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 LEGENDS 
 
 OP THE 
 
 JACOBITE WARS,
 
 LEGENDS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 JACOBITE WARS 
 
 "KATHAEINE FAIRFAX." -" ISIA O'NEIL/' 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMASINE MAUNSELL. 
 
 ' When civil dndgeon first grew high, 
 And men fell out, they knew not why; 
 "When hard words, jealousies, and fears 
 Set folk together by the ears." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BPtOTHEES, IS, CATJIHRINE STREET, STRAND. 
 1873. 
 
 All Bighfa of Trannlation and Rejyroduction are reserved.1
 
 8^^ 
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " We love 
 The King who loves the law, respects his bounds, 
 And reigns content within them." 
 
 Service was just over in the Cathedral of 
 Londonderry, one Sunday evening near the 
 close of the memorable year 1688. Crowds 
 were streaming out of its doors, and wind- 
 ing away down the hill into the town. Ex- 
 citement and anxiety might be seen on most 
 of the faces of the men, as they talked 
 eagerly to one another ; others looked 
 strangely unused to the place, and silently 
 went on their way in separate little groups. 
 News in those days travelled slowly; but 
 ill-tidings, as ever, had the swiftest messen- 
 gers, and startling rumours had been spread- 
 ing through the country, which drove the 
 people from far and near to take refuge 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 behind the rough ramparts of the hospitable 
 old city. William of Orange had landed in 
 England. James's friends in Ireland were 
 arming in hot haste, and in all directions 
 reports were heard of pikes and other rude 
 weapons being prepared by the peasantry 
 willing to assist his cause. At last news 
 came to the anxious citizens of Derry that 
 the Earl of Antrim, with a numerous 
 swarm of Scotch Highlanders and native 
 Irish, had received orders to occupy their 
 city. 
 
 Thus it happened that the Cathedral was 
 so wondrously full this Sunday evening, 
 and that the Bishop, Ezekiel Hopkins, had 
 had such an unusually large congregation. 
 His sermon, however, had not altogether 
 pleased some of his hearers, for Ezekiel 
 adhered resolutely to the doctrine of non- 
 resistance ; and " Touch not the Lord's 
 Anointed" had been his theme this evening, 
 as it had been many times before. 
 
 "An' if yon's the doctrine ye're agoing 
 by, boys, you may as well give in at once. 
 That's what will sell the city of Derry into
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 3 
 
 the liands of the tyrant ; ay, an' your own 
 souls into the bargain." 
 
 " Hold your peace, Sandy ; you know 
 right well that's none of our doctrine, yon 
 man's preaching. He would put King 
 Jamie in the place of God an' our con- 
 sciences. That's not what I stand by; nor 
 scarce a man in Derry, either, I tell ye." 
 
 " Speak for yourself. Master Mackinnon. 
 You have mighty fine opinions of your 
 own; but do you think the likes o* you 
 have more knowledge in such matters than 
 my lord the Bishop himself?" 
 
 " Bishop or no bishop, Jim Martin, I'm a 
 man ; an' I hold to have as good a right to 
 have my own o|)inions as any other man; 
 an' I take it that right is right for a king as 
 well as a cobler; an' when a king that's 
 set up to govern don't govern, but goes to 
 take our liberty an' our religion from us, I 
 say he's no' the king for us; an' that's 
 what I sav." 
 
 " Wait, man, till the king's troops are at 
 the gate, an' see what ye'll say then." 
 
 ''The men of Derry are no cowards, as 
 
 1—2
 
 4 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 ye ken well, Jim Martin ; and we'll answer 
 any man that comes to our gates in the 
 way they deserve." 
 
 '^ An' what have ye heard about the 
 troops, Master Martin?" said the first 
 speaker, Sandy M'Elroy, a strong young 
 man, in the flat cap and jerkin of an 
 apprentice. 
 
 " Heard ! and what is there to hear, but 
 that they'll be here while 3^ou and Master 
 Mackinnon are talking about your opinions, 
 forsooth! an' so they will." 
 
 " Hurrah ! an' let them come ; an' a 
 hearty, warm welcome we'll give them, 
 won't we, Paddy, my man," said Sandy, 
 vigorously slapping his friend Pat Mac- 
 kinnon on the shoulder. 
 
 " Come along, man, an' let's hear what's 
 the news on the walls." 
 
 Jim Martin did not follow, but, mingling 
 with the crowd, disappeared. 
 
 ToAvards the walls the other two turned. 
 They were companions in business and 
 friends at heart; both stanch Protestants, and 
 fair types of the men of Derry in those days.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. > 
 
 The walls were of a very simple cha- 
 racter, and, overgrown as they wxre with 
 grass and weeds, they did not look as if 
 they could claim the title of fortifications. 
 Some curious old guns, which had been 
 presented to the colony by their landlords, 
 the wealthy Companies of London, were 
 mounted on the bastions; and near one of 
 these, which commanded a view of the ferry 
 across the Foyle, Sandy M'Elroy and Pat 
 Mackinnon joined a party who were on 
 watch. Here we will leave them, while we 
 return to the Cathedral door, where the 
 worshippers are still pouring out. 
 
 Two young men stood in the porch, as 
 if watching for some familiar faces. The 
 eldest of the two was in a half-military 
 dress; and his fair complexion and sandy 
 curls bespoke his Scottish blood. He had 
 a peculiarly open, frank face, with a bright 
 smile, which told more plainly than words, 
 that Duncan MTherson would be a pleasant 
 companion in the field or at the fireside. 
 His companion and cousin, Hugh Fairfax, 
 had by no means so pleasant an expression:
 
 6 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 his well-formed brows were drawn down in 
 an almost habitual frown ; and his firmly- 
 closed lips gave an air of decision and 
 sternness rare in so young a man. 
 
 " Here they are at last," said Duncan, 
 advancing to meet two young girls coming 
 out of the Cathedral, with their cloaks 
 drawn closely round their heads. They 
 greeted the young men with a pleased smile 
 of recognition and surprise. 
 
 '' You did not expect to see us here, 
 Aileen," said Duncan. " Your aunt was 
 alarmed at your being out alone, when the 
 town is so full; so we came to meet you." 
 
 "Oh, thank you; but where have you 
 come from? We thought you were both at 
 Dunallagh." 
 
 *' So we were : we came here this eveninir : 
 every one is coming into town as fast as they 
 can. But, come along, now; the service 
 was long, and it is late." 
 
 So saying, he drew Miss Fairfax's arm 
 within his own, and hurried on. 
 
 " Katharine, you must let me take care of 
 you to-night," said her cousin Hugh, gravely.
 
 KATPIAKINE FAIRFAX. 7 
 
 " Yes; but where is Janet ? Come, Janet," 
 she said to a young maid servant who fol- 
 lowed them, "keep close to us." 
 
 Silently they followed the others, who 
 were soon in earnest conversation. Duncan, 
 as Hugh's cousin, had early become inti- 
 mate with the Fairfax family, and had 
 made good use of his time by captivating 
 and winning the heart of Aileen Fairfax, 
 the elder of Hugh's two cousins, who, with 
 their father and aunt, were citizens of 
 Berry. Aileen was a gentle, quiet girl — 
 too quiet, it was said, for Captain M'Pher- 
 son, who was full of buoyant spirits and 
 energy — but she was in love, and he was in 
 love; and, consequently, they suited each 
 other to perfection. 
 
 " What is the great hiirry into the town 
 for to-night ?" said Katharine, after an 
 awkward pause, " Is there any fresh 
 news : 
 
 " There is no time to be lost. Antrim is 
 coming on: the roads will soon be stopped." 
 
 " What will the end of it all be, I wonder ?'' 
 said the girl, trembling, and tightening her
 
 8 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 hold of her companion's arm, which she had 
 barely touched before. 
 
 " Are you frightened ?" he said, in a more 
 gentle tone than he had used before. 
 
 " I am ; it seems so hopeless ; and, you 
 know, as you have said before, I am only a 
 woman. I cannot help being afraid — when, 
 perhaps, there is nothing to fear." 
 
 " When did I say that ? I don't remem- 
 ber." 
 
 " You said it one day when I refused to 
 go in the boat with you." 
 
 '^ I remember very well, now ; but I did 
 not say it that day because I thought you 
 were afraid." 
 
 " No ; you thought my womanhood was 
 to blame for something worse than cowardice, 
 that day. You thought I was vain and 
 frivolous ; and talking nonsense, to be ad- 
 mired. I know very well why you said so 
 bitterly, ^ Only a woman, after all.' " 
 
 Hugh's brow contracted painfully, and 
 he said, sternly, "• Misunderstood, as usual. 
 Come, Janet," he continued, looking back, 
 " you had better keep up with us."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 '* Then out spoke brave Horatius, 
 
 The captain of the gate : 
 To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late; 
 And how can man die better 
 
 Than, facing fearful odds. 
 For the ashes of his fathers 
 
 And the temples of his gods ?" 
 
 When William landed at Torbay, it must be 
 remembered that Ireland was the chief 
 stronghold of James. His policy had been 
 to strengthen, by every means in his power, 
 the Roman Catholic party in that countr}^, 
 and to unite them so closely in his interest 
 that, should the English Protestants prove 
 too strong for him, he should have Ireland 
 open for a refuge for himself or his friends. 
 The country was, therefore, divided against 
 itself, perhaps more bitterly than ever. The 
 mixed population of English and Irish, dif- 
 fering so widely in religion and interests,
 
 10 KATHARINE rAIRFAX. 
 
 had no feeling in common but that of mutual 
 hatred. The Catholic party were, perhaps, 
 the stronger of the two ; and James was to 
 them, not alone their lawful sovereign, but 
 the foundation of their power and the up- 
 holder of the true faith which they held in 
 common with him. On their side, also, may 
 be reckoned a sprinkling of Protestants, 
 who, from a peculiarity of temperament or 
 character, could not feel themselves justified 
 in breaking the oath of allegiance which 
 bound them to James as his obedient ser- 
 vants. They fought — reluctantly, perhaps, 
 but still in good faith — for his cause, which 
 their consciences Avould have them believe 
 to be the path of duty. On the other hand, 
 the Protestant party was composed of the 
 English and Scotch settlers in the land. 
 Until the present reign, all civil and mili- 
 tary power had been in their hands : they 
 were the freehold owners of lands, given 
 them to reclaim and civilise as best they 
 might. The shortsighted policy which sepa- 
 rated them, by jealousy of race and creed, 
 from their neighbours now produced its
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 11 
 
 natural fruit of mutual ill-will. James was 
 to them the meanest of tyrants, and his 
 followers the willing instruments of his 
 tyranny — the usurpers of their hitherto un- 
 disputed poAver. Their religion was made the 
 means of persecution — their liberty was in 
 danger. To William alone they could look 
 for help or sympathy. The county of Derry 
 belonged almost exclusively to the wealthy 
 Companies of London ; and their tenants^ 
 to whom they gave a freehold interest, 
 naturally looked exclusively to an English 
 and Protestant protection in the struggle 
 which seemed to be imminent. As the 
 tidings reached them now, from all sides, of 
 wars and rumours of wars, they hastily fled 
 to the city of Derry, behind whose walls, 
 slight and inefficient as they were, they 
 hoped to find shelter. Within those walls 
 there were, unhappily, divided councils. 
 The policy of the time had remodelled the 
 city corporation, as it had endeavoured to 
 remodel the whole government of Ireland, 
 by putting in all positions of trust men of 
 low standing and decided Jacobite proclivi-
 
 12 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 ties. The magistrates of Derry could not 
 be trusted by the people — neither by birth 
 or character could they claim their confi- 
 dence — and among all their number one only 
 was of English blood, and his description, 
 by a contemporary rhymester, as " a knave 
 all o'er, for he had learned to tell his beads 
 before/' told plainly enough what was 
 thought of him. Such was the political 
 crisis in the country, and such the special 
 circumstances of Londonderry, on the me- 
 morable evening when our story opens. 
 
 The excitement in the town was raised 
 next day to its utmost height by the news 
 that Antrim's troops were to be seen on the 
 opposite shores of the Foyle. 
 
 Pat Mackinnon was busy among his 
 master's bales of cloth and woollen <2:oods, 
 when his friend Sandy rushed iu breathless 
 with the tidings, "They've come, man; 
 they've come ! " 
 
 '^ Come ! an' what's to be done?" 
 
 " The Lord knows, Pat. But one thing, 
 sure and certain, I know, just nothing will 
 be done if we're depending on yon city cor-
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 13 
 
 poration. There they are, as I came up 
 the street, staring at one another; an' per- 
 haps one mighty brave gentleman will say, 
 ' Shut the gates ! ' an' another, equally 
 brave, will say, ' Open them ! ' One says, 
 ' Hold out I ' the next says, ^ Give in ! ' 
 Pretty fello^^s they to have the command 
 of our city." 
 
 " Listen to me, Sandy," said his com- 
 panion, earnestly. " If that's the way they're 
 going on it won't do; the thing must be 
 stopped at once — now or never." 
 
 •' An' who's to stop it, may 1 ask ?" 
 
 " We must stop it — you an' I, Sandy, 
 an' the other lads. Why shouldn't we shut 
 the gates of our city and keep the ruffians 
 out?" 
 
 At this moment a shout was heard, and 
 several young apprentices, wild with excite- 
 ment, joined our friends. 
 
 " They're at the gate, boys, with papers 
 in their hands, calling for the surrender of 
 our city." 
 
 '^ Now's the time, lads ; listen !" said Pat, 
 his strong frame trembling witli excitement.
 
 14 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 *' We must do it ; no one else will. Follow 
 me to the guardroom ; arm yourselves ; the 
 keys must be seized and the gates shut. 
 Quick ! follow me closely." 
 
 A loud shout of assent was the only 
 answer he received, and straightway they 
 flew on their errand. It seemed but the 
 work of a moment; the Ferry Gate was 
 reached and shut in the very face of the 
 King's officers, and the portcullis let down. 
 
 The vacillation and indecision of the 
 moment Avere overcome; the whole city 
 seemed instantaneously fired wdth one spirit 
 of courage and enthusiasm: a voice from one 
 of the citizens on the walls was heard warning 
 the intruders to go back as they had come. 
 It w^as noAV their turn to stand irresolute, 
 dumbfoundered by this unlooked-for recep- 
 tion ; hut their course w^as soon decided by 
 the same voice from the walls directing, in 
 a tone of command, " Bring a great gun 
 this way." The river w^as quickly crossed 
 once more by the intruders, who rejoined 
 their companions on the other side. 
 
 Meanwhile, no time was lost within the
 
 KATKAKINE FAIRFAX. 15 
 
 city. The die was cast : resistance to the 
 death was determined upon. The gates were 
 speedily secured, sentinels posted round the 
 walls, and the notes of warlike preparation 
 resounded on every side. As the day 
 passed on the citizens formed themselves 
 into companies, in which, notwithstanding 
 their hasty formation, strict order and dis- 
 cipline were the prominent features. The 
 brave little band of apprentices, among 
 whom were our friends Sandy and Pat, was 
 placed in responsible posts. Duncan MTher- 
 son's military training was not allowed to 
 lie dormant at this crisis : his energy and 
 courage did good service in inspiriting all 
 around him. Nor was his cousin Hucrh 
 idle. He was one of the freeholders of the 
 Worshipful Company of London Fish- 
 mongers, and held broad lands in the 
 county from which his tenants had flocked 
 into Derry, forming a stanch little company 
 which recognised him as their leader. 
 
 Thus the winter months passed awav, 
 and the lengthening April days found the 
 citizens strengthened and resolute for any 
 emergency.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " One rogue is usher to another still." 
 
 The garrison, which had been suffered to 
 dwindle into a handful of fighting men, 
 was now raised to more than seven thousand 
 armed citizens and soldiers, regimented and 
 disciplined by the few officers Avhom Lord 
 Mountjoy had left in the city, under command 
 of Colonel Lundy, whom he had installed 
 as governor, when he himself was called 
 away by a ruse of Tyrconnell. The worst 
 enemy of the gallant Derrymen at this time 
 was one of their own household. Lundy, 
 the governor, w^as at heart a traitor to the 
 cause he was entrusted to guard, and, as 
 time wore on, his true colours were soon 
 discovered. It would seem that the first 
 suspicion raised against him was the opposi- 
 tion which he showed towards Walker.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 17 
 
 This zealous friend to the Protestant cause 
 was Rector of the parish of Donaghmore, in 
 the county of Tyrone. At the first rumour of 
 the coming struggle he had raised a regi- 
 ment in his own neighbourhood, and, re- 
 ceiving intelligence that the enemy was 
 drawing near Derry, he hastened to offer 
 his services for her defence. Governor 
 Lundy choosing to turn a deaf ear to his 
 warnings, Walker went his way from the 
 town, and contented himself for some little 
 time in harassing the enemy's troops scat- 
 tered through the country. Ammunition 
 failing, he was obliged to return to the city. 
 The gates were shut against him, but he 
 and his regiment, after passing a night out- 
 side the walls, gained admittance next 
 morning, with some little difficulty. This 
 circumstance was not unnoticed by the 
 watchful citizens, and Lundy's faith was 
 doubted on all sides. The events of the 
 next few days served to confirm their suspi- 
 cions. On the 17th of April news came to the 
 city that King James's army was on the march 
 towards Derry. Lundy, accordingly, called 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 a council, and thought fit to make nriembers 
 of it Colonel Cunningham and Colonel 
 Richards, officers who had a couple of days 
 previously arrived from England, in two 
 ships which were now lying at anchor in 
 Lough Foyle with a reinforcement of two 
 reo:iments and other necessaries for the 
 relief of the town on board. These gentle- 
 men, with others equally unacquainted with 
 the condition of the city — Lundy having 
 taken care to exclude from the council any 
 of the citizens whose independence he feared 
 — passed an order to the effect that the 
 city being unable to hold out for more than 
 a week or ten days, it was advisable to 
 make no attempt to strengthen it by land- 
 in.o- the reo^iments under the command of 
 Colonel Cunningham; but that the principal 
 officers in the town should privately with- 
 draw themselves, and leave the inhabitants 
 to make the best bargain they could with 
 the enemy. 
 
 "While all was thus despair among the 
 friends of the King and Queen, and trea- 
 cherous yet doubting expectation among the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 19 
 
 Governor and liis associates, on the evening 
 of the 17th of April, as twilight was creeping 
 over the city, bringing with it the silence 
 and stillness of night — no sound heard but 
 the steady pacing of the pickets along the 
 walls, and now and then the tread of a watch- 
 ful citizen or officer hurrying up or down 
 the deserted streets — a man and woman 
 stood under a deep archway in earnest con- 
 versation. The njan was wrapped in a 
 large cloak, which he carefully drew over 
 his face; the girl was young and pretty, 
 but pallid with manifest fear and anxiety. 
 
 ^' Jim," she said, " wdiat do you want 
 with me? Tell me quickly." 
 
 "Hush, Janet; speak lower; we must 
 not be overheard. I am going to tell you a 
 secret." 
 
 " Oh, don't ! Jim ; I will not be able to 
 keep it." 
 
 " Silly child that you are, Janet, I cannot 
 go without telling you." 
 
 ^' Go! Jim. Where are you jzoinix?" 
 
 " Listen, Janet. The game is up in the 
 town. They may say what they like; but
 
 20 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 the King will be before tlie city to-morrow, 
 an' you will all be prisoners. There will 
 be no mercy for any one. Hanging is easy 
 work." 
 
 ''Oh, Jim, it can't be true! Who told 
 you this fearful tale?" 
 
 "'Wait till you see, Janet ; but I am not 
 going to wait to be tied up. I can find my 
 way out of the town to-night, an' I mean 
 to go. Janet, there is no time to lose ; will 
 you come with me an' be safe, too ?" 
 
 " Oh, Jim, my mother ! I cannot leave 
 her, nor the ladies, they have been so good 
 to me; and, oh! Jim, is it right to leave 
 the town to-night, and desert all our 
 friends ?" 
 
 ''It's right to take care of one's self, 
 lassie, an' to be true to one's King into the 
 bargain; an' if you don't come along now, 
 you mayn't get the chance again in a 
 hurry. But you don't care for me, Jenny: 
 I know you never did." 
 
 " Jim, you know I do ; but can I trust 
 you ? You often never come near me for so 
 long ; and if I was to go away with you, and
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 21 
 
 you left me then, when I had no one else, 
 what should T do ?" 
 
 " I know what will become of you, if 
 you stay in the city, that's all," said Jim, 
 gruffly; '^you an' your precious friends will 
 be hung like dogs." 
 
 " Oh, Jim ! why do you say that ? Miss 
 Fairfax told me if we were all true the end 
 would come right, and she knows all about 
 it, for Captain M'Pherson tells her." 
 
 " They're a set of fools for their pains ; 
 but I can't waste my time here. You 
 won't give up your friends for me, an' its 
 as well — you'd only be a burden. I've 
 cleared my conscience by giving you a last 
 chance." 
 
 Janet's answer was a smothered sob, and 
 a sound of advancing footsteps sent Jim 
 quickly skulking away in the opposite 
 direction, while Janet disappeared through 
 the door of the house behind her, and then, 
 overcome with grief and fear, she sank on 
 \he stair sobbing violently. 
 
 *' Janet, what is the matter ? What are 
 you doing here ?" said a soft voice behind
 
 22 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 her. It was that of her young mistress, 
 Katharine Fairfax. 
 
 The poor girl's story was soon told to the 
 sympathising ears of the young lady. Her 
 lover was gone — she would, perhaps, never 
 see him again — he was strange and mys- 
 terious, too, in his manner: she could not 
 make him out or trust him as she used to 
 do. 
 
 "But, oh! Mistress Katharine, I should 
 not have told you. He said it was a secret.'^ 
 
 " It can't be helped, now, Janet. But I 
 wonder how he can leave the city to-night. 
 It is strange: there must be something 
 wrong. I must go to Aileen. Jim was 
 not good enough for you, Janet; I am 
 very glad you were not tempted to trust 
 him." 
 
 Katharine found her sister in their little 
 bedroom, and soon told her of Janet's grief. 
 
 *' There must be something wrong; don't 
 you think so, Aileen ?'' 
 
 " Why, Katie r" 
 
 ^^ Because Jim spoke of leaving the town 
 to-night; and you know Duncan said no
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 23 
 
 one was allowed either in or out after 
 sunset." 
 
 " Well, wliat can we do ?'' said Aileen, 
 who was never very easily roused to ac- 
 tion. 
 
 "We must tell some one. If anything 
 should happen to-night I would never for- 
 give myself. I am sure it was more than 
 accident that led to my hearing about Jim 
 to-night. I never trusted him : he's not 
 true. It's not quite dark yet ; I'll put on 
 my cloak and find out Duncan or Hugh." 
 
 " Indeed, Katie, I'm sure it's not right 
 for you to go out at this hour. What will 
 aunt say ?" 
 
 ''I don't care," said Katharine, impetu- 
 ously. '^ There is no need to tell her; it 
 would make her uneasy. I won't be 
 lono:, and I feel that I ous^ht to do some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, if you are determined to go, I 
 will go with you." 
 
 '^ No, indeed, Aileen, you must not. I 
 will go quicker by myself; and aunt or 
 father might miss us if both were away.'*
 
 24 
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " I don't like you to go alone, Katie. 
 Indeed, I wish you would not." 
 
 " Never fear for me, Aileen, dear; I will 
 be back in no time ; " and, kissing her 
 sister, she was gone.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "I looked upon lier with a soldier's eye, 
 That liked, but had a rougher trade in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love." 
 
 It was darker in the lonely street than she 
 had thought ; but Katharine Fairfax was 
 not easily daunted. On she went through 
 the silent city ; pausing only now and then, 
 under the shelter of some doorway, to avoid 
 meeting the soldiers who were going their 
 rounds. The guardroom in the Diamond 
 was soon reached, and her cousin Hugh 
 found on duty. 
 
 "You here, Katie!" he said; ''what is 
 the matter ?'' 
 
 Jim's words to Janet were repeated, and 
 Hugh looked grave and startled. 
 
 " Come in here, Katharine, and sit down, 
 till I see about it. You were right to come 
 to me."
 
 26 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 Speaking a few words of explanation to 
 the sergeant of the guard, Hugh rushed to 
 the Ferry Gate : to his dismay it was open. 
 Speedily it Y/as secured; the other gates 
 were examined, the guard doubled, and the 
 pass-word changed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Katharine sat, wrapped in 
 her cloak, in a corner of the guardroom 
 where Hugh had left her. She was afraid 
 to move, hearing voices and steps outside ; 
 and Hugh, too, had told her not to move 
 till he came back. Accustomed to be 
 obeyed, his manner was at all times de- 
 cided ; and Katharine, if the truth might be 
 known, was afraid of him. He had an inde- 
 finable power over most people who came in 
 contact with him ; and this power Katharine 
 felt, and would resist if she could. Thus 
 arose the barrier between them. Their 
 wills clashed too often ; and the gentle word 
 or look which would have softened Katharine 
 was too often suppressed and put away, as 
 weak and dangerous; for, with all the 
 strength of his nature, he loved her, and 
 despised himself at the same time for doing
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 27 
 
 SO, when her apparent coldness made 
 him feel that she did not return his 
 love. 
 
 The moments seemed very long to 
 Katharine. She longed to rush back to 
 Aileen, who she knew would be anxiously 
 watching for her return ; for a minute she 
 would wish she had never left home ; and 
 then Hugh's words would come back to her 
 — " You did right to come." At last he came 
 and related hastily what he had done. 
 
 "And now," said Katharine, ''I must go 
 back; Aileen will be frightened." 
 
 " I cannot let you go alone, and I must 
 stay here myself; but I will send for Duncan 
 — he was here a few minutes ago — he will 
 see you safe home." 
 
 While they waited for Duncan, Hugh 
 said earnestly — " Katie, I can never think 
 a woman need be a coward again. You 
 have shown yourself brave and wise to- 
 night, at any rate." 
 
 " I am glad I came when it was of any 
 use; and I am glad, too, that you say I was 
 brave. I will not for;ret it."
 
 28 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 "Arid you will forget if I said anything 
 before to hurt you?" 
 
 "Indeed I will. I think I always pro- 
 voke you to say disagreeable things to me. 
 Good-night, cousin Hugh; we do not mis- 
 understand each other to-nio^ht." 
 
 '* Good-night, and God bless you, Katie," 
 he said, in a low voice, as Duncan came in, 
 and Katharine turned quickly away with 
 him. 
 
 " Why will she say ' Cousin Hugh,' " he 
 muttered, when he found himself alone 
 once more. ^^We shall never understand 
 each other. She cares twice as much for 
 Duncan as she does for me, whom she has 
 known all her life; she is so merry, so 
 bright with him and every one else but me." 
 
 And Katharine, as he walked along with 
 her intended brother-in-law, felt a sense of 
 relief that it was with him, not with Hugh, she 
 had to walk home. Hugh's presence seemed 
 to oppress her some way ; she never felt as 
 free and happy with him as she did with 
 Duncan. To-night his tenderness and gen- 
 tleness struck her, and his words of praise
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 29 
 
 sounded pleasantly again and again in her 
 €ars. 
 
 Aileen was anxiously waiting for her 
 sister — the rest of the little household were 
 in bed — and Duncan hurried back to the 
 walls. It was an anxious night for all who 
 had heard of the discovery; but the hours 
 passed quietly by, daylight came at last, 
 and with it the news that King James, at 
 the head of his troops, was within four miles 
 of the city.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Hang forth the banner ! 
 From the outer wall the cry is still ' They come!' " 
 
 At the first appearance of dawn, Hugh 
 mounted to the flat roof of the Cathedral, 
 where two large guns had been placed. 
 As he looked anxiously around, a glorious 
 landscape met his view. Immediately be- 
 neath, the little city lay upon the sides of 
 the hill on whose summit the Cathedral 
 stands, its narrow, steep streets already 
 filled with the overflowing of the thirty 
 thousand people Avho densely crowded the 
 houses during the hours of rest, and scarcely 
 found space for exercise within the small 
 oblong square enclosed by the walls. To 
 the north, the river wound along to Cul- 
 more Fort, and then stretched and widened 
 into the Lough, its waters now glistening 
 with the rising sun. On the east, the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 31 
 
 wooded bank of Prehenn, separated from 
 the bustling town by the swiftly-flowing 
 Foyle, lay in calm repose strangely con- 
 trasting with the tumult within the walls. 
 To the south-east, signs of anxious watch- 
 fulness were evident in the continual pass- 
 insr of officers and armed citizens throuo^h 
 Bishop's gate, and in the steady attitude of 
 expectation in wdiich the strong guard of 
 the ravelin lately constructed in front of 
 the gate stood to their arms. It was evident 
 that the approach of some great danger 
 w^as expected from the high road which led 
 in that direction along the upper Foyle to 
 St. Johnstown. The morning mist was 
 slowly rolling off the blue hills in the 
 distance, and the familiar scene gradually 
 disclosed itself to Hugh's eye. But it was 
 not to the hills whose outline he knew so 
 well he looked, nor to the silvery line of the 
 river dancing and sparkling in the sun. 
 An unexpected and a startling sight 
 caught his wandering eye and invited his 
 whole attention. Not many miles distant 
 he could discern a dark mass of soldiery
 
 32 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 moving swiftly along the road. King 
 James's troops were coming. There was no 
 mistake now : less tlian an hour would bring 
 them to the very walls of Derry. 
 
 Hugh Fairfax was no coward, 3'et his 
 heart sank within him as he looked down 
 on the little city at his feet, and then 
 again at what seemed the overwhelming 
 force advancing. How could they with- 
 stand the coming foe, with their inefficient 
 defences, deficient of ammunition and pro- 
 visions to sustain a siege ; and, above 
 all, the words echoed in his mind, "Every 
 city or house divided against itself shall 
 not stand." Had he known that the body 
 of troops which appeared in the distance so 
 imposing were little better than an undis- 
 ciplined rabble, and their commanders not 
 more stable than the waters which ebbed 
 and flowed beneath the city walls, he 
 would not have regarded them with so 
 much apprehension. 
 
 " Duncan, look out yonder," he said, as 
 his cousin joined him. 
 
 '^ What's to be seen? Troops!" he ex-
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 38 
 
 •claimed. " So they have come at last, and 
 we are in for it. Well, Hugh, they will 
 meet with braver hearts here than they 
 expect." 
 
 "Yes, we are brave enough, it is true ; but 
 can we stand out against such a host ? See 1 
 the horse are advancing pretty steadily; 
 where have we the power to repel them? 
 Mark my words, Duncan, there is a long 
 struggle before us, and, situated as we are 
 now, we have not much to look to."' 
 
 " You do not doubt the people?" 
 
 " God forbid! The mass of them is true 
 as steel; but who is there to lead them? 
 The Governor is false to his very heart's 
 core, and we do not know how deep his 
 influence and power are working." 
 
 ^'Base traitor that he is!" echoed 
 Duncan; "he has done his best to ruin us, 
 and we know not what more he will do. I 
 heard it rumoured as I came up that a 
 council of war was to be held the first thing 
 this morning." 
 
 " And what do they want with a council, 
 the fact is plain enough before us now? 
 
 VOL. I. li
 
 34 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 The enemy has come — let every man 
 stand to his gun. What more can a 
 council tell them ?" 
 
 '* I would not put it past that traitor to 
 propose a surrender." 
 
 " A surrender ! He had better not show 
 his face within the town again, then, I'd 
 advise him, if he utters that word," said 
 Hugh, fiercely. " Look,' he continued, " if 
 that is not King James's standard — to the 
 right, coming round the curve of the road." 
 
