L 1 B R.A R.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N 1 VER.5 ITY 
 
 Of 1 LLl NOIS
 
 SIR GUY D'ESTEERE
 
 SIR GUY D'ESTERRE 
 
 SELINA BUNBURY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "C^OOMBE ABBEY," " A'lSIT TO MY BIimi-l'LACl., 
 "OUR OWN STORY," ETC. ETC. 
 
 " I pray you, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate. 
 Nor set down aiight in malice." — Shakespeark. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDOls^: 
 G. KOIITLEDGE & CO., FAREINGDON-STREET. 
 
 NEW YORK : 18, BEEKMAN-STREET. 
 1858.
 
 
 TO 
 
 M R S. U F F, 
 
 ONE OF THE FRIENDS LONG INTERESTED IN HER WORKS, 
 
 fbtse J^olunus 
 
 ARE DEDICATED, 
 
 WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF GRATEFUL RESPECT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 SIR GUY D'ESTERKE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the gloomy turret-chamber of a strong 
 tower, near to the coast, lay a wounded 
 English knight, who, after having won his 
 spurs by early and valiant service with the 
 noble Sir Philip Sidney, and afterwards 
 with the gallant Essex, was reduced to the 
 sad mortification of having had not only 
 his life endangered, but his good looks, for 
 the time at least, very seriously damaged, 
 by the rude stroke of an Irish club. 
 
 " Shade of the glorious Sidney," thought 
 Sir Guy, as he partly opened his heavy 
 eyes for the first time after a state of total 
 unconsciousness, and believed himself to 
 have been left to die where he had fallen, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2. SIR GUY DESTERRE. 
 
 " is this to be the ignoble end of thy fol- 
 lower at Zutphen ?" 
 
 "With a low groan the young man re- 
 closed his eyes, sensible only of pain, thirst, 
 and uneasiness, without noticing the fact that 
 he had been removed to a place of shelter. 
 
 Though his eyes were shut, and his 
 senses in a very confused and dreamy state, 
 that mental intelligence which mysteriously 
 represents to us what tlie bodily vision does 
 not behold, caused him to feel some fair 
 vision had, without sound or visible move- 
 ment, approached him. Perhaps, in truth, 
 the heavy eyelids were not so absolutely 
 closed as to prevent a little gleam of light 
 from penetrating through the close, short 
 fringe of the upper and lower lids, which, 
 from its unusual thickness, rendered that 
 partial opening less painful to himself, and 
 unobservable to the beholder. HoAvever 
 that might be. Sir Guy D'Esterre felt the 
 soothing consciousness that some fair spiri- 
 tual presence was around him — his guar- 
 dian angel — with a face of pitying sweetness 
 that gazed on him till irritation subsided, 
 and pain itself was unfelt.
 
 SIR GUY D ESTERRE. 6 
 
 The natural consequence of this improved 
 condition of the mental and bodily sensa- 
 tions was, that the wounded knight's thick 
 eyelashes parted more distinctly; but when, 
 in consequence of that movement, they 
 afterwards rose altogether, and his eyes 
 opened out with an expressiveness corre- 
 sponding more to the state of his mental 
 than his physical being, the vision had va- 
 nished ; and though he shut them again, 
 and strove to relapse into the semi-conscious- 
 ness, the waking dreaminess, that had caused 
 the apparition, no effort of his could repro- 
 duce it. The soothing dream and its good 
 influences had ended as dreams do end, and 
 actuality began to develop itself more fully 
 to his senses. 
 
 An attempt to rise convinced him that 
 his brain was sufficiently dizzy to induce 
 all sorts of vain imaginations; and it also 
 showed him that a wound on his head had 
 been dressed, as well as another on his 
 shoulder: he saw, too, that he was in a rude 
 chamber ; and that he had been removed 
 from the spot where he fell by his party 
 was the conclusion he was glad to arrive at, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SIR GUY 1)estp:kke. 
 
 though giddiness and pain made him sink 
 back quickly on his rushy couch, and, again 
 shutting his eyes with a heavy moan, re- 
 sign himself to endurance. 
 
