her frown to a smile, she gently said : 
 
 *' Good sir, you lack not effrontery. Do you 
 mean to insinuate that you w^ould beard the lion 
 in his den ? " 
 
 "If you said the love bird in her cage, or the 
 angel in her bower, I could understand your 
 simile," said Lovell, who was determined to have 
 his wicked way ; but very much preferred wooing, 
 and conquering by love, than to have recourse to 
 overpowering violence. 
 
 Then, viewing him from head to foot, she said : 
 •'You look a gentleman — a noble face, too, and 
 manly figure. Can I trust your honour, if I ask 
 my mother to receive you as a guest ? Then 
 without impropriety we can walk together, and 
 hold conversation, and you may defend us also, 
 for I have heard the marauders are about." 
 
 Believing his point was gained, and that he 
 
FOREIGN SOLDIERS AT CASTLETOWN. 177 
 
 should be an inmate of the Castle, on terms of 
 dearest intimacy too; Lovell, with low bow and 
 hand on heart, replied : 
 
 '' Anything, dear lady, you suggest, will be my 
 greatest pleasure to perform. No stranger shall 
 molest you while I am here. I command the 
 mercenaries ; my word is law ; and disobedience 
 means death. This they know, and therefore, I 
 can rely on their subjection and compliance." 
 
 '' 'Tis well that you have come then, for half an 
 hour ago, when on my rounds visiting the poor, 
 the sad news reached me that foreign soldiery 
 had come to Castletown. I will go at once to 
 mother, and speak with her. She will comply 
 with my suggestion, seeing there is ground for 
 fear. And we shall have our protector in our 
 house, and his bedroom on the same floor with 
 ours, in case of sudden assault or molestation." 
 
 " You are as good, and kind, and clever, as you 
 are pretty, and never did my eyes behold a 
 lovelier face. Oh ! to walk with you, and speak 
 with you, 'twill be heaven; 'twill be paradise 
 indeed ! " 
 
 '* You flatter me; I'm sure I merit not a tithe 
 of such high compliment," said Mary, as, passing 
 by the bowing Lovell, she gently walked upstairs 
 to confer with her mamma. 
 
 It was in the old oak-room that Mary found her 
 mother and her aunt. She told them of the 
 meeting in the hall, and in gentle accents, with 
 suppressed voice, gave her opinion of the visitor. 
 
178 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 "He is a villain, mother, an unprincipled scoundrel, 
 who would pay no more regard to my entreaties 
 than the wolf would to the bleating of the lamb. 
 I am sure, if I stay beneath this roof to-night — 
 yes, this one night — he will, if not admitted, break 
 my door, enter my room, and offer me indignities. 
 I can see it all. It is the danger that the old 
 gipsy in dark phrases foreboded. Even now, had 
 I not beguiled him with fair words, he would 
 have assaulted me in the hall. However, my 
 decision is fully formed. As soon as all sus- 
 picion is allayed, I shall feign weariness, as though I 
 longed for bed. Then, while he speaks with you, — 
 and, mind that you detain him with some story or 
 enquiry — I shall retire by the back stairs, and shall 
 hasten to the boat house. Old Tom will hear my 
 tapping at his cabin door, and will take me in his 
 little gig across the bay, to our Castle on the 
 island. No one will see me as I depart. That 
 man will not know where to follow me, and, when 
 Gerald comes, you can tell him where I am." 
 
 " 'Tis well, my child ! your plan is very good ; 
 meanwhile we shall shew him all hospitality. 
 Bring him up now, lest too long a conference 
 should awake his suspicion, and introduce him 
 to us." 
 
 And Mary left the room, her pretty face beam- 
 ing with smiles, and hastening to the stalwart 
 soldier, said : *' Sir, will you be so good as to 
 come upstairs, and let my mother have the 
 pleasure of forming your acquaintance; but," 
 
WE HAVE NO ROYAL BLOOD IN ENGLAND NOW. 179 
 
 said she, pausing, " I have not the honour of 
 knowing your name or title, — of royal blood, I 
 presume ? " 
 
 ** No, gentle lady, not of royal blood. We have 
 no royal blood in England now ; we are under a 
 Protector. My name is Lovell — Captain Lovell, 
 with my title attached, but, if you will condescend 
 to please me, call me ' Fred.' *' 
 
 *' Oh ! what a pretty name," said Mary, and as 
 she led the way, he followed her upstairs, and was 
 formally introduced. 
 
 Mary did all in her power to make him fancy 
 she enjoyed his society. She sung for him. She 
 played. She received with smiles his attentions, 
 and Lovell was happy — happy in the anticipation 
 of ruining, that very night, the fair fame of Mary, 
 and, of gaining admission to her room, as soon as 
 all were lulled in sleep. Meanwhile he told stories 
 of his adventures. He sang too, and his was a 
 splendid voice ; and, with the effrontery of an 
 adept, he persisted in calling her "Mary," and 
 used untiring solicitude to induce her to call him 
 " Fred," and not Captain Lovell. 
 
 Begging to be excused for a moment, as he 
 wanted to give orders to his men, he left the 
 ladies. ** Why the devil," said he to himself as 
 he went, *' should I prolong or postpone. Her 
 brothers are expected, and may be here at any 
 time ; I must, therefore, make my arrangements 
 now." 
 
 Then summoning two non-commissioned 
 
180 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 officers, who were creatures of his will, he 
 directed them to dismiss the rest of the men to 
 their quarters at Castletown, where they were to 
 await his arrival the next day. '' Meanwhile," 
 said he, ''have you here your implements to open 
 doors, and break locks, for I may want you to 
 break one to-night, at midnight ? Mark well my 
 words." 
 
 " Yes, captain, we have all appliances, and shall 
 be ready at a moment's call. We will remain on 
 the benches in the kitchen, where there is good 
 fare and a good fire, until you want our aid." 
 
 ** All right," said Lovell, " don't get drinking 
 too much, but, if I don't want you by twelve 
 o'clock, you may take your rest as best you can. 
 No doubt yours will be comfortable quarters." 
 
 '' Captain, you may depend on us," said both 
 together. 
 
 *' Then ten gold crowns each, shall be your 
 reward." 
 
 As the evening advanced, Mary's mother 
 pointed out to the captain, the room he was to 
 occupy ; and, on the same landing, about a dozen 
 yards away, she pointed out other rooms. " That 
 is mine," said she, " that is Mrs. O'Brien's, and 
 that is Mary's. How well, in these distracted 
 times, that one should have a protector ! " 
 
 The hours flew quickly, and when nine o'clock 
 was past, Mary pleaded fatigue, and said she would 
 retire; and then the old ladies, as arranged, 
 became most inquisitive, and asked him of his 
 
MR. EDMOND FOLEY AND HIS WIFE, MARY. 181 
 
 dangers and escapes. Fully half an hour elapsed, 
 before Lovell was able to go to the blazing 
 fire, in the smoke-room, to enjoy his longed- 
 for cigar; and Mrs. O'Sullivan made him promise 
 he would return to the drawing-room, insisting 
 that he should have some wine or home-brewed 
 ale before he went to rest. 
 
 When Mary left the drawing-room, she 
 hastened to her bedroom, locked its door on the 
 inside, and left the key in the lock. There was 
 another door leading into a dressing-room, which 
 opened on a flight of stairs which conducted to 
 the kitchen. Through this she passed, locking it 
 after her, and taking the key. Then, in her 
 evening dress, but well muffled in cloak and 
 furs, she quietly glided down the back stairs, and 
 called for Mary. 
 
 Mary was an old servant of the family, in her 
 fifty-eighth year. She had been in the service 
 over forty years, and had married the butler, Mr. 
 Edmond Foley, whom she called Ted. They 
 had been married sixteen years, but had no family, 
 and both were highly esteemed by the O'Sullivans. 
 Mary was treated more like a relative than a 
 servant, particularly by her young mistress, whom 
 she had nursed when a baby, tended as a child, 
 and advised familiarly as she grew up. 
 
 Mary quickly attended to her call, and, seeing 
 the muffled face, the cloak and furs, said : 
 
 " Faix, 'tis mesef, wouldn't have known a bit 
 of ye, only Oi lieerd yer voice." 
 
182 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 ** Mary," said her mistress, "I don't like to 
 remain in the house with that man, and have 
 therefore decided to go to the Castle on the 
 island." 
 
 **And 'tis sure and sartin Oi am, that 'tis 
 quite right ye are, Miss, and right, too, to go 
 anonst, without anyone at all knowing anything 
 about it." 
 
 ** Mamma knows, of course. I told her all. 
 But, I may feel assured that captain will never 
 know where I have gone to, and, perhaps Mr. 
 Gerald will be back soon, and then I shall be 
 safe." 
 
 *' The Lord grant he may, Miss Mary. He 
 would soon sweep that villain off the face of the 
 earth." 
 
 ** Well, Mary, I have locked my bedroom door, 
 and here is the key for you. I hope not to be 
 away more than three or four days, and be sure 
 to tell Mr. Gerald where I am. He will come 
 to me at once. Now, good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, and heaven bless ye, me darlint, 
 and bring ye safe," said Mary, taking the bed- 
 room key. 
 
 Miss O'Sullivan, after this conversation, passed 
 from the house by a door at the back, and, 
 hurrying on the path that she and Gerald 
 walked the evening before his departure, she 
 directed her steps towards the boat-house. As 
 she went, she came to the same ivy- mantled 
 oak against which he leant, and kissed it lovingly. 
 
OLD TOM'S LITTLE HOUSE. 183 
 
 " Oh, that he were here now," said she, '* but, 
 as the old woman told me, * he may come, one 
 day, too late. ' " And soon she arrived at old 
 Tom's little house, and tapping gently at the door, 
 the old man quickly opened it. 
 
 '' Och, Miss Mary, what in the world brings 
 ye out this hour of night ? The Lord be praised, 
 Oi hope there is nothen gone astray." 
 
 '' Tom, speak gently ; I want you at once to 
 get the oars, and row me to the island. I mean 
 to sleep at the castle there to-night, but you must 
 return here, lest any one should suspect you had 
 brought me over.'* 
 
 ** 'Tis mesef will bring ye anywhere, and 
 sure ye desarve that Oi should walk there on me 
 bare knees, if that same was possible at all at all." 
 