 Yes, there it was 1 proudly waving in 
 the fresh morning breeze. But the wind 
 that moved its folds blew also in the faces 
 of the young men, as they stood on the 
 Cathedral roof, and nerved them to an 
 energy and courage sufficient for the day. 
 
 The bell of the Cathedral rang out for 
 morning prayer, and they descended to 
 join in it before the duties of the day 
 began . 
 
 Never before had the words of the liturgy 
 sounded to them so impressive, and many 
 were the earnest voices which sent up the 
 plea to Heaven — ''* There is none other that
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 35 
 
 fighteth for us, but only Thou, God.'* 
 Solemnly the minister repeated the words 
 of the Psalmist — " Though an host should 
 encamp against me, my heart shall not 
 fear; though war should rise against me, 
 in this shall I be confident." " Citizens of 
 Derry, and fellow soldiers in the Lord," he 
 began, *^' can you echo the words of David? 
 Is his God to be your God ; his faith 
 your faith ? I see a host encamping round 
 about our walls, shall I not also see that 
 the spirit of David is strong within these 
 walls? We have not sought this war, it 
 hath risen up against us — against our re- 
 ligion, our liberty, and our homes; yet of 
 one thing we may be confident — the Lord 
 hath also raised up a deliverer for us. 
 William of Orange and Mary of England 
 are our King and Queen ; they will not 
 sufi'er us to perish ; only be strong and 
 very courageous. Let us dedicate our- 
 selves this day — man, woman, and child — 
 to the work before us, the preservation of 
 our city. The strong amongst us will have 
 active service — ay, and many a hardship 
 
 3—2
 
 36 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 and danger to brave ; while the weaker will 
 have to endure, to wait, and to hope ; and, 
 brethren, we shall have to help one another 
 in love and self-denial, and God, even our 
 own God, will help every one of us. Only 
 let us be true — true to Him, and true to 
 one another " 
 
 Ere he could proceed a tumultuous noise 
 outside was heard, and a mob burst in 
 with the cry, "To the Council Room, to 
 the Council Eoom ! They will betray us !" 
 
 Instantly a rush was made. But we must 
 precede the crowd by a few minutes, and 
 learn the cause of the panic. 
 
 Lundy and his friends having prepared 
 a document treating of the surrender of the 
 city, now produced it to receive the sig- 
 natures of the citizens. " You are aware, 
 gentlemen," the Governor began, "that, 
 with the able assistance of these distin- 
 guished officers of his Gracious Majesty 
 King William, we have come to the con- 
 clusion that the city of Londonderry being 
 unlit to sustain a siege it is expedient for 
 individuals to consider their own safety,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 37 
 
 1 
 
 and to go their own several ways as may 
 appear to them best : while we, to whom 
 the safety of this city and its inhabitants is 
 dearer than life, will set ourselves to obtain 
 from the enemy a favourable treaty, and, 
 doubtless, redress of our grievances. It is 
 therefore for this purpose — carefully con- 
 sidered, in the sole desire for the honour 
 and safety of this our town — that we lay 
 this instrument before you to be duly 
 subscribed with your signatures." 
 
 The Governor's address was followed by 
 a deep silence at the council board, broken 
 only by murmurs from the citizens and 
 apprentices who had forced their way into 
 the chamber and were pressing upon the 
 council. This muttering of discontent con- 
 tinued for a few minutes, when a stout, 
 middle-aged man, dressed in the short cas- 
 sock of an Episcopal clergyman, but with a 
 crimson sash round his waist and a heavy 
 sword suspended by a buff shoulder-belt 
 from his side, pushed his way through the 
 croAvd of bystanders. 
 
 "Men and brethren," he said, "is this
 
 38 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 the loyalty of English Protestants, or is 
 this the spirit of men whose faith is 
 threatened by the sons of Belial crowding 
 round our walls, and whose wives and 
 children may be any moment at tlie mercy 
 of the savage sworders who swarm in the 
 wake of the Popish tyrant? For shame ! 
 Who talks of surrender, with the God of 
 fenced cities for our leader, and Gospel 
 truth the stake of the battle?" 
 
 "Master Walker," interrupted the Gover- 
 nor, "this is a matter for gentlemen of the 
 sword, who know what belongs to the 
 holding of a beleaguered town." 
 
 " We want no Mess Johns nor Tyrone 
 men here," broke in Alderman Buchanan; 
 " the question is, how can we hold out 
 with empty magazines and overcrowded 
 houses ?" 
 
 " Down with the traitors !" the bystanders 
 now boldly shouted out, and " Down with 
 the traitors!" "Hang Lundy!" ''Hang 
 Buchanan!" was .echoed in fierce cries 
 from the crowd which filled the Diamond, 
 and to whom the discussion in the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 39 
 
 Council Chamber had been by this time 
 communicated. 
 
 The Governor turned pale as ashes, and 
 shrank back into his chair from the conflict 
 he was ready a few minutes before to 
 enter upon with the Rector of Donaghmore. 
 The uproar outside grew louder, the agita- 
 tion within the Chamber became more 
 threatening, when the attention of all within 
 and without the Town Hall was arrested by 
 the sudden thud of a gun, fired as it seemed 
 from above the place of the immediate 
 tumult. Every one strove to rush to the 
 windows, and in the confusion, Lundy, 
 casting aside his plumed hat, and catching 
 up the cloak of a town sergeant, slipped out 
 through a side- door into an inner room, 
 and escaped from the crowd thirstiuii for 
 his blood.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " The desolator desolate — 
 The victor overthrown ; 
 The arbiter of others' fate 
 A suppliant for his own." 
 
 What a change that day's work had brought 
 to Lundy ! In the town where he had been 
 accustomed to command and to be obeyed 
 he dared not show his face. Overwhelmed 
 with abject fear, he concealed himself, trem- 
 bling and panic-stricken. Every sound 
 made him start. The roaring of the guns, 
 which he had forbidden to be fired, told 
 him that his reign was over — that the end 
 for which he had planned and schemed, 
 would never come — that the city was lost 
 to him and his friends for ever. With all 
 his cunning he had overreached himself: 
 his last card was played out. The surprise 
 which he had planned to take place the 
 nisrht before had failed — how or wherefore
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 41 
 
 he knew not. Martin, among other conspi- 
 rators, had left him the previous evening, 
 with assurances to the enemy that all was 
 in training for an easy entrance into the 
 town; his friends had all vanished now,, 
 and he was alone among those whom lie had 
 made his deadliest enemies. At the present 
 moment there was none to molest him, but 
 in his inmost soul he felt that he could not 
 escape their vengeance. The cessation of 
 firing and the sound of approaching foot- 
 steps warned him that he must fly. Hastily 
 he glanced round the room, looking for 
 some place of safety. A small inner closet, 
 the door of which was concealed in the 
 panelling, might be a refuge for a titne, and 
 there he lay in mortal terror through the 
 day. He heard voices constantly in the 
 Council Chamber, and the mention of his 
 own name made his blood run cold. At last 
 he reco^rnised the voice of a man whom he 
 hated as atraitor hates an honestman — it was 
 that of Captain Murray ; and the quiet voice 
 which answered liim he knew to be that of 
 the brave Walker.
 
 42 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 '' He cannot be far off,'* said Adam 
 Murray; '' he must be got out of the way; 
 the people could not be trusted to look upon 
 him in the mood they are now in." 
 
 " Wretched man," said his companion, 
 " it is not for us to execute vengeance; his 
 punishment will too surely visit him. If 
 we could but find him now, and get him 
 out of the town : inside he is still dangerous 
 — we know not who may be in league with 
 hun. 
 
 As Walker spoke, the panel door creaked 
 behind him, and disclosed the object of their 
 consultation. The unexpected words of 
 mercy they had spoken tempted him to leave 
 his place of concealment. No reproach passed 
 either of their lips ; no explanation was asked 
 or given. The conclusion that he could no 
 longer remain in the town Avas silently 
 accepted, and arrangements made for his 
 escape. Murray summoned to his aid the 
 faithful Sandy M'Elroy to help him in the 
 difficulty. 
 
 " Sandy," he said, " we can trust you, I 
 know; but can you trust yourself? Can.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 43 
 
 you control your strongest feelings and 
 carry out an errand which may be against 
 your desires ?" 
 
 " Sir, I am a soldier in these days ; I can 
 obey." 
 
 The project was accordingly disclosed to 
 him of getting rid of the obnoxious Go- 
 vernor. A disguise was to be obtained, 
 and, under cover of the night, he was to 
 be let down from the walls. The work 
 was safely accomplished, and the town freed 
 from its worst enemy. 
 
 In the meantime King James, with the 
 evident expectation that the town would 
 easily yield to his kingly presence, advanced 
 with flying colours. The flashing of the 
 guns from the walls was not a little startling 
 — it was rather too warm a reception for 
 faithful citizens to give to their liege lord 
 on his arrival ; but such it was : the 
 guns w^ere fired, and the advancing force 
 was soon scattered. Some fled precipitately, 
 others slipped away to some convenient 
 shelter, and a few fell, never more to rise 
 against the men of Derry. The King, sur-
 
 44 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 prised and confounded, endeavoured to rally 
 his disordered troops ; and when evening 
 came he found it convenient to retreat 
 to St. JohnstoAvn. Thus ended the day 
 ushered in by the rising sun with such fear 
 and hope. 
 
 The next step was to provide for the 
 maintenance of order and discipline within 
 the walls, without which, it was plainly seen, 
 nothing could be eiFected. Major Baker 
 and Mr. Walker were elected Governors — 
 the former for military affairs, the latter for 
 the influence of his eloquence and moral 
 power over the people, to preserve unit}^ and 
 concord amongst the strangely-mixed garri- 
 son. The stores were examined and the 
 necessary orders given for their regulation ; 
 the guns were disposed to the best advan- 
 tage, and the fighting men formed into com- 
 panies, under command of eight colonels — 
 in all, seven thousand and twenty men and 
 six hundred and forty-one officers. 
 
 " The Lord Himself has been with us,'* 
 said Walker, as he walked with Murray 
 round the walls, surveying with his keen
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 45 
 
 €ye each post of danger ; ^' how other- 
 wise could w^e have accomplished so much 
 already ?" 
 
 " And in so short a time," replied his 
 companion; "it is now but three days since 
 all was in hopeless confusion." 
 
 " Our dangers are truly many and great, 
 and, were it not for the resolute courage 
 which daily showeth itself in our people, we 
 had surely sore need to faint. Here we are, 
 a handful in the midst of our enemies, our 
 friends deserting us, our garrison composed 
 of a number of poor people frightened from 
 their homes, and seeming more fit to hide 
 themselves than to face an enemy, with no 
 person of acknowledged experience in war 
 to lead them." 
 
 " And, besides," added Murray, " we have 
 no horse to sally with, no forage, not a gun 
 well mounted in the whole town, and but 
 scant food to keep us alive." 
 
 " It is only too true, brother ; but God 
 Almighty hath made us as it were to overlook 
 all these difficulties, and 1 doubt not that, 
 with His own right hand and with His holy 
 arm, He getteth Himself the victory.'*
 
 46 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 And almost miraculous it seemed, indeed, 
 to see spring out of the disorder and dis- 
 union, so overwhelming but a few days 
 before, the martial look and bearing of the 
 whole town, and the unity and confidence 
 which prevailed. The siege was now begun 
 in earnest, but the citizens were prepared 
 and ready. 
 
 Messages were brought from the King to 
 the city, in expectation of the fulfilment 
 of Lundy's promises, but they were quietly 
 disregarded ; and James, finding his pre- 
 sence produced no effect, returned to Dublin, 
 leaving the future conduct of operations to 
 his officers.
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 " Go in and cheer the town; we'll forth to fight — 
 Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night." 
 
 Edwakd Fairfax was a warm adherent to 
 tjie Episcopal Church, and his wife, the 
 daughter of a Scotch minister, had adopted 
 his views, and brought up their two children, 
 Aileen and Katharine, in the same confes- 
 sion. She was dead long since, and for 
 many years her sister, Miss Hester Car- 
 michael, had kept Mr. Fairfax's house, and 
 been as a second mother to his dau2:hters. 
 Aunt Hester was a shrewd Scotchwoman ; 
 but all the tenderness of her nature had 
 been drawm out by the claims of her sister's 
 children upon her affections, and, though her 
 character was determined and self-reliant, 
 she had none of the hardness which too 
 often predominates in women of her stamp. 
 She had never given up the Presbyterian
 
 48 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 form : Aunt Hester rarely gave up anything. 
 Edward Fairfax was an old man now, and 
 ill-health had made his years appear more 
 than they were. He seldom left his chamber ; 
 but never was there a man more nursed or 
 cared for: his sister-in-law and daughters 
 jealously shared the attendance on him. 
 Good and kind as he had always been, he 
 was now gentle as a child. 
 
 It had been a trying day for the besieged. 
 The bombarding of the town had commenced ; 
 some of the buildings had taken fire, chim- 
 neys and roofs had fallen in, and the conse- 
 quent damage and loss of life was not 
 trifling. Silently and sadly the Fairfax 
 family was gathered round the hearth after 
 the evening meal. Katharine knelt by her 
 father's chair: the sounds and sights of the 
 day had greatly shaken him, and he lay 
 back, pale and weak. Aileen and her aunt 
 sat at the other side of the fire, their hands 
 busy with their needles, which, they said, 
 kept them calmer than doing nothing. 
 
 *"' How late they are to-night,'' said Aileen ; 
 *' Duncan said neither of them would be on 
 guard this evening."
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 49 
 
 ^' I wish they would come, and then we 
 might get my father to go to bed/' said 
 Katharine, in a whisper; ''he is dozing 
 now " — and she rose and sat down by her 
 aunt. 
 
 " Aunt Hester, what will be the end of 
 it all, do you think?" she said wearily. 
 
 " Katie, child, how can I tell ? God only 
 knows that, but we know that we are safe 
 in His hands." 
 
 " How will father bear it, if it goes on 
 much longer like to-day ? Look how worn 
 and pale he is," said Aileen, putting down 
 her work. 
 
 No one answered. What could they an- 
 swer, when they looked towards the poor 
 old man, and thought of the hardships 
 which might come. After a little, Katharine 
 said — 
 
 "And we seem so helpless, so useless. 
 Men can go about and do their best, while 
 we can do nothing." 
 
 "The best we can do," said her aunt, "is 
 to keep ourselves quiet, and not worry other 
 folk with our questions and fears. We'll 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 have plenty to bear, no doubt, before long 
 and plenty, too, to suiFer." 
 
 ''That's just it," said Katharine, "we 
 must sit still. I firmly believe, auntie, it is 
 the hardest lot of the two. If I were only 
 a man, and could go to the walls and do 
 something !" 
 
 " Whist, lassie, you do not know what 
 you say. Be thankful you have brave men 
 to shield you from the brunt of the battle. 
 You don't know what it is to face death as 
 they do, perhaps every hour of the day.'* 
 
 Aileen shuddered. She thought of Dun- 
 can, who wasmore to her than to any of them, 
 and she knew he would not spare himself. 
 
 " Aunt," said Katharine, " which do you 
 think, Duncan or Hugh, is the bravest ? I 
 need not ask Aileen, for of course she is 
 prejudiced; but you are not, I think." 
 
 But, indeed, aunt Hester was prejudiced, 
 if the truth could be known; for Hugh, 
 whom she had seen grow up from his child- 
 hood, was as the very apple of her eye. She 
 understood his reserved nature and, at 
 times, rather haughty ways; she had seen
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 51 
 
 Mm in his gentlest moods, tending his 
 mother's dying bed, and she knew what a 
 depth of feehng he hid under a cold sur- 
 face. Duncan she was beginning to like 
 also ; but at first he had been too gay, too 
 off-handed for her, and at times she doubted 
 if he was good enough for her Aileen. 
 
 "How can I tell, child?" she answered; 
 " they are both good soldiers, no doubt.'* 
 
 '' But which would bear the most, do 
 you think?" 
 
 " Well, I'd have but little question that 
 Hugh would hold to his own the longest, 
 and, perhaps, endure the more wearisome 
 day. Duncan would rush straight ahead 
 at the danger — the most forward, surely; 
 but, I'd say, it would be more likely he'd 
 give in the soonest." 
 
 "Oh, aunt, nothing would daunt 
 Duncan." 
 
 "Who is afraid that I shall be daunted?" 
 said Duncan himself, as he came into the 
 room at the moment. 
 
 " Oh, you have come at last ; and where is 
 your cousin?" said Miss Carmichael, rising. 
 
 ^ ^UNIVERSITY OF 
 III mniR I IRRARY
 
 52 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 "Hugh is coming. He is bringing a 
 poor woman round here for shelter; her 
 house is buried in ruins — she is Sandy's 
 mother. He is at his post on the wall, and 
 Hugh promised to see to her." 
 
 " I must arrange some place for her/* 
 said Miss Carmichael. '' Aileen, see that 
 Duncan has his supper." 
 
 Hugh soon joined the party, and the old 
 man roused himself to hear the details of 
 the day's doings. Duncan had most of the 
 talking to himself. Hugh, at all times 
 taciturn, had of late been even more 
 reserved ; and his cousin's bright face, 
 rendered still brighter at present by the 
 smoothly-running current of his love, con- 
 trasted almost painfully with the cloud 
 which seemed to hang over Hugh's brow. 
 Jealously he watched the attention with 
 which both sisters listened to Duncan's 
 descriptions, told with so much ardour; and 
 he saw, more closely than any of them 
 could have imagined, the looks of love and 
 animation Aileen expressed in every glance 
 towards her lover; not that he could accuse
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 53 
 
 either Aileen or Katharine of neglect to- 
 wards himself. They had from childhood 
 always treated him as a brother, and with 
 Aileen he knew that this love was un- 
 changed. But with Katharine he persuaded 
 himself it was different ; her kindness he 
 imagined was only the common courtesy 
 she would give to the merest stranger, her 
 indifference he magnified at times into 
 positive dislike. 
 
 " Did you hear, Hugh," asked Duncan, 
 ^'that Murray has determined on a sally?" 
 
 '' Yes; but I heard no particulars." 
 
 " It is to be volunteer work, and Murray 
 takes command." 
 
 ^'The numbers are not made up yet, I 
 suppose," said Hugh. 
 
 " I should say not, and I had half a 
 mind to give in my name." 
 
 " Oh, Duncan ! why should you ?" said 
 Aileen, her voice trembling. 
 
 '* Why should I not, as well as any one 
 else?" he said gaily; and then his manner 
 changed as he looked at the pale face 
 beside him.
 
 54 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " There is no need for you to go, Dun- 
 can," said his cousin. "Aileen is right; 
 why should you go? Others would be less 
 missed than you," he added, sadly. Miss 
 Carmichael coming in at this moment, he 
 turned to her, abruptly changing the sub- 
 ject— 
 
 '^ Miss Carmichael, how many more can 
 you accommodate here? This house is com- 
 paratively safe at present. We must get 
 the people out of the unprotected quarters. 
 And then about provisions, what have you 
 in store?" 
 
 Miss Carmichael was scarcely prepared 
 for this inroad on her hospitality ; but she 
 could not resist, even had she been so 
 inclined, the decisive tone in which Hugh 
 spoke, knowing as she did that he was 
 seldom led away by vague sentiment. 
 They were therefore soon deep in the ways 
 and means necessary to carry out his plans ; 
 and Aileen turned again to Duncan to 
 dissuade him from putting himself into 
 unnecessary danger. Katharine went to 
 her usual place, by her father's chair at the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 55 
 
 fireside. Later on in the evening she and 
 Hugh found themselves alone for a few 
 minutes, the others having all dispersed 
 for the night. "Hugh," said Katharine, 
 " will you keep Duncan from volunteering 
 for the sally? It would break Aileen's heart 
 if anything happened to him ; and there 
 would be great danger, would there not ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is a risk, and Duncan need not 
 expose himself to it. As I said before, 
 there are plenty to do it without hini ; plenty 
 whom nobody would miss." 
 
 " I don't suppose there are many in the 
 town so utterly friendless as that. There 
 are very few people in the world who have 
 not some to care for them." 
 
 " Plent}^," said Hugh, shortly. "I believe 
 no one is really missed long in this world. 
 Others fill up their places, and everything 
 goes on as if they had never been." 
 
 " Then I suppose you would not miss 
 any one yourself?" 
 
 " Xot many ; and I have the satisfaction 
 of knowing that no one would miss me." 
 
 "You just want me to contradict you;
 
 56 KATHARINE EAIRFAX. 
 
 but I won't. It is ungrateful of you not 
 to think more of our affection for you by 
 this time. And, besides, when you allow 
 you don't care for many people, how can 
 you expect many to care for you! You 
 are so proud, cousin Hugh; you always 
 judge yourself apart from other people." 
 
 " Could you think of any more pleasing 
 qualities to bestow upon me, cousin Katha- 
 rine ? I am ungrateful and proud ; what 
 more, if you please?" 
 
 " It is time to bid you good night. I 
 think you are getting sarcastic, and I don't 
 want to get into an argument : I always 
 get the worst of it, as every woman does. 
 You will not forget to talk to Duncan."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Is human love the growth of human will ?" 
 
 Gloomily Hugh turned to the fire when 
 Katharine had gone. Yes ; she thought him 
 ungrateful, proud, and sarcastic ; these were 
 her words, but without the playful look and 
 tone they had been spoken with ; and it had 
 never entered into her heart to ask him not 
 to put hhnself in danger. Surely, if any one 
 was fitted to go on the forlorn hope he was ; 
 he had no ties, no one to beg him to take 
 care of himself. And so his determination 
 was taken to join Murray's little band. 
 
 "What kept you so long, Katie?" said 
 her sister, when she went to their room. 
 
 " I stayed to speak to Hugh, to ask him 
 to talk to Duncan about not going on the 
 sally." 
 
 " How kind of you, Katie. What did 
 Hugh say?"
 
 58 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " He said there was no need for him to 
 go ; and then, as usual, he got cross, and 
 wanted to draw me into an argument. I 
 never saw anything like him now ; he has 
 got so hard, and talks in such a gloomy 
 way.'' 
 
 " Indeed, Katie, I must say I think you 
 are often very hard on him." 
 
 " Nonsense, Aileen. Why, to-night I did 
 but rally him. But I think he makes a 
 point of contradicting me and getting up 
 a dispute, just to draw me out to say sharp 
 things ; and then he says I always misunder- 
 stand him." 
 
 " And so you do, I think. Katie, dear, I 
 have a fancy that Hugh cares more for you 
 than you think." 
 
 "Cares for me! What do you mean, 
 Aileen ?'' And then the hot flush came over 
 her face, and she said, eagerly — 
 
 ''That's perfect nonsense, Aileen; why 
 do you say it ? I verily believe Hugh dis- 
 likes me. I am the only one in the house 
 he ever quarrels with." 
 
 " That is the Irish way of making love,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 5^ 
 
 you know, Katie/' said her sister, laugh- 
 
 ing. 
 
 '^ Don't, Aileen. I wish you hadn't said 
 anything about it ; it is so utterly ridicu- 
 lous. You think every one must be in love 
 now, because you are so yourself. Go to 
 sleep, foolish child, and dream of Duncan, 
 which will be far more profitable for you." 
 
 But to sleep she herself could not go. Her 
 sister's words had surprised her not a little, 
 and set her thinking of what she had never 
 thought of before; the idea seemed so absurd, 
 so unfounded'. Still, in spite of herself she 
 remembered a tenderness — perhaps only a 
 tone or look — which had surprised her at 
 the time, and then was forgotten in the 
 habitual coldness and sternness of his 
 manner. She had always thought of him as 
 her cousin — almost her brother — and she 
 felt angry and indignant that any one should 
 have thought of him as anything else ; and 
 Aileen's words were calculated, as all such 
 words spoken by a third person invariably 
 are, to do more mischief to Hugh's cause than 
 months of misunderstanding between them.
 
 60 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 Katharine was startled at the idea, and de- 
 termined to be more reserved than ever 
 with her cousin. " It would never do," 
 she repeated over and over again to her- 
 self; "but I don't believe Hugh ever 
 thought of it. How I wish Aileen had 
 never put it into my head. We used to 
 get on well enough, in spite of the quarrel- 
 ling ; but now I will be afraid to speak to 
 him when I know any one — even Aileen — is 
 thinking about it. I wish he could go 
 away, but he can't while this weary siege 
 lasts." And then she thought of her father, 
 and of all they might have to suffer before 
 it was over, till she went to sleep with the 
 thought in her mind — " What would she 
 do if Hugh should be away at this time?" 
 
 Hugh was out early next morning, and 
 later in the day Duncan told them that he 
 had gone with Murray. 
 
 " He would not let me go," said Duncan ; 
 *^ and it was only by accident I heard he was 
 going ; and then I asked him why he would 
 go, and he said, quite savagely, that it 
 mattered to no one about him. I can't 
 think what has come over him."
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 61 
 
 Katharine bent down lower over lier 
 work to hide the conscious look the remem- 
 brance of Aileen's words on the night before 
 brought to her face, and then the thought 
 smote her, '^ No one ever asked Hugh not 
 to go ; perhaps that was what made him 
 cross last night. When she had been talk- 
 ing to him about Duncan she had never, 
 somehow, thought of his putting himself into 
 the same danger ; and now he had gone, 
 thinking no one cared for him, and it was 
 not true, for they were all full of tenderness 
 and aifection for him." 
 
 " He is doing his duty, I doubt not," said 
 Miss Carmichael, "and God will take care 
 of him." 
 
 '^ I daresay," said Aileen, "he thought 
 it would trouble us if we knew he was 
 going ; and if he had made up his mind, 
 nothing would have prevented him. Must 
 you go now, Duncan ?" 
 
 " Yes, I must be on guard ; " and he re- 
 turned to his place on the walls, feeling half 
 envious of the active service Hugh was en- 
 
 gage 
 
 id 
 
 m.
 
 ^2 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 The contest was a warm one. A few 
 horses still remained within the walls — 
 among them Mitchelburne's famous white 
 charger — and the gallant little troop that 
 rode out so bravely that morning were met 
 with almost equal energy by the besiegers. 
 Murray and Hugh Fairfax fought side by 
 side with so resolute a will that it was not 
 till their enemies had suffered considerable 
 loss that they were driven back towards the 
 town. Murray's horse was killed under 
 him, and, closed i]i on all sides, all hope of 
 his safety seemed lost. Fairfax, seeing the 
 overwhelming force which now pressed 
 upon them, spurred his horse towards the 
 city, raising the cry, " To the rescue ! To 
 the rescue !" In a moment he was answered 
 by a body of musketeers, with Walker at 
 their head, who gallantly repulsed the 
 enemy's cavalry and carried Murray safely 
 back within the walls. 
 
 *' But for your promptitude, Fairfax, we 
 were lost," said Murray, when they had 
 time to look about them. 
 
 " My share in it was small ; but, at any
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 63 
 
 rate, we have done something, and escaped 
 better than we could have hoped." 
 
 " Yes, and came oiF better than they did, 
 after all. You are unhurt, but what of 
 M'Pherson, your cousin ? " 
 
 " I saw him, surely, with Walker ? " 
 
 " Yes, here I am," said Duncan himself. 
 " Was it not grand to follow the brave old 
 fellow ? " 
 
 " So you were out, after all, Duncan ; 
 and what is this ? — you are wounded ! " 
 
 " Oh, it's not much ; only a salute from 
 one of these French swaggerers in trunk 
 boots." 
 
 " At any rate, you must go home and have 
 your w^ound seen to : I will follow you later. 
 There are a great many to look after here." 
 
 A random shot had struck Duncan in the 
 shoulder, but the wound was not deep ; and 
 the Fairfaxes felt they had much cause for 
 thankfulness when no more trouble had 
 come to them from the day's work.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Was none that would be foremost 
 To lead such dire attack ; 
 But those behind cried " Forward !" 
 And those before cried " Back !" 
 
 "Duncan has told us of all you did, 
 Hugh," said Aileen, when he joined them 
 later in the evening. " We are all proud 
 of you ; are we not, father?" 
 
 The old man's eyes glistened with pride 
 and pleasure as he looked at Hugh, who 
 was to him almost as his own son — 
 
 '• You will always do your best for us, 
 Hugh, I know," he said, " as your father 
 would have done before you. What will 
 be the next step ? Are they as determined 
 as ever to make us yield ?" 
 
 "They are strong — very strong; and 
 there is no doubt they will hold on to 
 the last against us ; we have shown them
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 65 
 
 to-day, I think, that we are equally deter- 
 mined. It is Murray's opinion, I believe, that 
 these sallies are useful, to keep up the ardour 
 of the town and do the outsiders as much 
 damage as we can. Hunger is the only 
 thing we have to fear." 
 
 '' Are the provisions coming short 
 already?" asked Katharine. 
 
 She had not spoken before. Proudly 
 and even affectionately as she had thought 
 of Hugh, she felt too constrained to join in 
 the general congratulations ; and now, fear- 
 ing her unusual silence should be noticed, 
 she determined to express some of the 
 interest which she felt as deeply as any of 
 them. 
 
 " No, there is no lack yet, I believe ; but 
 we cannot tell how many months this may 
 last." 
 
 As he spoke he turned towards her with 
 a look which Katharine felt told her that 
 her silence had not been unnoticed by him. 
 It distressed her that he should think her 
 unkind, and she blamed herself for allowing 
 Aileen's unfounded fancy to change her 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 6Q KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 manner to one who had always been good 
 and kind to her. She needed not to have 
 been afraid of being embarrassed by his 
 attentions, for as the days went on they 
 rarely saw him, except for a hurried mo- 
 ment. Numerous sallies were made, and 
 he was ever the first and last in the fray. 
 Duncan's shoulder kept him from any 
 arduous duty, but, with his arm in a sling, 
 he was zealous as ever in any service he 
 was capable of doing. It was a weary, 
 anxious time for the women of the family : 
 they could only wait and hope and 
 strengthen each other by self-denial and 
 cheerfulness. At the same time, there was 
 work enough indoors. The house was full 
 of sick and old people, and tenderly and 
 carefully did Miss Carmichael and her 
 nieces do all they could for them. Each 
 day of anxiety seemed to tell sadly on Mr. 
 Fairfax : his step was feebler ; his frame 
 became shaken and bowed. 
 
 Among the sad hearts at this time poor 
 Janet Elwood's was about the saddest. 
 From the time of her parting with Jim under
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 67 
 
 the archway, she had heard no news of him. 
 For some time she hoped and expected that 
 he would come back after all, as he had 
 done many times before, after some of his 
 wild schemes ; but as the days wore on, and 
 he did not come, all hope that she should 
 ever see him again died out of her heart. 
 Her young mistresses were kind and sym- 
 pathizing to her: she was an orphan, and 
 had no other friends in the world. Silently 
 and uncomplainingly she went about her 
 work, carrying out all their directions for the 
 comfort of the household in the unselfish 
 spirit which animated them all. 
 
 Time passed, and it seemed as if the siege 
 must be turned into a blockade. At last it 
 was determined by the besiegers to make 
 one great eifort to reduce the city by storm. 
 Early one morning in June Duncan came 
 in with the news that the enemy were pre- 
 paring to assault an outwork known by the 
 name of the Windmill Hill. 
 
 " It is a forlorn hope of theirs, I should 
 say," said Hugh. 
 
 " And I promise them a warm reception. 
 