 This time our knight was not at all sen- 
 sible that any presence, spiritual or other- 
 wise, was around him, — the laws of mental 
 affinities were not in action, — and it was 
 only the motion of a very material hand 
 moving^ at his head that caused him to start 
 and stare in a manner that hurt himself, and 
 terrified the fresh apparition he now beheld. 
 The wave of a conjuror's wand might have 
 effected such a transformation as he now 
 beheld. Through half-closed eyelids he had 
 seen, or fancied he saw, a lovely counte- 
 nance, but with eyes of such surpassing 
 beauty and sweetness as to absorb the gazer 
 wholly. These eyes were near to him, bent 
 upon him; seemed to look within the doul)le 
 fringe that fenced his own ; and the face 
 and eyes he thought might be a ministering 
 angel's, if such were made visible to suffer- 
 ing humanity: there was so much innocence 
 and wonderment, blent with the pity, the 
 tc^nderness, and yet the high intelligence
 
 SIR GUY D ESTERRE. O 
 
 with which the painter would depict such 
 a being employed on its mission of love. 
 Sir Guy could have sworn he actually saw 
 those eyes of the deepest blue, and might 
 have protested that, instead of the radiant 
 locks usually ascribed to those heavenly 
 ministrants, these eyes had deep black 
 lashes, and that the fair, pale face was con- 
 trasted by the long black hair that fell in 
 plaits at full length down the tall and some- 
 what stately figure. 
 
 "Do I rave?" he said now, as he stared 
 with very different sensations at his second 
 apparition, and marvelled if some concus- 
 sion of his brain had been the cause of re- 
 presenting to him the first. 
 
 A broad, sun-tanned face, with flat fea- 
 tures and yellowish hair, was projected 
 almost as near to his as he fancied the 
 other had been; the hair was turned up 
 under huge folds of saffron-coloured linen ; 
 the short figure was draped in a frieze 
 mantle, bordered with shaggy fringe, such 
 a one as our favourite poet, Edmund 
 Spenser, described as "a fit house for a 
 thief, and for a bad housewife no less con-
 
 6 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 venient" — the universal fashion of the 
 wearer's country then, and one, the re- 
 mains of which in its modified form, we 
 are sorry to see giving place to the affec- 
 tation of modern finery. 
 
 "Do I rave?" asked Sir Guy, looking up 
 at the ugly face, "or did I really see her?" 
 
 The old woman shook her head. 
 
 " Old crone !" he muttered to himself, 
 "how like a witch she looks!" 
 
 But he resigned himself to the intention 
 she evidently had of dressing his wounds, 
 feeling he was not yet able to converse ; 
 and, swallowing the draught she gave 
 him, postponed all troublesome thoughts 
 and exciting conjectures by falling asleep. 
 
 Singular to relate, on that same evening 
 his first vision reappeared to him: he saw 
 the same figure, and gazed on it with the 
 same artfully screened e3'es; the very same 
 wonderfully beautiful ones drew near, and 
 bent over him: they did not draw back, 
 they even approached nearer, as if to scru- 
 tinize the nature of the gleam of light they 
 saw through the seemingly closed lashes; 
 but when Sir Guv's trcacherouslv broke
 
 SIR GUY D ESTERRE. 7 
 
 bounds, and opened suddenly, they with- 
 drew, and the slow dropping of the deep 
 white lids was to him like the falling of a 
 veil over the soul that had looked upon him. 
 
 The vivid glow that coloured a face 
 naturally inclined to paleness rather than 
 bloom, was a clear indication of the hu- 
 manity of the beautiful apparition ; never- 
 theless, it vanished ere a word or gesture 
 from the wounded knight could woo it to 
 stay or to speak. 
 
 The next day he awoke, feeling himself 
 likely to live and do well, and awaited ra- 
 ther impatiently the approach of his attend- 
 ant, or attendants, as the case might be. 
 The yellow-headed Celt soon appeared ; but 
 there was no other vision that day. To all 
 his inquiries she was mute ; when he asked 
 where he was, she shook her head ; when 
 he railed at herself, the yellow head-gear 
 shook again. 
 
 "Tell me, was there not lately here a 
 maiden of Spain, whose eyes are softer than 
 those of her nation mostly are, and with a 
 more wondrously changeful countenance, a 
 face that converses in silence ?"
 
 8 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 The old woman again shook her head, 
 looking at him fixedly the wliile. 
 
 " Hateful old crone ! tell me, I bid thee, 
 how came I hither? where am I, and with 
 whom ?'' 
 
 Tliis time, in addition to the negative 
 shake of her head, she held a finger in a 
 cautionary manner pointed to the low- 
 arched door. 
 