 Mary was soon on the water. It was as 
 smooth as glass. The old man, skilled in 
 handling his oar, made but the smallest noise, 
 and, had not the moon been shining brightly, no 
 one could tell what course was taken. 
 
 Ah ! She did not know that one of Lovell's 
 soldiers was close at hand, watching her depar- 
 ture. True, he did not recognise her, and 
 fancied, from her disguise, she was an old country 
 woman. But as soon as the fact was known 
 that she was gone, and search and enquiry made, 
 he had sufficient information, to give his master 
 most valuable intelligence. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CAPTAIN LOVELL AND THE COOK. 
 
 " If the beam of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise 
 another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would 
 conduct us to most preposterous conclusions." — Othello. 
 
 A FULL hour elapsed before Mary and her escort 
 arrived at Bere Island, and half an hour more 
 before she knocked at the castle door, when she 
 was soon admitted by the old caretaker, whose 
 wife quickly made ready an apartment, in the 
 strongest room, for her unexpected mistress. 
 
 The Castle was a fortress of the O'Sullivans. 
 It was old and strongly built, with walls of tremen- 
 dous thickness, and massive oaken doors with 
 inlaid iron. There were loop-holes through which 
 the defenders might fire, in any direction, on an 
 approaching enemy. It had been a safe retreat in 
 former troubled times, and Mary felt the confidence 
 of security as soon as she was safely within it. 
 Each apartment had its heavy oak door and 
 double locks, and iron bars inside. But she felt 
 safe, not because the place was strong, but because 
 she believed her retreat would not be discovered. 
 Meanwhile, let us return to Dunboy. 
 
 Having received her directions, the faithful 
 
TED AND SERGEANT COCKA YNE. 185 
 
 Mary returned to the kitchen, where her husband 
 Ted, and the two soldiers were fraternising most 
 cordially, drinking together the strong home-brewed 
 ale, smoking, and detailing narratives in connec- 
 tion with their past experiences. 
 
 Ted was beginning to feel the effects of the beer. 
 Too great a love for it was his only failing. 
 Fondly attached to the family, strictly honest, 
 always attentive to his duties, and, besides, an 
 excellent servant, there never was a fault to be 
 found with him, except that he would sometimes, 
 as he expressed it himself, '*take a dhrop too 
 much." 
 
 The soldiers, too, might be described by 
 some of those numerous phrases which are 
 employed to indicate approaching inebriation, 
 6.^., 'Pushed," ^^fuU," ** tight," ^'on their eye," 
 *' half seas over," etc., and, the general effect on 
 the whole party, was to impart wonderful powers 
 of loquacity. 
 
 Ted had detailed the particulars of a voyage 
 which he once made from Cork to Liverpool, and 
 his adventures while in England ; and then, the 
 soldiers narrated, in turn, their exploits at the 
 siege of Limerick, and the hairbreadth escapes 
 they more than once experienced. '' Oh ! " said 
 Sergeant Cockayne, *' no mistake, but there were 
 some fine men within the walls — men with 
 fearless hearts, and with the strength of giants. 
 There was one young captain who would often 
 lead a company out, and attack whatever group 
 
186 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 of our soldiers came in his way. He was tall, and 
 very fair ; we used to call him the * White Devil.' 
 To tell you the honest truth, he was the terror of 
 our whole army, for wherever he went he managed 
 to mow down our men, while his life seemed 
 charmed, our fellows being never able to wound 
 him. One night, we made a prisoner; he was 
 left for dead, but, when the bleeding from his 
 wound was stopped, he came to, and he told us his 
 leader was a Mr. O'Brien — Fergus O'Brien, I think 
 he called him. Our Captain Lovell, who is a first- 
 class swordsman and as brave as a lion, often 
 wished to meet him, but, as chance would have it, 
 they never had a tussle." 
 
 " Fergus O'Brien ! " said Ted, his eyes lighting 
 up with joy. ** Why, that is our young masther 
 here; his mother is one of the ould ladies up- 
 sthairs, and we don't know if he is dead or 
 alive — one word we haven't heerd ov him the 
 last three months." 
 
 *'He was not killed at the siege," said the 
 Sergeant, ** and, when the surrender was made, 
 nearly every one of our men tried to catch a 
 glimpse of him among the departing soldiers, but 
 he was not with them. Perhaps he died of the 
 plague, or the fever which was raging in the city." 
 
 Mary's entrance put a stop to the conversation, 
 as she beckoned her husband, wishing to speak 
 something to him in private, and Ted, rather 
 unwillingly, attended to her appeal, for he was 
 intensely interested in the conversation. 
 
MARY LECTURES HER HUSBAND. 187 
 
 When she had him apart, she said, *' Now, Ted, 
 ye are forgettin yersef, and are takin too much 
 dhrink agin. Oi'm ashamed of ye ; afore thim 
 foren sojers, too. Howsomever, what Oi want to 
 tell ye is, that Miss Mary will not be in her bed- 
 room for the next three or four nights. Mind, 
 keep that to yersef; and, nixt, that Oi'm goen to 
 sleep there, to prevent the clothes gettin damp ; 
 ye can take yer choice, whether ye will stay in 
 yer own room, or go there, too." 
 
 "All right," said Ted, who was anxious to get 
 back to hear more about the siege and Master 
 Fergus. 
 
 Eut Mary did not revisit the kitchen, as it was 
 approaching ten o'clock, but forthwith duly 
 attended to the old ladies. The Captain had 
 returned from the smoke-room, and sat with 
 them, entertaining them with most interesting 
 conversation, until they begged to be excused, 
 and retired to their bedrooms. Then Mary, 
 released from further anxiety, entering from the 
 door at the back, went to her young mistress's 
 room, and, before going to bed, unlocked the front 
 door, in case Ted should decide to leave his usual 
 apartment. 
 
 Ted, however, and the soldiers continued their 
 stories, their pipes, and their drinks. Ten o'clock 
 passed, eleven o'clock, and twelve ; still they con- 
 tinued their carouse, until they all became so 
 charmed with each other's society that they 
 vowed eternal friendship, and finally fell soundly 
 
188 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 asleep in the easy chairs, in that warm kitchen, 
 with its good blazing fire. 
 
 Not so Captain Lovell. Having left the 
 drawing-room, he enjoyed a most delightful 
 smoke, in a room which was the picture of 
 comfort and luxury. There was the good fire, 
 the soft carpet, the little wooden spikets to 
 light the cigar or pipe, the spittoons in all 
 convenient places, the brightly shining candles, 
 the mirrors, before which he more than once 
 admired his figure and twirled the ends of 
 his moustache. *' By Jove ! there are good 
 quarters in this establishment " said he to 
 himself, ^' I mean to make myself at home here 
 for the next few weeks ; and will have my men on 
 the alert, to prevent the return of those young 
 soldiers they are expecting. Though, perhaps, 
 they are now dead of the plague, or slain in the 
 war. And all the better if so ; they won't trouble 
 me nor themselves either; for, they will know 
 nothing about it." 
 
 Then Mary occupied his thoughts. He felt 
 smitten. A love attack was not an uncommon 
 affliction with the brave Captain, but, in this case, 
 its severity could be only described by our modern 
 hyperboles, '* awfully awful," or "too too utterly 
 too too." Yes ! he felt awfully awful in love. 
 She was an exquisite creature, an angel ; only he 
 was married, he believed he would be sufficiently 
 foolish to select her for a wife. 
 
 Some of those brave captains, life-guardsmen. 
 
MOTHS THAT FLUTTER AROUND ANY LIGHT. 189 
 
 etc — exquisites in their way, in all the pom- 
 posity of self-conceit and vanity of good looks — 
 deem themselves so perfectly irresistible, that no 
 lady could withstand their overpowering fascin- 
 ations. And there are some weak-minded girls — 
 reminding one of moths that would flutter round 
 any light, no matter how dim and insignificant — 
 whose frivolous heads are so moved, even by com- 
 mon-place compliments, that they afford these 
 coxcombs a very reasonable foundation for their 
 opinionative pride, however extravagant. But it is 
 also true, that there are many girls whose minds 
 are as full of intelligence as their faces of beauty, 
 and who can accurately estimate all imperson- 
 ations of presumption, and can '* divide them 
 inventorially," arranging in proper places their 
 foibles, their follies, their foolishness, and their 
 fooleries, without the slightest risk to " dizzy the 
 arithmetic of memory." 
 
 Lovell, having thoroughly enjoyed his smoke, 
 returned to the drawing-room, and soon after, the 
 old ladies wishing to retire, he wished them a 
 good night, and, at their request, brought a 
 decanter of excellent port back to the smoking 
 room, where he intended, before bed-time, to 
 spend another hour. 
 
 And as he meditated on the consummation of 
 his villainous enterprise — his predetermined in- 
 tent to enter Mary's room — he smoked cigarette 
 after cigarette, and took glass after glass of wine; 
 until the heat, the smoke, and the wine accom- 
 
190 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 plished their customary effect, and he felt, what 
 in common parlance may be described as '' con- 
 siderably muddled," and his power of distinct 
 utterance considerably impaired. 
 
 It was now about half -past eleven. The house 
 had been quiet for more than an hour, when the 
 captain, with boots off, and candlestick in hand, 
 proceeded with cautious, noiseless steps to Mary's 
 bedroom door. He expected to find it locked, and 
 that he must then summon the assistance of his 
 henchmen ; but he saw little boots outside, and 
 this gave him hope ; then he quietly turned the 
 handle, and, to his delight, the door opened. 
 Fancying he heard a noise in the distance, he 
 quickly entered and quickly closed the door ; the 
 effect of the latter movement being, to blow his 
 candle out and leave him entirely in the dark. 
 However, he minded not this. He was at the 
 right side of the door, and, feeling for the key, he 
 locked it; then his heart beat with excitement 
 and joy, at finding himself so near the consum- 
 mation of his wishes. 
 
 *'Ah!" thought he to himself, ''the little 
 minx is just like the generality of her sex. She 
 only wants an opportunity, when a fellow happens 
 to be good looking. I really expected she would 
 have locked the door, and given me no end of 
 difficulty — another siege, in fact — but here it is, all 
 plain sailing; a surrender of the garrison, by Jove !" 
 