 5-2
 
 68 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 If they could only hear Walker's exhorta- 
 tion just now to the fellows on the walls 
 they would quake in their shoes, I'm think- 
 ing," said Duncan, with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Oh, if we could only do something!" 
 said Katharine. 
 
 " Do you really mean it?" asked Hugh. 
 
 " I do. Could we not load, carry cart- 
 ridges, or anything?" 
 
 '' Yes," said Aileen, warming with her 
 sister's spirit ; " Duncan, there must be 
 something for us to do. Let us go out and 
 watch. If there are wounded we might be 
 of use." 
 
 "You might load for us? I will teach 
 you," said Hugh. " Quick ! Duncan, do 
 you take Aileen. Miss Carmichael, I will 
 take care of them. But you do not grudge 
 them to help us ?" 
 
 "No; they will be happier doing some- 
 thing. I would go myself, but for your 
 uncle; and some one must stay in the 
 house.'' 
 
 For a moment the girls were dazzled, 
 bewildered with the sight. It seemed as if
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 69 
 
 everyone was hurrying to the scene of action 
 on the walls. Here the citizens were drawn 
 up in three lines to face the enemy who were 
 vigorously preparing for the assault ; and so 
 determined were they to succeed in the for- 
 lorn hope that many of them had bound 
 themselves by oath to make their way into 
 the outworks or die in the attempt. With 
 an overwhelming noise they came boldly on, 
 and the fighting raged hot and fiercely. 
 Aileen and Katharine were not alone in 
 their patriotic efforts to help in the affray. 
 Animated with a like enthusiasm, the women 
 of Derry, occupying the background, might 
 be seen, heedless of the fire, bringing water 
 to the men and preparing ammunition with 
 alacrity and skill. There was no time for 
 fear, scarcely for thought, except the one 
 predominant idea of resistance to the death. 
 In one place, where the wall was but seven 
 feet high, a party of the most resolute of 
 the besiegers reached the top, but their 
 hardihood only bought for them immediate 
 death or capture by the defenders. It was 
 not till four hundred of the assailants had
 
 70 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 fallen that the call to retreat sounded. In- 
 domitable as their resolution had been, it 
 was of no avail against the patriotism and 
 obstinacy of the people of Derry. 
 
 Great was the joy and excitement on the 
 walls when the enemy were seen retiring, 
 even the wounded and dying among the 
 citizens exulting in the triumph. 
 
 Covered with death-wounds lay Sandy 
 M'Elroy. He had fought like a lion among 
 the foremost, and now he felt that he was 
 to do no more for his beloved city. His 
 friend Pat Mackinnon bent over him: he 
 too was wounded;, but not mortally. 
 
 "They've got it, Pat, they've got it; 
 didn't I tell you they would ?" 
 
 "What is it, Sandy?" 
 
 " 1 promised them a warm welcome, an' 
 they have got it to-day at any rate, man ; 
 an' I'm right glad I lived to see this day." 
 
 "Where are you hurt, Sandy? Let me 
 raise you." 
 
 " No, Pat, it's no use. My time's up — I 
 can do no more for the cause. But promise 
 me, Pat, you wont give in one inch to those 
 tyrants."
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 71 
 
 " Oh, Sandy, my strength will be all gone 
 with you! We fought and worked together 
 till now!" 
 
 " You must stick to the city, Pat. I've 
 done my best, an' that the Lord Himself 
 knows." 
 
 " We all know it too, Sandy," said Dun- 
 can, w^ho was passing by, and had recog- 
 nised his friend's voice. " What can we 
 do for you, Sandy, my man ? " 
 
 '•' Nothing, sir, only my mother. Captain 
 Hugh has looked to her before now, too. 
 Pat, you'll be a son to her now, for my 
 sake!'"' — and he sank wearily back, exhausted 
 with the loss of blood. Gently his friends 
 moved him to a more sheltered place and 
 carefully tended him ; but poor Sandy's 
 work was over and he soon passed away 
 from the trouble.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Soldier, rest, thy warfare's o'er ; 
 Sleep the rest that knows not breaking." 
 
 ** Some water, Katharine," said Hugh^ 
 hastily, coming to where she was serving it 
 out ; " and if you could come too you 
 might be of use." 
 
 She promptly followed him to a sheltered 
 spot, where some prisoners were guarded. 
 A little apart from the others lay a young 
 man, the blood flowing from a wound in 
 his temple and his eyes closed, apparently 
 in a death-swoon. Katharine sprinkled 
 some water on his face, and, kneeling down 
 beside him, quickly bound up the wound 
 with some linen she had in readiness. 
 Hugh had turned away, seeing that he left 
 his prisoner in good hands, and Katharine 
 watched alone by the sufferer. It was long 
 before he stirred, and then, opening his eyes
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. IS 
 
 wearily, lie quickly closed them again as 
 the bitter consciousness of where and what 
 he was returned to him. Grladly would he 
 have welcomed death then, as a blessed re- 
 lease from the captivity before him ; but he 
 was not to die : his SAVOon was merely the 
 effect of the loss of blood from the wound 
 which the timely arrival of Katharine had 
 arrested. " How sad and pale he looks !" 
 she thought, as she watched him more 
 closely and marked his delicate features 
 and gentle sorrowful air. She could not 
 help feeling it a pity that he should be there 
 as a prisoner; and she thought of his friends 
 — perhaps a mother or a sister — watching 
 for his return. He was young, and, from 
 his dress, evidently in the rank of an officer. 
 Seeing that he moved again, she bent over 
 him: 
 
 "Are you in pain? Can I do anything 
 to make you more comfortable ?" 
 
 "No; nothing," was the answer given 
 in a low, sullen tone. 
 
 She did not speak again, and presently 
 Hpgh came back.
 
 74 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 '^ He has revived," she said; " had he not 
 better be moved? There is room at our 
 house." 
 
 " Yes; this is no place for him; he is 
 accustomed, I would say, to a softer bed.'' 
 
 " Let me stay here ; I want nothing, only 
 to be left alone," said the prisoner, suddenly 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 " You are my prisoner and must come 
 with me," said Hugh, coldly; and then his 
 heart smote him for the words he had used, 
 when he saw, by the painful start and 
 burning flush in the young man's pale face, 
 the pain they had caused. 
 
 Katharine saw it too, and softly said — 
 ^^ We will make you more comfortable than 
 you could be here. No one shall intrude 
 upon you." 
 
 " Thank you," he answered, feebly, " you 
 are too kind to a prisoner." 
 
 The necessary directions were given, and 
 he was soon transported to the Fairfaxes' 
 house which was already not unlike a 
 hospital. 
 
 Pat Mackinnon, wounded and exhausted,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 75 
 
 was already there, under the care of poor 
 Sandy's mother, who had put aside for the 
 time her own heart sorrow for the son she 
 would never nurse again, tenderly doing all 
 she could for one "the lad had loved so well." 
 The violence of the storm of assault was by 
 this time over : only now and then an oc- 
 casional bomb broke the silence of the night 
 as it burst over the city. Many a house 
 had a tale of sadness to tell from the casual- 
 ties caused by the falling timber, besides 
 those suffered in the encounter of the 
 day. The Fairfax family were safe as 
 yet; and very full of gratitude was Miss 
 Carmichael as she saw them all under the 
 shelter of the roof once more. Hugh 
 looked harassed and disordered, but it 
 seemed as if the guardian angel kept good 
 watch over him, for he was in no way hurt 
 in the fray. Duncan was faint and pallid. 
 Unheeding the wound he had been suffering 
 from, he had fought with all his energy 
 and paid dearly for the undue exertion. 
 Miss Carmichael was startled when she saw 
 him and got him immediately to bed. A
 
 76 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 restless night was the forerunner of a fever 
 which proved long and dangerous. A 
 sorrowful time was now before them all: 
 the house was filled with sick and wounded, 
 and old Mr. Fairfax, broken down by- 
 anxiety and the noise and terror of the last 
 engagement, was gradually wearing away. 
 The siege was turned into a blockade, and 
 every precaution taken to prevent provi- 
 sions being brought into the town or any 
 communication whatever passing between the 
 besieged and the outer world. Obstructions 
 were thrown across the river, and so effectual 
 a boom was constructed that it was impos- 
 sible for any ship to pass up to the city. 
 But the hearts within the walls were brave 
 still. Order and discipline were everywhere 
 visible. The lower parts of the most secure 
 houses were converted into hospitals, and 
 refuge and shelter were found in them 
 for all the sick and homeless, of what- 
 ever rank or degree they might be. Social 
 differences were forgotten. All were alike 
 suffering for the common cause : they were 
 all citizens fighting for their city. Religious
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 77 
 
 distinctions were for the time put aside: 
 clergymen of all parties and sects exerted 
 themselves indefatigably among the people, 
 cheering and encouraging them. The 
 English Liturgy was read every morning 
 in the choir of the Cathedral, and in the 
 afternoon Dissenters worshipped under the 
 same roof in their own simple form. The 
 Bishop, finding his sermons inculcating 
 passive obedience produced no fruits, had 
 long before this hastily withdrawn himself 
 to a more congenial atmosphere. 
 
 Provisions were carefully hoarded and 
 doled out cautiously to the community, for 
 it was felt that only hunger would have 
 power to break down their courage ; but 
 with insufficient food other evils came in 
 the shape of fever and sickness of every 
 description. Hope, however, was strong 
 in each heart, and from day to day they 
 lived on, as people will do at such times, 
 scarcely seeming to realize the darkness of 
 the future which was closing in on every 
 side.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " No hap SO hard but may in fine amend." 
 
 Pat MACKINNON was getting better, in 
 spite of the want of nourishment and even 
 of sufficient food: carefully and even 
 tenderly he was nursed by the lonely 
 woman whose only son had so early paid 
 the penalty for his bravery. Mrs. M'Elroy 
 looked upon Pat as a sacred charge left her 
 by Sandy; and it was well for her that her 
 time and thoughts were so fully occupied. 
 She had a kindly assistant at this time in 
 fjanet, whose own troubled heart was 
 drawn to sympathize with the sorrows of 
 others. She sat one evening in the widow's 
 post by Pat's bedside, keeping watch while 
 Mrs. M'Elroy was resting. 
 
 " Is that you, Janet ?" he said, rousing 
 up from a doze. ''I was dreaming. I
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 7& 
 
 thought the gates were open an' they were 
 all pouring in — the ruffians — an' I saw 
 Martin. Do you mind Jim, Janet?" 
 
 The suddenness of the question brought 
 the blood to her cheeks ; but in the gather- 
 ing twilight Pat did not see it, nor did he 
 seem to mind the tone of her voice as she 
 answered — 
 
 "Yes, I mind him, Pat. But why do 
 you ask?" 
 
 " Because it seemed in my dream as if he 
 had something to do with the open gates; 
 an' do you remember the night the gate 
 was found open ; an' he has never turned up 
 since. Isn't it strange? But somehow I 
 never trusted that lad, even in the days 
 long ago before these times. They used to 
 say, now I mind it, in those days, Janet, 
 that he was talking to you; but it wasn't 
 true, was it?" 
 
 He looked at her as he spoke, and, even 
 in the uncertain light, he saw that her face 
 was pale as death and that she was sadly 
 troubled. Her eyes filled with tears as slie 
 said —
 
 80 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 "Please don't ask me, Pat; it's over and 
 done now." 
 
 '^ Janet," he said, " I never thought, 
 brute that I am! Pm so sorry!" 
 
 " Never mind," she said, controlling her- 
 self; " only tell me have you heard any- 
 thing lately?" 
 
 "Nothing. But, Janet, though it may 
 pain you, I must say it, he is a traitor; 
 there is no doubt about it. Had the plans 
 he and others made that night been carried 
 out, the enemy would have been here now." 
 
 She did not answer, and he turned away, 
 his heart, perhaps, as sore and troubled as 
 hers. That this man, a traitor and a 
 sneak, should have ever thought of Janet, 
 and made her think of him, was galling; 
 for poor Pat had not been watched and 
 tended by Janet for nothing all these days 
 past. Could he have got up and put away 
 these thoughts in active duty, it would have 
 been easier for him ; but there he had to 
 lie, and think, and think ; while Janet, in 
 her daily round of duties, found more com- 
 fort than she thought could ever come to 
 her again.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "And though immured, yet can I chirp and sing 
 Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king." 
 
 In the meantime tlie young prisoner, Fergus 
 Fitzgerald, who so reluctantly had become 
 an inmate of the Fairfax household, was 
 regaining the health and strength which, in 
 the first agony of despair at his unfortunate 
 position, he almost longed never to feel 
 again. He had joined James's army in all 
 the ardour of chivalrous allegiance to the 
 Crown which he had been taught from his 
 youth up to reverence and uphold. His 
 father, Angus Fitzgerald, although a Catho- 
 lic himself, had married an English Pro- 
 testant ; she was a woman of strong cha- 
 racter and stedfast faith, and had brought 
 up her son in the religion she i3rofessed. 
 Angus, an easy-going, generous Irishman, 
 had freely allowed his wife, whose opinions 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 he had an unbounded respect for, to carry her 
 point in the matter of her son's religion, 
 contenting himself with instillino* into his 
 mind the one great principle of his own life, 
 loyalty to his King and country. On his 
 deathbed almost his last words were, '^ Be 
 true, and fight for your King, my son, if 
 ever he needs your help." Fergus never 
 forgot these words, and his mother, true to 
 the memory of her husband, saw him go 
 forth to the struggle without a word of 
 opposition, although her secret sympathies 
 naturally turned to the champion of her 
 religion and the Protestant cause. 
 
 The dogged sullenness of manner which 
 Ferofus had assumed when he found himself 
 in the hands of the enemy wore off under 
 the kindness which he was shown by 
 the Fairfax family. Even against Hugh, 
 whom he looked upon as the author of 
 his misfortune, his generous nature could 
 bear no grudge; and Hugh, remorseful for 
 the pain his hasty words had caused the 
 3^oung man, treated him with all the respect 
 and tenderness due to a fallen enemy.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 83 
 
 They had long talks together, for Hugh 
 soon found out the truth and honour which 
 were the fundamental principles of Fergus's 
 character; and Fergus learned frona Hugh 
 to respect and venerate the courage and 
 self-dependence which animated the de- 
 fenders of the little city. 
 
 " You are stronger this evening, are you 
 not?" said Hugh, coming to where Fergus 
 was lying. He had now been moved to the 
 common sitting-room of the family; and 
 although at times a dark cloud hung over 
 him, as he thought of his mother and his 
 own position, yet the brightness of his 
 nature often made itself known in the little 
 circle, which had reason enough for sad 
 depression. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in answer to Hugh's 
 greeting, "you must soon cease your care 
 of me and put me in my proper place." 
 
 " I know of no better place for you 
 than where you are at present," said Hugh, 
 lightly. 
 
 '' What if I make my escape ?" 
 
 " I don't think there is much chance of 
 
 G— 7.
 
 84 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 that just yet ; you are pretty well watched^ 
 I think. But you are alone this evening; 
 how is that ?'^ 
 
 '^ Mistress Katharine was here just now, 
 and she said she must go to her father; he 
 is weaker to-night than usual ; and her 
 sister is watching beside Captain M'Pher- 
 son. He has fallen into a deep sleep, and 
 they think the crisis of his fever has passed. 
 What news is there outside to-night. Have 
 we done much mischief to you to-day?" 
 
 " There is nothing new. The shells are 
 exploding at intervals, doing more or less 
 damage, of course." 
 
 ^'I thought I heard more battering and 
 noise than usual this mornino:." 
 
 "Yes; perhaps you did. The besiegers 
 planted four demi-culverins in the lower 
 end of Mr. Strong's orchard, opposite to 
 Shipquay-street." 
 
 " Did they do much damage ?" said 
 Fergus, trying to hear all, but not half 
 liking to question Hugh. 
 
 " Well, 1 suppose they did; the houses in 
 that direction are greatly damaged. But
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 85 
 
 we did our part, too, I can tell you; and 
 your ranks are somewhat the thinner. But 
 I will not distress you with news of this 
 sort/' 
 
 " I can bear it well enough," said Fergus, 
 "if you could only tell me some parti- 
 culars." 
 
 " I do not know much to tell, except that 
 a disaster happened which apparently caused 
 much perturbation outside — you will sym- 
 pathise with it too, I suppose — two of your 
 churchmen fell." 
 
 "Mine! How did that appear?" 
 
 " Two friars in their habits : they were 
 apparently exhorting the people to the 
 combat.^' 
 
 ^' You mistake ; I care not for friars," re- 
 plied Fergus, a little coldly. 
 
 Hugh looked astonished. It had never 
 occurred to him that his prisoner could be 
 anything but a Roman Catholic. " Pardon 
 me," he said, '*are you not of the ancient 
 faith?" 
 
 " No; my creed is as yours : my mother 
 is English and a Protestant."
 
 86 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " How comes it that you are not on our 
 side?" 
 
 '• My father was Irish and 1 am so too in 
 every sympathy. He fought for his King, 
 and I do the same. You fight for a usurper 
 and a foreigner." 
 
 " I fight for liberty — for the religion we 
 hold in common.'' 
 
 "And have you no loyalty, no respect 
 for your Sovereign?" 
 
 '' He has forfeited the honour due to 
 him; he has fled from his country — abdi- 
 cated, in fact. I look upon a King as the 
 highest ofiicer of the State. If he proves 
 himself unfitted for his ofiice and is false to 
 the welfare of his country it is no longer 
 right that he should hold that position, 
 and I am no longer bound to obey him.'' 
 
 '^ I cannot go with you. Captain Fairfax." 
 
 '' No; but we understand each other, and 
 are at any rate one in faith." 
 
 And the prisoner and his captor joined 
 hands in cordial friendship. 
 
 While this conversation was going on, 
 Katharine watched anxiously by her father's.
 
 KATHARINE EAIRFAX. 87 
 
 bed. He had been in a lialf-unconscious 
 state all day, and was now suddenly roused 
 by the noise of a bomb bursting not far off, 
 and by the crash of falling timber which 
 followed. 
 
 " Katharine, my child," he said, his voice 
 weak and faint, *'I cannot bear this much 
 longer. Come near that I may see you. 
 Where is Aileen ?" 
 
 " With Duncan, father. He is getting on 
 at last ; aunt thinks the danger is past now." 
 
 ''Thank God," he said. "Poor Aileen! 
 it would have gone hard with her. He is a 
 good lad, and will make her a kind husband. 
 But you, Katie, I would that I could see 
 you settled before I go." 
 
 " Father, you will not leave us. Do not 
 say it. It is only the noise and the smell 
 of the gunpowder which make you ill. 
 When the siege is over you will be strong 
 again. Oh, father! say you will — wont 
 you?" and she burst into tears, as she 
 noticed his pale, deathlike face and the 
 sound of his trembling voice which told 
 her that her hopes were vain.
 
 88 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " Katie, darling," the old man said, draw- 
 ing her closer to hhn, '^ you must not grieve 
 for me like that. I am only going home to 
 your mother. You will all soon come too, 
 and trouble like this will never come near us 
 then. And, Katie, you must take care of 
 Aunt Hester; she has been good to us all. 
 You and she will keep together, and Hugh, 
 he will look after you. Sometimes I thought 
 you and he would be more to each other 
 than you are. You start, child. You do 
 not care for him; you do not know what 
 he is. Believe me, Katharine, you will 
 
 never find a truer " And, excited 
 
 and overwrought, he sobbed like a child. 
 
 " Oh, father, dear, you must not fret. 
 We are all fond of Hugh: he is like our 
 brother; he will always take care of us," 
 and she tenderly soothed and quieted him. 
 
 " You do like him, then ; thank God," he 
 said, taking her words in a stronger sense 
 than she had any idea of, and, comforted 
 and exhausted, he sank into a troubled 
 doze.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " He who dies pays all debts." 
 
 It was now June, and the prospect of any 
 change seemed as far oiF as ever. All day 
 the great guns roared incessantly, .and the 
 stillness of the night was continually 
 broken by the bursting of bombs, which 
 ploughed up the streets and broke down 
 the houses, driving the people from place 
 to place to seek for shelter. The garrison 
 was considerably reduced, not only by 
 the shot of the enemy but by the preva- 
 lence of disease, the effect of improper food 
 and the crowded state of the habitable 
 houses. The want of water in the town 
 was also a great source of discomfort ; the 
 wells inside the walls having become so 
 muddy and tainted by the gunpowder that 
 it was impossible to make use of them ; and
 
 90 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 considerable danger was incurred in the 
 necessary sallies out of the town to procure 
 a sufficient supply. The besieged being 
 almost without horses, it was impossible 
 for them to engage in any important 
 action ; but frequent skirmishes were made 
 on foot by an officer and perhaps ten or 
 twelve men rushing out when they saw the 
 enemy approaching, and attacking them 
 unexpectedly, with an energy and vigour 
 which occasioned them much loss. Pro- 
 visions were in this way brought in, and 
 through the same means, also, information 
 w^as gathered which proved of some use. 
 After one of these actions Walker, who 
 was ever ready to administer what comfort 
 he could to the sick and dying of all classes, 
 passing one evening through a shed where 
 some wretched prisoners lay crowded toge- 
 ther was attracted by the terror-stricken 
 face of a young man, who seemed seriously 
 wounded. 
 
 " You are suffering," he said, drawing 
 near to him. 
 
 The man only answered by a groan.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 91 
 
 " He is dying/' said one of his comrades 
 who had been giving him water; ''the 
 ball has gone right through andthrough him. 
 It's the priest he wants now, I reckon." 
 
 At the word "priest," the man shook 
 his head faintly, and groaned more heavily 
 than before. 
 
 " God will have mercy on you, my poor 
 fellow," said Walker, stooping down. 
 
 Hearing the gentle tones spoken in his 
 ear, the man raised his eyes, which were 
 dim alreadv with the shadow of death. 
 
 " There is no mercy for a traitor," he 
 said, hoarsely. 
 
 '' There is plenteous mercy for all in our 
 Saviour Christ. Only look to Him and 
 you are safe." 
 
 " You do not know what I am, or you 
 would not say those words of peace," mut- 
 tered the dying man. '' I was once within 
 these walls, a citizen. I was tempted, fright- 
 ened. They told me the King was coming, 
 an' if I went with them I would be safe — ay, 
 more than safe, rich, that my fortune would 
 be made ; an' I went. On the 17th April I
 
 92 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 stole out of the Ferry Gate, and left the gate 
 open by direction of " He stopped, ex- 
 hausted ; and then, revived by the water with 
 which Walker moistened his lips, he went 
 on — "It was not my fault that the enemy did 
 not come into the town that night; the design 
 was prevented. I have been in the enemy's 
 camp ever since, an' my heart has smote 
 me sore. God knows I would have come 
 back before this, but I could not. I was 
 watched, an' at last I determined to come 
 as a prisoner if I could come no other 
 way. I have much to tell — but my breath 
 
 is going 1 have only come to die." 
 
 After another pause, he continued — "I 
 would tell you, sir, before I go, that they 
 will deceive you : the enemy, I mean. 
 They have sworn not to keep faith with 
 you; an' I warn you, as a dying man, not 
 to trust them — they have bound themselves 
 to break every article you make with them. 
 An' now, sir, tell me of the mercy. I have 
 spoken what I came for, an' the darkness 
 is coming over me again." 
 
 " Have 3^ou no friends, no relatives in 
 the town whom I could bring to you?"
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 93 
 
 "Xo, sir, it is no use now; they would 
 hate to see me. But tell them that Jim 
 Martin has had no peace since he left the 
 town, an' that he came back to warn them 
 an' to die. There was one who cared for 
 me more than all: she was Janet — Janet 
 Elwood. Tell her Jim has gone, an' she's 
 not to think of me." And then he listened 
 half unconsciously, to the words of love 
 and forgiveness the good man beside 
 him spoke. Before the night was over 
 Jim Martin was out of pain. 
 
 Quietly, and almost tearlessly, Janet 
 heard the story ; and then it was her turn 
 to lie down and be nursed by Sandy's 
 mother. Worn out by grief and trouble, 
 she sank into a low, nervous fever which 
 lasted many days.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " He's better to us than nvAny mothers are ; 
 And children cannot wander beyond reach 
 Of the sweep of his white raiment." 
 
 The only solace there was at this time was 
 the daily service in the Cathedral. The 
 solemn words of the Litany soothed and 
 comforted many a sorrowful heart, and the 
 clergymen of all denominations joined in 
 their exertions to stimulate and encourage 
 their congregations by the most impressive 
 and appropriate addresses. The women of 
 each household, sharing the necessary attend- 
 ance on the sick and feeble, went in turn 
 to these services. One morning, as Katharine 
 turned homewards from the Cathedral her 
 eye caught a mournful little group gathered 
 ronnd a freshly-made grave. They were 
 children. The eldest, a boy about twelve, 
 held in his arms the youngest, a baby not a
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 95 
 
 year old; at his feet sat a little girl about 
 three : she was crying piteously, and there 
 seemed no one to comfort her but a little 
 dog which rubbed its black nose into her 
 tiny hand. 
 
 '' Tell me what is the matter, my poor 
 wee child?" said Katharine, coming to 
 them ; and, sitting down on the ground, she 
 took the little girl on her lap. 
 
 *' Mother!" said the child, crying more 
 bitterly. 
 
 Katharine looked to the boy for his story. 
 His poor little face was swelled with recent 
 tears ; but they were dry now, and his grief 
 seemed settled down into almost callous 
 despair. 
 
 "Yes, it is mother," he said; "she was 
 put here this morning." 
 
 " And have you no one at home to be 
 with? You must not stay here." 
 
 "" There's no one now at home : mother is 
 here, and father is on the walls. Mary is 
 with mother too: she would have kept 
 Nellie quiet; I must mind baby." And he 
 hushed the child in his arms with all the 
 gentleness of a mother.
 
 96 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 '' You must come home with me, then : 
 I will carry Nellie." And she lifted the 
 little motherless child in her arms, Avho, 
 wearied out wdth her grief, sank down con- 
 tentedly. 
 
 " Father will not know Avhere we are 
 and we do not know you," said the boy, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " My name is Katharine Fairfax — you 
 must call me Katie. When we get home 
 you can go and find your father, and tell 
 him I have taken charge of you. And 
 now, what am I to call you?" 
 
 ^' I am Horace; father is Captain John 
 Campbell." 
 
 " May Gip come too ?" said Nellie, dry- 
 ing her eyes. 
 
 " Yes ; poor Gip must come too. Come, 
 Gip " — and Katharine led the way towards 
 her home. 
 
 On the way her little companions chat- 
 tered freely to their kind new friend. They 
 told her how^ Bessie, the servant w^ho used 
 to take care of them, had gone away before 
 the gates were shut, into the country to
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 97 
 
 see her own little children ; and then mother 
 took care of them till the guns frightened 
 her and made her ill, and then she never 
 got up ; and one day there was a great 
 noise and Mary, their sister, who was 
 younger than Horace and older than Nellie 
 fell down. Something hit her when she 
 was at the window, and they carried her 
 away and put her in the churchyard. And 
 then mother got worse — she cried so much 
 — and at last she said she was going away; 
 and she kissed, them, and they never saw 
 her again. And poor little Nellie told how 
 Jenny, the cow, lived in the cellar; but 
 this morning there was no milk. Horace 
 went to milk her, but Jenny only cried, and 
 Horace couldn't find anything for her to 
 eat. Thus they innocently told all their 
 troubles to Katharine's sympathizing ears. 
 Nor was the sorrowful little tale an uncom- 
 mon or unlikely one at this time: few in 
 the town but had some like story of bereave- 
 ment to tell. 
 
 Katharinehadscarcely comfortably housed 
 her little charge, and sent Horace to seek 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 his father, when Hugh came in, looking 
 more than usually angry and excited. 
 
 "Who do you suppose they suspect 
 now?" he said to Duncan, who lay on a 
 couch in the family sitting-room. 
 
 "Who?" he asked, eagerly. " Not you, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " A much more unlikely person. Fancy ! 
 Walker, our brave, honourable Governor !" 
 
 " Walker ! Impossible ! Of treachery ?" 
 
 "Oh, no; not that yet; only of the most 
 unlikely selfishness imaginable. The idea of 
 that man thinking for one instant of him- 
 self and his own personal comforts! The 
 story I heard was this : — At a public meet- 
 ing in the Town Hall, to-day, where they 
 were considering the ways and means of 
 spinning out the common provisions of the 
 town, Buchanan, the mean scroundrel, who 
 has always had a grudge against Walker 
 since the day of Lundy's fall — well, up he 
 gets, and gravely insinuates that certain 
 persons in high positions, being more careful 
 for themselves than for others, have hoarded 
 in their private cellars an undue amount of
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 99 
 
 food and even luxuries. On being further 
 questioned, it comes out that this hint is 
 intended against Walker. Suspicions are 
 easily raised, and Buchanan brought for- 
 ward witnesses to prove that, passing the 
 Governor's house that day, the low of a 
 cow was heard; that it could come from no 
 place but his cellar ; and straightway they 
 turned out in a body to examine his house, 
 Walker himself vouchsafing no answer, but 
 quietly leading the way. Of course, they 
 found no cow; still, the low ruffians hint 
 that the animal has been removed, and all 
 sorts of suspicions are heaped upon the 
 head of the man who, you may say. has 
 been the means of saving them and the city. 
 There is human nature for you! The 
 more you do for people, the more ready 
 they are to turn upon you." 
 
 "Oh, Hugh, I think I know something 
 about this," said Katharine, who had been 
 anxiously listening to his account. 
 
 ''You, Katharine!' he said, astonished. 
 
 And then she told him of the adventure 
 with the children, and what they had told 
 
 7—2
 
 100 KATHARINE FAIEFAX. 
 
 her about their cow. " And they said — 
 now I remember " — she added, " that they 
 lived near Mr. Walker and he was some- 
 times very kind to them. Could it not be 
 their cow was heard lowing?" 
 
 " Indeed it might. I will see John 
 Campbell. He is an honest man, and will 
 not hide anything." 
 
 "It is all right," he said, joyfully, coming 
 back in a little while. "The moment 
 Campbell heard of it, he said it was his 
 cow, and that he kept her to supply his 
 sick wife and poor little children with milk. 
 He opened his doors for the mob to go in 
 and see for themselves, and they carried 
 away the cow in triumph. I told Campbell 
 you would keep the children, Katharine, 
 and he is very grateful. Poor man! he 
 looks twenty years older. Walker, too, 
 desired me to return you his heartfelt 
 thanks for being the means of clearing his 
 character." 
 
 " The idea of his character needing to be 
 cleared !" said Katharine.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "And the strong inborn sense of coming ill 
 That ofttimes whispers to the human breast, 
 In a low tone, which nought can drown or still." 
 
 It was late in the evening of the same day. 
 Miss Carmichacl and her two nieces sat 
 alone, waiting in hopes of Hugh's corning 
 home for the night. Duncan kept watch 
 by Mr. Fairfax's side, who was never left 
 alone now ; and Fitzgerald, who was still 
 considered an invalid, had gone to bed, as 
 well as the poor, motherless little children 
 who had been fortunate that day in meet- 
 ing with Katharine. 
 
 "Does it not seem very strange, aunt," 
 said Aileen, " that Governor Walker should 
 fall under suspicion?" 
 
 " It would be strange at any other time ; 
 but, when we think of the state the town is 
 in, we cannot wonder; the mixed popula-
 
 102 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 tion all densely crowded together, half-- 
 starving, and in utter despair. I only 
 marvel they are as quiet as they seem 
 to be. And, of course, among such a num- 
 ber there must be some mischievous spirits 
 who incite the others to discontent." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and you know Hugh 
 attributes it all to that Buchanan," said 
 Katharine. " It seems such a mean, 
 spiteful way of taking revenge against Mr. 
 Walker." 
 