 Sir Guy rose on one arm with a gesture 
 of anger, but the pain of a wounded head 
 and side drew forth a moan, and he lay 
 back again. 
 
 " Good mother," he said, after some time 
 of silence, trying the effect of his softest 
 tones of voice, "Good mother, I would 
 know to what charitable Christian I am in- 
 debted for succour." 
 
 But the old woman, having now retired 
 to her seat on the block, only replied by 
 signals which, so far as the impatient knight 
 could comprehend them, meant to express 
 that he had better lie there and be quiet, 
 making the best of a bad case. 
 
 Sir Guy groaned as he, of necessity, sub- 
 mitted to a pliilosophy but little congenial 
 to his temperament.
 
 SIR GUY D'eSTERRE. 9 
 
 After bestowino; a malediction on the fate 
 that had led him to accompany the rash 
 and impulsive Earl of Essex, when, after 
 his escape from the court of his love-sick 
 maiden Queen, he had with equal precipi- 
 tation left the army in France to hurry 
 back to her, without waiting the return of 
 the messenger he had sent to mollify her 
 displeasure and obtain his leave of absence, 
 and thus occasioned himself to be sent on 
 service to Ireland, which, in common with 
 others, he styled " the cursedest of all 
 lands" — he began to seek in his own cogi- 
 tations some solution of the questions he 
 had vainly put to his attendant. He knew 
 full well how his mischance had occurred, 
 and it was with a sense of indignation, if 
 not of shame, he recollected that he, who 
 had earned his spurs in the Netherlands, 
 who had served under Sidney, and been the 
 comrade of Essex, must have owed his 
 present state to the blow of an Irish club. 
 
 Condemned to service against what were 
 called the Irish rebels, Sir Guy had been 
 sent on the inglorious exploit of surprising 
 a rude fortress of the chieftain O'More, a
 
 10 sill GUY d'eSTERUE. 
 
 place of resort in the mountains for his 
 wild followers, who were mostly absent 
 with their chief at the time of the assault. 
 Some prisoners were taken, the fortress 
 tired, and the cattle driven away with other 
 plunder to the English camp. 
 
 Sir Guy, sorely misliking his duty, had 
 got considerably in advance of his troop, 
 and passed through an arched passage of 
 rock, close to the sea-shore, by which their 
 road lay, when the wild cries that denoted 
 an onslaught of the natives fell on his 
 startled ear. An ambushed band had risen 
 from among the rocks, and fallen on the 
 plunderers. As Sir Guy hastily turned to 
 rejoin his troop, a figure, almost colossal in 
 its size, stopped the passage he had just 
 passed through. 
 
 It was habited in the Irish garb, with the 
 thickly plaited shirt of yellow linen worn 
 instead of armour, and a ponderous club 
 wielded instead of a battle-axe or sword. 
 To an ignominious stroke of that club the 
 young hero who had fought at Zutphen, 
 and stood beside the glorious Sir Philip 
 Sidney when he resigned his own draught
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 11 
 
 of water to the expiring soldier, blushed to 
 remember that he owed his present state: 
 he remembered seeing his good sword fly 
 shivered from his hand ; the blow struck 
 him from his horse, and the fall on the rock 
 rendered him unconscious of what followed. 
 
 He had not seen the perplexity into which 
 the victor was apparently plunged ; he saw 
 the young man was not dead ; he was him- 
 self evidently unconnected with the assail- 
 ants of the English troop, for he was quite 
 unarmed, and until Sir Guy had attacked 
 him under a contrary supposition, he had 
 shown no hostile intention. Now, as he 
 stood like the lion over some prey he cares 
 not to devour, he seemed to feel both com- 
 punction and pity. The savage sounds 
 that rudely filled the mild air of a lovely 
 summer morn, told too plainly that the wild 
 clansmen of the O'More would make short 
 work with the wounded knight if they found 
 him in their path. 
 