 And then he began, with arms outstretched, to 
 grope, just as children do when playing "■ blind 
 
WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YE UP TO NOW? 191 
 
 man's buff," to discover the object of his search ; 
 and as he groped, he knocked over a chair ; and 
 Mary, half aroused from her sleep, mechanically 
 muttered, ''Is that ye, Ted? Dhrinking too 
 much agin, Oi suppose." And Lovell answered, 
 '* Yes, my dear, it is Fred," for, to his delight, he 
 thought his adored one had addressed him by 
 name. Then, guided by the voice, he quickly 
 reached the bed, and, divesting himself of his 
 habiliments, he was soon under the clothes, 
 close to Mary. 
 
 Putting his arm round her, he commenced to 
 embrace her affectionately. 
 
 " What the Dickens are ye up to now ? " said • 
 Mary. *'Do ye want to squeeze the breath out 
 of me ontirely, or do ye think it is a hould of one 
 of the sojers ye have got ? " 
 
 "No, dearest," said he, rising on his elbow 
 and imprinting several warm kisses on her face, 
 which was now turned towards him. 
 
 *' Wisha, bad luck from ye," said Mary. *' Is 
 it drunk all out ye are ? The diviFs in how fond 
 ye've got, all of a sudden." 
 
 ''No, darling, I am not so drunk, though I 
 have imbibed a trifle too much, but the fact is, I 
 love you from my heart." 
 
 " Oh ! bad scram to ye," said Mary, " how ye 
 are putten up the English already. Oi'm shure 
 and sartin if those sojers were here for two days 
 more, it's not able to understand ye Oi'd be, ye'd 
 be so moightely Englified." 
 
192 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 Lovell, half intoxicated, and somewhat per- 
 plexed at what he considered Mary's Irishisms, 
 again commenced to kiss his beloved, till Mary, 
 with strong efforts, escaping his embrace, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Is it want to smother me ye do? Shure, 
 Oi niver thought there was such life in the beer. 
 There's no mistake but it's well worth taking out 
 a recet for," and, so saying, she slipped quietly 
 from the bed, bringing a pillow and Eider-down 
 quilt with her. 
 
 Lovell for a while groped for her in the dark, 
 then, being overcome with wine and sleep, soon, 
 by his heavy breathing, showed the soundness of 
 his repose. When Mary, feeling all was safe, 
 gently crept back to bed, and quickly falling into a 
 deep and quiet sleep, ceased to remember what she 
 considered her husband's drunken absurdities. 
 
 Both slept soundly till the morning was well 
 advanced. Mary, with wise precaution, had not 
 drawn down the blinds of her mistress's bedroom 
 window, that the light might enter and awaken 
 her in good time ; yet, it so happened that she 
 slept longer that morning than usual. So, when 
 she awoke, the clear light was shining in. Then, 
 giving Ted, whose back was turned to her, a 
 couple of smart taps, just on that region where 
 naughty children are wont to receive maternal 
 correction, she said, '* Get up, get up, the milk- 
 man is knocken at the door, and the ladies and 
 the captain will be wanten their breakfast." 
 
TORRENTS OF ELOQ UENCE. 193 
 
 Lovell, to whom this mode of awakening was 
 decidedly novel, started from his sleep, turned his 
 face towards Mary, and, rubbing his eyes, as if he 
 could not believe his senses — at last; after at least 
 a minute's pause ; during which poor Mary, like 
 one spell bound, was gazing into his face — ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 ** "Who the devil are you ? " 
 
 " Like your impedence," retorted Mary, *' It's 
 who the divil are you ? How dare ye come into 
 this bedroom ? Oi suppose if any one else had 
 been here it would have been all the same ; and 
 then to come to me in the dark of the night, and 
 to tell me, ye mane lying blackguard, that ye 
 were Ted. Lord, Lord, whatever shall I 
 do ? " And Mary burst out crying. 
 
 Lovell was thoroughly defeated by this tor- 
 rent of eloquence, which, however deficient in 
 elegance, lacked nothing in strength of diction 
 and energy of delivery. He was vanquished — 
 beaten on his own ground, so to speak. He had 
 no defence to make. He felt that he had either 
 been deceived by the old ladies, who told him 
 that was Mary's room, or that he had made a 
 mistake — had taken the wrong door — and had only 
 to blame himself for having indulged too freely the 
 night before. So, turning to Mary, he said : 
 
 *' I am exceedingly sorry, I can assure you. I 
 mistook this for another room. It was all a 
 misconception, owing to that beer of yours, I 
 suppose." 
 
194 THE GHOST OF DUNDOY CASTLE. 
 
 *' Yis, that's all very fine ; but what will me 
 husba,nd say ? And then to tell me ye were 
 Ted. Was that all a mistake too ? " 
 
 *' Be assured, my good old lady, I shall not say 
 anything about it. But may I ask, if this is your 
 room, why was not your husband in it ? " 
 
 *'0i expected him in it," said Mary, **but Oi 
 suppose thim sojers made him drink too much, 
 and that he is still lyen drunk in the kitchen." 
 > ** Is this then your bedroom ? " 
 
 **No. It is my young mistress's room; and, 
 as she was goen from home last night, Oi jist 
 comed to sleep here to keep her bed aired. Oi 
 suppose ye are the captain ; if so, yer bedroom 
 is at the other side of the passage altogither." 
 
 '' Yes," said Lovell, who now understood all, 
 and how Mary had escaped him. *'Yes, I am 
 the captain. It was a sad mistake. But where 
 has your mistress gone ?" 
 
 '' Oi'm shure Oi can't say, but she tould me she 
 would only be away for a few days, and to tell 
 her mamma and auntie she would not be long, 
 and was quite safe. But Oi knew when she said 
 a few days, it might mean a week, so Oi thought 
 Oi'd come in here to sleep, to keep the damp 
 from the bed. Och ! ahone ! a sorry day for me, 
 a sorry day for me," and poor Mary wept again. 
 
 Lovell had by this time reassumed his 
 garments, and, taking a few gold coins from his 
 pocket, threw them on the bed to Mary, who as 
 quickly took them up and flung them after him 
 
HOW THE HIDING PLACE WAS DISCOVERED. 195 
 
 as he left the room ; for this insult, added to her 
 injury, made her boil with rage. 
 
 Lovell was in a rage, too. He felt the old ladies 
 had not deceived him; that it was the old 
 servant's desire to keep the bed aired, that led to 
 her being there ; that the absence of her husband 
 was, as she suggested, probably due to drink ; 
 and, that Mary had completely lulled his sus- 
 picions, and then cleverly and artfully escaped his 
 hold. '' But I shall have her yet," muttered he, 
 between his clenched teeth. " Now, I must dis- 
 cover where she has fled ; it could not be far, at 
 that late hour of night." So, calling for his men, 
 he told them that the young lady had quitted the 
 house, taking with her all the valuables, and that 
 discovery of her retreat must be made at once. 
 
 ** Captain," said one of the men, *' about half- 
 past nine last night, being very heated with the 
 big fire in the kitchen, and the beer, I walked out 
 to cool myself, and saw what appeared to me to 
 be an old woman, departing from the house. She 
 went down a walk that runs close to the sea, and, 
 presently, I saw her out in a boat on the water, 
 with a man who plied skilfully two oars. As the 
 moon shone brightly, I could see that they went 
 straight across the bay, for the island." 
 
 '* Does anyone live on the island?" asked 
 Lovell, who now felt convinced he had the clue to 
 her discovery. 
 
 '' I went there a few days ago," replied the man, 
 ** there is but one building ; it is a fortified castle ; 
 
196 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 a strong place, too. If there were soldiers to 
 defend it, fifty men would not take it until the 
 garrison was starved out." 
 
 '' Indeed ! " said Lovell, "- get the boat ready, 
 and we will start for Castletown at once/' 
 
 The men set off forthwith, and did as directed. 
 Lovell — who did not await breakfast with the two 
 old ladies, and had no particular fancy to see his 
 bedfellow again, and did not care for an introduc- 
 tion to her husband ; having braced on his sword, 
 and donned his helmet, was off with them in less 
 than half an hour. 
 
 When he arrived at Castletown, he took his 
 breakfast hastily, at the hotel. Then, soon the 
 bugle-call brought together all his men. He 
 singled out six ; and, when all the necessary 
 appliances — to batter down doors, break locks, and 
 obtain admission to a closed castle, which had no 
 defenders — were prepared, he got a six-oared 
 boat, and his men plying a long, and a strong, 
 and a pull-together stroke, he was soon well off 
 for the island. 
 
 Under the guidance of the man who had visited 
 the Castle before, they did not attempt a landing 
 near it, but made for a little strand, far down the 
 bay, and more than a mile distant. The intention 
 was to escape observation, and thus, perhaps, 
 to gain admission without a struggle. 
 
 It was after two o'clock in the afternoon when 
 they were enabled to leave Castletown ; another 
 hour had elapsed before they landed on the 
 
A POOR STRANGER WANTS A LODGING. 197 
 
 island ; and the darkness, which they desired and 
 awaited, had the assistance of a thick fog, to 
 screen them from view as they approached the 
 walls. However, the portly gates were closed. 
 Lovell, with gentle step, drew near ; for a moment 
 stood, in silent attention, listening for a sound ; 
 then tapped so gently that it was necessary to 
 knock a second time before there was any answer. 
 At length, the feeble voice, as of an aged man, 
 asked from inside, ** Who's there ? " and in reply, 
 a well-feigned voice made answer, "■ A poor 
 stranger who wants a lodging for the night/' 
 
 *' Strangers cannot get on this island without 
 help," said the old man, ** so when they do, they 
 had better return as they came, for there is no 
 admission here." 
 
 Mary had given strict directions to keep the 
 place closed, although she did not apprehend that 
 anyone would guess her place of refuge, and this 
 put the old caretaker on his guard. But the answer 
 also brought conviction to Lovell's mind that here 
 was the object of his search ; and, therefore, 
 laying aside all further pleading, he, in command- 
 ing voice, demanded admission at once, and 
 added, '* I herewith inform everyone within, that, 
 if the doors are not at once opened, I shall break 
 them in, and, as soon as I get possession, I shall 
 treat all as enemies, and put them to the sword or 
 any other punishment I may think fit to award." 
 