 " Only what you might expect from 
 him," remarked her aunt. " You know 
 the old proverb, child — ' You canna mak^ 
 a siller purse oot o' a sou's lug.'" 
 
 " Yes, that's very true ; but it's a wonder 
 to me always that such people have any 
 weight at all. Now, the idea of a man 
 like Buchanan, ignorant and untrustworthy, 
 being listened to for a moment, particularly 
 when he takes upon him to speak against 
 a man like the Governor !" 
 
 '' But at a time like this," said Aileen, 
 '' there wdll always be some jealousy against 
 those in authority. People will think they
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 103 
 
 have all an equal right to be in power 
 when there is no recognised head. As aunt 
 says, I think it is odd we have kept in such 
 good peace all this time." 
 
 " And there is not much to keep you in 
 good humour, either," said Katharine. " It 
 is weary, weary work, day after day, to see 
 such misery, and the hungry, sorrowful 
 faces one meets going about. Those poor 
 children to-day: nothing could have been 
 sadder than to see them sitting by their 
 mother's grave, so helpless and lonely." 
 
 " I am glad you did see them, poor little 
 things; they will get on very well here,'* 
 said her aunt. " How much have we to be 
 thankful for that we are all here together 
 still, when so many are daily leaving those 
 dear to them in the kirkyard. It is well 
 for those who are quietly laid there to rest; 
 the pain is for those who are left, with the 
 home circle so sadly broken in upon." 
 
 As she spoke, her words seemed to 
 awaken a dark foreboding in their hearts : 
 they drew, instinctively, closer together 
 and no one spoke for some minutes, each of
 
 104 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 them, doubtless, thinking to herself how 
 soon their circle might be broken, and 
 which of them would go first : and then, as 
 it were, in answer to these sad thoughts, 
 Miss Carmichael said, in her low, quiet 
 voice : 
 
 " It is to bring us all to an expected 
 end. Let us trust Him who has ' so loved 
 us.' '^ 
 
 *^Aunt," said Katharine, after another 
 pause, " do you think father is much 
 worse?" 
 
 " I fear he is weaker, and I think it will 
 not be well to leave him now. I will sit 
 up with him to-night." 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! is it so bad as that ?" 
 " It is more to satisfy my own mind than 
 anything else: he has been so restless all 
 day. I could not go to sleep thinking of 
 him being alone." 
 
 '^ It would be better for one of us to sit 
 up," said Aileen. 
 
 " No, dear, I will take the nights ; I do 
 not require as much sleep as either of you. 
 You Avill take care of him during the day.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 105 
 
 Hugli is not coming back to-night, I think. 
 We had better go and reheve Duncan." 
 
 "Wait half an hour longer, aunt," said 
 Katharine ; " it is quieter now than it has 
 been all day, and it is resting just to sit 
 here together." 
 
 At times a word carelessly spoken will 
 strike a knell in our ears; and now, as 
 Katharine said " together," it echoed back 
 on her heart with the mournful thought, 
 " Perhaps they might not have many such 
 evenings together." She was naturally 
 cheerful; and, looking up at the worn, 
 anxious face of her aunt, she exerted her- 
 self to talk in order to drive away the 
 clouds which their sad thoughts would 
 gather around them. 
 
 " Aunt," she said, " what do you think of 
 Fergus Fitzgerald ? Isn't it a pity that he's 
 a prisoner ?" 
 
 '' Poor young man," said her aunt, " I 
 wonder what relations he has? He's just 
 the sort of lad to have many a loving heart 
 thinking of him, he has such a bonnie, 
 winsome smile."
 
 106 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " How at home lie has got with us all," 
 said Aileen. 
 
 " Still, he is very reserved ; we have 
 never heard much about himself," said 
 Katharine. " It is partly shyness, I think; 
 and he has an idea that we don't like any- 
 one outside the walls to be mentioned." 
 
 "He spoke of his mother once; and 
 Katie and I have an argument, aunt, 
 whether he is fancy free or not. What 
 opinion would you give?" 
 
 " Nonsense, child ; as if I thought about 
 the matter! But which side do you take?" 
 
 " Oh, I think his heart is all his own so 
 far," said Aileen. 
 
 " And I am sure he is thinking a great 
 deal about some one outside the walls, he 
 is so abstracted and looks so melancholy, 
 sometimes," said Katharine. '^ Here comes 
 Hugh at last; I thought he would come 
 to-night."
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 *' Alas ! how light a cause may move 
 Dissension between hearts that love." 
 
 They were sitting near the window, and she 
 heard the clang of Hugh's armour coming 
 alons: the street and ran to let him in. 
 
 " You up still, Katie?" he said. 
 
 " Yes ; we hoped you would get back to> 
 night : the town seems quieter than usual." 
 
 "You should not have waited up so 
 late for m^," he said ; but the tone of 
 his voice told the pleasure he felt that they 
 had done so. 
 
 " I suppose there is no fresh news to- 
 night, Hugh?" said Miss Carmichael. 
 
 " The enemy are not doing much ; but 
 we have had another disagreeable scene 
 within the walls.'^ 
 
 "What! are they annoying Walker 
 
 again ?"
 
 108 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 ''Oh no; that absurdity is pretty well 
 set at rest for the present. But this is a 
 strange enough story too. It appears that 
 Baker and Mitchelburne actually drew on 
 each other," 
 
 " In earnest ?" 
 
 " In mad earnest, I hear. I was not 
 present myself, but Campbell described the 
 affair to me. As far as I could make out, 
 it arose in the first instance about some 
 trifle — the position of a gun on the walls, or 
 something of that sort. Mitchelburne — 
 unwittingly, I believe — countermanded 
 some directions given by Baker, who is 
 naturally a hasty man, but as generous as 
 the day. He used some violent language, 
 which Mitchelburne took as an insult, and, 
 before anyone knew what they were about, 
 their swords were drawn. Murray and 
 Walker, who fortunately happened to be 
 within hearing, interposed, and obliged 
 them to desist. It seems odd that at such 
 a time men should quarrel with each other 
 over a few words." 
 
 "We have just been agreeing," said
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 10^ 
 
 Aileen, " that it is equally odd that there 
 are not more disturbances, considering the 
 state of the town." 
 
 '^ Yes, you would hardly believe all the 
 forbearance and self-denial I see every day 
 among the lowest of the people ; the poor 
 women dividing their crusts and giving 
 perhaps the last drop of water to some poor 
 suifering creature." 
 
 " We don't do half as much for each 
 other as they do," said Katharine, sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 " There is no need for you to think that, 
 Katie," he said; "you don't know all the 
 good you do by your example of cheerful 
 hopefulness. Besides, I hear a different story 
 outside many a time of what you and Aileen 
 have done. I can tell you Walker is quite 
 grateful to you for the help you gave in 
 the solution of the cow mystery." 
 
 *' That was nothing. But how weary you 
 look!" 
 
 *^ And we are keeping him up talking,'* 
 said her aunt. " Come ; it is time for us 
 to go to rest.'*
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " Oh, harmless death ! whom still the valiant brave. 
 The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, 
 And all the good embrace — who know the grave 
 A short, dark passage to eternal light." 
 
 For several nights Miss Carmichael watched 
 by the bed of her brother-in-law, till at last 
 it seemed that the end was nigh, so weak 
 and prostrate had he become. For days he 
 had touched nothing but a little water, and 
 each fresh noise in the town so upset him 
 that Miss Carmichael felt that he could 
 scarcely last through another night. They 
 were all assembled round his couch, a sor- 
 rowful little group, hardly daring to look 
 in each other's faces and see the hopeless 
 looks they could no longer conceal. He had 
 hardly spoken all day, but as the night 
 came on he roused up, asking questions of 
 Duncan and Huo;h about the state of the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. Ill 
 
 town, and then he would sink back, the 
 torpor of death gathering over him. 
 
 " Will it soon be light ?" he asked. 
 
 " It has not long struck twelve, sir," said 
 Duncan. 
 
 "It is dark — very dark" — he went on; 
 " but it will soon be light with me. I will 
 see your mother, children, and tell her you 
 will follow. God will lead you, as He has 
 led us, on through this weary world to our 
 eternal home. Sister," he said, turning 
 towards Miss Carmichael, " you have been 
 good to me and to her children ; you will 
 soon be home too." 
 
 " Yes, brother, it won't be long, I think.'* 
 
 " They will take care of you till you 
 come. Hugh and Katharine, where are 
 you?" he said, feeling for them. 
 
 Katharine was kneeling by his side, and 
 Hugh, hearing his name, drew near. Katha- 
 rine's hand was in her father's, and, raising 
 himself, the old man placed it in Hugh's. 
 Katharine started, surprised and bewildered, 
 hardly knowing what was done till she 
 heard her father's feeble voice a^^ain — " Be
 
 112 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 true to her, Hugh " — and then she remem- 
 bered his words some time before about 
 herself and Hugh. But the one absorbing 
 thought at present was that her father was 
 dying, and she let her hand lie in Hugh's 
 almost unheeding. Hugh trembled, it was 
 so unexpected a scene to him. He thought 
 the old man was wandering, mistaking 
 them for Aileen and Duncan ; but when he 
 fi^lt Katharine's cold hand lying passive in 
 his, he could not forbear tightening his 
 hold of it. After all, it seemed so natural; 
 and Aileen, looking at them across the bed, 
 thought how suitable they were for each 
 other. They would both be called dark, 
 but Hugh was the darker of the two, and his 
 stern features and keen grey eye were soften- 
 ing with a tenderness which Katherine felt, 
 and started to feel in the clasp of his hand. 
 Her face was thin and worn, and the clear 
 brown of her complexion was colourless; 
 her soft brown eyes were cast down, full of 
 tears ; and her hair, much the same in hue, 
 fell heavily over her broad, low forehead, 
 'iiie old man, turning to Aileen and
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 113 
 
 Duncan, spoke feebly to them, and lay back, 
 a look of peace settling down on his pallid 
 features. It was but for a moment. A 
 loud crash was heard over their heads, the 
 room was filled with the sulphurous smoke 
 of a bursting bomb, the whole house seemed 
 to shake, and the rushlight which gave a 
 flickering light at the foot of the bed, was 
 extinguished. Stunned and helpless, for 
 some seconds no one moved, and then, as 
 the smoke cleared away, by the glimmer- 
 ing light of the early dawn they looked 
 at each other with frightened faces, and 
 then turned anxiously to the dying man. 
 A look of pain and terror was on the poor 
 withered face; but he was past all pain 
 and terror now. The light of Heaven had 
 dawned for him. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 *' Yet, while mj' Hector still survives, I see 
 My father, mother, brethren all in thee. 
 Alas ! my father, mother, kindred all, 
 Once mor ewill perish if my Hector fall." 
 
 As the days wore on, and the trouble 
 and sorrow grew darker and more over- 
 whelming in the little city, the Fairfaxes 
 felt thankful that the old man had passed 
 away from the midst of it. They could 
 bear the privations and discomforts which 
 had made his days so weary; but still it 
 would be vain to say how lonely and deso- 
 late they felt. Katharine of them all 
 missed him the most; he had ever been 
 her great care and thought, and she had, 
 perhaps, been his favourite of the two 
 girls. The sudden shock and fright of the 
 death scene had almost driven from her 
 mind the closing act of her father's life;
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 115 
 
 and Hugh, with a delicacy of feeling in 
 accordance with his nature, allowed no 
 difference in his manner to testify that 
 he remembered the circumstances of that 
 night. He thought with pain of Katharine's 
 start and shudder at her father's words, and 
 determined that no act of his should add to 
 the sorrow she was suffering. With her, 
 as time passed on and her thoughts of that 
 night became more clear, Mr. Fairfax's last 
 words were so full of his love and care 
 for her that she did not think of them with 
 displeasure. If it could have been so — 
 if Hugh could take her father's place with 
 her — would she not be content? In all 
 this time of trouble and sorrow, what had 
 he not been to them? And when she 
 thought of his brave, unselfish endurance 
 through all these months, she wondered she 
 had ever thought lightly of him. 
 
 She sat one evening in the gathering 
 twilight, with the little Campbells around 
 her — the baby was in her arms, and Horace 
 and Nellie sat at her feet. These children 
 were great company to her, giving her 
 
 8—2
 
 116 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 constant occupation and interest. List- 
 lessly and silently she sat now, looking out 
 of the narrow window, from which she 
 could see the river, flowing as ever quietly 
 by, murmuring and rippling in the setting 
 sun as if to soothe the sad hearts it passed 
 by in the little stronghold. Very worn 
 and sad Katharine looked — so different, 
 Hugh thought, as he came into the darken- 
 ing room, to the Katharine of old times, 
 who had ever met him with her ready 
 banter and lighthearted merriment. She 
 was dearer to him now, perhaps, than ever 
 — sobered down in sympathy with his 
 habitual gravity — but how he longed to see 
 her face lit up again wdth one of her old 
 mischievous smiles, her brown eyes spark- 
 ling once more with the old fun. 
 
 "The children are not in bed yet?" he 
 said, almost with a start, as he saw them. 
 
 '* No ; but it is time they should. Come, 
 Nellie, bid Captain Hugh good night, and 
 come with baby and me." 
 
 "You will be back again?" he said, 
 as she turned towards the door with the 
 children.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 117 
 
 " Yes. Do you want me ?" — and, in 
 spite of herself, the hot flush came into her 
 face at the thought of a tete-a-tete with 
 him. 
 
 " I have something to tell you," he said, 
 looking more at the children than at her. 
 
 When she came back, she found Hugh 
 and little Horace studying a rather rough 
 map of the country. Horace, young as he 
 was, took as much interest in the welfare of 
 the town as the oldest inhabitant. He was 
 a thoughtful, clever boy; and the neces- 
 sities of the time had naturally developed 
 and sharpened all his faculties. Shutting 
 up the map, Hugh sent him to bed, pro- 
 mising to show it to him some other time. 
 
 "Poor child!" he remarked, when the 
 door closed. 
 
 Katharine looked up, relieved to find it 
 was of Horace he spoke. 
 
 " Katharine, those children are more de- 
 solate than ever." 
 
 "What!" she said, startled, "has any- 
 thing happened to their father ?" 
 
 '' He has left them too. A bullet struck
 
 118 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 him in the head, and he never stirred 
 a^ain." 
 
 " Oh, Hugh ! the poor little creatures ! 
 id you tell Horace?" 
 
 " No ; I had not the heart. It will be 
 time enough in the morning." 
 
 "It will be a dreadful blow to him; he 
 almost worshipped his father, and could not 
 bear to be away from him." 
 
 "It is very sad for them," said Hugh. 
 " Poor Campbell has had no loss himself ; 
 he never looked the same since his wife 
 died." 
 
 They sat in silence for some minutes, 
 Katharine thinking sadly that the bullet 
 might have struck Hugh or Duncan; and 
 she felt then, for the first tune, that if 
 it had been Hugh, her life would never 
 more have been the same. The truth 
 dawned on her suddenly that, much as she 
 cared for Hugh before as a cousin, were he 
 taken now, life would scarcely be life to her 
 without him. All the sad time through 
 which they had been passing had been 
 working out this change in her heart. She
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 119 
 
 had learned to depend on him, and look to 
 him in every need — the gentleness of his 
 nature had been drawn out in many a try- 
 ing scene. There was no time for their old 
 arguments or wordy quarrels about nothing ; 
 but in the sad realities which engrossed 
 them all she had learned to value him as he 
 long before had valued her. 
 
 "Will it never end?" she said, trem 
 blingly, thinking of the daily peril which 
 he must run. 
 
 " There is no sign of a change yet," said 
 he, looking anxiously at her; "you are 
 tired and weary of it, my poor Katie." 
 
 His soft words brought the tears to her 
 «yes ; but she strove to put them away, 
 saying— 
 
 " Don't pity me; I have no more reason 
 to be tired than others. Indeed, God has 
 been very good to us." 
 
 "Katharine," he said, coming nearer to 
 her, " I have never had an opportunity to 
 speak to you alone since that night — the 
 night your father died. I have been think- 
 ing since that perhaps you may imagine I
 
 120 KATHAKINE FAIEFAX. 
 
 had spoken previously to your father; but 
 you will believe me when I say that what 
 he did that night was prompted by no word 
 or hint of mine." 
 
 " I am sure of that," she said. " It was 
 only a fancy of my father's, and we vvdll not 
 refer to it again ; it is better not." 
 
 '^ I will not trouble you by referring to it 
 any more ; besides, it is no time for us to 
 think of ourselves. Onl}^, Katie, however 
 it may be, I am bound to take care of you 
 as long as I am spared. And you will let 
 me, won't you?" 
 
 Before she could answer, Duncan came 
 hastily in, his face lit up with joy. 
 
 '^ Did you hear?" he exclaimed, "there 
 is hope ! All the evening till darkness 
 come on we have been on the Cathedral 
 watching the suspicion of a sail down the 
 Lough. Now I am sure of it, there is no 
 doubt there are ships coming." 
 
 ''Thank God!" said Hugh: Katha- 
 rine's heart was too fall to speak.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Robin Hood was a fine young man, 
 
 Full fifteen winters old; 
 Robin Hood was a proper young man. 
 
 Of courage stout and bold. 
 Hey down, hey deny derry down." 
 
 It seemed almost too good news to be true ; 
 but the morning light clearly showed the 
 distant sails in the Lough. Fires were lit 
 on the highest points, flags lowered, and 
 every available signal given to urge their 
 advance. It seemed all to no purpose : the 
 ships were there, certainly; but they came 
 no nearer; and the hope so quickly kindled 
 died away again as the days passed and no 
 help came. The enemy at the appearance 
 of the ships had apparently taken fright, 
 and seemed almost to meditate a movej 
 but they too settled down again as before, 
 and the siege seemed as far off from an 
 end as ever. Every possible plan was
 
 122 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 taken to convey messages to the ships, but, 
 so closely were they watched, it was diffi- 
 cult in the extreme. 
 
 Horace Campbell's grief for his father 
 seemed to take all life and hope from the 
 poor little fellow : his sisters were too 
 young to know what they had lost, but for 
 days he would neither eat nor speak; till 
 one day, seeing Hugh with the old map in 
 his hand, and hearing him speak about the 
 danger of sending messengers from the 
 town, he suddenly roused himself, and, 
 starting up, he declared he would carry a 
 message. 
 
 " You! Horace?" said Hugh, astonished ; 
 '^ how could you?" 
 
 '' Let me try : I must do something. I 
 know all the country very well ; besides, 
 I am only a boy, and they would not take 
 any notice of me. Katie, say I may go." 
 
 " How will your sisters get on without 
 you? I think you had better stay and 
 take care of them." 
 
 " You will take care of them," he 
 answered; "and if I can get to the English
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 123 
 
 shipS;, and tell them to come on, that will 
 be the best way of taking care of them 
 and of you all. Yes, I v/ill go," he said, 
 determinedly; "no one has any right to 
 prevent me now, if I like ; and I know," 
 he added more softly, " my father would 
 have liked me to do what I could to help 
 the town." 
 
 It was useless to dissuade him, his deter- 
 mination was taken; and Hugh consulted 
 with Duncan as to the best means of for- 
 warding him on his expedition. A boat of 
 a good size had been built with the inten- 
 tion to make to the fleet lying in the 
 distance ; but the attempt had failed, owing 
 to the overpowering fire of shot poured 
 on them from the enemy, and they were 
 obliged to turn back. A plan was now 
 formed to start a2:ain in the boat with the 
 ostensible design of robbing the fish-houses, 
 and, if opportunity ofi'ered, to land a 
 messenger who could make his way to 
 Major-General Kirk, commanding the relief 
 from England. Horace's ofi'er to undertake 
 this mission was accepted, and the boat
 
 124 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 started, manned by Colonel Murray, Hugh, 
 Duncan, and others — among the number 
 our old friend Pat Mackinnon, who had 
 regained his wonted health and strength. 
 They were not long on their way before 
 the enemy took alarm, and as they passed 
 by Evans Wood a great gun was pointed 
 at them, which narrowly missed the little 
 boat-load. On still they went, the enemy 
 firing now from both sides of the river. 
 At last they reached Dunnelong Wood, and 
 here they put Horace ashore, to make his 
 way as best he could to the Major-General.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ** Peace ! she is done with the suffering 
 Which we on the earth call woe ; 
 Peace ! for her soul is forgetting 
 The sorrowful tale we know." 
 
 The morning dawned as the men turned 
 about to get back, and in the dim light they 
 saw bearing down behind them two large 
 boats, which the enemy had sent out, manned 
 with dismounted dragoons, to cut off their 
 retreat. There was nothing for it but 
 to face them, and a sharp engagement 
 ensued which resulted in seventeen 
 prisoners being taken from one of the 
 enemy's boats, and three or four killed. 
 The second boat, seeing the misfortune 
 of its companions, pulled off with all the 
 haste its crew could make. In the Derry 
 boat, strange to say, no harm was done 
 to any one except Colonel Murray, who 
 received some shots in his headpiece which
 
 126 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 bruised his head and laid him up for some 
 time. Amidst continual firing from the 
 shore, they shot back towards the city, 
 and succeeded in landing safel}^ with their 
 prisoners and some small prizes they had 
 captured. 
 
 Full of exultation at the success of their 
 expedition, Hugh and Duncan hurried 
 home. An unexpected trouble awaited 
 them. Janet, pale and trembling, met 
 them with the eager question, had they 
 seen the ladies? Miss Carmichael had 
 gone out early to a meeting in the Cathe- 
 dral; her usual hour for coming home 
 had long passed, and Katharine and Aileen, 
 getting alarmed, had gone out in different 
 directions to seek for her. The young men 
 turned immediately by the shortest way to 
 the Cathedral, As they went, they heard 
 that shells had been falling rapidly all 
 the morning, and their hearts sank within 
 them. A crowd round the church door 
 confirmed their suspicions. Pushing their 
 way through the throng, they passed into 
 the building ; all was confusion within and
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 127 
 
 without. A bomb had fallen through one 
 of the windows, and killed and wounded 
 many of the worshippers. Anxiously they 
 looked around for the faces which were all 
 in all to them. The little group was soon 
 recognised. Aileen and Katharine knelt 
 beside some one ; it was Aunt Hester. 
 Tenderly they chafed her hands, which 
 were still warm, and looked in her poor 
 thin face for any sign of life. It was hope- 
 less: her pulse was still; her warm, loving 
 heart would never beat again in joy or 
 sorrow. Hugh and Duncan saw at once 
 the full extent of the calamity, and drew 
 the girls aside. There was plenty of sym- 
 pathising spectators near to tell how it 
 happened : a falling piece of timber had 
 struck her and she had fallen down, stunned 
 at once, where she now lay. The sad story 
 was soon told, and, with quiet, sorrow- 
 stricken faces, the girls went back to their 
 lonely home, where their father's voice was 
 no longer heard, and where she who had 
 ever been a mother to them would never 
 come again.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 " Was this a face 
 To be exposed against the warring winds ?" 
 
 Many a longing look was sent to the ships, 
 still motionless in the Lough, and yet 
 no tidings came from them. Affairs within 
 and without the city seemed darker than 
 ever. The stores could not last much 
 longer, and the garrison was daily reduced 
 by death in every form and shape. Colonel 
 Baker, who had been ailing for some time, 
 became seriously ill, and, calling to his bed- 
 side the man with whom but a short 
 time before he had crossed swords, he 
 deputed him to take his place, as the fittest 
 person he knew to assist the city in this 
 great emergency ; and then the brave 
 soldier died, carrying out to the last 
 his disinterested plans for the welfare of 
 the cause he had so ably fought for.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 129 
 
 Colonel Mitchelburne took the command, 
 it would seem without opposition. About 
 this time the strength of the enemy was 
 considerably increased by the arrival of 
 Conrad de Eosen, Marshal-General of King 
 James's forces in Ireland. With unbounded 
 presumption, he vowed the utter destruc- 
 tion of the town and its inhabitants. An 
 offer of terms was made to the besieged by 
 Lieutenant-General Hamilton ; but the gar- 
 rison, resolute as ever, returned an indig- 
 nant answer; and a declaration was made 
 inside the walls that the bare mention 
 of the word "surrender" would cost the 
 speaker his life. A letter was then sent 
 from General Rosen, demanding that ''the 
 town should be delivered up to him by 
 six of the clock in the afternoon on the 
 1st July, according to Lieutenant-General 
 Hamilton's proposals." Contempt and indig- 
 nation were the sole results of these threats, 
 and the enemy's next step was to drive a 
 miserable crowd of the people of the 
 country under the walls of the town, ex- 
 pecting that the sight of their misery would 
 VOL. 1. 9
 
 130 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 move the garrison to yield, when their o\vn 
 sufferings were unavailing to turn them 
 from their resolution. It was a heart- 
 rending sight, in trutli, to see helpless 
 old men, women, and children crowding 
 together under the walls, hungry and 
 thirsty, with no shelter, no hope of deliver- 
 ance but in death, which had already 
 brought relief to many amid their number. 
 Some touching scenes could be told of the 
 sympathy between the sufferers on both 
 sides of the walls. A crust, hard and 
 mouldy, was often divided, accompanied 
 with words of mutual sympathy and en- 
 couragement; relatives saw each other, 
 and many a sad story was told over 
 the walls of common suffering, of bereave- 
 ment and sorrow. 
 
 Katharine leant over the parapet one 
 evening, anxiously looking far away for a 
 little figure which was long in coming. 
 Horace was not back yet, and their anxiety 
 for him was every day becoming greater. 
 Katharine spoke to no one at the other side 
 of the wall; but from time to time her
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 131 
 
 attention was attracted by a girl younger, 
 if anything, than herself, who with anxious, 
 longing looks glanced up towards her. 
 Their eyes met, and the girl's lips moved as 
 if she would speak, and then she looked 
 away timidly. She was very fair and 
 fragile looking, and Katharine could see 
 the traces of tears and sorrow upon her 
 pale face. Again she looked up, and 
 Katharine, bending down, spoke softly — 
 
 ^' Are you looking for any one?" 
 
 The girl's face brightened when she 
 heard the kind voice, but she did not 
 answer. 
 
 "Have you any relations in the city?'* 
 asked Katharine again. 
 
 " No," said the girl, shyly ; "I liave only 
 one relation in the world — my mother — 
 and she is here ;" and she pointed to a deli- 
 cate-looking woman, who sat propped up 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Are you in great distress?" again asked 
 Katharine. 
 
 " Not more than others," said the girl; 
 "I am only afraid for ray mother; she 
 is weak " ^ — ^^
 
 132 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " Have you anything to eat?" 
 
 " I have still some oaten bread that I 
 brought in my pocket." 
 
 Katharine turned away once more to 
 look out into the distance. The girl watched 
 her eagerly, and, fearing she was moving 
 away, said earnestly — 
 
 " Can you tell me something?" 
 
 "What do you want to know?" 
 
 "Are there many prisoners in the city?'^ 
 
 " Yes, a great many. Why do you 
 ask?" 
 
 The girl looked confused ; but the anxiety 
 of her feelings made her bold. 
 
 " I had a friend, I think he is a prisoner. 
 Oh, will you tell me ! did you hear Fergus 
 Fitzgerald mentioned as a captive?" 
 
 She looked so pleadingly up to Katharine 
 that her heart was touched at once; she 
 guessed the relation the girl bore to 
 Fergus. 
 
 " I know him," she said; " he is well." 
 
 " Thank God! and thank you. You are 
 sure of it?" 
 
 " Yes; he is in our house. Shall I tell 
 him that I saw you ?"
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 133 
 
 "Oh, no," she said, quickly; "it would 
 only trouble him to think of me — of us — 
 in this position." 
 
 " I must go now," said Katharine ; "I 
 will see you again, I hope. Will you tell 
 me your name?" 
 
 " My name is Geraldine Koss. I will 
 watch for you another day ; mother will be 
 glad to hear about Fergus."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Shall I, because a maid is fair. 
 Waste my life in dull despair ? 
 What care I how fair she be, 
 If she be not fair to me ?" 
 
 The same evening Katharine noticed an 
 agitated, restless look on Fergus' face ; he 
 strode up and down the room silently, 
 almost sullenly. " Could he have heard by 
 any chance of the presence of Geraldine 
 under the walls ?" she thought. 
 
 "Are you suffering this evening?" she 
 said, when in one of his rapid strides 
 he passed her closely. They were alone in 
 the room, and he came and sat down 
 wearily beside her. He had always looked 
 to her as his friend since, on the night he 
 was taken captive, she knelt beside him and 
 spoke so softly and kindly. 
 
 "Suffering? no," he said; "I am well 
 now. Why should I suffer?"
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 135 
 
 "I thought you seemed troubled to- 
 night," she replied. 
 
 " Is it strange for a poor prisoner to be 
 troubled?" 
 
 " You have been so cheerful, helping us 
 all to bear our troubles," she said, " that I 
 thought there was something more than 
 usual the matter to-night/' 
 
 "You are right; I am perplexed — 
 anxious. The country people have been 
 driven under the walls, have they not ? and 
 I doubt not but some of my friends are 
 among them. Can I rest and think of 
 what they may be suffering?" 
 
 " Your mother — they would not surely 
 molest her?" 
 
 "Oh, no; she is safe; but I have other 
 friends — weak, delicate women. Yes, I do 
 not mind telling you — you are a woman, 
 and one of the kindest, gentlest I have ever 
 known — ^you will understand my feelings 
 when I tell you that the girl whom I had 
 hoped some day to make my wife may, in 
 all probability, be under the walls to-night." 
 
 " No wonder you are in trouble. I am
 
 136 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 very sorry for you ; but I think I can com-^ 
 fort you a little." 
 
 He looked surprised, incredulous : and 
 she went on to tell him of her interview 
 that day with Geraldine. 
 
 '^ It is as I thought," he said; "and lam 
 powerless to help them." 
 
 " No one can do anything : we must 
 only wait and hope," she said. " They are 
 not in any great want, yet. I will see her 
 to-morrow, and give her any message from 
 you." 
 
 "Thank you," he said; "it is very kind 
 of you to take such an interest in us ; but I 
 knew you would." 
 
 As chance would have it, just at this 
 moment Hugh came into the room. He 
 was not a jealous man, but it startled him 
 to see the earnest conversation between 
 Katharine and Fergus. He saw his excited 
 manner and her sympathising face turned 
 towards him; and he would not have been 
 a man had not a pang of fear shot through 
 his heart. Suppose Katharine had fallen 
 in love with this interesting young Irish-
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 137 
 
 man? It would not be unnatural: they 
 had been much thrown together, and Fergus 
 was a handsome, openhearted young fellow ; 
 just the sort of young man a girl would 
 fancy. Hugh was quick to observe, too, 
 that at his entrance their conversation 
 ceased. Fergus got up and left the room, 
 and Katharine turned to Hugh with a 
 question about Horace. With studied 
 coldness he replied to her question: his 
 jealous imagination tracing a sudden 
 change in her manner as she spoke to him. 
 He asked himself why had he ever allowed 
 this love to take possession of his heart, 
 when a stranger could be more to her than 
 he had ever been or ever could be ? Let 
 him be so, he thought, in the bitterness of 
 his spirit: the love she could so readily 
 give to an alien could never be the love 
 that would satisfy him. He was a fool to 
 think it could be so: it was not in her 
 nature to love him as he would be loved 
 and as he knew too well that he loved her.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good, 
 Oh, there were desolation of jailors and gallowses." 
 