 A moment of consideration was enough 
 for an Irish judgment to act upon. The 
 senseless knight was lifted on the shoulder 
 of his conqueror, and, hardly bending an
 
 12 SIK GUY d'ESTERKE. 
 
 inch from his height beneath the weight, 
 he strode away along the shore, keeping 
 within the screen of the rocks until he 
 came to a narrow point, a short distance 
 from which appeared an isle of lofty rock 
 rising in the sea; there, stepping firmly into 
 a wicker boat, he laid his burthen down, 
 took the oar, and moved off. Up the 
 sides of the insulated rocks irregular steps 
 were cut, by which he mounted, still bearing 
 what might indeed seem to be the prey 
 he was bringing to his den. He entered 
 it by his own secret door — for among those 
 rocks was a fortification discernible from 
 the land — and, slipping the finely formed, 
 but comparatively puny body of the uncon- 
 scious Sir Guy from his enormous shoul- 
 ders, he laid it down on the floor of the 
 turret-chamber, unseen by any who occupied 
 that sti'ong abode, for the sun had not yet 
 risen, and no one, save the sleepless chieftain 
 of Fitzclare, was yet siirring around his sea- 
 girt fortress. Two others were afterwards 
 admitted to a knowledge of this occurrence : 
 an occurrence replete with danger to the 
 chief who thus rashly exposed himself to a 
 double (lanaer.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 13 
 
 The present tendency to recover rather 
 than to die, on the part of the English youth, 
 became a source of trouble and anxiety to the 
 old woman who was appointed to watch him ; 
 her profound silence continued to annoy 
 her patient. Days passed without any voice 
 or sound ever meeting his ear ; the appari- 
 tion he had beheld he believed to have been 
 only a delusion of his wandering brain ; but 
 that there was some danger to be appre- 
 hended he understood from the fact that 
 whenever he raised his voice, as people will 
 do when they want their language to be 
 understood, the yellow folds not only ve- 
 hemently shook, but the finger of the old 
 Irishwoman pointed warningly to the door 
 of the cell. Nevertheless, his head was 
 carefully dressed, the wound on his side her 
 medicaments had nearly cured, and Sir Guy 
 become fully convinced that the poor crea- 
 ture did not possess the gift of speech, 
 simply because he was satisfied that if that 
 gift were in her keeping he should have 
 tempted her to use it.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The evening meal was prepared in the rude 
 hall of the rock-built fortress, and a tribe 
 of dependants and retainers awaited there 
 the presence of their chief to take his place 
 at the board. He came at last : slowly 
 stalking into the hall, he waved his hand, as 
 his manner now often was, as a signal for 
 the meal to commence, and turning his 
 back upon them, sat gazing out on the 
 waves that were visible through the open 
 door. 
 
 Their chieftain's air and manner imposed 
 at first a restraint upon the clansmen, but 
 as he sat absorbed in tliought, their voices 
 began to be heard again. Seated on piles 
 of rushes, or benches of rude construction, 
 they talked loudly in their native speech.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 15 
 
 and, notwithstanding the troublesome times 
 in which they lived, they often — 
 
 "Laughed full loud and laughed full long," 
 
 while the chieftain appeared altogether 
 insensible to their noise or mirth. This 
 gravity was apparently participated by one 
 of the vassals at table. A face of remark- 
 able expression, dark and sinister, w^as turned 
 sideways towards the moody chieftain ; the 
 eyes, black, and retreating beneath a promi- 
 nent brow, shot out a fiery gleam indicative 
 of the smouldering passion that was secretly 
 cherished in the soul. 
 
 After some minutes' silent scrutiny, this 
 man rose, and a stranger, who beheld the 
 eiFect of such an action for the first time, 
 could hardly forbear either a laugh or an 
 exclamation of surprise. Judging by the 
 proportions of the head, face, and chest, the 
 figure, while seated, would be said to be six 
 feet high, but, on rising, it abruptly de- 
 scended to the stature almost of a dwarf; 
 when it advanced and stood beside the 
 O'Connor, the length of the entire legs was 
 not greater than that of his from the knee
 
 Id SIR GUY d'kstkiuu:. 
 
 to the foot. Nature could scarcely inflict a 
 moreinortifyingdisappointinent on her work. 
 
 In addition to thus marring what would 
 otherwise have been a fine figure, she had 
 bestowed on this man a singularly pitched 
 tone of voice, high and shrill. That voice 
 was reduced to its lowest key when approach- 
 ing the chief, he said — 
 
 " My lord is sad ; shall Fedlim take the 
 harp, or the Lady Hilda?" 
 
 "Nay," was the answer, "song and tale 
 suit me not now ; when the pride of a house 
 is brought low^, the harp of the bard may be 
 silent." 
 
 " Is it the O'Connor who thus desponds ? 
 The chief of the seven castles !" inquired 
 the follower. 
 