 The caretaker and his wife were filled with fear 
 for their own safety, and, without doubt, would 
 
198 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 have immediately opened the doors, but Mary drew 
 them back, and succeeded in inducing them to 
 refrain from any reply, and to retire to the upper 
 part of the building, 
 
 But at the door, forthwith, operations were 
 commenced with the hatchet, the axe, and the 
 crowbar. The six men, in successive turns, 
 laboured with untiring energy and perseverance, 
 and, for two hours, the massive oaken doors 
 defied their utmost efforts. 
 
 Oh ! if there were two armed defenders inside, 
 they could have shot down the attackers with ease, 
 and fifty men would have had no chance of gaining 
 admission ; but there were only one old man and 
 one old woman, both over seventy years of age, 
 and the youthful, beautiful, and unarmed Mary. 
 
 And, as the last bars gave way, the old man 
 and woman, trembling for their safety, came down 
 and said ''they would open and admit, if their 
 lives were spared," and Lovell answered : 
 
 "Yes, your lives shall be spared, if you admit 
 us at once, and then shew us where your young 
 mistress is concealed ; " adding, *' we mean her 
 no harm, but must know." 
 
 The old people joyfully assented to the terms, 
 and having withdrawn some bolts, and pushed 
 back some bars, and turned the keys in two locks, 
 all of which would have given considerable trouble, 
 they admitted Lovell and his men. 
 
 '* Where is she ? " said Lovell, '' point her out 
 at once, or pay the penalty of your lives." 
 
THE STRONG ROOM OF THE CASTLE. 199 
 
 Then they led him up winding stairs till they 
 came to what was called the *' strong room " — 
 and strong it was. No fire could penetrate it; 
 to burrow through its walls would take at least 
 two days. Its oaken door, in all respects like that 
 at the entrance of the Castle, was its weakest point. 
 
 Then, Lovell sent all downstairs — the old man 
 and woman, and his own men — and, drawing 
 close to the door, said in tenderest accents : 
 
 *' Mary, darling, let me see that sweetest face 
 once again. I have pined for you — longed for you. 
 Oh ! why did you fly and leave me ? " 
 
 And Mary doubted in her mind what course 
 would be the better to pursue. Whether to defy 
 him, or to speak kindly, and so 'gain time. Some- 
 how she felt that Gerald was coming, and that his 
 strong arm would bring to her security. And as 
 these thoughts ran in quick succession through 
 her brain, and as Lovell still in most loving 
 accents pleaded, she replied : 
 
 "• Captain Lovell, I deem not myself worthy of 
 your great and continued attentions. Give me two 
 days to consider, and then having tested your 
 patience, and the sincerity and constancy of your 
 love, if still you ask me, I shall open the door. I 
 promise it, that is, if I am able." 
 
 Mary had determined, that if the allotted time 
 was granted and no Gerald came, to drink the 
 contents of the little bottle which the old woman 
 gave her, and which she had safely kept, and 
 therefore she added, " if I am able.*' 
 
200 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 But Lovell pleaded still, with all that pro- 
 digality of avowal which the boiling blood lends 
 the subservient tongue, till finding it was of no 
 avail, he changed his manner and his voice and 
 said. 
 
 ** I can see you wish to cajole me again, as you 
 did at Dunboy. I had you there in my power, 
 and was a fool to let you away ; but you shall not 
 befool me a second time, so if you do not open 
 the door quietly, 1 shall bring my men up, and 
 they shall commence to open a passage at once." 
 
 Mary to this appeal made no reply. Again he 
 threatened, but she vouchsafed no answer. So, 
 burning with rage, he shouted to his men, and 
 they forthwith came, bringing with them the 
 implements which they had used so successfully 
 at the other door. And then the hatchet, and 
 the axe, and the crowbar, were again employed in 
 quick succession, and without intermission, for as 
 one man grew weary a fresh man took his place, 
 and Lovell, by their side, encouraged them to 
 their work. 
 
 Two full hours they toiled before the broken 
 wood and distorted bars enabled them to look into 
 the room. It was all darkness, and there was not 
 the smallest sound. 
 
 Mary had sat on her bedside, in an agony of 
 suspense, with no one near to give her sympathy, 
 oi- support in her tribulation. She listened to 
 hear the voice of Gerald on the stairs, till the very 
 listening became painful in its intensity ; and then 
 
ONE DAY TOO LA TE ! 201 
 
 she uttered to herself the old woman's words, 
 " One day too late ! One day too late ! " Yet still 
 she listened, and still she hoped ; but when the 
 panels of the door were broken away; and the 
 iron bars in part removed, enabled her to see, 
 by the light outside, the forms of the soldiers, 
 and Lovell's handsome but detested face among 
 the number ; she lost all heart, all hope, and 
 taking the little vial from its hiding place, she 
 recalled the old woman's words — '* When you 
 have no friend near, and ignominy worse than 
 death approaches you, it will make you con- 
 queror." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MARY O'SULLIVAN TAKES THE POISON. 
 
 E meglio morir con onore, che vivere con Vergogna. 
 
 Italian Proverb. 
 
 Better to die with honour, chaste, and pure, 
 Than, steeped in shame, a wretched hfe endure. 
 
 When Gerald left Mary on the shore of Bantry 
 Bay, the favouring breezes filled the sails, and 
 soon bore his little vessel out of sight. Onward 
 on her way she sped, wind and weather auspicious 
 to her course, and for two days the voyage was 
 most prosperous. On the third day the clouds 
 began to overhang the sky, a gloom of darkness 
 obscured the sun, and, as the evening drew on, 
 the fitful gusts increased in violence until they 
 became a storm. 
 
 Stronger and stronger still the fierce blast blew, 
 and when the treacherous Bay of Biscay was 
 reached, the waves rose high like mountains, and 
 the breaking surf upon their summits more than 
 once washed over the deck. 
 
 Believing they could not weather such terrific 
 storms and seas, though under furled sails ; they 
 directed their whole care to keep the water 
 
SOME TRIED IN VAIN TO FORMULA TE A PR A YER. 203 
 
 pumped out ; and, so to steer, that indifferent of 
 their course, they might avoid being washed over- 
 board, or escape being overwhelmed by the weight 
 of the descending mountains. 
 
 For long hours, in the dread suspense of dark 
 uncertainty, they were tossed at the mercy of 
 both wind and waves, in total ignorance of their 
 course, and drifting where the raging south-west 
 wind directed them. 
 
 As morning dawned they perceived land on the 
 larboard side, nor could they determine what 
 part of the coast it was. Of one thing they were 
 quite certain, that they were being driven rapidly 
 towards it, and that in another hour or two, at 
 most, they would be dashed upon the shore, 
 where their vessel would soon go to pieces. 
 
 It was a season of dark despair. Death, at no 
 immeasurable distance, seemed to stare them in 
 the face. The hardiest sailors on board lost 
 heart, and gave evidence of their fears in various 
 ways. Some swore, and used the awful language 
 of blasphemy and imprecation ; some looked 
 paralysed, incapable of thought or reflection ; and 
 some on bended knees tried in vain to formulate 
 a prayer. The captain, Gerald, and two sailors, 
 were obliged to do all the work. They alone were 
 sufficiently composed, to keep the vessel secure 
 from each wave rolling over her, and involving 
 all in swift destruction. Six out of the ten were 
 spell-bound by fear, at the prospect of the 
 approaching watery grave. Nor had they long 
 
204 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 to wait. Already they were so close to land, they 
 could see the people gathered on the shore, where 
 they had assembled to witness the wreck. Closer 
 and closer she came, and presently, a heavy thud 
 announced that she had struck the ground. Thud 
 after thud succeeded each other in rapid succes- 
 sion, as wave succeeded wave ; and volumes of 
 water rolled over her, and rushed into the cabin 
 from below, through a rent where a plank had 
 been staved in. Some sought the masts ; some, 
 taking life-buoys, leaped into the sea, and were 
 soon lost to sight ; and some tried to escape by 
 boat, which was quickly capsized and all its 
 occupants drowned. 
 
 Among those who had taken life-buoys were the 
 captain and Gerald. They were both good swim- 
 mers and powerful men. One of the sailors, a 
 young man whose mother lived in Castletown, 
 kept for awhile along with them, but the repeated 
 breaking of the waves at last overpowered his 
 breath, and they missed him from their company, 
 to reappear no more. 
 
 More than once the task to reach the shore 
 seemed more than their human power could 
 accomplish ; and, amid the terrors of his position, 
 often did Mary come to Gerald's mind, and the 
 thought of her acted as a charm, to nerve him for 
 fresh effort, and to brace him for renewed exer- 
 tion. But the wintry water was cold — oh! so 
 cold ! — and this chilling cold, after the exposure 
 of the past long night, commenced to undermine 
 
VISIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 205 
 
 his strength and tell upon his frame. A sleepy 
 dizziness began to creep over his senses, and in a 
 mystified, confused dream, he seemed to feel the 
 sea-weed wrapped about his head, and to hear the 
 sounds of rattling stones echoing in his ears. 
 Then visions of his childhood, and scenes long 
 since forgotten, followed in quick succession, with 
 a vividness and an accuracy, as though the scenes 
 were again being enacted full before his view. 
 Then every action of his boyhood and his man- 
 hood years ; nothing that conscience had at the 
 time condemned, was now omitted. He could 
 remember when an untruth passed his lips, and 
 the craven fear that prompted him to utter it. 
 He could remember how more than once with 
 cruelty he beat his pony, or spurred his noble 
 horse's side. The thought came back, too, how 
 at times, forgetful of his duty to his mother, he 
 made the tear of grief run down her loving face. 
 The vision also presented to his wondering view 
 the revelries of unthinking, foolish, opening man- 
 hood's days; and how he had, in half-inebriated 
 wickedness, perpetrated offences against the 
 religion he had been carefully taught, and the 
 morality he had been brought up to respect. 
 Then, as the panorama passed, there came 
 a blank, and in its centre, as in letters of 
 fire. 
 
 ** Eejoice, young man, in thy youth, and let 
 thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth; and 
 walk in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of 
 
206 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE, 
 
 thine eyes ; but know thou, that for all these God 
 will bring thee into judgment." 
 