 Katharine's interest was greatly excited 
 by the insight she had got into Fergus and 
 Geraldine Ross's affairs, and as she talked 
 them over with Aileen that night she said, 
 " You see I was right after all about 
 Fergus." And Aileen was secretly not a 
 little relieved to find that she had been 
 proved in the wrong; for the possibility 
 which had disturbed Hugh's mind that 
 evening had occurred to her many times 
 before as a not unlikely ending to the 
 familiar and constant intercourse be- 
 tween Katharine and their prisoner. 
 The subject of Hugh's affection for her 
 sister had never been mentioned between 
 them since that night, long ago, at the be- 
 ginning of this story. She left the idea to
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 139 
 
 work itself out in Katharine's mind, and 
 beyond her expectation it had indeed done 
 so, but more from the circumstances of the 
 time than as any effect her words could have 
 had. The emergencies of the day put into 
 the background individual cares which on 
 other occasions would have been all-im- 
 portant. Hurried on from one startling 
 event to another, the last few months 
 seemed more like some fearful dream, from 
 which they would some day suddenly awake 
 to find all things as they had been, than 
 the sad realities they were. Their father's 
 and their aunt's deaths were alike unrealised. 
 The loved ones had left them, but they could 
 not feel that it was for ever, any more than 
 that the strange scenes of sadness and 
 suffering around them could go on for ever 
 without change. In like manner it had 
 been with Janet. Cast down and prostrate 
 she lay for some days, and then, roused by 
 some pressing necessity, she put far from 
 her the pain of the past, and became the 
 Janet of old — the ever-ready, willing little 
 handmaid. It was a time of action and
 
 140 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 endurance, rather than of thought and feel- 
 ing; but, at the same time, every action 
 was prompted by love, and every endurance 
 told of a self-sacrifice which might have 
 been looked for in vain in more peaceable 
 days. 
 
 Early the next morning Katharine hur- 
 ried to her old corner on the walls, with 
 a part of her own scanty breakfast for 
 Geraldine. Something unusual was going 
 on : workmen were busy, and an excited 
 crowd watched their work. 
 
 Geraldine was eagerly watching for her 
 friend. She looked more pale and wretched 
 than the day before, and Katharine hastened 
 to offer her the food. 
 
 The girl, not noticing it, exclaimed, in an 
 agony of grief, "You will save him, oh, 
 say you will save him !" 
 
 " He is safe still. What do you fear?" 
 
 " Do you not see what they are doing? 
 They will hang him ! Those gallows are 
 for him — for all the prisoners! You must 
 know it, but you do not care. Oh, Fergus ! 
 Fergus ! what shall I do ? I had rather
 
 KATHARINE PAIRFAX. 141 
 
 you had died long ago ! To think that I 
 shall see you there soon I Oh, it is hard, 
 hard !" And the poor girl sobbed aloud in 
 her passionate grief. 
 
 '' You must be calm, Geraldine. Listen 
 to me," said Katharine, earnestly bending 
 down towards her. " I cannot believe that 
 this will be carried out. It is surely only a 
 threat. Be patient, and I will do what I can." 
 
 *'It is a cruel, cruel threat! But you 
 will save him? Oh, promise me that you 
 will!" 
 
 "I have no power to promise," said 
 Katharine, sadly; "but I will try; and I 
 do not think they can mean to carry it out. 
 Try and eat this," she said, looking at the 
 famished, weary face before her. " Take 
 some to your mother, and for her sake be 
 calm." 
 
 With a face full of pity and compassion, 
 she moved away, and meeting Hugh, 
 she exclaimed, almost as eagerly as Geral- 
 dine, "Oh, Hugh! what is this for? It 
 cannot be true that any one in the town is 
 to be hung?' "
 
 142 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " We must do something ; and it has 
 been given out that, unless the poor 
 creatures under the walls are released, the 
 prisoners we have will be hanged on those 
 gallows." 
 
 "Must they all suffer? Oh, Hugh, 
 Fergus ! — what of him ?" 
 
 " He must be treated like the rest," said 
 he, turning away, almost coldly. 
 
 '^ You will save him ! oh, you will try, 
 won't you?" And her eyes filled with 
 tears as she thought of Geraldine. 
 
 " I can do nothing." But, seeing her 
 evident distress, he added, " They may not 
 carry it out. It is hard for you when you 
 care so much." 
 
 Something in his last words told Katha- 
 rine that he misunderstood her ; and she 
 would have told him further of the reasons 
 for her anxiety, but some one calling Hugh 
 at that moment she had to pass on alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " The pangs this foolish, heart must feel. 
 When hope shall be for ever flown, 
 No sullen murmurs shall reveal — 
 No selfish murmurs ever own." 
 
 A HAPPY surprise met Katharine at home. 
 Horace had come back safe, with a despatch 
 from Major-General Kirk concealed in the 
 cloth button of his jacket. His adventures 
 had been many and great, but, with wonderful 
 ingenuity, he had accomplished his mission, 
 and was now all anxiety to start again with 
 the answer to the letter which he had 
 brought. It was addressed to Governor 
 Walker, and spoke hopefully of relief ex- 
 pected from England, with which in due 
 time he would deliver them. In the mean- 
 time, he proposed attacking the enemy 
 from the Island of Inch. An answer was 
 immediately prepared to this letter, urging 
 relief at once; and Horace, hiding it care-
 
 144 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 fully in the folds of his breeches, made liis 
 way again from the town, this time leaving 
 under cover of a party who were making a 
 sally towards Pennyburn Mill. 
 
 Hugh joined in this expedition, with the 
 same energy of despair which had prompted 
 him once before : it mattered not, he thought, 
 what his fate should be. The exertion 
 and change of scene did him good ; and 
 as he came back into the town, the remem- 
 brance came to him that, come what might 
 at a future time, he was bound now to 
 protect and care for his cousin Katharine, 
 and he would do so, and preserve himself 
 as best he could to this end. On his return 
 he found that the prisoners had obtained 
 leave to write to Lieutenant-General Hamil- 
 ton, stating their case and praying for 
 consideration. Their blood, they said, 
 they could not lay to the charge of the 
 garrison, "the Governor and the rest 
 having treated us with all civility imagin- 
 able." Hugh hastened to communicate 
 the intelligence to Katharine, whose fears 
 had been increased by Fergus being re-
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. ]45 
 
 moved to a more strict confinement. The 
 answer to this petition, however, brought 
 but little comfort. " If they suffered in 
 this matter," Lieutenant-Greneral Hamilton 
 said, "it could not be helped; but their 
 death would be avenged on many thou- 
 sands within and without the city." 
 
 " We must only hope still," said Hugh, 
 when he told her of this ; " I feel that all 
 will be right in the end.'* 
 
 Calmly and tenderly he spoke, and 
 Katharine perceived no difference in his 
 usual manner to lier : his increased silence 
 and hopeless look passed unnoticed when 
 all were sad and heart-sick. 
 
 The violence of Geraldine's grief had 
 subsided into a weary apathy of both body 
 and mind, only alleviated by Katharine's 
 gentle voice from the wall encouraging and 
 comforting her frequently. 
 
 At last the joyful news came that the 
 country people beneath the walls were to re- 
 turn to their homes: the gallows were taken 
 down, and the prisoners sent back to their 
 usual lodgings. The reason for this change 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 is not easily explained, unless, as stated 
 m some accounts, it was the express 
 command of King James, to whom tidings 
 had been sent to Dublin. 
 
 "You are welcome back," said Hugh, 
 kindly, to Fergus, when he was once more 
 established in his old quarters. 
 
 " Thank you all," said Fergus, cheerily, 
 his elastic spirits rebounding now the danger 
 was past. He looked to Katharine, as if 
 expecting some words from her. Hugh 
 saw the movement, and turned away, pained 
 and sore at heart. 
 
 "You would have liked to have seen the 
 smile on Geraldine's face to-day when I 
 saw her," Katharine said. 
 
 " They have gone?" 
 
 " Yes ; and she told me to tell you that 
 she is as true to you as ever." 
 
 " I do not fear that she will ever change. 
 What else did she say?" 
 
 ^' She said she would pray for you — for 
 us all, that a change might soon come, and 
 that you were to have no fear for her."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "And the famine was sore in the land." 
 
 Each day provisions were becoming moro 
 scanty, and hope of help from without 
 seemed as far off as ever. Suspicions being 
 raised again that food was secreted in some 
 of the houses, an order was given to search 
 every dwelling, and transfer all stores to 
 a common stock. This investigation was 
 o-oiner on in the Fairfax's house. Katharine 
 sat hushing the youngest little Campbell to 
 sleep, she was sick and fretful for want of 
 proper food; and little Nellie, pale and 
 thin, played on the floor with her untiring 
 playfellow, the little dog Gip. The search 
 for food had been unsuccessful, and the 
 men, passing the door to leave the house, 
 caught sight of the little dog. 
 
 "There's a delicate morsel," said one to 
 
 10—2
 
 148 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 the other. " We must have him here, my 
 little damsel; we have other need for the 
 little brute than to play with you;" and he 
 seized poor Gip, with a greedy, hungry 
 look. 
 
 " You must not touch Gip ! oh, indeed 
 you must not ! Gip is my own little dog. 
 Nasty man ! take Gip out of the bag." Poor 
 Gip had been thrown without ceremony into 
 an empty sack which the man carried on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Must you really take the little dog?" 
 asked Katharine, timidly," of the rough 
 man. 
 
 " Ay, indeed. Mistress Fairfax, that we 
 must; an' any more that you have, too. 
 Dog flesh is too good living to go untouched 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, Katie, make him give me back poor 
 Gip ! my own, own little dog !" 
 
 ^' Could we give you anything in place of 
 the dog ? He is so little he would not be 
 worth much." 
 
 "What can you give, young mistress? 
 Give us this bag full of meal, or anything
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 149 
 
 that will keep body and soul together— it 
 does not matter much the quality — and you 
 shall have the wee beastie again." 
 
 '^ I have nothing," said Katharine. 
 
 "No; I thought as much," said the man, 
 with a grim smile. " Come along, Will, 
 the dog is better than nothing, any day, so 
 he is." 
 
 They turned away, and poor little Nellie, 
 burying her face in Katharine's dress, cried 
 as only a child can cry for her little dog. 
 Fergus, who had watched the scene, carried 
 her away in his arms, and soon comforted 
 the little heart by stories of '' poor Grip 
 come back again." 
 
 This slight incident is but an illustration 
 of the distress in the town. It would seem 
 as if hunger would drive them to give in 
 before help came — the help which, a month 
 before, had seemed so near at hand. A 
 fortunate discovery was made of a large 
 store of starch in the town, which, mixed 
 with tallow, afforded food ibr seven or 
 eight days more. This exhausted, what 
 should they do? The days wore slowly on,
 
 150 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 and now the terrible truth was known 
 that, in two or three days at farthest, there 
 would be but the one alternative — starva- 
 tion or surrender !
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men." 
 
 It was once again evening service in the 
 Cathedral. What changes had there been 
 since that night in December when our 
 story opened. Many an anxious worshipper 
 at that service was now quietly resting in 
 the churchyard outside; and many who 
 now passed by their graves this July even- 
 ing, with weary, listless steps, would gladly 
 have laid themselves down beside them. 
 Every face was pallid with suffering and 
 sorrow, and, with the quiet hopelessness of 
 despair, they turned a listening look at 
 Walker who stood up before them. What 
 could he or any one else say to comfort or 
 help them now? Almost with its old 
 energy his voice rang out through the 
 buildino;. A thrill of sorrow might be
 
 152 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 detected in his tones, whicli told that he too 
 had suffered ; still, the unwavering boldness 
 and confidence of the man sounded as ever 
 in the firm, deep utterance with which he 
 gave out the words, " Why are ye so fear- 
 ful? How is it that ye have no faith?" 
 
 ''Brethren," he said, "I ask you this 
 evening to consider to whom these words 
 were spoken, and in what circumstances. 
 They were addressed by Jesus to his disci- 
 ples, poor, ignorant, fearful fishermen. And 
 where were they? Out, in their frail little 
 fishing boat, in the middle of the Lake; 
 the waves were raging and surging around 
 them, the winds were roaring and howling 
 on all sides and they were powerless — they 
 could not calm the waves or hush the 
 winds. Weak and terrified, they could do 
 nothing for themselves, and they must be 
 lost. But, listen to what He says to them 
 — ' Why are ye so fearful ? Know you not 
 that I am with you? It is I who have made 
 the winds and waves thus to rise around 
 you ; and I alone can still them. They will 
 obey me, their Creator, their Ruler. Ye
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 153 
 
 are powerless, but I am not; think not of 
 yourselves, but of Me, and be of good 
 cheer.' And, now, what this same Jesus said 
 to these poor fishermen of Galilee, I say to 
 you in His name — ' Be of good cheer, it is 
 I; be not afraid.' We are His disciples; 
 He is with us in the ship; the waves 
 of want and suffering roll over us, the 
 winds of the fury of our enemies roar 
 around us, and we cannot stem the torrent 
 or still the blast of the wicked ; yet He can 
 do it for us as for them. In His own good 
 time he will arouse from His seeming slum- 
 ber, and scatter our enemies and make 
 smooth our paths once more. Why will ye 
 doubt, oh ye of little faith ? He has led us 
 even to this day from strength to strength. 
 Nay, do not mock me with those doubting 
 faces. They say to me, where is our 
 strength? You deceive us, we have no 
 strength. I say again, you have been given 
 strength: you have strength even now, 
 though you would deny it with those sor- 
 rowful, forlorn looks. I ask you, why 
 have you not yielded to the enemy? You
 
 154 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 have been strong. And where did you 
 get your strength? How is it that you 
 have had strength to come here this 
 evening? Why is it that you have not 
 lain down and died? I say it is because of 
 strength this Jesus has given you ; and he 
 says to you again to-night, ' I will give you 
 more ; I will give you sufficient to the end ; 
 only be of good cheer. Remember I am 
 here in the midst of you ; why should ye 
 fear? Heaven and earth shall pass away, 
 but my words shall not fail.' But, still, 
 you will answer me with those piteous 
 voices of yours — These are words, brave 
 words in sooth, but what are they to us? 
 You tell us to be of good cheer, and we 
 know not what you mean. We have for- 
 gotten what it is to be joyful and glad of 
 heart. Our fathers and mothers and 
 brothers lie out there in the cold church- 
 yard ; our homes are desolate ; our children 
 cry for bread, and we have none to give 
 them; we are hungry, thirsty, worn out, 
 and miserable ; and yet you tell us to be of 
 good cheer ! The words are a mockery and
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 155 
 
 a snare to us ; we will none of them. Still, 
 I will repeat them, brethren, in spite of 
 your too true pleadings — ' Be of good 
 cheer, it is I; be not afraid.' Could those 
 your hearts are mourning for to-night rise 
 up from the churchyard yonder, they would 
 repeat them too. They would tell you — 
 ' God has wiped away all tears from our 
 eyes; weep no more for us, only follow 
 on; overcome as we have overcome, and 
 you shall wear the crown in due time that 
 we are wearing now.' Be not afraid, either, 
 for those who are still with you ; the Pro- 
 vidence which has sustained us to this 
 night will not fail us now. Only tarry ye 
 the Lord's leisure yet a little longer ; the 
 deliverance will come, be assured of it ; and 
 it will not, it cannot, be long, for the day is 
 truly far spent ; but remember that ^ at 
 evening time it shall be light.' "
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " A sail ! a sail appears ! 
 We hail it with three cheers." 
 
 In this earnest and hopeful manner the 
 undaunted Walker addressed his congrega- 
 tion, and his words were not without their 
 effect upon their saddened hearts. With 
 brighter faces they turned out of the 
 Cathedral, many of them echoing his last 
 words, "At evening time it shall be light.'* 
 A cool evening breeze had sprung up, and 
 they dispersed in all directions about the 
 walls to catch a breath of air after the heat 
 and burden of the day. Suddenly, from 
 the top of the Cathedral, a cry was heard — 
 "A sail! a sail!" Instantaneously the 
 words spread over the whole city, and with 
 straining and doubtful eyes they gazed 
 down the Lough. They had been deceived 
 before; their hearts were sick and weary;
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 157 
 
 and yet it might be so : had not the minis- 
 ter said but a few minutes before, "At 
 evening time it shall be light?" Was there 
 any light, any hope for them down the 
 never-changing river, glowing in the even- 
 ing sun? Yes! Was it a dream, that 
 silvery sail? Nay, not one, but two, three, 
 coming on and on — slowl}^, for the tide was 
 rising, the breeze as yet but light — but 
 still advancing, drawing nearer and yet 
 nearer, bearing hope and life for all within 
 those unconquered walls. It was no dream, 
 but oh, what a hoped-for reality! — those 
 three brave ships : the Mountjoy of Derry, 
 the Phoenix of Coleraine, and the Dart- 
 mouth frigate, every moment drawing 
 closer, with the firm resolve of succouring 
 the luckless Maiden City at whatever 
 hazard. On they came, past the Fort of 
 Culmore, through a volley of cannon and 
 small shot from both sides of the river, 
 which they returned in right earnest, up 
 straight to the boom. In a transport of joy 
 and fear, every eye on the walls was 
 strained. Would this barrier prove a bar-
 
 158 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 rier indeed against them! Suddenly the 
 foremost ship slackened sail — she stopped, 
 almost ! Was it in fear or caution? The 
 wind, which had filled her sails w^hile 
 passing the Fort, fell into a dead calm. For 
 a moment the smoke from the constant firing 
 hides the vessels from their sight, and when it 
 cleared away the Mountjoy was motionless ! 
 Hope died within the anxious hearts as 
 the air was rent by loud huzzas from 
 the enemy, firing at the same time all their 
 guns upon her and preparing boats to 
 board her. In the rebound from the boom 
 the Mountjoy had slightly grounded. A 
 vigorous broadside loosed her from her 
 holdings, and a strong tide flowing she 
 righted and once more went boldly at the 
 boom. It was passed! and the Phoenix 
 closely following came in foremost to the 
 quay. The terror was over, relief had 
 come at last, and with one voice the people 
 sent up their cry of joy to Heaven. What 
 a scene of glad confusion ensued on the 
 unloading of those gallant ships! Barrels 
 of meal, casks of beef, flitches of bacon,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 159 
 
 kegs of butter, sacks of peas and biscuits ; 
 ankers of brandy were rolled on shore; 
 and the hungry garrison received their 
 luxurious rations of flour, beef, and peas. 
 Bonfires blazed all round the walls, the roar 
 of the enemy's cannon was unheeded or 
 drowned in the joyful pealing of bells 
 throughout the happy city. In the morn- 
 ing light the besiegers were seen moving 
 away towards Strabane; only a line of 
 smoking ruins marked the site where their 
 huts had been so lons^.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 "And now, with shouts and clapping, 
 And noise of weeping loud, 
 He enters through the River Gate, 
 Borne by the joyous crowd." 
 
 The siege was raised at last, after one hun- 
 dred and five days; the enemy was gone 
 from before the walls, abundance of pro- 
 visions flowed into the town, and, true to 
 the energy and strength of their character, 
 the citizens set themselves to reorganise 
 the defence of the city, and restore its 
 dilapidated streets and houses. Major- 
 General Kh^v received an enthusiastic re- 
 ception from the inhabitants, who looked 
 upon him as their deliverer and offered 
 him the keys of the city as Governor. 
 This honour he declined, and Colonel 
 Mitchelburne was then installed as Go- 
 vernor. It is impossible to describe the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 161 
 
 sense of relief and thankfulness which filled 
 the hearts of all v/ithin the gallant city, 
 which had so long and unflinchingly stood 
 out against the overwhelming force of the 
 enemy, with every imaginable drawback 
 within her walls to contend against. The 
 successful issue of the struggle tended to 
 deepen and confirm the religous feelings of 
 the people, who felt that it was God alone 
 who had vouchsafed them so marvellous a 
 deliverance; nor can we wonder that to 
 this day the valour of her sons should be 
 celebrated within the walls of Derry. 
 
 It was two days after the relief. Katha- 
 rine had wandered to the river side, 
 enjoying the liberty and air which for so 
 long had been denied. The country never 
 seemed to have looked so beautiful to her 
 before as it did this summer evening: the 
 quiet rippling of the water at her feet 
 and the free broad sky above her calmed 
 and rested her weary spirit. Now that the 
 trial was over, the time for exertion past, a 
 reaction of intense lassitude and loneliness 
 fell upon her heart. The reality that she 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 KATHARINE FAIKFAX. 
 
 would never feel a father's love again, nor 
 the mother-like love of her aunt, came 
 home to her as it had not done before; 
 and she sat now poring over, with a sad- 
 dened heart, the events of the past months. 
 Wrapt in her own thoughts, she did not 
 hear a footstep behind her, and suddenly 
 hearing a voice she started : it was Hugh. 
 
 "I have been looking for you every- 
 where, Katie ; and now I have only a 
 moment to bid you good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye !" she echoed, and the colour 
 which his unexpected approach had brought 
 to her face as quickly faded away, and she 
 became very pale. '' Why, you are not 
 going so soon ! It seems so sudden : you 
 did not tell me before." 
 
 " I did not know myself. You know I 
 have volunteered for further service, and I 
 have, about an hour ago, received an order 
 to join the troops at Inch immediately; in 
 ten minutes I must be off." 
 
 "Oh, Hugh, what shall we do without 
 you? Why did you say you would go?" 
 
 " I thought it would be better for all
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 163 
 
 parties," he said, coldly. '' There is no rea- 
 son why I should stay here. This victory 
 must be followed up, and we have no right 
 to sit quietly down ; we must help those 
 who have helped us. Duncan, of course, 
 will stay; those who have ties, as he has, 
 are perfectly right to stay, and the town 
 must not be deserted; but for men like me 
 there seems to be no alternative." 
 
 His forced cold manner eiFectually drove 
 away the trembling which had seized Katha- 
 rine. With a strong effort she calmed 
 herself, and answered, with a coolness 
 rivalling his own — " It is a pity you should 
 go before they are married. Aileen tells 
 me it is not to be delayed now." 
 
 " It should not be delayed. But I can- 
 not stay, nor would I wish to do so." 
 
 She looked at him with surprise. What 
 had come over him? All his softness had 
 vanished: he was the old cold, proud, 
 Cousin Hugh. 
 
 " You are surprised," he said; " but you 
 do not understand; and why should you? 
 I had several matters to speak to you about, 
 
 11— ci
 
 164 KATHARINE TAIRFAX. 
 
 but there is no time now. All, however, is^ 
 I hope, satisfactorily arranged for you." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Aileen says her marriage is 
 to make no difference between us. We will 
 all live on in the old house — I could not 
 bear to leave it — and the Campbell children 
 will remain with us till some arrangement 
 is made with their relations, if any can be 
 found." 
 
 " Horace has set his heart on becoming a 
 sailor, and I have promised, if I see any 
 opening, to let him know. I have also 
 arranged about Fitzgerald. He may leave 
 when he likes — though T don't suppose he 
 will be in a hurry." 
 
 He looked at her as if to read her face, 
 but she stood gazing silently down into the 
 river, seeming scarcely to have heard his 
 words. 
 
 '^ She is afraid I will question her,'* 
 he thought ; and then he said aloud — " I 
 must go now, Katharine. I trust that you 
 will be happy; and remember that Cousin 
 Hugh will always be your true friend, 
 come what may."
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 165 
 
 '^Yes, I know," she said, not trusting 
 lierself to look up. " Good-bye, Cousin 
 Hugh, we will miss you dreadfully ; you 
 have been so good, so kind all this time." 
 
 Silently he held her hand for a moment, 
 and then he was cfone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " And fare thee weel, mj only luve, 
 And fare thee weel a while ; 
 And I will come again, my luve. 
 The' it were ten thousand mile." 
 
 Another parting was going on not far off. 
 Pat Mackinnon was to accompany Hugli, at 
 Pat's earnest desire. With a tact and feel- 
 ing rare in his position he felt that he 
 could not press his suit with Janet at pre- 
 sent. But when the sudden news of their 
 departure came, his feelings well-nigh over- 
 came him. 
 
 '' Janet," he said, " I'm going straight 
 away now, with Captain Hugh." 
 
 ''This very day! Pat?" 
 
 "Yes, lassie; the boats are ready — it's 
 down the Lough we're going ; an' it may be 
 many a long day before we're back in the 
 old city. Will you think long for us now^ 
 I wonder, Janet?"
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 167 
 
 " Ay, and that we will, Pat. It's a sore 
 day to see one's friends going away ; and the 
 time will pass but slowly till you come 
 back.'' 
 
 "Will it now, Janet? An' if I thought 
 so, my heart would go away light." 
 
 "We have aye been good friends, Pat; 
 and we'll no doubt miss you." 
 
 "But, Janet, will you promise to think 
 of me sometimes when Pm far away, and 
 wish for me to come back?" 
 
 He spoke so earnestly, she scarcely knew 
 how to answer him, and he went on — 
 
 " Janet, you were tender to me when I 
 lay yonder sick an' weak; an' in spite of 
 myself I thought more of you than per- 
 haps you know. I can't think you care for 
 me now, Janet; but maybe the Lord Him- 
 self may soften your heart toward me when 
 Pm far away in the wars. I don't ask you 
 to say a word now, only that you'll think 
 kindly of the poor fellow that loves you 
 with all his heart. Good-bye now, lassie; 
 perhaps after all I may never come back to 
 trouble you."
 
 168 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " You would not trouble me, Pat, I 
 think," she said. " Good-bye. Thank you 
 for not saying more now — you know how 
 heavy my heart has been. But I'll often 
 think of you, and pray that you may come 
 back safe." And so they parted, with more 
 hope and a better understanding than Hugh 
 and Katharine had done. 
 
 When Katharine looked up, Hugh was 
 gone. She was alone with the quiet river, 
 \vhich would tell no tales of the sadness of 
 her heart. Sitting down, she buried her 
 face in her hands, and, unrestrained, she 
 cried as she had not cried since she had 
 been a child. He had gone; she had 
 deceived herself; he didn't care; he had 
 himself said he had no ties; and now she 
 was alone. Her father gone ; Aunt Hester, 
 too; Aileen and Duncan were all in all to 
 each other; there was no one whom she had 
 any right to be first with. She would 
 have to learn now what it was to stand 
 alone. She must unlearn the lesson of 
 dependence she had learned all these 
 months, dependence on one on whom she
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 1G9 
 
 had no right to depend ; one who had gone 
 willingly, gladly almost, not caring for 
 her more than any one else. After the 
 first violence of her grief was over, she sat 
 quietly thinking out these thoughts, and 
 then all the pride of her nature rose up and 
 drove out her softer feelings. Katharine 
 was proud — perhaps, in her own way, just 
 as proud as Hugh. She had deceived 
 herself, but the dream was over now, 
 and her heart could be quite as hard as his. 
 She would never think of him again but 
 as the Cousin Hugh of old times, disa- 
 greeable often, and always cold and silent. 
 No one should ever guess what in these few 
 minutes she had suffered; she would be 
 the same Katharine Fairfax as of old: not 
 caring for any one, free in thought and 
 feeling, going her own way and letting 
 every one go theirs. Strengthening herself 
 with these resolutions, she wandered away 
 by the river- side till the evening shades 
 gathered round her, and then she turned 
 homewards, with all traces of her sorrow put 
 away.
 
 CHA.PTER XXX. 
 
 " Oh, sweetheart and comfort ! with thee by my side 
 I could love and live happy, whatever betide." 
 
 " What a long time you have been out, 
 Katie," said her sister, when she came in. 
 
 '' Yes ; it was so pleasant to be out 
 in the fields again. What have you been 
 doing since ? when I went out you said 
 you would follow me." 
 
 '' So I intended ; but Duncan came in 
 and wanted to talk. We were so surprised 
 to find Hugh was off so soon. Did he find 
 you?" and she looked inquisitively at 
 Katharine. 
 
 " Oh yes ; he came down to the river." 
 
 '^ Were you not surprised to hear of his 
 sudden start?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed; I had no idea he would 
 have to go so soon ; I told him he ought to 
 wait, at least, for your wedding."
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 171 
 
 '^ 1 think it is very odd he didn't try to 
 do that," said Aileen ; " I hoped you would 
 have persuaded him." 
 
 "I didn't try," said Katharine, lightly. 
 " Besides, it would have been no use, he 
 could not disobey his military orders." 
 
 '^It will seem so strange, so odd, without 
 him; I don't know how we shall get on," 
 said Aileen. 
 
 "Oh, as he has often said himself, no- 
 body is missed ; and we must learn to get 
 on by ourselves. We could not expect 
 him to stay shut up in the town any 
 longer; I'm sure he's had quite enough of 
 it all this time. He has not the same at- 
 traction Duncan has, you know, Aily dear." 
 
 With forced gaiety she said this; and 
 then, hastily changing the subject, said — 
 
 "But what had Duncan to say? Have 
 you made any further arrangements?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; you will be surprised to 
 hear that Duncan came in to tell me that 
 Mr. Walker is ordered to London with de- 
 spatches ; so, if he is to marry us, it must be 
 immediately — within two days."
 
 172 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " Oh, Aileen ! will ^^ou leave me so 
 soon ?" 
 
 "I am not going to leave you at all, 
 Katie, darling. Yon know we shall all 
 be together still; and it will make no 
 difference between you and me: nothing 
 will ever do that, Katie." 
 
 *' It is all very well to say that," said 
 Katharine, ahnost petulantly. " I know 
 very well how it will be, and, of course, it 
 is right that it should be so ; and, after all, 
 when it is to be, it is better that it should 
 be at once. Have you settled when?'* 
 
 '* The day after to-morrow, Duncan 
 says." 
 
 " And you say so too. You know you are 
 just as much in love as Duncan." 
 
 And so it was. Aileen, with her quiet, 
 undemonstrative nature, had given her 
 heart undivided to the brave young soldier, 
 and, as their hands were joined by Mr. 
 Walker in the old Cathedral, now so asso- 
 ciated in their minds with their deepest 
 feelings, she had no doubts nor misgivings 
 to disturb the peace and thankfulness which
 
 KATHAEINE FAIKFAX. 173 
 
 filled her heart when thinking that, raid all the 
 dangerousscenes Duncan hadpassed through, 
 God had kept him to be her comfort now. 
 It was a very quiet wedding, Mr. Walker 
 and Colonel Murray being the only addi- 
 tions to their home party. The ceremony 
 had been early, and, as they sat over their 
 usual breakfast. Colonel Murray, looking 
 round, said — 
 
 " Fairfax should have got leave to stay 
 with us over this morning; it is an unpar- 
 donable desertion. Do you not think so, 
 Mrs. MTherson?" 
 
 Aileen, blushing and smiling to hear her 
 new title so soon, said — "Indeed, I did all 
 I could to keep him ; but he said his orders 
 were imperative." 
 
 " Friends in trouble should be friends in 
 joy too," said Walker. '* Captain Fairfax 
 was one of our best officers, ready at every 
 emergency, prompt and cheerful. There is 
 not a man, woman, nor child in the town 
 who has not some good word to say of him; 
 and what he was abroad 1 doubt not that, in 
 a higher degree, he was at home."
 
 174 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 As he spoke, he turned an inquiring look 
 to Katharine, who sat next to him. 
 
 '' My cousin was every possible comfort 
 to us," she re])liecl. "He is one of those 
 persons who require some emergency to 
 draw them out. If he were with us to- 
 day he would be quite different." 
 