 Then came a blank again, and when it jDassed, 
 appeared each act of kindness, each feeling of 
 sympathy with distress, each word of comfort to 
 the afflicted, each hand of succour to the bereaved, 
 the destitute, the suffering, the unfortunate ; and, 
 as they followed in succession, they shed a thrill- 
 ing beam of sunshine on his soul, which seemed 
 so soothing and refreshing ; and then the vision 
 ceased, and all was silent as the grave. 
 
 How long an interval elapsed he could not tell; 
 but with returning consciousness he felt a sense 
 of warmth, and, opening his eyes, perceived he 
 was the inmate of an humble, but comfortable, 
 peasant's cottage. He saw two females near him. 
 One was evidently the mother of the other ; both 
 were dark, and under middle height; both had 
 regular features, with the characteristic French 
 expression; they conversed together so rapidly 
 that he could not understand one word they 
 spoke. The quick eye of the elder soon detected 
 that he had opened his eyes and looked around ; 
 then, with the inherent politeness of her nation, 
 she smiled good humouredly and kindly, and 
 slowly said : 
 
 '* Monsieur, Je vous souhaite le bon jour, 
 J'espere que vous etes en bonne sante. Comment 
 vous etes-vous porte depuis hier ? Voulez-vous 
 prendre quelque chose pour vous refraicher ? Que 
 puis-je vous offrir ? " 
 
GERALD AND THE FRENCH LADIES. 207 
 
 ** Good morning sir, I hope you feel well, how 
 do you find yourself to-day ? Will you take any 
 refreshment ? Can I offer you anything ? " 
 
 '* Madame,'* muttered Gerald, who had much 
 difficulty in recalling a word of French, *' Je vous 
 suis tres-oblige, mais, en ce moment, je ne me sens 
 pas dispose a rien prendre. Je vous remercie 
 beaucoup, beaucoup." 
 
 *' I am much obliged to you, but I do not feel 
 disposed just now to take anything. I thank you 
 very much." 
 
 It is a difficulty, which can only be appreciated 
 by persons who have had the actual experience, 
 when those who are strangers to each other's 
 language are thrown into each other's society, 
 without the aid of an interpreter. All has to be 
 conducted by signs, signals, and manipulation ; a 
 mode of intercourse replete with perplexity, and 
 abounding with numerous misunderstandings. 
 
 It was some days before Gerald could quit his 
 bed, but youth and a good constitution have 
 wonderful resuscitative powers, and as soon as he 
 was able, he left the abode of the hospitable 
 people who had saved his life ; by the warm 
 shake of the hand, and by the courteous bow, 
 alone, shewing how deep his gratitude, how much 
 he appreciated the kindness, and how largely he 
 felt indebted for their care. 
 
 His vessel was driven ashore between the 
 Koches de Porsal on the left, and I. d'Oues- 
 sant on the right, close to a sea-side village, 
 
308 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE, 
 
 called Janildut, near to which lived his gener- 
 ous preservers. From thence he made his way 
 with difficulty to another village, called Eenan, 
 clothed in the borrowed coat and hat of the 
 husband of his entertainer, and from thence to 
 Brest. From this, after the delay of a few 
 days, he was so fortunate as to get the offer, of 
 working his passage as a sailor, to Cork. 
 
 A week elapsed while the little two-master was 
 getting in her cargo, and then, to his unbounded 
 delight, the weather being favourable, he again 
 set out to sea, part of the time working as a 
 labourer, and part pulling at ropes, and making 
 himself as generally useful as a landsman in his 
 position could. 
 
 The vessel was slow, and the winds light, and 
 so another week elapsed before they arrived at 
 Cork. During the voyage he regained much of 
 his strength, and, shortly after he set foot on 
 shore, in his extraordinary dress, and without one 
 penny in his pocket, he set out for Castletown, a 
 distance of nearly forty Irish miles, starting about 
 eleven o'clock. 
 
 The days were short, the roads were wet and 
 muddy, and it was nine at night before he reached 
 Bantry. It so happened that a fishing boat was 
 going down the bay, and he went on board, 
 wearied with his long walk, and heartily glad to 
 get a rest. 
 
 The boat did not start until one in the morn- 
 ing; the weather set in to freeze ; the moon shone 
 
IT WAS THEN HIS TROUBLE BEGAN. 209 
 
 forth brilliantly ; and the breezes died away ; and 
 while Gerald was in a sailor's hammock enjoying 
 a much needed sleep, her sails idly flapped, and 
 she stood almost stationary in the water. When 
 he awoke next day, after ten hours uninterrupted 
 repose, refreshed and strengthened, he found that 
 they had not accomplished more than half the 
 way. However, there was no alternative. Between 
 pulling with two unwieldy long oars, and catching 
 an occasional puff from the hills, it was nine at 
 night before they reached Dunboy. 
 
 Oh ! it was then indeed his trouble commenced. 
 He found Mrs. 0' Sullivan almost frantic with 
 grief and anxiety. The story was soon told him 
 of the advent of Captain Lovell and his men. 
 How Mary had gone on the previous night to the 
 castle on the island, and how Lovell, by some 
 means, had discovered her hiding place, and had 
 followed her that morning, with a boat load of 
 able men. 
 
 He felt not a moment was to be lost, so, quickly 
 divesting himself of his *' peasant's " garb, he put 
 on his Spanish helmet, with its waving plumes, 
 his soldier's dress, and Spanish cloak ; and, sum- 
 moning to his aid five faithful men, well skilled 
 in arms, and trained by him for war and daring 
 deeds, they took boat and pulled with all speed for 
 the island. 
 
 There was a heavy ground swell on the water, 
 but the night was calm and the moon was shining 
 brightly; the boat was swift, and the men were 
 
210 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 skilled; so, after an interval of not much more 
 than half-an-hour they crossed the bay. Hastily 
 landing, they made all speed for the castle, and 
 while yet a considerable distance off they heard 
 the heavy blows of weighty instruments following 
 each other rapidly. Then they redoubled their 
 speed, for Gerald exclaimed, '' we are still in time, 
 they have not yet effected an entrance." But, as 
 they drew nearer still, all the sounds of working 
 ceased, and perfect silence reigned. 
 
 When Mary took the bottle in her hand, with 
 full intent to swallow its contents, a train of 
 thoughts, with lightning speed, rushed through 
 her mind. That mysterious word, "Poison,'' 
 spoke a volume. '' It means death," said she, 
 '* perhaps a lingering death, a suffering death, a 
 death of agony. This I could bear. It is prefer- 
 able to dishonour, but" — then recurred the 
 doubt — *' May I take my own life ? May I be 
 a suicide ? Will the great Judge of Heaven then 
 look on me with hatred instead of love ? Will 
 He cast me out for ever as a murdress ? A 
 murdress of myself. A sin for which I shall not 
 have time or opportunity to repent. A sin which 
 the world thinks so badly of, and the religion of 
 the world condemns so deeply, that it will not 
 allow the poor cold clay to rest in consecrated 
 ground. Yes! the body of the suicide must not 
 be brought near the house of God, or be buried 
 near to those whom it loved in life, nor even near 
 
OH, HORRIBLE! HORRIBLE! 211 
 
 to those who have died as Christians; but, like the 
 carcase of a dog, must be thrown into a hole, in 
 some deserted field or common, all by itself; 
 alone. 
 
 "And Gerald, when he comes, must not bring 
 my poor remains to the family vault where my 
 grandfather and grandmother lie, and where 
 they have buried my own dear father, too. I 
 must not, as a murdress, come near their sacred 
 clay. No minister of religion must read over 
 me, or offer for me one prayer. And, those I love 
 must not console themselves that I am happy, 
 nor even pray that I may rest in peace ; nor must 
 they entertain the thought that I can get to 
 Heaven. No ! I must be miserable in my death ; 
 regarded as impure and unholy when my spirit 
 has passed away, and nothing but the blackness 
 of darkness awaits me for ever. An outcast from 
 the happy angels and from the blessed Saviour, 
 whom all my life I have loved, and loved to serve ; 
 and cast away from Him into that dreadful place, 
 * where their worm dieth not, and their fire is not 
 quenched.' Oh, horrible ! horrible ! I cannot do 
 it." 
 
 With these words and thoughts she flung away 
 the little vial on the bed, as something that 
 tempted her to the worst of evil deeds, and con- 
 ducted her to the most painful consequences. 
 
 But, as she threw it down, the breaking panels 
 of the door, and the breach, getting larger and 
 larger, arrested her attention. '' He will soon be 
 
212 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 in," she, with a shudder, muttered to herself, in 
 words that seemed to eat into her heart, *' and 
 then what shall I be ? A dishonoured, heart- 
 broken, lost woman. Mother shall be ashamed 
 of me. Gerald can never respect me again, can 
 never esteem me, can never love me. By years 
 of penitence, perhaps I may wipe out the stain in 
 the sight of the merciful Eternal ; but those that 
 now love me most, must hereafter only pity me, 
 and consider me a disgrace ; while strangers may 
 point the finger of scorn, and say, * See ! that is a 
 degraded and a lost woman.' 
 
 ** Oh, heaven! shall I be accounted bad for 
 doing what I am compelled to do ? And now, 
 in opening youth, have I — who never injured any- 
 one, who longed to help the poor, who loved to 
 succour the distressed — have I no choice between 
 eternal destruction and life-long infamy ? " 
 
 In agony intense, she rolled upon her bed, 
 while the workings of her pure, chaste, loving 
 mind, at the very thought of sin and shame, 
 made the huge drops of perspiration roll down 
 her forehead, as the big tears streamed down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 *' Would that I had some one near to counsel 
 me," she cried. *' Oh ! that I had even another 
 hour to reflect, and make my choice between 
 these painful alternatives." 
 
 But, knock, knock, knock ; hammer, hammer, 
 hammer ; in quick succession, still fell upon the 
 door. The door whose prodigious strength, alone, 
 
THE CHOICE BETWEEN TWO EVILS. 213 
 
 befriended the noble-minded girl, and which 
 alone stood between her and shame, or death. 
 