 " Yes ; Hugh came out wonderfully dur- 
 ing the siege," said Duncan. "He forgot 
 his natural reserve, and only thought of 
 what he could do for every one. There is 
 not a better nor truer man under the sun 
 than he is." 
 
 " And he knows how to fight, too, I can 
 tell you," said Murray. 
 
 "It is a pity he cannot hear all this 
 praise of himself," said Katharine. " I 
 must add my mite to it by saying that he 
 can contradict and argue, for the mere sake 
 of argument, better than any one I ever saw. 
 Don't you remember all our old arguments, 
 Aileen?" 
 
 For the sole purpose of keeping up the 
 conversation and bearing her part in it, 
 Katharine said this.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 175 
 
 " Indeed I do, Katie : you never lost the 
 opportunity of having a battle-royal with 
 him. You ought to miss him in that way, 
 at any rate. I wonder will he be long 
 away? Do you think it is likely, Colonel 
 Murray?" 
 
 ''It is very hard to say, the country 
 seems in a very disturbed state still: we 
 have by no means come to the end of our 
 troubles. I hear a rumour of a fresh force 
 coming from England, and, if so, ^ve shall 
 have to be all ready to join and augment 
 their numbers when they come." 
 
 " The defeat at Newtownbutler was a 
 great blow to James's hopes, I should 
 say," remarked Duncan. 
 
 " It seems to have been a most complete 
 victory, and most unexpected, too," said 
 Walker. " Did you hear of the panic that 
 seized the army retreating from here w^hen 
 the news of it reached them ?'' 
 
 " No," said Murray; '' but it would take 
 but little to frighten them, I expect. They 
 were pretty well cowed when they made off 
 from under our walls."
 
 176 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " I beard that on marching to Lifford, 
 where the news met tliem, many of them 
 broke their guns, threw them into the river, 
 and fled." 
 
 *' Is it possible ?" said Murray. " I wonder 
 what the Marshal thinks now. But nothing 
 would put that man down." 
 
 ''' They will rally again in fresh force," 
 said Duncan. " There is a good deal of 
 heroism among them, too : that is, among 
 the honest ones. That young fellow we 
 had here, Fitzgerald, he is a fine specimen ; 
 as bold as a lion, and with the highest 
 idea of the honour of a gentleman." 
 
 "What were his real opinions?" asked 
 Walker. 
 
 " That we had cast ofi* our allegiance ; 
 were traitors, in fact, fighting in a mis- 
 taken cause altogether. To fight under 
 James's banner was to him a privilege and 
 an honour ; to desert him the basest and 
 lowest of cowardice. He is a Protestant, 
 too, which makes it the more extraordinary." 
 
 "What did he say as to that? Was 
 religion anything to him ?" said Walker.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 177 
 
 " He was, as well as I could gather, 
 n serious-minded man; but his predomi- 
 nant idea was allegiance to the Crown; 
 and James, he said, would never trouble 
 himself to interfere with his way of wor- 
 ship." 
 
 " He has left you, I suppose ?" said 
 Murray, turning to Aileen. 
 
 " Oh yes; my cousin Hugh arranged his 
 ransom before he left. Captain Fitzgerald's 
 mother would have willingly given all she 
 had, I think, to set him free;^ and, of 
 course, once the terms were agreed upon 
 he was not inclined to stay any longer than 
 he could help inside these hated Vv^alls, 
 which were the dreariest of prisons to him." 
 
 " Still, he was sorry to say good-bye, 
 I think," said Katharine; "he said he 
 hoped to come back again some haj)pier 
 time. We miss him very much ; he was so 
 kindly and grateful for the least atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " Where has he gone to now ? to his 
 friends, I suppose ?" asked Walker. 
 
 "Yes, to his mother; but only just to 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 see her. He is burning to be again on 
 service," said Duncan, "and he is as sanguine 
 of success as ever, and as firm in his con- 
 victions which he holds as honestly as any 
 man." 
 
 "It is inexpressibly sad to me," said 
 Walker, " to see a country like this divided 
 against itself, v^ith so much that is true and 
 upright on both sides." 
 
 " It is not the people themselves who are 
 really at enmity," said Murray; "it is her 
 unfortunate rulers whom we must blame. 
 James and his advisers once out of the 
 country, Ireland might be free and happy." 
 
 ''Yes," replied Walker; "and if King 
 VVilliam is wise he will ignore all differences 
 in this country arising from race or creed, 
 and treat all alike as subjects of his 
 realm." 
 
 "Do you know, Mr. Walker," said 
 Katharine, " I envy you the opportunity of 
 seeing the King and Queen so soon. I 
 wonder will they ask you many questions 
 about the siege." 
 
 " I promise you, Mistress Katharine, a
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 179 
 
 full, true, and particular account of my 
 expedition when I return ; and now I must 
 take farewell of you all. Derry has bound 
 all our hearts in true friendship, which, I 
 hope, will last for ever." 
 
 12—:
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " Eeturn to thy dwelling, all lonely return ; 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood." 
 
 Fergus Fitzgerald lost no time in follow- 
 ing Geraldine and her mother to their 
 home. They lived ten or fifteen miles 
 from his own place, in a comfortable old- 
 fashioned farmhouse w^hich had belonged 
 to the Rosses for years. Being Protestant 
 settlers in the country they had no social 
 intercourse with the Irish inhabitants ; and 
 Owen Ross, Geraldine's father, was an old 
 enemy of Angus Fitzgerald. By an un- 
 foreseen accident Fergus had become 
 acquainted with them, and fallen in love 
 with the beautiful young Geraldine. His 
 father would countenance no engagement; 
 and his mother, not wishing to oppose her 
 husband's wishes, did all in her power to
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 181 
 
 draw Fergus away from tlie connexion. 
 Her efforts had been in vain, for Fergus, 
 gay and careless as lie was in many ways, 
 was true to his love as to his honour. 
 Anxiously he now took the familiar turn 
 to the house, picturing to himself the joy 
 and pleasure he would see on Geraldine's 
 pretty face when she recognised him. He 
 little dreamed of the sad sight he should 
 see. The old homestead was a blackened 
 ruin burnt to the ground, and Geraldine's 
 picturesque little garden uprooted and 
 abandoned. The same dismal sight had 
 awaited Mrs. Ross and her daughter when, 
 relieved from their forlorn position under 
 the walls of the city, they had sought their 
 home. The Kapparees, for the most part 
 themselves ruined, homeless peasants, reck- 
 lessly roaming about the country, thought 
 only of the amount of mischief they could 
 effect, and many a pleasant home shared 
 the same fate. Full of anxiety, Fergus 
 hastily went in search of the loved inmates 
 of the desolate ruin. Led by a peasant 
 boy, he reached a low mud hut. Was it in
 
 182 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 a home like this he should find Geraldine ? 
 Yes; there she was, kneeling by the dying 
 bed of her mother, whose strength could 
 not bear the continued privation and 
 hardship. 
 
 " Oh, Geraldine! is it here I find you?'^ 
 
 "Fergus at last!" was the poor girl's 
 reply, when his voice roused her. 
 
 He would hardly have known her, so 
 changed was she with sufi'ering and sorrow. 
 
 "Thank God!" said her mother. "My 
 child, you will not be left desolate now." 
 
 " Fergus, you will do something for her ; 
 she must not die !" said the almost orphan 
 girl. 
 
 " You must be got out of this hovel at 
 once," he said. " I will see what can be 
 done.'' 
 
 "Oh don't leave us now! say you will 
 stay!" said Geraldine, appealingly. 
 
 " I will not leave you, but I will send a 
 message to my mother. You must be 
 moved to my house." 
 
 His house, as we have said, was some ten 
 or fifteen miles distant, in a secluded
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 183 
 
 Donegal valley, out of the wash of the tide 
 of civil war. It had been originally one of 
 those strong granges, with a bawn for cattle, 
 which the planters under the settlement of 
 the First James had been obliged to build 
 and occupy as a condition of their grant of 
 Irish land. Like many other such condi- 
 tions, this was observed rather in the letter 
 than the spirit, and the Grange of Rath- 
 sallagh had been passed by the grantee to 
 the Anglo-Irisli Catholic whose son was 
 now its master. The house stood on a 
 slightly rising ground, overlooking the 
 narrow valley which comprised the home- 
 fields of the Grange. High, barren moun- 
 tains bounded the view on all sides and 
 formed a natural enclosure to the little 
 settlement. Notwithstanding, however, its 
 almost impregnable situation the house was 
 built to suit the disturbed character of the 
 times, with all the necessary means for 
 defence. A deep moat enclosed the green 
 mound from which the grey stone walls 
 rose strong and massive, two storeys high, 
 with a straight, steep roof, projecting at
 
 184 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 each corner into a bartizan, or turret tower, 
 which commanded an extensive view of the 
 country. The house had a gloomy appear- 
 ance, from the narrowness of the small 
 latticed windows and the heavy iron 
 stanchions in the lower range. They were 
 rusty and moss-covered now, but along the 
 sunny side of the house the walls were 
 clothed with ivy and other luxuriant 
 creepers. A broad, terraced walk ran all 
 round the house, from whence the grass 
 sloped down to the moat through which in 
 winter a mountain stream flowed noisily on 
 its way to the valley below. To a stranger's 
 eye it would present a dreary, desolate, 
 almost prison-like aspect; but here Fergus 
 had passed his happy boyhood, nor would he 
 change it for all the lordly palaces in the 
 kingdom. It was a home to him; his 
 father's home before him : all his mother's 
 married days had been spent within those 
 ' old grey walls ; and now he hastily resolved 
 it must for ever more also be Geraldine's 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 " A sober, sad, and comely, courteous dame.'* 
 
 In her lonely home Mrs. Fitzgerald 
 watched for tidmgs of her son. The news 
 of his release from Derry had reached her, 
 and she knew that once released he would 
 lose no time in coming to her. She was a 
 handsome, middle-aged woman, with a sad, 
 anxious expression; but calm and quiet, 
 as one who had had strength in all her 
 hours of sorrow. Her life was solitary : 
 her husband, for whom she had left her 
 native land and kindred, was long since 
 dead; and her eldest son, since the war 
 had begun, was scarcely ever at home. 
 As she paced up and down the moat walk, 
 she thought of the pleasant liome of her 
 girlhood and the early teaching of her 
 father, who had been an eminent Pro- 
 testant. Her heart smote her to think
 
 186 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 that tliat father's grandson should have 
 taken up arms against the champion of his 
 religion and her own countrymen. 
 
 " A message, madam, from the Captain/* 
 said a servant, approaching. 
 
 Eagerly the mother took the note. It 
 was a hurried scrawl, with the words — 
 " Dear Mother — I am on my way to you. 
 Geraldine Ross, and her mother, who is 
 dying, are homeless. I ask you, for the love 
 you bear me, to receive them at once. 
 Send an answer by bearer. — Ever your 
 true and dutiful son — Fergus." 
 
 For a moment Mrs, Fitzgerald's usual 
 composure was disturbed. The request 
 was startling ; for, with all a woman'sinstinct, 
 she took in what the end must be if she 
 consented to the Rosses becoming inmates 
 of her house. The fond hope which she 
 had nursed, that in the excitement of 
 active service her son would forget his 
 boyish fancy, fell instantly to the ground, 
 and all her old prejudices against the 
 alliance rose up in her mind. Why should 
 her Fergus, her only hope and comfort,
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX.' 187 
 
 throw himself away — for so it appeared to 
 her — on a portionless girl, belonging, be- 
 sides, to a family his fiather had never loved? 
 It was not possible, she thought, that the 
 girl could suit her son in any way. Doubt- 
 less, she was a bold, artful lass, who had set 
 herself to steal away her son's affections, with 
 the prospect of establishing herself in his 
 mother's place in the old houshold. Could 
 her son be happy with such a wife ? And 
 would it be right for her to let him com- 
 promise himself so decidedly without an 
 effort to prevent the sacrifice ? 
 
 A feeling of cruel jealousy smote her 
 heart. Why had he not come home 
 straight to her, his mother, instead of 
 seeking out those people first, who would 
 darken, by their irksome presence, the joy 
 of his home-coming? And again she 
 thought of a cloud she had seen on her 
 son's face, one day long past, when she had 
 expressed her dislike to his intimacy with 
 a family at variance with his father. What 
 if he would come back to her now with a 
 shadow on his life, a shadow she had
 
 188 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 caused by a refusal of his request ? The 
 remembrance of her own young days rose 
 up in her thoughts, when she had stood — 
 oh, so long ago it seemed now! — in a 
 pleasant Enghsh garden, by the side of 
 one as young and bright as Fergus now 
 was; a shade, too, on that well-remembered 
 face as it bent over her with the question — - 
 ''Can you leave all, brave all, for me?" 
 And then she remembered how for the 
 moment she forgot father, mother, home, 
 and all, as she answered in words which 
 changed that face as with a magic spell to 
 the bright, happy look which it ever after- 
 wards had worn for her. Could they have 
 borne any one to come between them then ? 
 No; it was impossible. And now could 
 she venture to interpose between Fergus 
 and his hopes? It might drive him away 
 from her for ever. And then she read the 
 note again; and, come what might, she 
 thought he must have his way. " He has 
 ever been a good son to me ; I must con- 
 sider his wishes now." 
 
 Hurrying into the house, she wrote a
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 189 
 
 hasty assent, and, despatching the messen- 
 ger, turned to prepare for the reception of 
 the unexpected and scarcely welcome 
 guests. 
 
 It was not till the following evening was 
 closing in that Fergus arrived, and with 
 liim but one lonely little figure. Geral- 
 dine's mother had passed away, and she 
 alone came for shelter to Fergus's mother. 
 Silently he led her in, and his mother 
 never forgot the sad young face which 
 looked out so timidly from the dark folds 
 of the large cloak which was pulled over 
 the girl's head. Her beautiful blue eyes 
 were filled with tears, her fair hair falling 
 about her pale face made her look so 
 young and childish, and she had such a 
 helpless, pleading look that the mother's 
 heart was melted at once. 
 
 "Come to me, my poor child, let me 
 comfort you;" and she tenderly folded her 
 in her arms.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 *' Nae langer she wept — her tears were a* spent ; 
 Despair it was come, and she thought it content. 
 She thought it content ; but the cheek it grew pale, 
 And she drooped like a lily broke down by the hail." 
 
 Katharine had deceived herself again. 
 She had mistaken her powers if she 
 thought she could put away the new influ- 
 ence which had crept over her life and 
 worked its way into the innermost depths 
 of her heart, never again to be effaced. 
 The dream was not over, nor would the 
 waking ever come when she should rouse 
 up to be the same fancy-free Katharine, 
 and Hugh the cousin, to laugh at and with, 
 to contradict and cavil with as of old. 
 She had over-reckoned her strength in this 
 matter ; and, instead of settling down once 
 more to the old home life, the brightness 
 and spirit of it all, a dark cloud came over
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 191 
 
 her, tinging all her thoughts, and at times 
 even making her petulant and bitter to 
 those she lived with and truly loved. To 
 the poor little orphan children, she was 
 ever the same, and the constant care of 
 them was her only pleasure. Aileen could 
 not fathom the mystery. She had been 
 surprised at Hugh's sudden departure, and 
 at first Katharine's usual manner deceived 
 her into the belief that there was not, and 
 never could be, anything between them. 
 She was so contentedly happy herself, she 
 did not notice at first any great change in 
 Katharine, thinking that as time went on 
 she would settle down and be cheerful and 
 bright as of old. At last, one day, seeing 
 her sister more silent than usual, she said, 
 tenderly — 
 
 '^ Katie, dear, I fear we are failing to 
 make the old home as pleasant to you 
 as before. You are sad and silent. Tell 
 me, Avhat can we do to make you happy?" 
 
 Katharine started, angry to find she had 
 allowed any difi'erence in herself to appear. 
 She answered hastily — ^^ I don't see why you
 
 192 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 should say that, Aileen. I am sure I talk 
 as much as ever I did. You cannot 
 expect me to be as merry as when I was 
 a mere child, when we were all happy 
 together, before this weary time. It is 
 unreasonable, I think." 
 
 '' I did not mean to annoy you, Katha- 
 rine," said Aileen, seeing the angry flush 
 on her sister's face ; " only I was afraid 
 you thought Duncan and I were too much 
 taken up with ourselves, and that you felt 
 neglected. You knoAv, dear Katie, how 
 fond Duncan and I are of you. We want 
 to do all we can to make you happy." 
 
 " Then let me alone, and 1 shall be all 
 right. You need not trouble yourselves 
 about me ; I am quite contented, though, 
 of course, not at the height of felicity you 
 and Duncan are in." 
 
 She spoke hastily, and it was Aileen's 
 turn to look hurt now — 
 
 " Katie, I did not think you would ever 
 want me to let you alone." 
 
 Katharine was touched ; she felt that her 
 words had been unkind and ungracious.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 193 
 
 " Never mind, Aileen, it is not really the 
 truth; I was cross. You know I cannot 
 do without your care of me, only don't vex 
 yourself about me; I am not worth it. I 
 must go and see after those children now." 
 
 " You tire yourself with them, I think," 
 said Aileen. 
 
 '' No, indeed ; I delight in them. I 
 would be very dull, in truth, were it not for 
 them. I hope that old aunt of theirs wont 
 be in a hurry to carry them off." 
 
 Away she went, leaving Aileen not half 
 satisfied that there was not some secret 
 reason for her unwonted moodiness. 
 
 Katharine Avas provoked, sadly provoked, 
 that she had not had better command over 
 herself, and it only made her heart heavier 
 and sadder than ever. She felt deserted 
 by all her better feelings, all her good 
 angels; left alone even by the God to 
 whom she had ever looked for help in 
 every trouble. But she was not to be left 
 thus to harden. That very evening, a 
 word from a child helped to bring back 
 some of the power she had lost. Called by 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 Horace to Ms bedside, that night, she sat 
 down by him, in the dark, as she often did 
 before he went to sleep. 
 
 " Katie," he said, " I want you to tell me 
 how we know that God is good." 
 
 She was silent a minute : the question 
 seemed one she could not answer. How 
 had God been good to her lately ? Had He 
 not darkened all her life — taken away those 
 she loved? Good! Nothing was good; 
 all was wretched and miserable. Was God 
 good at all? 
 
 "If He be good," went on the boy, 
 ''would He not give us everything that 
 was good and pleasant?" 
 
 " I suppose He does, Horace," she said 
 gloomily. 
 
 " A good man would not have made 
 us all sorry, as God has made us now. 
 You have often told us God took away 
 papa and mamma and little Mary. Was 
 that good?" 
 
 " We cannot understand His reasons for 
 these things, Horace, dear. I daresay if 
 we could see your parents now, we should 
 see them happier than they ever were here.''
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 195 
 
 "But I am not." 
 
 '^ Then, perliaps, God wants to make you 
 wish to go to them." 
 
 " I do wish. When I was coming back 
 to the town that last time I went with the 
 message, and the enemy carried me away, I 
 wished — oh so much ! — I could die." 
 
 " You only wanted to get away frojm the 
 misery, Horace. Most likely you are not 
 ready to go to heaven yet. God has some 
 work for you to do in the world — I sup- 
 pose He has to show you how good He is." 
 
 "And has He shown you that He is 
 good, Katie?" 
 
 " I can't say, Horace, dear. It is ver 
 late ; you must go to sleep now ; we have 
 talked enough to-night." 
 
 The words she had spoken to the boy 
 came back to her thoughts. " I have been 
 shutting my eyes," she said to herself, " to the 
 good that God would show me. I must live 
 the life He would have me lead now, and 
 trust that He will show me His goodness 
 and love at last." 
 
 13—2
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " Now change the scene, and let the trumpet sound, 
 For we must rouse the lion from his lair." 
 
 In the meantime, how was it with Hugh ? 
 The idea that Katharine and Fergus cared 
 for each other — -in fact, were meant for 
 each other and suited each other exactly — 
 had grown in his mind each day. Reso- 
 lutely facing the inevitable, he had deter- 
 mined 10 go his own way and bear the fate 
 which, it was plain, he had be^n born to. 
 It was nobody ^s fault, he said to himself; 
 "I could not expect a bright, lively girl 
 like Katharine to care for a dark, moody 
 fellow like me; it would not have been 
 natural if Fergus had not thought of her 
 or she of him." They were among the 
 happy of the earth ; he, by temperament 
 and circumstance, must walk along the 
 lonely paths of life, and find his pleasure in
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 197 
 
 his duty. He would bear no malice, nor 
 did he: the sternness of his nature had 
 been so softened by the scenes of the past 
 months that the bitterness which had been 
 growing up in his heart was ahuost rooted 
 out. Life was hard enough for every one 
 without his adding to any one's portion a 
 bitter word, or even thought; and, after all, 
 whether in joy or sorrow, life would soon 
 be over for all; the race would soon be 
 run, the goal won. Thoughts such as these 
 had come to him many a time in the silent 
 night watches on the city walls. God had 
 taught him to understand that in giving the 
 darkest lot in life He mio^ht still be o^ood 
 and merciful. He was proud too, and no 
 one should guess that he, a soldier, had 
 ever known what disappointment was. 
 
 Towards the end of August the troops 
 intended for the Irish expedition began to 
 assemble at Chester. Among their number 
 there were many refugee Anglo- Irish, who 
 had fled to England at the commencement 
 of the war, and were now summoned to 
 lay aside the merry pastimes and careless,
 
 198 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 easy life they had enjoyed among their hos- 
 pitable English friends and kindred to join 
 the standard of the Duke of Schonberg, to 
 whom William had committed the command 
 of his army in Ireland. This brave old 
 captain was one of the wonders of the day. 
 He was now beginning life again at eighty 
 years of age, having laid down the truncheon 
 of a Marshal of France, and resigned a 
 splendid income for conscience sake. He 
 had come to reconquer Leinster, Connaught, 
 and Munster. His career had been a 
 chequered one. Beginning his military life 
 under Frederic Henrv Prince of Orano^e 
 and his son William, he passed from thence 
 into the French service; became acquainted 
 with Conde and Turenne, and obtained the 
 government of Gravelines and Furnes. 
 In 1691 he made a successful expedition 
 to Spain; but on the Revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes left France, and became a 
 Minister of State to the Elector of Branden- 
 burg. Subsequently Schonberg accompanied 
 the Prince of Orange to England, was 
 created a peer, and made a Knight of the
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 199 
 
 Garter. He was still a vigorous soldier, 
 bearing these honours, the reward of his 
 great virtues and abilities, with a grace 
 and dignity which could not be mistaken. 
 In person he was of middle height, well- 
 proportioned, and with the fair, health}^ 
 complexion of a man who has ever led an 
 active, temperate life. His sprightly manners 
 and courteous bearing contrasted agreeably 
 with the blunt Dutch officers, who could 
 not free themselves from the stiff formali- 
 ties of their national deportment, and thus 
 threw the English hopelessly back on their 
 own natural coldness and restraint, never 
 easy to throw off. The Duke, however, 
 had that rare gift of catching the tone of 
 the society in which he found himself, and 
 his knowledo-e of the Ensjlish lanojuas^e 
 enabled him easily to adopt the habits and 
 customs of the country. This was the 
 general who was now on his way to Ireland 
 in command of twenty-three newly-levied 
 English regiments, two Dutch battalions 
 and four of French refugees. 
 
 The Court in Dublin had been well-niirh
 
 200 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 overwhelmed by disasters in the North — 
 the relief of Derry, and, almost at the same 
 time, the signal defeat of the Jacobites at 
 the battle of Newtownbutler. James was 
 bewildered, terrified ; but the nation was still 
 undaunted. The people rose unhesitatingly 
 to drive back the English, to strike one 
 blow more in defence of their religion and 
 freedom. The ranks which had been 
 thinned in the last campaign were re-or- 
 ganized, the whole country presenting an 
 appearance of stirring preparation. The 
 English were coming, Ulster was lost, but 
 there was hope still. James, whose presence 
 was no safeguard, must repair to France, 
 and reporting upon the state of aifairs in 
 Ireland, bring back a reinforcement from the 
 French Government. Meanwhile Schonberg 
 landed in Antrim, and was quickly joined 
 by armed colonists from every quarter, and 
 also by the regiments under Major-General 
 Kirk's command. Thus, both parties were 
 prepared to carry on the struggle with fresh 
 energy. 
 
 Hugh Fairfax, firm in his resolution,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 201 
 
 eagerly hailed the chance of active service. 
 Unwilling to trust himself again in the old 
 home circle, he arranged to proceed without 
 delay to the general army. There was 
 scanty facility for communication with 
 distant friends in those days, and he had 
 heard but little of home since he had 
 left it. He wrote now to tell them of his 
 determination, and he anxiously looked 
 forward to the reply, to learn how matters 
 stood with those who were hardly ever out of 
 his thoughts. His hands trembled -as he re- 
 cognised Katharine's handwriting, clear and 
 distinct, though perhaps a little formal, as 
 people wrote in those days : — " Dear Cousin 
 Hugh," it began, " it was a pleasure to us 
 to hear from you, and to learn that you are 
 well and happy." " How does she know 
 that last fact, I wonder," he said to himself. 
 The letter went on — " All here in the old 
 house are the same. We are distressed to 
 hear that the country is arming anew, and 
 that you find it necessary to join the 
 general force without seeing us again : 
 we hoped at least to have seen you on youi
 
 202 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 way from Incli ; the time seems long since 
 you have been with us. The Campbell 
 children are here still, and while the 
 country is so disturbed they cannot travel 
 to join their friends: they are well, and 
 keep the house alive. Horace is anxious 
 to be doing something, and would like 
 to go with you to the wars. Janet wishes 
 me to acknowledge Pat's message, which 
 she received, kindly. I wonder will you ever 
 come across Fergus; we hear he has lost 
 no time in joining his regiment again. 
 With our united good wishes, and prayers 
 for your safety and the success of the cause, 
 I am, as ever, your affectionate cousin, 
 
 " Katharine. 
 
 " P.S. — You will let us hear from you 
 when possible." 
 
 With . feelings of disappointment Hugh 
 folded up the letter. Not that he had any 
 reason for disappointment, for the answer 
 was exactly what he expected, and he 
 knew that he had no right to charge his 
 cousin with coldness, as her letter was 
 expressed in the terms she had always
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 203 
 
 used to him, and was a counterpart in 
 style of his note to her. She had said, too, 
 that the time was long since he had been 
 with them; but why did she mention 
 Fergus? and she was evidently in com- 
 munication with him. At any rate, he 
 had done wisely in leaving home, and in 
 determining not to be in a hurry to return.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos, quani proximitas 
 sanguinis apud suos." 
 
 Before the walls of the town of Carrick- 
 fergus Hugh joined Schonberg's army. 
 This town was occupied by two regiments 
 of James's infantry. In a week they 
 capitulated, and Schonberg, having pro- 
 mised that they should depart unharmed, 
 was obliged to exert his personal valour, 
 pistol in hand, to prevent the ^' Irish- 
 Scotch " from falling upon the disarmed 
 Irish, so intense was the feeling of revenge 
 in the minds of the colonists for the ills 
 they had suffered. Schonberg proceeded 
 onwards through a desolate country, meeting 
 with but little opposition, till, on reaching 
 Dundalk, he was within a day's march of the 
 enemy, who had rapidly assembled from all
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 205 
 
 quarters, James's standard being raised 
 from the tower of Drogheda. 
 
 Near Dundalk Schonberg's army was 
 entrenched. Outside his tent, enjoying the 
 coolness of the evening air, the old general 
 sat, with his officers around him ; for he 
 was a social, accomplished man of the 
 world, as well as a brave soldier. His genial 
 nature drew towards him in kindly inter- 
 course all the wit and spirit of his followers ; 
 and, while he entered unreservedly into 
 their lightheartedness, encouraging by his 
 example their interchange of hospitalities, 
 and adding to their rough cordiality the 
 taste and sprightliness of his foreign man- 
 ners, he never forgot for a moment the 
 standard of right which he had firmly set 
 before him. A record of this fact remains 
 in an order which he issued to his officers to 
 exert their utmost power to put down the 
 habit among the soldiers of cursing and 
 swearing on all occasions ; a habit fraught 
 with " much sin and little profit." In the 
 present campaign he had much to endure; 
 and it needed all his good humour to keep
 
 206 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 peace and goodwill among the undisciplined 
 and strangely-assorted troops which made 
 up his army. The tenderness, generosity 
 and chivalrous bearing which displayed 
 themselves so manifestly to Madame de 
 Sevigne as to lead her to an expression of 
 envy for the happiness of the woman who 
 had Schonberg for a husband, here stood 
 him in good stead and overcame all diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 Beside him this evening sat a new-comer 
 to the camp. But surely we know that 
 kindly, honest face, and that bluff figure in 
 the flowing cassock? Yes; it was no 
 other than George Walker, with his straight- 
 forward speech and firm, resolute voice. 
 Returning from his mission in London, he 
 had lost no time in entering once more the 
 field of action. 
 
 " You have travelled far, to-day, Dr. 
 Walker?" said the Duke. 
 
 '* Two days ago I was within the walls of 
 Derry, General; and I lost no time on the 
 road, I can assure you." 
 
 '' You are welcome here, sir : we need
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 207 
 
 all the clear heads and willing hands in 
 Ireland." 
 
 "The enemy are near; almost within 
 sight, I understand ?" said Walker. 
 
 " They are within an easy march ; and at 
 present I fear it will not be prudent to 
 lessen the distance between us.'^ 
 
 " I thought the issue would be decided 
 in a pitched battle at once ?" 
 
 "Many others have been of the same 
 opinion, sir ; but, though my eyes are 
 not as young as they used to be, I can see 
 pretty far still ; and it does not appear to 
 me that yonder troops are in any fit state 
 to take the field ; that is, with any reason- 
 able probability of success. I am cautious, 
 you see, sir ; and if I fight I would fain do 
 it once for all.''* 
 
 " Your troops cannot, surely, be more 
 undisciplined than the Irish ?" 
 
 *^ That may be; I cannot pronounce on 
 that matter; but I would prefer that my 
 musketeers would learn how to load their 
 pieces, my dragoons to manage their horses, 
 and my ofiicers to command their com- 
 panies before I lead them to the field."
 
 208 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " You are riirht in this aro;ument, most 
 unquestionably, I should say," replied 
 Walker ; " but how comes it that the Eng- 
 lish army is in so deficient a condition ?" 
 
 " This question I cannot answer you, 
 Dr. Walker ; my expectations in the matter 
 have been sadly disappointed. I find my 
 men ill-armed, ill-lodged, and ill-clad. The 
 fault must be in some quarter, but I can 
 effect no redress; and it is upon this point 
 I particularly wish for your advice. A 
 statement of these facts must be conveyed 
 to the Government in London, and I look 
 to you to devise the means. 1 find provi- 
 sions, clothing, and ammunition almost 
 entirely wanting; and I cannot but believe 
 that there is some grave mistake somewhere. 
 A trusty person must be found to investi- 
 o-ate these disasters, and communicate their 
 existence to the higher powers in England." 
 " I am your servant, General, for any 
 undertaking ; and I know the way to London 
 pretty well by this time." 
 
 Thus it was arranged that Walker should 
 report the state of affairs to William, who
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 209 
 
 sent over a commission to inquire into the 
 disorders which so distressed Schonberg. 
 Much conspiracy and defection were dis- 
 covered, and speedily removed ; but it was 
 too late to stay the progress of disease and 
 mortality which had set in ; the effect of 
 bad food, scanty clothing, the unaccus- 
 tomed dampness of the climate, and the 
 utter absence of proper medicaments to 
 check the fatal maladies which carried the 
 English off by hundreds. James's army, 
 natives of the country, inured to the damp 
 and vapours which the heavy autumn rains 
 produced, did not fare so badly ; and they 
 increased in strength and daring as their 
 enemies declined. 
 