 '* Were I to submit to infamy," again swift 
 thoughts occurred, ''I still would be a suicide. 
 True! I should not die so quickly, but die I 
 should, for, life dishonoured, never could I live. 
 Then, thank Heaven ! Thank Heaven again ! the 
 choice grows narrower, the way more plain. I 
 begin, at last, to see it now. If I drink the 
 poison, I die a suicide, accursed. Oh ! dreadful. 
 But if I do not take the poison, I shall also die a 
 suicide, accursed too, and, infamous and dis- 
 honoured besides. Then, Heaven be praised 
 again, my course is plain. No choice have I but 
 between two evils, and, joyfully, I take the least, 
 for surely this is duty. Yes,' she sternly added, 
 '' the path of duty is — Honour before life, virtue 
 before infamy, innocence before disgrace. And 
 for maintaining honour, virtue, innocence with 
 my life, I feel I need not fear, whatever man may 
 say, a punishment hereafter, for, 
 
 ' Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?' " 
 
 Again she seeks the vial, snatches it from the 
 bed, and presses it to her heart. The old 
 woman's words again recur. " When thou hast no 
 other friend or help near, and danger worse than 
 death approaches. It will make you conqueror." 
 
 Then, with firm hand, she pulls the yielding 
 stopper. She falls upon her knees, and breathes 
 a fervent prayer; then rises, full of courage. 
 
214 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 puts the vial to lier lips, and drains it to 
 the dregs. 
 
 Forthwith, she felt that she had fallen heavily 
 on her bed ; and then, her spirit seemed to soar ; 
 to leave her far behind, to wing its way, through 
 dark cold air, where stars with halos dim coursed 
 round about her, and thunder clouds, approaching 
 near, sent forth their flashes with tremendous 
 clap. And one bolt, larger and far brighter than 
 the rest, with shock tremendous, seemed to strike 
 her heart, penetrating to its deepest depth. 
 
 *' Ah, mother, darling ! Ah, Gerald ! " she 
 exclaimed ; then, in weaker tones, " 'tis cold, 
 cold, cold, icy cold ! Ay, this is death, death, 
 death ! " Then, heaving one deep sigh, she felt no 
 more. 
 
 An hour elapsed, from the time that Mary 
 0' Sullivan had ceased to breathe, before the iron 
 obstructions of the doorway were sufficiently 
 removed to enable Lovell to enter the apartment, 
 and obtain, as he supposed, the prize he had so 
 laboured to secure. He then ordered his men 
 down stairs, and taking a light in his hand, 
 entered with quiet step and triumphal air. He 
 soon observed his sought one lying on her bed, 
 and, placing his light on the table in the centre 
 of the room, took, all the while, careful precau- 
 tions, lest she should suddenly slip by him, and 
 again escape his power. With the words of love 
 and pleading again upon his lips, he stood by the 
 bed side. As she did not move, or speak in 
 
THE GIPSY'S VIAL. 
 
 215 
 
 reply, he stooped down. " She is asleep," 
 thought he. Then, laymg his hand on her 
 white forehead, a shock ran through his frame 
 when he felt it icy cold. Quickly taking the 
 candle, he held it close before her lips, but, there 
 was no ruffle of the flame, no sign of breath. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, ''she is 
 dead. Oh ! if I had only known she was so 
 determined, wretch that I am, I would not have 
 so persecuted her." 
 
 Her clenched little hand attracted his atten- 
 tion. He took from it with difficulty — for the 
 rigidity of departed life had already set in — the 
 little vial. He held it to the light, and on its label 
 distinctly deciphered 
 
 '^HiiiiiimiiimmliTrpWi' 
 ® ® 
 
 non 
 
 ^apfxaKov. 
 Venenum. 
 Das Gift. 
 Le Venin. 
 Pi)ison. 
 
 iMiiimmiiii'im 
 
 -S5 
 
 The learned Egyptian Sage, who had given this 
 mysterious bottle to the old woman, not knowing 
 
216 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 into whose hands it might fall, had thus marked 
 that ominous word ** Poison," in the Jewish Chal- 
 dean, the Greek, the Latin, the German, the 
 French, and the English Languages. 
 
 *' Poison," he repeated. *' Poison ! It was her 
 last resource, poor girl." 
 
 Then, loaded with sorrow, and smarting under 
 the lashes of an upbraiding conscience, he threw 
 himself on his knees by the foot of the bed ; com- 
 pletely penitent ; and wishing, vehemently wish- 
 ing, alas ! in vain, that he could have lived the 
 past few hours again. Bad as he was, a roue 
 and a scamp, he was not altogether bad. He 
 would have willingly given a year of his life, yea, 
 his whole life, to see her alive again. 
 
 For some moments, he remained kneeling, his 
 utterance choked with anguish. Then, in his 
 agony, he cried aloud, ^* Great King of Heaven, 
 smite me — oh, smite me here — with any death — 
 any death — any death — or let her — let her live 
 again ! " 
 
 A clap of thunder shook the castle, strong as it 
 was built. It passed ; then, all was silence. But, 
 in that silence, *' the still, small voice" which the 
 Prophet long ago heard in the cleft of the rock, 
 answered his heartfelt prayer, and Fred Lovell 
 was dead ! — dead ! — never to come to life again ! 
 But it was not his body that was pierced by the 
 bolt, or his powerful frame that was shattered by 
 a sudden visitation — nay ! 'twas his evil nature 
 that was killed. He rose from his knees with 
 
WHERE IS HE ? WHERE IS SHE ? 217 
 
 altered feelings, altered tastes— a new, a reformed 
 man. 
 
 Ah, reader ! we may never have committed 
 murder; though a high authority teaches, ''He 
 that hateth his brother is a murderer." We may 
 not have dipped so deeply in crime as this soldier, 
 perhaps, we have not had the same temptations. 
 " Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this ? " 
 said one, long ago ; but, with altered circum- 
 stances, he perpetrated the offence he before 
 abhorred. But, though the crime of crimson 
 guilt has not left its undying impress, yet, cannot 
 each of us recall actions — ay ! actions gone 
 beyond recall — in condemnation of which, we feel 
 as he felt ; and, concerning which, our heart's cry 
 is, " Would to God we could have the same scenes 
 to enact again, but, oh ! with such a difference in 
 the acting ? " Is there no kindness we might 
 have shewn, but which has been withheld ? No 
 word of love, which was unspoken ? No sacred 
 opportunity, which was neglected ? No solemn 
 duty, that was disregarded ? And, now, the one 
 who would have appreciated the kindness and the 
 love, where is he ? where is she ? Passed away 
 for aye; while the solemn duty, and the oppor- 
 tunity are as irrevocable as yesterday ! 
 
 Lovell was awakened from his reverie of sorrow 
 by the loud cries of "Captain, Captain," from 
 below. He hurried down to meet the danger; 
 and there, in deadly fight, he saw his own men, 
 engaged wdth others who seemed to be gaining 
 
218 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 the mastery. Two of his men had fallen, and one 
 of the attackers had roiled lifeless to the ground. 
 
 ^'Villain!" said a powerful voice, as he ap- 
 proached, *' you are the leader. Stay your attack, 
 men; we two wdll settle the contest. No hand 
 shall strike him but my own. The moon gives 
 full light. Come into the open space before the 
 castle. You shall have fairplay. But, first, where 
 is the girl you have so cowardly pursued ? " 
 
 " She is dead," said Lovell, *' but not by my 
 hand. Poison has accomplished what, with all 
 my soul, I would have saved." 
 
 "Yes, accursed scoundrel, saved for infamy, to 
 glut thy devilish passion. Make way, men — each 
 moment wasted, till I find sweet vengeance, seems 
 a century." 
 
 Then, Lovell drew himself up to his full stately 
 height. He was not accustomed to such language, 
 or such epithets, but, his mind had changed its 
 haughtiness and customary frivolity for sorrow 
 and remorse ; and, therefore, instead of casting 
 back defiance, he spoke with calmness and 
 resignation. 
 
 " Sir, I know you not, but presume you are a 
 relation or connection. Your grief may be more 
 demonstrative, but it is not more sincere, than 
 my repentance. I am a skilled swordsman ; from 
 four thousand men in our division, I took the 
 highest place. I own the right of your vengeance, 
 but, do not think, I should yield you what I owe, 
 were I to join with you in fight." 
 
PREPARING FOR THE FIGHT. 219 
 
 Then, throwing his sword on the ground, and 
 standing with unprotected breast before his 
 infuriated antagonist, he added, *' Take your ven- 
 geance now." 
 
 Gerald — for Gerald it w^as — for a moment was 
 abashed by such an exhibition of genuine courage 
 and manliness, such fearlessness of death. Under 
 other circumstances, it might have turned away 
 his rage, and altered his hatred into admiration ; 
 but, the thought of Mary dead — dead through this 
 man's instrumentality, hunted to death by him, 
 driven by him to swallow poison, to save her from 
 indignities — goaded on his anger afresh, and he 
 replied : 
 
 ''I cannot strike aii unarmed foe; but if you 
 have the courage of a soldier, insult you wall not 
 brook." And, with these w^ords, he flung his 
 gauntlet in his face. 
 
 So be it " said Lovell, taking up his sword ; 
 
 Lead the way, sir, take your choice of ground, 
 and tell me when you are ready to begin." 
 
 At once, all proceed from the castle to a level 
 grassy field close by. The soldiers form a circle 
 round ; and the two powerful antagonists stand, 
 with drawn weapons, face to face. 
 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 GERALD AND LOVELL FIGHT WITH SWORDS. 
 
 Anna virumque cano. 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 We tell of armed men, engaged in mortal strife, 
 Skilled to evade the thrust, and skilled to take the life. 
 
 As the two powerfully-built and handsome men 
 stood face to face, with gleaming weapons in 
 their hands, it was a sight not easily to be for- 
 gotten. Gerald was, perhaps, the stronger of the 
 two, the bigger man, but not the more athletic or 
 more active. He was a good swordsman, too, but 
 Lovell was an adept in his art. 
 
 Soon were the swords crossed, and Gerald, who 
 was thirsting for vengeance, used all the devices, 
 and all the skill and strength at his command, 
 but could not break his adversary's splendid 
 guard. Lovell had acted purely on the defence, 
 and never once tried to hurt his foe ; and now 
 Gerald, confident in his prowess and his might, 
 redoubled his endeavours, and at last began to 
 thrust wildly, leaving himself exposed. But 
 Lovell took no advantage. He was determined 
 no more blood should be shed by his hands, or 
 his instrumentality ; so with consummate skill 
 
THE MURDERED MAN FELL HE A VI L V. 221 
 
 and self-command, he parried, but made no 
 attack. 
 