 The Irish were not slow to express 
 their unbounded satisfaction at the manifest 
 suffering of the English ; but still there were 
 at this time many instances of generosity 
 and nobility shown on both sides in cases of 
 private distress. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " A decent boldness ever meets with friends, 
 Succeeds, and ev'n a stranger recommends." 
 
 The short autumn evening was closing 
 in over the desolate-looking camp of the 
 English. The town of Dundalk lay 
 between them and the enemy, and at one 
 side the restless murmur of the sea might 
 be heard — that sea into which the Irish 
 boasted they would speedily drive them, or 
 else " they would die of themselves." This 
 last prophecy seemed the most likely to 
 be fulfilled, for, as day by day, passed, 
 disease increased and death carried off fresh 
 victims. It was a still, damp evening, and 
 there was scarcely a sound to be heard in 
 the camp but the monotonous pacing to 
 and fro of the sentries. Mournful little 
 groups were scattered about round the 
 tents; the weariness of inaction had fallen
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 211 
 
 upon tliem, and whispered grumblings 
 might be heard as they talked over the 
 brief answer of their General, when they 
 urged him repeatedly to open fire on the 
 enemy — " Let them alone." 
 
 A small party of horsemen, bearing a 
 flag of truce, was seen approaching the 
 bounds of the camp. A trumpet was 
 sounded, and answered by the bluff voice 
 of the English sentry — 
 
 " Who goes there ?" 
 
 " We are from the Irish army, and beg a 
 parley." 
 
 *^ Your business?" 
 
 "Permission to enter your camp," re- 
 plied one of the party in the dress of a priest. 
 " I am a man of peace, as you see,'' he 
 said; " and my errand is to seek out some 
 of my wandering fl.ock. I would crave an 
 interview with your General." 
 
 "You aim high, my friend," replied the 
 sentry; "the General would be loth to 
 spend much of his time with you, I reckon." 
 
 " In the name of God, and in His service 
 alone, I ask this privilege." 
 
 14—2
 
 212 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " It is more likely in the devil's service 
 you mean, man," said the sentry, with rude 
 irony, which the priest bore with meek but 
 manly composure. 
 
 Some officers drawing near to hear the 
 discussion interfered, and, questioning the 
 party closely, gave orders for their admis- 
 sion. Closely guarded, they were admitted 
 to the Duke's tent. The priest's mission 
 was to beg the release of a few poor peasants, 
 who had been driven along with herds 
 of cattle which the English had seized. 
 These poor people were but an incumbrance 
 to the camp, where there were mouths 
 enough to feed ; and the priest, whom the 
 Duke's quick eye discerned as an honest 
 shepherd of his flock^ was allowed liberty 
 to seek out his stray sheep. He was 
 accompanied by a tall, soldierly-looking 
 young man, who now came forward, and, 
 bending low to the Duke, began his 
 appeal — 
 
 '^' Sir, I am an Irish officer, and I have 
 seized the opportunity of entering your 
 camp in company with this priest, whom
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 213 
 
 you have received with such courtesy. 
 Emboldened by his success, I ask also for 
 a favour from your hands." 
 
 The Duke, pleased with the frank bear- 
 ing of the young man, answered kindly — 
 " Any favour that is in my power to confer 
 as from one soldier and gentleman to an- 
 other, you may command from me, young 
 sir." 
 
 " I have a friend in your army, sir; one 
 to whom I am bound by ties of gratitude. I 
 was his prisoner once, and he was as kind to 
 me as a brother. I have heard rumours of 
 his dangerous illness, sir ; and I would ask 
 your Excellency's permission to see him, and, 
 if necessary, to minister to his comfort." 
 
 For a moment the Duke was inclined to 
 put little faith in the truth of this story. 
 He was cautious ; and might not this be 
 the clever manoeuvre of a spy to insinuate 
 himself into their midst? He looked keenly 
 at the young man, but in those clear-cut 
 features and wide, honest blue eyes he 
 could notice no trace of falsehood. At any 
 rate, for the present he could do but little
 
 214 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 harm ; it was easy to watch him. He 
 would leave him at liberty to carry out his 
 designs, and time would soon prove his 
 truth. He watched the eager look of in- 
 genuous pleasure on the young man's face 
 as he gave orders to one of his officers to 
 see that the stranger's wishes were carried 
 out.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " All, rest ! — no rest but change of place and posture ; 
 Ah, sleep ! — no sleep but worn-out Nature's swoon." 
 
 Hugh had led an active life since he had 
 joined the army. There was much to be 
 done in disciplining the troops and 
 struggling against the many hardships 
 which none could escape from. He tended 
 the sick and dying, and exerted himself 
 indefatigably to see every precaution of 
 cleanliness and care carried out to counter- 
 act the evils of insufficient accommodation 
 and ungenial weather. Overworked and 
 anxious, he took ill himself at last, and 
 was laid prostrate in a tedious fever. Alone 
 and helpless on his sick bed, he wearily 
 turned from side to side to seek ease. His 
 lips were parched and burning, but he had 
 no water within reach. While he was thus 
 suffering, alone and desolate, with no friend
 
 216 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 near to speak one word of comfort, no 
 ready hand to mini&iter to his fevered, 
 aching frame; how sadly his thoughts 
 turned to the kind faces of his home life, 
 and the warm hearts whose tender sym- 
 pathy he knew so well. In the gathering 
 twilight of the short autumn evening, he 
 pictured to himself the dark, soft eyes of 
 one whom he loved more than all; and he 
 wondered, w^ere she to see him now, 
 would her heart turn to him in pity — would 
 she tend him as he had seen her tend her 
 father, w^ith anxious loving care — would 
 she lay her cool hand on his burning brow, 
 and speak words of comfort and peace in 
 that quiet, soothing voice? And then 
 again he thought, even were she near, it 
 could not be. Was not her heart given to 
 another; her troth, doubtless, plighted? 
 "What had he to hope from her now ? He 
 must live his lonely life, or die. Yes, if 
 he could but pass away now from weari- 
 ness and pain. Thus he mused on and 
 on, till he sank into an almost unconscious 
 state, when he was aroused by a noise:
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 217 
 
 the ragged canvas of his tent was pushed 
 aside, and a figure stood in the doorway — 
 
 "Is Captain Fairfax here?" said a 
 kindly Irish voice. 
 
 The tent was dark, and, coming in from 
 the light, the stranger could not distinguish 
 the inmate of it. 
 
 "I am here," said Hugh, feebly; "what 
 do you want? I have fever." 
 
 "That does not matter to me ; I came 
 to see how you are, Hugh. Don't you know 
 me?" 
 
 " Fergus! can it be you in our camp?'^ 
 
 "Here I am; but say you are glad to 
 see me, and I will tell you how I 
 managed." 
 
 " Glad ! yes, I am glad. But give me 
 some water, and I will be able to speak 
 better." 
 
 " To think that I should find you here 
 alone with no one to give you a drop of 
 water! What would they say in Derry, 
 Hugh?" 
 
 " But how came you here ?" 
 
 " I guessed you must be in the camp, as
 
 218 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 T knew you had joined the army long 
 ago; and 1 heard by accident that you 
 were ill, and determined to make you out ; 
 I got leave to come, and through the kind- 
 ness of your General, quickly found you in 
 this miserable den." 
 
 " You must not stay," said Hugh ; " the 
 fever may be infectious. Leave the water 
 near me, and go." 
 
 " You are very anxious to get rid of me, 
 but there are two sides to that story. Let 
 me make you more comfortable, and then I 
 will go away and come back again. Don't 
 you think I remember all your care and 
 kindness to me when I was nearly dying. 
 You are not my prisoner; I wish you 
 were, as then I would have you well in no 
 time ; in this wretched hole it will be hard 
 for any one to recover. We must only see 
 what can be done." 
 
 Cheerily he talked, but Hugh was too 
 weak to answer him. Fergus speedily 
 procured some cooling medicines, which 
 the women in the Irish army knew how to 
 prepare from the herbs of the country.
 
 KATHARINE FAIEFAX. 219 
 
 These he administered to Hugh, who was 
 now almost unconscious. 
 
 Nothing daunted Fergus in carrying any 
 of his projects into effect. He was deter- 
 mined to nurse Hugh through the fever, 
 and had overcome all the obstacles of their 
 relative positions fondly: he watched the 
 decrease of the fever in his patient, and 
 the gradual return of his strength. Schon- 
 berg soon found that his penetration had 
 not been mistaken, and gave Fergus free 
 admission back and forwards through his 
 camp. 
 
 The autumn had now fairly set in, and 
 the troops began to think of winter 
 quarters. Schonberg had resolutely held 
 his own in the face of twenty thousand 
 troops and a multitude of armed ban- 
 ditti who accompanied them. His force 
 was now reduced to about five thousand. 
 It had been a trying time for the General, 
 but throughout all these weeks his firmness 
 had never given way : he had been cheerful, 
 watchful, and good humoured, surrounded 
 by dangers and difiiculties which would
 
 220 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 have daunted many a younger man. And 
 now, for the present, no more could be 
 done. Winter was fast coming; they must 
 hasten to seek shelter and safety farther 
 from the enemy. 
 
 It was a dismal scene in the camp when 
 in preparing for the move the tents and 
 huts were uncovered, and the immense 
 number of sick and wounded were exposed 
 to view. Nor was it an easy task to 
 prepare for their safe transit or to quell 
 the murmurs of discontent which rose on 
 all sides from the weary, worn-out invalids. 
 Some who were to return to England 
 grumbled that they should be exposed to 
 the perils of the sea before they had suffi- 
 ciently recovered from the perils they had 
 been thrown into on land ; and others who 
 were to be sent into the hospitals at Belfast 
 complained loudly that they were kept 
 in the midst of infection for an unneces- 
 sary time. The strong hand of the General 
 was never more needed; and, ordering the 
 colonels and brigadiers to attend as cor- 
 porals and sergeants upon the waggons,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 221 
 
 the ships, and the hospitals, he stood, him- 
 self, leaning against a bridge, unheeding 
 the cold rain and wind, while the long 
 line of carriages passed with the disabled 
 soldiers to their different destinations. 
 With an encouraging word and kind look 
 he showed the sympathy he felt for their 
 sufferings ; while his courteous acknowledg- 
 ment of their services banished dissatisfac- 
 tion, and warmed and cheered hearts which 
 the past weeks of discomfort had so pain- 
 fully saddened. 
 
 4)^
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 " Opinion is the rate of things 
 
 From whence our peace doth flow ; 
 I have a better fate than kings. 
 Because I think it so." 
 
 Hugh was rapidly recovering; and when 
 Mackinnon, who was absent on a foraging 
 expedition, returned to the camp, he found 
 his master under the watchful care of 
 Fergus. 
 
 " Mackinnon is anxious to get you home 
 as soon as he can, Hugh," said Fergus, one 
 day, as he sat by him. 
 
 " I never thought I should ever get 
 home," said Hugh, faintly smiling. " That 
 day you found me here alone I had very 
 little hope I should ever get up from this 
 bed. Nor, indeed, should I have done so 
 but for you, Fergus ; you saved my life." 
 
 "And what if I did? I'd like to know 
 what you all did for me before this. If
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 223 
 
 your cousin Katharine had not been at 
 hand to bind up my head that luckless day, 
 where should I be now? Down among the 
 dead men, I suspect. No, you owe me no 
 thanks; we are quits on that score. When 
 do you think you will be able to travel? 
 Wont they all give you a warm welcome in 
 the old city !" 
 
 " You would like to be coming with me, 
 would you ? They would welcome you 
 too, I fancy," said Hugh. 
 
 '' Yes, I am sure they would ;' but I 
 would only spoil your family gathering; 
 and I have some friends at home who are 
 waiting for me too." 
 
 " Friends !" echoed Hugh, who was only 
 thinking of Fergus mother. 
 
 " Yes ; perhaps you think I don't deserve 
 any/ 
 
 "Nonsense, Fergus; I would say that 
 you would have more friends than any one 
 in Ireland." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Well, in the first instance, you seem to 
 me to be a singularly unprejudiced man."
 
 224 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " I don't know that. I have my pre- 
 judices, I can assure you." 
 
 "Ah, you may have; but they don't 
 often come between you and your friends, 
 I would say. Now, you are free and open- 
 hearted with me, your enemy " 
 
 " No, not that," interrupted Fergus. 
 " We are on different sides in a civil war ; 
 and, as far as you and I are concerned in 
 it, our differences of opinion may be re- 
 duced to an idea." 
 
 " I don't quite see how you make that out. 
 You are fighting for one king, I for another." 
 
 " Yes, that is true ; but, to go deeper 
 into the matter, I believe somewhat in the 
 divinity of a king, you do not ; that is the 
 principle that stands between us. Looking at 
 James as a man, I know he is weak ; but, as 
 a king, I maintain that that \v^kness is an 
 additional reason why his subjects should 
 uphold and strengthen him. You cannot 
 deny that he is our lawful and rightful 
 sovereign ; he may differ from us in reli- 
 gion, but that is no reason why we should 
 fail in loyalty." 
 
 "But in this Quixotic loyalty of yours
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. Tib 
 
 you overlook the welfare of the State 
 N^ntirely. This kingship that you worship 
 will not save our country from ruin and 
 disorder. I see this weak, incompetent 
 man breaking down the Constitution of our 
 country, endangering our national safety, 
 and drawing us back into superstition and 
 •darkness as regards religion." 
 
 " And you would hazard all in the 
 hands of a stranger and a foreigner; you 
 would consent to have the Government put 
 into the power of a Dutchman, and have 
 the country overrun with a host of alien 
 vagabonds. Your policy is a blind, short- 
 sighted one to me ; I cannot understand it. 
 You would deliberately sit down and sell 
 the kingdom to this usurper, and you know 
 not what foreign intrigues he may be the 
 tool of." 
 
 "William is an honest man, as all his 
 forefathers were, and he is the husband of 
 your boasted king's daughter, which esta- 
 blishes a right for him to the throne, more 
 particularly when he is the man we know 
 him to be." 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " We must agree to differ,*' said Fergus. 
 " This idea or principle that is between us 
 is a stiff one; but it need not make you 
 and me enemies, nor will it, I think. We 
 are Irishmen, and of the same faith ; this 
 question of kingship settled, we shall be 
 friends to the end of the chapter." 
 
 Hugh smiled grimly. Must he be friends 
 with Katharine's husband ? He would have 
 no choice, for Fergus had taken his heart 
 fairly by storm. Thinking over this, he 
 said, after a pause — 
 
 "What a lighthearted fellow you are, 
 Fergus." 
 
 " And why should I be anything else ? I 
 owe no man anything, as we Irish are gene- 
 rally supposed to do; I'm no longer a 
 captive, but a free soldier in a glorious 
 army; and, besides, I have other bright 
 prospects before me." 
 
 "That I am sure of," said Hugh; "for- 
 tune will always favour you. Your mother 
 must be proud of you for a son." 
 
 "And so she is, and 1 have some one 
 else to think of me now too," said Fergus,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 227 
 
 full of happy thought of the pretty, fair 
 face waiting for him with his mother at 
 home. "I must tell you about her some 
 day, Hugh ; but you are weary now with all 
 my talk." 
 
 "No, not weary; but I was only thinking 
 how different your lot is to mine: every- 
 thing seems to go well with you. How do 
 you manage ?" 
 
 *^ Indeed I can't say. But you may well say 
 I am fortunate. If you could only see her." 
 
 Hugh looked up, surprised. '' See her!" 
 he repeated. 
 
 "Yes; but you will some day. When 
 these disturbances are over you will come 
 and see my mother and Geraldine." 
 
 If Hugh had looked surprised before, he 
 looked doubly so now. Fergus saw his 
 astonishment, and said, gaily — 
 
 " Why, are you dumbfoundered at my 
 audacity? — the idea of asking an enemy to 
 come and see one?" 
 
 "Oh dear no," said Hugh; "1 was not 
 thinking of that at all. But why do you 
 say Geraldine ?" 
 
 15—2
 
 228 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 "What else should I say? Did 1 not 
 mention her name before — Geraldine Eoss? 
 Her mother is dead now, poor thing, and 
 she is at home with my mother. My mother 
 is so kind to her, and I am so happy 
 that they suit one another so admirably. 
 Perhaps I never told you all about the 
 whole affair?'' 
 
 " No ; tell me,'' said Hugh, glad to have 
 a little time to collect his thoughts. 
 
 When Fergus had finished his story, 
 Hugh said — '' I thought it was all so 
 different." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" said Fergus, 
 puzzled in his turn. 
 
 " I mean, I thought you had another 
 story to tell me : that you cared for another 
 person altogether." 
 
 " Who can you mean ? What can you 
 have got into your head? I think you are 
 raving still, man." 
 
 " No indeed, I am not. Was it so very 
 extraordinary that I should think you 
 cared for my cousin Katharine ?'' 
 
 '^ Your cousin ! You must be dreaming,
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 229 
 
 Hugh. Why, she knew all about Geraldine, 
 and was so kind to her. I can't think how 
 it was that you never heard about it all. 
 Geraldine and her mother were among the 
 poor creatures driven under the walls of 
 Derry, Mistress Katharine saw her, and 
 knew all. It seems extraordinary that 
 you should have got such fancies into your 
 head. Let me feel your pulse — you have 
 the delusions of the fever still upon you." 
 
 " No," said Hugh, almost humbly, " I 
 was only a fool, and blinded by " 
 
 "Never mind what now," said Fergus; 
 " you are exciting yourself, and must re- 
 member you are an invalid. Be still and 
 rest yourself; your lot may be as happy as 
 mine, after all."
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 " So she strove against her weakness, 
 Though at times her spirit sank ; 
 Shaped her heart with woman's meekness 
 To all duties of her rank." 
 
 All these weeks' time had been passing 
 but slowly for Katharine, in the old house 
 at home. Still, as each day passed, with 
 its routine of duties and interests, a grow- 
 ing content crept over her life. The pain 
 was there as fresh as ever, but she began 
 to feel that she would rather have it there 
 than the old sense of blankness which as 
 the fancy-free Katharine of old she had 
 known. It was something to have that 
 warm, true image in her heart; to build 
 her fancies upon, to worship as her hero: 
 yet it was sadder than she could bear some- 
 times to remember that this, her hero, was 
 but an image, and that those fancies must 
 all be pulled down as soon as built. At
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 231 
 
 first inclined to be angry with herself 
 that she had been so weak as to let her 
 heart slip away from her so carelessly, she 
 now knew she had had no choice in the 
 matter. She could not choose but love 
 him, whether he loved her or not : he had 
 gained the sovereignty of her heart, and 
 must reign in it for ever. Eumours had 
 continually reached them of the troubles 
 of the English camp: but they had not 
 heard from Hugh, and anxiety made each 
 day seem longer. At last news came that 
 the camp was breaking up for the winter, 
 that many were on their way back to 
 Ulster, and many more would never come 
 back again: they had gone to a more 
 lasting haven of rest. The suspense was 
 hard to bear; and when a letter reached 
 them, in a strange handwriting, their 
 hearts died within them. But almost the 
 first word reassured them — 
 
 ''He is safe, and will get home in a few 
 •days. He will tell you all his news, and 
 Mackinnon will take care of him on the 
 journey. 
 
 " Yours gratefully, Fergus."
 
 232 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 It was enough that he was safe, and would 
 be home. They gathered from the note- 
 that he had been ill, and their fears were 
 beginning to rise again as the few days- 
 slipped by and he was not home yet. The 
 winter evenings had come. Katharine and 
 Aileen sat by the firelight in the old 
 familiar sitting-room. They were silent, 
 each thinking her own thoughts. Aileen- 
 had never questioned her sister again ; but 
 in the anxiety of the last few weeks Katha- 
 rine's ill-concealed fears had told a tale she 
 little thought to her watchful sister. 
 
 " He might come any day now," said 
 Aileen at last, as if speaking her thoughts 
 aloud; ^' it is a week to-day since Fergus's 
 letter came." 
 
 " Yes," said Katharine, " and he said a 
 few days." 
 
 "What a state of anxiety dear Aunt 
 Hester would have been in," Aileen went 
 on. " She was very fond of him." 
 
 " Yes ; she always said no one else- 
 understood him;" and Katharine almost 
 smiled to herself, thinking, " If Aunt
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. ^BS^ 
 
 Hester could look into my heart now, she 
 would know somebody else understands- 
 him too." 
 
 And did she understand him? No, not 
 quite yet. 
 
 " Duncan is coming in, I think," said 
 Aileen. 
 
 '' Yes; I heard the door open." 
 
 Aileen bent over the fire to make a blaze 
 to welcome him, and Katharine sat gazing 
 into the bright embers. She started — surely 
 there was some one else beside Duncan. 
 The door opened — there was Duncan, and 
 — yes, behind him, a tall figure, wrapped 
 in a military cloak.
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " Strangers yet ! 
 Will it evermore be thus — 
 Spirits still impervious ? 
 Shall we never fairly stand 
 Soul to soul as hand to hand ? 
 Are the bounds eternal set, 
 To retain us strangers yet ?" 
 
 Home again at last! Hugh had much 
 to hear and much to tell of the events 
 of the last few months. Still weak, he 
 had been a good deal knocked up by the 
 journey; but he had ready hearts and 
 watchful eyes to tend and cure him now. 
 Too weary to resist the attention which at 
 other times he would have rebelled against, 
 he let his kind friends do what they 
 would for him; and now as he lay in 
 the dusk, looking into the bright fire, he 
 began to think it was pleasant to be waited 
 upon. But, after all, he was not quite
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 235 
 
 satisfied. Why was it always Aileen who 
 hovered about him, seeing to all his com- 
 forts? Katharine was kind too, he could 
 not deny; but it was with a ceremonious 
 stand-off kindness which never brought 
 them any nearer to each other. It was 
 plain she willingly let Aileen do all for 
 him, while she busied herself with other 
 matters in the little household. And she 
 was changed. The merry, lighthearted 
 girl Katharine had given place to a quiet, 
 steadfast woman, caring for others and work- 
 ing for others, with her innermost life and 
 feelings hidden away from all passers-by in 
 the work-a-day world. Hugh was scarcely 
 surprised at this change, for he knew that 
 the troubles of the past year could not have 
 passed over her character and left it un- 
 touched. He, too, was changed; he had 
 learned to see more good in others, less 
 good in himself. Life was no longer a 
 mere necessity — a time to be got over as 
 easily as possible ; but a v/ork to be worked 
 out to the end, and that end was but a be- 
 ginning which would never end. Trouble
 
 236 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 had softened him, and sometimes it would 
 seem as if it had hardened her. Yet she 
 was not hard ; only, with pardonable pride, 
 she concealed the intensity of her feelings 
 under a cloak of coldness which was foreign 
 to her nature. Hugh was perplexed. He 
 could not bring himself to think she cared 
 for him even as much as in the old days ; 
 and a thought came over him — " Perhaps, 
 after all, Fergus, with his gay, loveable 
 nature, has carried away her heart, and she 
 knows she has given it in vain ; " but he 
 could not trace any conscious look of sorrow 
 or tenderness when she had talked of 
 Fergus and his affairs. He was roused 
 from these thoughts by little Nellie Camp- 
 bell's voice. 
 
 ^'Captain Hugh," she said, ''will you 
 soon be well? Please tell me." 
 
 "Why, my little lassie? Do you care 
 for me to get well?" 
 
 "Oh yes," she answered quickly; "be- 
 cause then you will give me a ride on your 
 back, wont you ? — you used to do, you 
 know ; and Katie said you would perhaps,, 
 when you were well again."
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 237 
 
 " Oh you selfish little thing ! " said 
 Horace, who was listening. 
 
 " I not selfish, Horace. What is selfish, 
 Hugh? — please tell me." 
 
 '* Thinking only of yourself — of this little 
 Nellie here. Isn't that it, Horace ?" 
 
 " I don't think only of Nellie ; I think 
 sometimes of every one, and very often of 
 Gip, my poor little dog. I wonder when 
 Fergus will come and bring me another 
 Gip ? He said he would." 
 
 And then, after thinking for a moment, 
 and looking up at Fairfax with her wonder- 
 ing little eyes, she said — 
 
 '' I not selfish, Captain Hugh ; I like you 
 to get well for Katie." 
 
 '' Why for Katie, Nellie?" 
 
 " Because I know she is sad that you are 
 sick; and, wlien she taught me to say in 
 my prayers for you to come home safe, she 
 cried once." 
 
 " Nellie, you shouldn't tell stories about 
 Katie," said Horace, who had a dim idea 
 that the little girl was telling tales out of 
 school.
 
 238 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 '^ Never mind, Horace; she is doing no 
 harm," said Hugh. 
 
 " You will get well, won't you ?" said the 
 child. 
 
 " Yes, I hope so, Nellie ; and you shall 
 have a ride twenty times round this room 
 when I do."
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 " An honest tale speeds best being plainly told." 
 
 And all this time wliat of our faithful 
 friend Mackinnon? His affairs were more 
 easily settled than Hugh's : no weary medi- 
 tations and cross-grained suspicions came 
 to trouble his honest heart. 
 
 "Janet," he said, "I've come home safe 
 and sound, after all ; an' did you think of 
 me when I was away all this time, as you 
 said you would ?" 
 
 "Yes, Pat; many a time I thought of 
 you and Captain Hugh; and the days 
 seemed long till you came." 
 
 " An' I thought of you, Janet, out in that 
 cold camp; an' I thought to myself I 
 canna do without her, an if she canna be 
 fashed with me for good an' all, I'll just go 
 away into the wide world, an' never come
 
 240 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 back to the old place again. Janet, must 
 I go away, an' never come back again?" 
 
 *'No, Pat," she answered simply; "I 
 don't deserve it, but I'd like you to stay 
 now." 
 
 And so Pat was made happy, and Janet 
 never regretted that she had bid him stay 
 at home m the pleasant old city. The 
 lonely widow Mrs. M'Elroy found a kindly 
 home in their house for the remainder of 
 her days ; and Pat, for Sandy's sake, was 
 as a son to her. 
 
 A time of peace and rest now came to 
 our friends in Derry, as a respite to them 
 from the trouble they had gone through 
 for so long. It was a time of sad recollec- 
 tions, it was true, of those who had left 
 their home circle never to join it again; 
 but still, in comparing their lot with others, 
 they felt they had cause for great thank- 
 fulness and contentment; so the short 
 winter days passed happily and quickly in 
 the old home of the Fairfaxes. 
 
 In the pleasant homely room they sat 
 one evening, and with an honoured guest
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 241 
 
 among their number, for Dr. Walker in one 
 of his hurried journeys had come to see 
 how his old friends fared in Derry. His 
 visit to London had been a great grati- 
 fication to him, and to all who knew him, 
 for his reception was as full of enthusiasm 
 and honour as they could have desired. 
 Feasted in splendour by the London Com- 
 panies, gazed at and caressed by the crowds 
 who flocked to see him, and offered by both 
 Universities the degree of Doctor of 
 Divinity, George Walker, the plain coun- 
 try parson, ran the risk of losing his head. 
 
 " So we have met again within the stout 
 old walls, Fairfax," said he. " The last time 
 you and I were together w^as in that dreary 
 camp. Were you ever in so dismal a 
 place?" 
 
 " No, I don't think I ever was, and hope 
 I never shall be again. We were well out 
 of it before the winter.'^ 
 
 '' The troops are pretty well dispersed 
 now, I suppose?" said Duncan. 
 
 "Yes,'' replied Walker; "when I saw 
 the Duke last he was intent on f^fettinc: all 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 his troops into quarters somewhere or other 
 in Ulster." 
 
 " They will not have an idle time of it 
 either, I should think," said Hugh. " The 
 Duke will not be himself if he has not them 
 in better training by the spring." 
 
 " And so he will. He is bent on carry- 
 ing the day with a pretty high hand when 
 the next campaign opens," said Walker. 
 
 " His men will be better used to the 
 country, and, it is to be hoped, better 
 soldiers by that time," said Hugh. ''No 
 wonder the Duke was horrified with 
 their appearance; but if there's a man 
 in the world who is capable of getting 
 an army into order, he is undoubtedly the 
 man." 
 
 " Yes ; and William was wise to select 
 him for the work in this country. He is so 
 courteous, so forbearing, he will win many 
 a man to stand by him to the death," said 
 Walker. 
 
 " I would say William is pretty wise in 
 all his appointments," said Duncan. 
 
 " He is singularly temperate in his judg-
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 243 
 
 ment and far-seeing in all liis projects," said 
 Walker. 
 
 '* That reminds me, Dr. Walker," said 
 Katharine, '' you never told us much of 
 your first visit to London after the siege. 
 How did the King receive you?" 
 
 " Most graciously, Mistress Katharine. 
 I had the honour of waiting upon him at 
 Hampton Court, and, as you perhaps have 
 heard, I was presented by him with an 
 order for five thousand pounds." 
 
 '' Oh yes; but what did he say ?" 
 
 "As well as I remember, he said I was 
 not to think he offered the money in pay- 
 ment for my services, for that he con- 
 sidered my claims upon him to be in no 
 way diminished. You have heard also, I 
 dare say, of my success in obtaining from 
 the House of Commons the promise of help 
 in money for the poor sufferers in our city?" 
 
 ^'Yes; and we heard at the same time 
 of gracious words acknowledging publicly 
 our fidelity and valour in the struggle. 
 But did the King say much to you himself 
 about the siege?" 
 
 16—2
 
 244 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 '^He is not a great talker, Mistress- 
 Katharine ; and he says very little when a 
 thing is done." 
 
 " But was he satisfied ?" 
 
 " He was not a little surprised, I think, 
 at the duration of the siege and the obsti- 
 nacy of both parties; and his principal 
 idea seemed to be that there could have 
 been but little real soldiery on either 
 side." 
 
 ''And did you tell him how it all was — 
 no proper soldiers, no means of defence ?" 
 said Duncan. 
 
 "I did; and he acknowledged that we 
 had done great things, and expressed a 
 wish to see the city for himself at some 
 future time." 
 
 " Will he be likely to join the army here 
 himself in spring?" 
 
 " Yes; he seems to have every intention 
 of doing so. It will be a momentous year 
 for Ireland, I expect," said Walker. " Did 
 you ever hear more of that young Irish- 
 man you had prisoner here ?" he asked 
 after a pause.
 
 KATHAKINE FAIRFAX. 245 
 
 ^' Oh yes, indeed, I should say so," re- 
 plied Hugh. '' Only for him you would be 
 one less sitting round the fire now, if 1 am 
 not mistaken." And then he told of how 
 Fero-us had made him out and nursed him. 
 " I got a letter from him to-day, too," he 
 said. ^' Aileen, will you read it?'' 
 
 " Dear Hugh," it began, " I am safe at 
 home, as I hope you are too, by this time. 
 I am anxious to get a bulletin of your 
 health, and to hear how you found all the 
 friends in Derry. I got a warm -welcome, 
 as you will guess, from my two friends at 
 home. My mother is well, and Geraldine 
 has recovered her looks and cheerfulness 
 wonderfully. She desires kind love to 
 Mistress Katharine, whom she calls her 
 benefactor, said benefit conferred being, I 
 understand, her tender care of a certain 
 brave Captain Fergus Fitzgerald in some 
 days gone by, but not forgotten. This 
 same brave Captain, having escaped impri- 
 sonment and death in various forms, is, I 
 believe, about to put an end to his indivi- 
 duality by entering into that fatal state
 
 246 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 called holy matrimony; and, probably, by 
 the time you are reading this he will no 
 more exist as you knew him, the reckless, 
 rollicking Irishman ; but doubled cares and 
 doubled troubles will be weighing down his 
 devoted head. And now farewell for the 
 present, with kind remembrances to all 
 friends within the walls ; and praying that 
 your lot may be as bright as mine, I 
 remain yours, as ever — Fergus." 
 