 The quick and accustomed eyes of the soldiers 
 enabled them fully to appreciate the nature of the 
 contest. It was evident to them, that one was 
 doing all in his power to kill his adversary, and 
 that the other was refusing even to hurt when 
 opportunity offered ; so, when Gerald still con- 
 tinued his attack, Lovell's soldiers, who were 
 deeply attached to their brave captain, with one 
 voice exclaimed, " Shame ! shame ! " and one of 
 them was so indignant that, raising the axe 
 which he had employed in breaking down the 
 doors of the castle, he struck Gerald, with the 
 back of it, violently on the left arm. 
 
 ** Disgraceful ! " cried Lovell ; **how dare any 
 one strike an antagonist who is engaged in fight 
 with me. Sir," continued he, directing his re- 
 mark to Gerald, *' I cannot prolong this contest ; 
 I feel deeply pained that anyone should in so 
 dastardly a manner attack you," and with these 
 words, again he flung his sword upon the ground. 
 
 Alas ! they were his last words. One of 
 Gerald's men, who had seen the blow dealt by 
 the soldier to his master, plunged, from behind, 
 his sword through Lovell's back, with such force 
 that the blade, reeking with the heart-blood, 
 gleamed before his chest. 
 
 Without a sigh, a moan, a struggle, the mur- 
 dered man fell heavily on the sward. In justice 
 to him, it must be stated, that, never was there a 
 
222 • THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 braver soldier, a more attached friend, a more 
 accomplished swordsman, or a more daring war- 
 rior. There never was a man who more scrupu- 
 lously adhered to the unwritten law of military 
 honour. He would cut off his right hand before 
 he would violate its smallest detail, and all the 
 while, most strange to say, the sanctions of the 
 written moral law made small impression on his 
 mind, and little influenced his acts. 
 
 How often do those who have been carefully 
 brought up at home, surrender the allegiance they 
 were taught to pay to religion, almost as soon as 
 they come into contact with the world! What are 
 they like, and whereunto shall we compare them? 
 They resemble some boys who smoke tobacco, 
 though it makes their stomachs sick, just because 
 they think the revolting practice makes them 
 look manly ; or they are like those who use pro- 
 fane language, under the same miserably weak- 
 minded and ungrounded impression ; or those 
 who, in more advanced years, run the race of 
 general vice, lest their companions should stig- 
 matise them as *' verdant" or '* soft." Devoid of 
 principle, firmness, moral courage ; such weather- 
 cocks are not likely to make a figure in the world. 
 Self-conceit is their foible, empty-headedness 
 their characteristic, and the donkey who assumed 
 the lion's skin their prototype. Lovell was not 
 one of these. He was brought up in a school of 
 thought, where honour was esteemed sacred, reli- 
 gion only a matter of interest for women and old 
 
THREE MOUNDS WERE RAISED OVER THE DEAD. 223 
 
 age, and the laws of morality a fetter constructed 
 by society, which, to disregard, was part and 
 parcel of every good fellow's nature, and to openly 
 violate, was to evince a spirit next akin to genu- 
 ine manliness and courage. 
 
 Is his character a solitary example, or is it the 
 reflection of many military men now ? I stay 
 not to discuss this question, but appeal to those 
 whose experience will enable them to decide. And 
 if their testimony be adverse, and the verdict of 
 friends, acquaintances, and eye-witnesses pro- 
 claims the solemn sentence, *' guilty," not to the 
 world, but to the secret tribunals of their own 
 hearts, then, FAm mores! eheu virtus! '* there is 
 something rotten in the state of Denmark;" 
 something of which this age of civilisation ought 
 to feel ashamed. 
 
 Just as when the curtain falls at a theatre, or 
 when the sponge is thrown up at a pugilistic 
 encounter, all the spectators depart, so now, when 
 one of the combatants was slain, the soldiers 
 forthwith turned away. Lovell's men committed 
 to the ground their captain, and two of their 
 number. They had only crowbars, and axes, and 
 hatchets, and so were not prepared to contend 
 with the followers of Gerald, who were well 
 armed ; and, when the mournful task, the last 
 duty to their lost comrades was completed, and 
 three grassy mounds were raised over their 
 remains, they hastened to find the little haven 
 where they had left their boat. 
 
224 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 The others — Gerald and his men — having 
 buried their companion, went back to the castle. 
 It was necessary to put his left arm in a sling ; 
 the violence of the blow from the soldier's axe 
 had broken it. It hung helpless. The slightest 
 attempt to move it caused considerable pain, and 
 the grating of the fractured bones could be dis- 
 tinctly heard. 
 
 They then proceeded up the winding stairs to 
 the dilapidated room. The massive door shat- 
 tered to pieces, and the twisted, contorted, and 
 broken bars, shewed the extent of the labour, and 
 the violence of the siege. When they entered, 
 the sight of Mary lying on the bed, pale and 
 lifeless, seemed to obliterate from Gerald's mind 
 the heinousness of the crime he had just wit- 
 nessed. ''No end," said he, ''could be too bad 
 for one who could treat a lady so shamefully, and 
 persist in persecuting her until she was forced to 
 seek for refuge in the grave." His passion was 
 now gone. His grief was intense and sore. Long 
 time he sat in bitter, and motionless, and speech- 
 less agony, gazing on the last remains of her he 
 deeply loved, and who loved him deeply, too. At 
 length, he raised his head, and, turning to his 
 awaiting men, in mournful accents gave his 
 orders. 
 
 *' Take her up gently, cover her with that cloak, 
 and carry her to the boat. We must return to 
 Dunboy to-night." 
 
 And gently did the stern henchmen raise the 
 
HE A VY GRIEF. 225 
 
 cold and stiff corpse, and softly bore her down the 
 winding staircase, and gently carried her to the 
 boat, and laid her in the stern, her head leaning 
 on the support of Gerald, who bore her weight, as 
 tenderly, as if she was most sensitive, and capable 
 of suffering still. 
 
 It was nearly an hour before the boat — carrying 
 its load of woe to those that accompanied it, and 
 of sickening disappointment and anguish to those 
 that expected it — arrived at the little creek before 
 the windows of the castle. Gerald looked pale 
 and worn. Heavy grief rested on his heart ; he 
 had lost all that he prized most, all that his soul 
 thought worth living for, all that constituted his 
 happiness for the present, and his sanguine hopes 
 for the remainder of his life. The pain of his 
 fractured arm, sometimes, for a moment, diverted 
 him from his mental torture. It had not been 
 set, and was now considerably swollen, but this 
 was as nothing compared with his sense of utter 
 desolation. 
 
 Mrs. 0' Sullivan and her sister, kept an anxious 
 look-out at the window from the time Gerald left. 
 Assisted by the moon's light, they watched the 
 boat as it skimmed over the billows, under the 
 evenly pulled oar- strokes of the powerful men. 
 They saw her approach the island, and did not 
 lose sight, until the shadow of the cliffs obstructed 
 further view. Interest and anxiety, far from 
 being lost, were then intensified, for, with the 
 bright -colouring eye of imagination they saw the 
 
226 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE, 
 
 rescuers hurrying up the sloping fields, hastening 
 to the castle, and then engaging in desperate 
 fight. The moments seemed hours, as they 
 awaited their return to the boat; and, their 
 reappearance on the water ; having accomplished 
 their object ; the carrying back Mary, safe from 
 further insult, and happy in her security. Eleven 
 o'clock passed, still they never left the window ; 
 half-past eleven, and yet no sign ; but just as 
 twelve was drawing nigh, together both cried out, 
 " See the boat — see it, they are safe and return- 
 ing home." 
 
 Not for a moment did they turn their gaze. As 
 the boat came nearer their anxiety increased. 
 Nearer and nearer still she came, until at last 
 they could recognize Gerald by his Spanish hat, 
 as he sat directing the rudder; and, very soon 
 after, the form of Mary, lying in the stern and 
 her head resting on Gerald. 
 
 Delight and ecstacy filled their minds. " She 
 is safe at last," said Mrs. O'Brien; while tears 
 of joy and thankfulness rolled down the fond 
 mother's cheeks. Nothing did she know of the 
 fearful scenes that had been enacted. Nothing of 
 the agony of Mary as the massive door was being 
 broken, in the high, strong room. Nothing of the 
 fearful contest of feelings that had rent her spirit, 
 as she contrasted, the difference of the amount of 
 guilt connected with the commission of swift 
 suicide, while yet pure; and slow suicide, weighted 
 with the burden of dishonour. Nothing did they 
 
THE BOAT CONTAINED THE PALE, COLD BODY. 227 
 
 know of the verdict, that drew the stopper, put the 
 bottle to the lips, and fearlessly drained its con- 
 tents. Alas ! and alas ! nothing did they know of 
 the fearful result, and that the boat conveyed only 
 the pale, cold, rigid body of that much loved girl. 
 
 They saw the rich golden hair in abundant 
 folds reaching down to her waist ; they could see, 
 where the cloak was drawn aside, her tiny white 
 hand, and a part of the evening dress which she 
 wore, the evening of her departure. They fancied, 
 they could also recognise, that her eyes were 
 closed, and that their long dark lashes lay upon 
 her cheeks. So leaving the window, they hastened 
 with all speed down stairs to meet their darling, 
 and to load her with kisses and embraces as soon 
 as she set foot on shore. 
 
 The men had entered the creek, had made fast 
 the boat, and were carrying Mary in their arms, 
 bearing her to the Castle, as the two sisters 
 reached the sloping bank. 
 
 ** For heaven's sake what is the matter, 
 Gerald?'' said her mother, as with his right 
 hand extended, he caught her to his side. " Is 
 she ill ? Has the tossing of the boat overcome 
 her ? Has she fainted ? " 
 
 These were the quick enquiries; but Gerald 
 knew not how to speak, or how to answer. His 
 utterance was stifled by his grief. Something 
 seemed to grasp his throat on the inside, and to 
 choke and suffocate him, totally depriving him of 
 power to reply. 
 
228 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 ** Oh ! tell me, tell me, Gerald," cried her 
 mother again, and Gerald, incapable of answering, 
 groaned in misery. 
 
 Then, rushing from his side, she laid her hand 
 on Mary's cold face. She caught her hand, and 
 felt it stiff, and chilly as the ice, and, uttering one 
 wild scream, the loving mother fell insensible on 
 the ground. 
 
CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 IN THE DARK PASSAGE WITH THE GHOST. 
 
 " Mi s' agghiaccio il sangue per la paura." 
 
 Italian Saying. 
 
 His blood, like fount drops, frozen as they start, 
 Congealed by fear, refused to leave his heart. 
 
 When Mortimer 0' Sullivan saw the pale and 
 fierce-looking warrior, who, though of towering 
 height and massive frame, had entered, with 
 noiseless power, the apartment, which he and his 
 friends were occupying — the bolts and fastenings 
 giving way before him, though the bolts were 
 drawn on the inner side, and the key remained in 
 the locked door — he felt a cold creeping sensa- 
 tion pass over his entire frame, and his hair 
 seemed to leave its natural position and to stand 
 erect. 
 
 '* Oh ! what a fool was I,'' he thought, ** not to 
 awaken my companions, but it is now too late. 
 No doubt his four fierce henchmen are at the 
 door, and will enter as easily as their com- 
 mander. But yet, my friends must not be mur- 
 dered while asleep. So I will awake them — awake 
 them now." 
 
230 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 When that resolve was formed, he tried to 
 shout aloud their names, but his words seemed 
 unable to leave his throat. He made an ener- 
 getic effort to rush to where they lay, with the 
 intention to shake them up from their sleep ; 
 but he felt spell-bound, he could not move, his 
 utmost power was not sufficiently potent to lift 
 one foot from the floor. Meanwhile the stalwart 
 warrior eyed him horribly; then for a moment 
 gazed about the room, as though in search of 
 some one ; after that, turned his piercing eyes on 
 him again, and said in slow but deep-drawn 
 accents : 
 
 *' Mortimer O'Sullivan, follow me." 
 
 Then passing to the door, which had again 
 mysteriously opened, he walked with martial step 
 out of the room. 
 
 As Mortimer did not obey his command, he 
 turned again, and in the same deep voice, 
 repeated the direction, '' Mortimer O'Sullivan, 
 follow me," and then added, in accents of supreme 
 contempt, ' ' Are you afraid to follow ? though 
 you have sworn to vent a condign punishment 
 on the murderer." 
 
 ** No," said Mortimer, for this reproach, imply- 
 ing cowardice on his part, awakened his sense of 
 manhood. ** No, I am not afraid to follow 
 you." And some strange impulse leading him, 
 he walked forth from the old oak-room, leaving 
 his companions, sleeping soundly, behind him. 
 
 The warrior walked towards the stairs ; slowly 
 
THE FLAG WITH THE POLISHED RING. 231 
 
 and with measured step began to descend; and 
 Mortimer as slowly followed, seemingly unable to 
 resist the influence that constrained him. 
 
 When the hall was reached, the warrior, still 
 with erect bearing and easy gait, passed to the 
 middle of the floor, and stooped as though in 
 search of something. Then raised himself to his 
 full height again, and pointing to one large flag, 
 which had a polished iron ring attached, he again 
 fixed his eyes on Mortimer, and told him with 
 stern voice to '* raise it up." 
 
 '' No," said Mortimer, '' I decline, I positively 
 decline either to follow you further, or to lift that 
 flag." 
 
 Thereupon the giant- sized visitor, casting 
 gracefully one fold of his martial cloak over his 
 shoulder, stood for a moment as in mute 
 astonishment, then slowly said : 
 
 *' See, I have the use of but one arm, the other 
 has been broken. I would not ask your unwilling 
 help, if 1 could do it for myself, but do not touch 
 it if you are afraid, even though with upraised 
 hands you swore." 
 
 Upon this, without a moment's pause, Mortimer 
 took hold of the ring, pulled it with all his 
 might, and at length succeeded in drawing back 
 the flag, which was in reality a trap door which 
 worked upon a hinge. As he did so, he perceived 
 that there was an iron ladder leading from the top 
 to the vaults below. Dark and dismal, and most 
 uninteresting was the underground prospect ; but. 
 
232 THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 the warrior immediately began to descend by the 
 ladder, and as he was passing out of sight again 
 addressed the words — "Mortimer 0' Sullivan, 
 follow me." 
 
 Mortimer again declined. There was some- 
 thing repulsive in the look of that dank, gloomy 
 hole. He began to regret that he had come 
 so far, and thought of rushing back, when the 
 words again fell on his ear — " Are you afraid to 
 follow me ? Is the oath so soon forgotten ? " 
 
 Why, he could not tell, but these words seemed 
 to possess talismanic power. The constraint was 
 irresistible ; so without further excuse, resistance, 
 or delay, he descended by the iron steps ; and 
 soon stood by the side of his conductor, in a cold, 
 damp, dark vault, which was only illuminated by 
 the rays of the lantern, which the steel-clad 
 warrior held in his powerful right hand. 
 
 Onward, still onward, the gigantic leader 
 walked, all the while observing the same stately 
 and measured tread. As Mortimer followed, he 
 could not divest himself of the idea, that this 
 strange individual was growing larger and larger 
 still. Sometimes he felt convinced that he could 
 see distinctly through his body, and that it 
 appeared, clothes and all, to be composed of a 
 dull blue flame ; and as he watched more closely, 
 solidity and blue flame commenced to alternate, 
 while, at one side, drops of red blood seemed 
 constantly to drop. With his fear every moment 
 increasing, they wended their way through nar- 
 
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO RETREAT. 233 
 
 row passages, sometimes so low, that even Morti- 
 mer was forced to stoop ; and then again, so lofty, 
 and wide that their footfalls raised an echo as 
 they struck the stone-paved ground. All was 
 moist and damp. The mildew stood upon the 
 walls. Pendants, like icicles from the eaves of 
 houses in frosty weather, hung from the roof, just 
 as you may see them now under dripping arches, 
 or in rocky caverns, or in deep sea-side caves. 
 And, as they walked, Mortimer felt he was getting 
 farther and farther away from his companions, 
 and more than once he turned his head with the 
 intention of hastening back, and running up the 
 iron ladder, and racing to the room where lay his 
 sleeping friends. But it was impossible; the only 
 light proceeded from the lantern, which cast its 
 rays in front. All behind was darkness — dense 
 darkness — relieved not even by an occasional 
 glimmer. 
 
 Just then the sound of alarm fell upon his 
 ear. He felt convinced he heard confused noises, 
 as of men fighting, in the distance. 
 
 '*They are pirates," said he to himself, '* dis- 
 agreeing about the division of their plunder. This 
 man has brought me down, having discovered 
 by some means that I am the lawful heir to this 
 place, that I may be murdered in these dark cells, 
 where no trace of the guilt will ever be dis- 
 covered, and no one, not even my friends above, 
 shall hear what has become of me." With 
 these thoughts, affrighted, he stopped. His guide. 
 
234 THE GHOST OF DUN BOY CASTLE. 
 
 however, seemed to know what was passing in his 
 mind, and turning to him, with Hp curled up, as 
 though in marked contempt, again enquired — 
 
 *' Are you afraid to follow me, Mortimer 
 0' Sullivan ? Do you repent your oath ? " 
 
 He was afraid; and stout and brave indeed 
 would be the heart that would not feel fear in 
 such a situation. He had, however, sufficient 
 presence of mind left to know that retreat now 
 was utterly impossible, and that no course was 
 open to him but to follow, unresistingly, wherever 
 he was led. So, without attempting a reply, he 
 slowly resumed his walk, with throbbing head, 
 and fluttering heart. 
 
 Having proceeded, as he imagined, some fifty 
 yards further, through those terrible, dark pas- 
 sages ; in the distance still, he was enabled, by 
 the lamp's light, to perceive a door. From some 
 compartment inside of this, the voices, which 
 before disturbed him, now unmistakably seemed 
 to issue. As they approached it, the voices 
 grew louder and louder, and the angry vocifera- 
 tions more and more tumultuous, reaching their 
 greatest intensity in piercing cries of *' Murder, 
 murder," as they now stood close outside. 
 
 As soon as his words could be heard above 
 the harrowing uproar, the huge warrior again 
 addressed his companion, saying : 
 
 ** Mortimer 0' Sullivan, turn the handle, and 
 open that door." 
 
 Mortimer's suspicions appeared to his mind to 
 
LOOK BEHIND YOU. 235 
 
 be fully realised. He felt convinced that to 
 enter that room was his certain death — death 
 from violent hands, death, perhaps, by torture, to 
 glut the morbid tastes and satisfy the inhuman 
 cravings of scoundrels, trained in villany and 
 versed in crime — so, turning to his guide, he said, 
 with all the deliberate emphasis he could com- 
 mand. 
 
 "I will not ; I only regret I have followed 
 you thus far. It was an act of madness to do so ; 
 and I now ask you, as a man of honour, to lead 
 me back by the passages which have conducted 
 me to this fearful place." 
 
 A smile of scorn and derision overspread the 
 face of the helmeted brigand, for such Mortimer 
 now thought him, as he replied. 
 
 ** It is now too late for you to repent your act. 
 You are, and have been for some time, fully in 
 my power. Look behind you." And so saying, 
 he turned the light of his lamp on the passage 
 they had just passed through, when Mortimer saw 
 three hideous bloodhounds, of tremendous size, 
 with open mouths and grinning teeth, ready at 
 the slightest instigation to fall on him, and worry 
 him to death. Then, turning his light again 
 upon the door, in commanding voice he said, 
 ** Again, I ask you to open that door." 
 
 ** I will not," replied Mortimer, as calmly as he 
 could. 
 
 Throwing back his cloak again, he showed 
 again his left arm, broken and disabled, hanging 
 
236 * THE GHOST OF DUNBOY CASTLE. 
 
 useless at his side. " You see I cannot do it for 
 myself/' said he. '*If you are not an arrant 
 coward, and a willing perjurer, open it for me.'' 
 
 Mortimer felt that it was but too true, that he 
 was now fully in this man's power. He thought 
 his position could not be worse ; besides, the 
 talismanic words, which before drove him on, had 
 not yet lost their efficacy. So, laying hold of the 
 handle, with all the might in his power, he 
 twisted it violently and forcibly, his terrible 
 nervous agitation adding strength to his effort. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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