 Attentively Hugh watched Katharine's 
 face as the letter was read, and he could 
 not deny the fact to himself that the ex- 
 pression he saw there was one of unmixed 
 pleasure and interest. " May 1 not set 
 that idea at rest now ?" he asked himself^ 
 as he listened with relief to the un- 
 concerned tone of her voice, as she 
 said — 
 
 *' Well, I am glad at any rate that no- 
 thing has come to prevent that marriage ^ 
 they were both so attached to each other, 
 and she is so pretty, so attractive." 
 
 " Fergus was so annoyed to find I knew 
 nothing of the affair," said Hugh.
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 247 
 
 " And did you not know Geraldine was 
 under the walls?" asked Katharine. 
 
 " I didn't know there was such a person 
 in the world as Geraldine ; the whole busi- 
 ness was a surprise to me." 
 
 "I can't understand how you escaped 
 hearing about her," said Katharine. "But 
 now I remember," she added, " one day 
 after I had been talking to Geraldine over 
 the wall I met you, and I was going to tell 
 you of her trouble — it was the day the 
 gallows were put up — but you were called 
 away by some one ; then I suppose I forgot 
 it — there was so much to think of at that 
 time." 
 
 *' Yes," said Aileen, "and you know we 
 could not speak of it before Fergus." 
 
 With a lighter heart Hugh went to bed 
 that night. One of his suspicions was 
 cleared up at any rate.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " Indeed I love thee ! come, 
 Yield thyself up : my hopes and thine are one. 
 Accomplish thou my manhood, and thyself 
 Lay thy sweet hands in mine, and trust to me." 
 
 " I AM getting so strong now, Aileen," 
 said Hugh, one day, " I must soon think of 
 going to see after my own lonely home. I 
 shall find everything in rack and ruin at 
 Dunallagh, I suspect." 
 
 " You must not think of going for a long 
 time yet," she answered. " You are not 
 half strong enough; wait till the spring 
 opens." 
 
 " The spring will bring other work with 
 it, I expect; and I must not wear out my 
 welcome here." 
 
 " Hugh, I am really offended. You 
 know this house to be your home just as 
 much as ever. How can you talk of your 
 welcome wearing out?"
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 249 
 
 " You are far too kind to me, and I 
 assure you I dread to think of going to that 
 dreary old house. When I do go I think I 
 shall take Horace with me for company." 
 
 " He would be delighted, I am sure. It 
 is a pity of those poor children; no one 
 seems willing to do anything for them." 
 
 " Horace may soon do for himself Kirk 
 promises to secure a commission in the 
 navy for him in the spring — he will be 
 nearly old enough by that time — and then 
 Katharine seems devoted to the little 
 girls." 
 
 " Yes; she would like to keep them, and 
 ihej make us all merry. We would be 
 sorry to see them go." 
 
 " Don't you think Katharine is very 
 much changed, Aileen ?" 
 
 " We are all changed, more or less, I 
 think; and Katharine felt my father's death 
 very much." 
 
 '' Yes, she loved him so much. Aileen, 
 had you any idea that he thought Katharine 
 and I would ever be more to each other 
 than we are ?''
 
 250 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " He often spoke of it to me, wishing that 
 it might be so." 
 
 " Did you ever think it would?" 
 
 " I did not know at all; neither of you 
 ever confided in me. I would only say 
 with him that I would like it." 
 
 " And would you really like it, Aileen ? 
 Do you really think I am half good enough 
 for Katie ?" 
 
 " Hugh, I would not like to trust her to 
 any one else, and you know what Katie is 
 to me." 
 
 " Aileen, is there any chance for me, do 
 you think?" he said, earnestly. " I cannot 
 think she cares for me more than she did in 
 our childish days : at one time I know she 
 could not bear the idea at all." 
 
 " I cannot say, indeed, Hugh; Katie is 
 too proud to tell even me about anything of 
 this sort. I would be afraid to encourage 
 you, even by a word." 
 
 '^It cannot go on much longer," he said ; 
 "I must speak to her myself, and she 
 scarcely ever comes near me now : indeed 
 I know she avoids me. I must only have
 
 KATHAEINE FAIRFAX. 251 
 
 patience a little longer still, and hope for 
 something to bring it about in good time." 
 
 An opportunity came before long. It 
 was Sunday. The others were all at even- 
 ing service, and Katharine and Hugh found 
 themselves alone, one at each side of the 
 fire. 
 
 " Don't light the candles, Katharine," he 
 said; "this firelight is so pleasant. We 
 have not had a single argument since I 
 came home, Katie. How is that ?" 
 
 "We have grown wiser, I suppose," she 
 said. 
 
 " I can't lay claim to that reason, I am 
 afraid; and I have seen the words on your 
 lips, Katie, ready to answer me with one of 
 your old retorts; but you turn away and 
 never say them. Katie, what is it ? You 
 will not talk to me as you used to do." 
 
 " I don't know," she answered, hastily. 
 " You have had so much to tell us that I 
 have had plenty to do listening ; and, as I 
 said before, I am wiser at any rate. I used 
 to talk a great deal of nonsense, and what 
 good end did it serve?"
 
 252 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " It was pleasant nonsense, I think," he 
 said, " and amused us; and I do not believe 
 anything that amuses one — innocently, of 
 course — is of no use." 
 
 " No ; but I doubt if the same thing 
 would amuse us now." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but it is good to talk. Now, 
 for the sake of arguing, tell me what is your 
 idea of a coward. Which is the bravest 
 — a man or a woman?" 
 
 "There is no comparison, I should say." 
 
 "Why? Do you think a man so im- 
 measurably superior?" said he, smiling. 
 
 "No, not exactly; but men and women 
 have entirely different degrees of courage : 
 they cannot be compared." 
 
 " What is the difference ?" 
 
 "Men are, or ought to be, physically 
 brave : women are generally brave in a 
 moral sense." 
 
 " Even men cannot be always outwardly 
 brave: they are physically weak and as 
 great cowards as women sometimes." 
 
 " Of course, the exception proves the 
 rule, and women sometimes change places
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 253 
 
 with men, and are as brave, bodily, as any 
 man ; but it is not natural, yet I think it is 
 natural for a woman to have a brave mind." 
 
 " But do they not act upon one another ? 
 If the will is courageous and strong, does it 
 not act upon the body?" 
 
 "It ought, I suppose; but I think they 
 are generally called upon to act separately. 
 A man goes out to fight, never dreaming of 
 fear ; while the same man may not have the 
 moral courage to govern his owai will at 
 home : to abstain from anything because it 
 is wrong, or to endure patiently any denial 
 to his inclination because it is right to do 
 so." 
 
 " And women will do this, you think?" 
 
 " I don't say they always do it ; but they 
 generally have more courage to endure and 
 to carry out a principle, merely because it is 
 right, than men ; but then, perhaps, that is 
 because they are more called upon to do it. 
 Men have to fight their battles abroad ; 
 women at home." 
 
 " And which is the hardest to maintain, 
 do you think?"
 
 254 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 
 
 " The courage women have, unquestion- 
 ably. You men are carried on by circum- 
 stances; by applause and companionship: 
 we have to fight our battles all to ourselves, 
 silently and unapplauded.'^ 
 
 " And have men never battles like this 
 to fight ?" 
 
 "Yes, I am sure they have; but they 
 generally contrive to let the whole world 
 know they have such a battle on hands." 
 
 "That is bitter, Katharine; you can be 
 so still, I see. But suppose that a man 
 allows he is a coward — a moral coward, I 
 mean — would you despise him as you would 
 a physical coward?'' 
 
 " I think a man ought to be brave about 
 everything." 
 
 " Katharine, you may despise me, then ; 
 for I must acknowledge that I am a 
 coward." 
 
 " You a coward !" and her tone showed 
 how improbable she thought it to be. 
 
 "Yes, I am a cow^ard; and it is you I 
 am afraid of, Katharine." 
 
 "Afraid of me!"
 
 KATHARINE FAIRFAX. 255 
 
 " Yes. I know that it is in your power, 
 by one little word, to make rae very happy 
 or very miserable ; and I am afraid to ask 
 for that word. Katharine, which is it to 
 be ? — you know what I would ask." 
 
 She did not answer, and he went on — 
 
 "Katharine, your father gave me your 
 hand once, and joined our names together; 
 will you give me your hand now, of your 
 own free will?" 
 
 Without a word she put the hand he 
 asked into his ; and in the warm .firelight 
 their eyes met and told the tale of that 
 perfect love which casteth out fear for 
 ever. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that the old 
 man's wishes were fulfilled; Hugh and 
 Katharine understood each other at last.
 
 ISM A 0']N"EIL, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 *' Keep me company but two years 
 Thou slialt not know the sound of thine own tongue." 
 
 — Shikspeare. 
 
 It was the summer of 1691. A detachment 
 of William of Orange's army in Ireland lay 
 encamped near Ballyshannon. In a rude 
 tent the officer in chief command sat, study- 
 ing with anxious care despatches lately 
 received : his officers had left him after 
 learning the orders conveyed in them, and 
 arranging with him the steps necessary to be 
 taken. Colonel Mitcheiburne was a trusted 
 and experienced soldier in those days. As 
 Governor of Londonderry during the dark- 
 est days of its siege he had sliown a reso- 
 lution and energy which were the human 
 instrumentality of saving not only the town 
 itself, but the Protestant power in the 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 ISMA ONEIL. 
 
 North of Ireland. He was now a grey- 
 haired, grave-looking man : the hand of 
 sorrow had fallen heavily upon him. The 
 honour and glory he had gained could not 
 give him back the wife and children he had 
 lost in the terrible pestilence which had 
 raged during the siege. He had no one to 
 fight for now but his King and his country, 
 and for them he would fight undaunted to 
 the end. He was at present in command 
 of a regiment of the King's army and a 
 considerable body of militia, and his orders 
 were to ascertain the position in which the 
 town of Sligo stood, and, if advisable, to 
 take immediate means to reduce it. Shgo 
 was at this time in possession of the Irish, 
 and under the command of a gallant officer. 
 Sir Teague O'Regan, who, instead of de- 
 serting the town, as had been rumoured, 
 w^as resolute on his side to stand by his 
 colours to the last. Colonel Mitchelburne 
 was not long left in peace to pursue his 
 studies. The weather hot and sultry, the 
 tent- door was folded back to admit the 
 evening air. A figure stopped in the open-
 
 ISMA ONEIL. 259 
 
 ing, and the Colonel, witliout raising his 
 eyes, asked in his quiet grave tones — 
 
 " Is that you. Drummer ?" 
 
 He did not see the ceremonious bow the 
 figure made while it returned answer in a 
 pompous tone, which would have seemed 
 the grossest conceit were it not for the 
 droll expression that played on the plain 
 features of the man. 
 
 "Will Cunningham, drummer in your 
 honourable service; I stand to await your 
 commands, Colonel." 
 
 '' You have been recommended to me as 
 a trustworthy person to carry despatches, 
 and it is to speak on this subject I have 
 sent for you, Will." 
 
 " You honour me, sir, but I am not an 
 unworthy object for that honour. Man and 
 boy, sir, I have served in this regiment 
 sixteen years and nine days, and before my 
 worthy self — I beg your pardon. Colonel, 
 I should say unworthy self — my late 
 respected father beat the drum at your 
 honour's command, and right well, sir, I hear 
 tell he did beat it, for his arms were stout 
 
 17—2
 
 260 ISMA ONEIL. 
 
 and strong, sir, a peculiarity I have had 
 the honour to inherit — leastways, sir, before 
 the supply of beef ran short. But I fear, 
 Colonel, the sinews will be apt to shrink 
 now like an empty bellows; though I can 
 assure you, sir, I do all in my humble 
 power to avoid the lamentable cata- 
 strophe by filling the bellows — the sinews 
 I mean, sir — with every available commo- 
 dity; but Colonel " 
 
 ''That will do, Will, for the present," 
 said the Colonel, who had gone on un- 
 concernedly with his writing, as if ac- 
 customed to the harangue ; "we must 
 come to the point now. A little wholesome 
 exercise may be good for the sinews, and 
 you will have an opportunity of change 
 of fare among the citizens of Sligo." 
 
 " Sligo, your worshipful honour! And is 
 it to that God-forsaken place you would 
 send your humble servant? Mark my 
 words, sir, they're an ill lot, every 
 mother's son of them, not forgetting the 
 crookbacked old rogue who calls himself 
 Sir Teague. Forsooth "
 
 isMA o'neil. 261 
 
 " Silence on that head, if you please, 
 Drummer. Sir Teague, to whom I am about 
 to send you, is an honourable gentleman, 
 and as a personal friend of mine I desire 
 that his name shall not be mentioned in 
 uncourteous language." 
 
 ''Your pardon, Colonel; I am a man 
 born and bred myself in a courteous 
 family. My father, sir, was that polite and 
 genteel that he'd never hurt the feelings of 
 any man for the want of a lie ; but my 
 mother taught me the Bible, sir, that she 
 did, and I learn in that, your honour, that 
 pearls — which I take to be in this case good 
 words, you know. Colonel — should not be 
 cast before swine." 
 
 " Look ye. Will, you must be more 
 wary of your language, or it may go hard 
 with you on the enemy's ground; or Teague 
 O'Regan is not the man I take him for. 
 Take my advice, man, and keep your tongue 
 (juiet and your eyes open. I will expect 
 an accurate account from you of the posi- 
 tion of the enemy, and, as far as you can 
 judge, some idea of their intentions. These
 
 262 iSMA o'neil. 
 
 letters you will deliver into tlie hands of 
 Sir Teague liimself, and I will look for your 
 return this time to-morrow evening ; so let 
 it be your business to see the first glimpse 
 of dawn rising over the walls of Sligo. No 
 more now," he continued, as he saw the 
 voluble Will preparing to answer. " Be- 
 gone ; you have got your instruction ; no 
 time must be lost." 
 
 " The man may be honest," he meditated 
 to himself, when left alone again, "but the 
 length of his tongue is a decided objection, 
 to my mind. However, they say he is trust- 
 worthy."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Embassador of peace, if peace you choose, 
 Or herald of a war, if you refuse." — Deyden. 
 
 The morning mists were clearing away 
 from around the picturesque town of Sligo, 
 and the tops of the high mountains were 
 appearing beyond the richly wooded plain 
 which surrounds tlie town. Early as the 
 hour was groups of men might be seen about 
 the outposts, some busily employed throwing 
 up earthworks, while others watched and 
 directed their labours. It would seem that 
 the inhabitants of Sligo had no intention 
 of deserting or surrendering their town at 
 present. An exclamation from some of 
 the watchers arrested the attention of all, 
 and they paused to observe a horseman 
 riding rapidly towards the town. 
 
 *' Yonder is no friend, I wot," was pro- 
 nounced with decision.
 
 264 isMA o'neil. 
 
 "He comes sincrje-handed at any rate," 
 was the answer. 
 
 "A spy, I doubt not," said another; 
 " there is no work too mean for those 
 militia lads." 
 
 *^He must sj)eak for himself now, how- 
 ever. He has ridden fast, it appears, and his 
 horse is no bad cut of a beast. Here, you 
 fine fellow, give your errand and your 
 standard." 
 
 By this time the horseman — who was 
 dressed in a full-skirted coat of coarse blue 
 ck")th with cuffs and lappets of crimson, 
 breeches and gaiters of light grey frieze, 
 the latter strapped above his knees — had 
 halted to observe his challengers. After a 
 moment's hesitation he unslung a drum 
 which he carried at his back, and having 
 beat a parley with a bold firm stroke, he 
 replied, " My errand is not with the likes of 
 you, though I marvel if your betters can 
 boast much better manners; and as for 
 my standard, you will doubtless see it soon 
 enough above your heads, when your own, 
 like the rascally old serpent, is doomed
 
 ISM A o'neil. 265 
 
 to eat the dust of the earth. Let me pass, 
 good people, in the meantime," continued 
 Drummer Will, for he it was, in a more 
 •conciliatory tone, as he saw the scowling 
 looks of the townsmen and remembered his 
 Colonel's warning. " I mean no ill to ye ; 
 in war one standard must be up and the 
 other down. Let me pass, again I say. I 
 €ome from yonder camp at Ballyshannon, 
 commanded over by a worshipful and brave 
 gentleman, no other than Colonel John 
 Mitchelburne, late governor of the honour- 
 able city of Londonderry, and governor in 
 expectation of this paltry town before us." 
 
 "No insolence, if you please; the odds 
 are great, remember. We have some com- 
 fortable dark holes enough in our paltry 
 city, and chains into the bargain, to restrain 
 legs, if they can't bind glib tongues." 
 
 "How now, good master, you are rough. 
 1 would teach you a different tune were I 
 in any other part of his Majesty's domi- 
 nions. Will Cunningham, drummer in his 
 Majesty's regiment under command of his 
 Excellency Colonel Mitchelburne, is of a
 
 266 isMA o'neil. 
 
 somewhat different cast of mortality from 
 any papistical dog that sees the daylight in 
 this town. Once more I say give way. I 
 would see him who has climbed to the 
 highest step on the ladder of rebelly pride 
 amongst you." 
 
 " You speak with an ill tongue," retorted 
 a townsman; "Sir Teague O'Regan can 
 boast of better blood than any of your new- 
 made English lordships. Our governor can 
 hold his own with any gentleman under 
 yonder blazing sun. You pass not these 
 walls, I tell you, till you mend your manners, 
 fine sir." Will, sorely tempted to defend 
 the propriety of his manners, checked him- 
 self, and reminded by the increasing heat of 
 the sun that the day was wearing on and his 
 mission unaccomplished, now produced his 
 despatches to prove his errand, and, having 
 gained admission, before long he found him- 
 self in the presence of Sir Teague. That 
 gentleman sat over the remains of his 
 breakfast, which was, perhaps, rather more 
 scanty than he could have wished. He was 
 a tall man, slightly crooked, the remains of
 
 isMA o'neil. 267 
 
 a v/ouiid, it was said, which he had received 
 in his early days. His face was scarred and 
 seamed by hard usage, but liis still well- 
 covered grey head was held erect, with the 
 defiant air of a man who could command 
 and exact obedience. He was a good 
 soldier, but at the same time he was too 
 sensible of bis own inestimable worth ever 
 to expose himself to unnecessary dangers, 
 and he was careful to hold himself above all 
 criticism by a military superiority of tone. 
 
 '^I understand," lie said, addressing Will, 
 '^ that I have the privilege of receiving a 
 message from my honoured and esteemed 
 friend Colonel Mitchelburne ?" 
 
 " You have that honour, sir," said the 
 unabashed Will. ''My master, sir, Colonel 
 Mitchelburne, is not ashamed to own the 
 friendship of even the lowest of his 
 followers." 
 
 " AVhat do you mean, man ? Is the fellow 
 mad?" he said, turning to his attendant. 
 
 " He is mighty free with his tongue, sir. 
 What do you mean?" the servant went on, 
 half thrusting Will back.
 
 268 iSMA o'neil. 
 
 ^^ Truly the evildoers are high-minded in 
 these days," was Will's muttered answer; 
 '' but one must cut his coat according to 
 his cloth, or, as it is in this instance, his 
 words according to his whereabouts." 
 
 Sir Teague rose, indignant with the alter- 
 cation. "Fellow!" he said, "Colonel Mit- 
 chelburne is a soldier and a gentleman, and 
 I call it in question if he has so insulted 
 a fellow soldier, not to mention our 
 personal friendship in bygone days, by 
 allowing a communication to be delivered 
 with the insolence you manifest; explain 
 yourself, sir, or, by St. Patrick, you shall 
 suiFer for it." 
 
 " Not so hard, sir, if you please. Heaven 
 knows I consider it an unlucky day Avhen I 
 heard tell from my honourable Colonel 
 that he saw fit to send me on a visit to you, 
 sir. For, believe me, sir, I too am a soldier, 
 serving man and boy sixteen years nine 
 days. Ah ! it was nine yesterday ; well, it 
 must be ten davs this blessed sunrise. Thus, 
 sir, being, as I said, myself a soldier, I un- 
 derstand what's what, you see, Sir Teague." 
 
 " I see, fellow," said Sir Teague, " that
 
 ISMA ONEIL. 26^' 
 
 you have yet to learn the first lessons m a 
 soldier's education, due respect to those 
 who by Almighty Providence are placed in 
 an exalted position of superiority, and a 
 modesty of demeanour suitable to one of 
 your rank." 
 
 ^' As Drum in the gallant regiment com- 
 manded by Colonel Mitchelburne I stand 
 before you this day, Sir Teague ; and, bear- 
 ing the aforesaid Colonel's despatches, I 
 believe I am in no mean position ; leastways 
 that honourable gentleman saw fit to select 
 me for the carrying out of his designs." 
 
 "His designs, sir! May I inquire your 
 meaning? What are the designs of Colonel 
 Mitchelburne?" 
 
 " Forsooth, Sir Teague, nothing more 
 nor less than to step into your shoes; to 
 take upon himself the governorship of this 
 town, which, considering the out-of-the- 
 w^ay, back-side of the desert locality of the 
 place, is to me a most unheard-of proceed- 
 ing ; but " 
 
 " Peace, fellow !" thundered Sir Teague. 
 " Has it escaped your memory in whose 
 presence you stand? I, Sir Teague 0' Regan,
 
 270 isMA o'neil. 
 
 the last of the noble house of O'Regan, am 
 I to be jabbered at and insulted by a low 
 ignorant creature like yourself? Take him 
 to the main-guard." 
 
 "Colonel Mitchelburne's orders must 
 not be forgotten in the meantime, Sir 
 Teague," said Will, half-frightened at the 
 anger he had raised. " Here are his des- 
 patches, sir, to which I am to bring imme- 
 diate answers.'^ 
 
 "That is my concern, young man. It is 
 the privilege of one man to write, and of 
 another to answer that writing as may best 
 suit his convenience and disposition. For 
 my part I credit neither your manner or 
 appearance as one whom a gentleman, as I 
 know Colonel Mitchelburne to be, would 
 intrust with a message to an O'Eegan in 
 the position of Governor of Sligo and com- 
 mander of the forces of this town." 
 
 Glancing over the contents of his des- 
 patches, and somewhat conciliated by the 
 courteous wording of the Colonel's letter, 
 Sir Teague dismissed the drummer for the 
 present without further parley.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " M}' only strength and stay ! forlorn of thee, 
 Whither shall I betake me, where subsist ?" — Milton. 
 
 ^^ IsMA, my poor child, wliat is to become 
 of you now?" 
 
 " You will take care of me, wont you ? 
 He said you would !" and the young girl's 
 eyes filled with tears, as she looked up 
 trustingly to the tall strong man beside her. 
 " The last thing my father said last night 
 when I bade him farewell for ever was, ' God 
 will take care of you: trust in Colonel Scott 
 when I am gone ; he is your friend, your 
 only friend in the town.' And you will not 
 forsake me now ! oh, you will not !" 
 
 *^ Forsake you, Isma ! No, that is impossi- 
 ble. But how can I take proper care of 
 you? You a young delicate girl, I a soldier 
 in hard times, with no home fit for you.
 
 272 ISMA o'neil. 
 
 And even had I a home you could not come 
 to live with me " 
 
 He looked down with pitying eyes on 
 the fair young face before him, so childlike 
 in its confidence in him. 
 
 '• Oh, Isma, there is so much to separate 
 us. You so young and a Protestant — I 
 almost old enough to be your father and 
 of a different creed. It is hard, hard; 
 why were you ever thrown in my way ?'^ 
 Then checkmg himself he said, " I am 
 talking nonsense, little Isma; we must 
 think of what can be done for your present 
 safety." 
 
 " You wont send me away from you 
 out of the town? I have no friend but 
 
 you!" 
 
 " Your mother's relations, where are 
 they?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't know; they are hard and 
 cold, I cannot go to them ! They are Eng- 
 lish; I am Irish like my father, like you." 
 
 Once more the stern soldier's eye sof- 
 tened, as he said, gently — 
 
 "Trust me, Isma. I must leave you
 
 ISM A o'neil. 273 
 
 now, but I will come back before eveninc- 
 for you : you cannot stay here." 
 
 With a quick, determined step he strode 
 along the narrow, crooked streets, and 
 thought, yes, he thought of Isma — the 
 lonely sad little figure, so desolate, so friend- 
 less. Not friendless ; no, she should not be 
 that while he could serve her. Her father, 
 Captain O'Neil, had been his friend and 
 fellow-soldier, a loyal steadfast man in the 
 Jacobite interest. He had died suddenly 
 at the last, of a wound received in the course 
 of the late struggle. His wife, a Protestant, 
 was long dead, and Isma, his little Protes- 
 tant daughter, was left alone. 
 
 Every one called her " little Isma ;" she 
 was so slight and girlish-looking, almost 
 childish in her appearance, though she was 
 at this time nearly eighteen. Colonel 
 Scott's mind was speedily made up as he 
 walked rapidly along. He would seek out* 
 a cousin of his own, an elderly maiden lady, 
 and leave Isma in her care till — ay, till he 
 could claim her for his own. Why should 
 he allow the difficulties, which at times 
 VOL. I. lb
 
 274 iSMA o'neil. 
 
 seemed almost insurmountable, to stand in 
 his way? He was her only friend, she had 
 said so; she trusted him, and him alone: 
 who should interfere between them ? True 
 he was greatly her senior ; but then he was 
 better able to protect her than any young, 
 half-fledged boy. She was a Protestant, 
 while he had never wavered from the faith 
 of his fathers. What of that? Perhaps he 
 might influence her to think with him. 
 No, Isma, young as she was, was steadfast, 
 and he knew it and would not like her to 
 be otherwise. But they could agree to 
 difl'er: others did it everyday. Thus he 
 mused till stopped by a messenger, who 
 told him Sir Teague desired to speak with 
 him. Colonel Scott was associated with 
 Sir Teague 0' Regan at this time in the 
 command of Sligo, but, naturally of a more 
 reserved, unobtrusive nature, he held him- 
 self more in the background than his worthy 
 colleague, who wore his dignities with so 
 proud an air. 
 
 "A Drum from the enemy's camp, Colonel, 
 bearing letters for you, and a communi-
 
 275 
 
 cation to myself from my old friend. 
 Colonel Mitclielburne, who, it gives me 
 satisfaction to know, is in command of the 
 Williamites at Ballyshannon. Colonel 
 Mitchelburne is a gentleman of high honour, 
 so much so that, coming in contact with 
 him some years ago in a foreign campaign, 
 I found him in this particular to be so akin 
 to myself that I lost no opportunity of culti- 
 vating an acquaintance, which the lapse of 
 years has not obliterated. I am not a man. 
 Colonel, you are doubtless aware, to forget 
 the good qualities I may be fortunate 
 enough to discover by that keen appre- 
 ciation of worth which is one of my most 
 marked characteristics. You will see by 
 this courteous letter from Colonel Mitchel- 
 burne that he likewise has that estimable 
 advantage of a retentive memory. Here 
 is his letter." 
 
 Colonel Scott read as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, — 'Tis no small satisfaction to me 
 to know that my old acquaintance, Sir 
 Teague O'Regan, the happiness of whose
 
 276 iSMA o'neil. 
 
 company I have so often enjoyed in the 
 French campaigns, should be in a garrison 
 so near to me ; as also Colonel Scott. I 
 have sent you a pacquet of letters by my 
 Drum from the prisoners in Londonderrj^, 
 one whereof is to Colonel Scott from his 
 brother, to whom I have been civil on the 
 Colonel's account, which he does kindly 
 acknowledge. My service to Colonel Scott. 
 " I am, sir, 
 
 '' Your most humble servant, 
 " John Mitchelburne." 
 
 '' Well, Colonel, what think you of that?" 
 said Sir Teague, who, not unlike our friend 
 the drummer, was fond of the sound of his 
 own voice, 
 
 "It is the letter of a gentleman, Sir 
 Teague, there is no doubt about that : other- 
 Avise there is no matter of importance in it, 
 except for these," he said, looking at the 
 small parcel of unread letters in his hand. 
 '• Poor Conn, it is long since I saw the boy's 
 handwriting." 
 
 '' Ay, your brother, yes, he gave pro-
 
 ISM A o'neil. 277 
 
 mise of a fine soldier; lacked discipline, firm 
 military training, if I remember rightly. 
 You see, Colonel, as an old soldier I am 
 critical. The soldiers of the present day 
 are not what soldiers used to be, the stern 
 severity of years of training suits not them. 
 No, Colonel, it is a deplorable fact which 
 strikes a man of more penetration than 
 ordinary, like myself, this want of iron 
 discipline in our ranks. It must be in the 
 blood, Colonel, incorporated into the consti- 
 tution by long generations brought up 
 and bred on no other fare. The O'Regans 
 were from the earliest ages soldiers — ay, 
 sir, soldiers from their cradles — is it any 
 wonder, then, I ask you, sir, that I, the last 
 of that noble family, should be what I 
 am, a soldier and a critic in that noble 
 art?" 
 
 " Your admirable qualities in these mat- 
 ters are indisputable. Sir Teague, as I have 
 often had the honour to remark before," 
 said the Colonel, with a curl on his lip which 
 Sir Teague knew nothing about. " But 
 these despatches must be answered ; doubt-
 
 278 isMA o'neil. 
 
 less you will reply to Colonel Mitchelburne, 
 and I also will write. My brother must 
 join us; it is impossible that they can keep 
 him longer when we are willing to offer an 
 ample exchange." 
 
 '^ I will mention it to the Colonel, but we 
 must be cautious. Caution and foresight 
 are the most indispensable qualities in a 
 soldier's character." 
 
 '' Yes, yes. Sir Teague, no doubt, but in 
 the present instance I do not see the con- 
 nexion. There can be no danger in my 
 negotiating for the release of my brother, 
 surely?" 
 
 " You are too hasty. Colonel.- One can- 
 not be too deliberate in their judgments. 
 My reasons for caution do not refer to the 
 exchange of the prisoners, but I am doubt- 
 ful on another head. The messenger who 
 conveyed these dispatches has given me 
 reason almost to doubt their authenticity. 
 His insolence and ill-manners were such as 
 to give me grounds for questioning whether 
 a gentleman of Colonel Mitchelburne's 
 standing could permit a fellow with so free
 
 ISMA o'neil. 279 
 
 a tongue to continue in his service, much 
 less to send him to a person of my posi- 
 tion." 
 
 " I had not heard of this before, but I 
 can hardly doubt the authenticity of the 
 dispatch." 
 
 ''It bears marks of true metal no doubt, 
 and my place is carefully to watch the fel- 
 low's further movements, for a day or two at 
 least, and then it v/ill be time enough to 
 form our judgment accordingly. You see. 
 Colonel, I carry out my maxim of never 
 propounding a theory without a just and 
 proper reason." 
 
 " All right, Sir Teague, I will be glad of 
 a reasonable time to read and answer these 
 letters, so for the present I have the honour 
 of wishing you good -day." 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAVILL, EDWABDS AND CO., PEINTEBS, OHANDOS STBEET 
 
 COVENT GAEDEN.