 " Mo(:k ine not, Lawrence ! Thou know- 
 est well that I am no longer what my fathers 
 were — what I once was : I am but the 
 shadow of glory that has passed away. A 
 great part of the inheritance of my fathers 
 hath been given up to the stranger ; that 
 which is left to me I am compelled to hold 
 upon terms their noble, untamed spirits 
 would have spurned."
 
 SIR GUY DESTERRE. 17 
 
 " A peculiar grievance oppresses you, my 
 lord," said the other, in a manner that might 
 imply either a question or an assertion of 
 the fact. 
 
 " Grievance ! — yes, grievance if thou wilt : 
 — Know you not that O'More has fled to 
 the hills? that his fortress has been burned? 
 his cattle seized ?" 
 
 " And the brother of DervoUa was un- 
 aided by the O'Connor 1" exclaimed his 
 listener, as if the exclamation were in- 
 voluntary. 
 
 " Silence !" cried the chief, starting to his 
 feet, and in a voice that made the rude 
 vaulted hall ring to its echoes, stilling the 
 noise that had hitherto filled it. 
 
 " Wherefore goad me thus ?" asked the 
 chief, calming at once his anger, and re- 
 suming his place. 
 
 " Zeal for the honour of his lord some- 
 times outruns his follower's prudence," 
 replied this man, in a tone of wounded 
 feeling. 
 
 " You seek my weal, Lawrence, but 
 I would thou didst not so often probe 
 my heart, and seem to taunt me with my 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 sill GUY d'estekrk. 
 
 powerlessness ; thou well knowest I am but 
 a caged eagle — a prisoned lion ; tliou liast 
 seen how long and fruitlessly I struggled 
 witli the Saxon : Desmond, Eustace, have 
 fallen ; my eldest boy, my gallant son — " 
 The chieftain laid his fiice on his large, open 
 hands, and groaned as he alluded to a fate 
 he could not tell of " My wife, the beloved 
 of my soul, the sister of the O'More, died, 
 almost with her first-born. To save her 
 two other (children, and in the hope of 
 purchasing peace for myself, she made me 
 make terms with the Deputy. The half of 
 my lands were given up ; but then, while 
 we dwelt in peace, O'Neil broke out in arms; 
 ray fidelity, they said, was suspected ; hos- 
 tao;es were to be taken to secure the chiefs 
 from joining him ; my last remaining son was 
 taken, and still is kept in the English Pale. 
 His life depends on my submission — on my 
 actions, even ; and I, knowing that such was 
 the case, retired to this strongliold, wliere 
 I might for a time seclude myself and the 
 fair child whose young life is darkened by 
 the misfortunes of her house. I know that 
 still my remaining lands are coveted, mayhap
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTEKRE. ] 9 
 
 are promised, to the strangers ; slight would 
 be the cause which should furnish a pretence 
 for seizing them." 
 
 " But there was a rescue ?" said Lawrence, 
 whose thoughts had not apparently followed 
 his lord's mournful recapitulation of cir- 
 cumstances he was well acquainted with. 
 
 " Of the O'More's goods ? — yes, and ven- 
 geance, fearful vengeance, taken." 
 
 "Ha ! vengeance is sweet," murmured 
 Lawrence, and again that fiery light shone 
 up in the eye that was directed to the 
 downcast face of his chief. 
 
 " And the O'Connor aided in taking it," 
 he added. 
 
 " I tell thee nay, — I must not, will not — 
 it was restlessness drew me forth that night ; 
 it was self-defence alone." — O'Connor looked 
 up and met the eager, burning gaze that 
 was fastened on him. 
 
 "Vengeance," said Lawrence, adroitly, 
 " is sweet ; it pleaseth me to hear of it. But 
 speech like this is not at all times fitting 
 nor safe. The Lady Hilda fears to ad- 
 venture herself abroad since this has 
 chanced ?"
 
 ^0 SIR GUY d'eSTERKE. 
 
 " She has other cares," said the cliief, not 
 perceiving that the last words were a ques- 
 tion meant to ascertain whetlier the lady 
 was acquainted with the occurrence; "Canna 
 requires her help." And while saying this 
 the O'Connor rose and left the hall, full of 
 thought and heaviness of heart. 
 
 His follower resumed his place on the 
 bench ranged along the wall, and, drawing 
 into a retired corner, set himself to work 
 out the various hints he received from 
 the incautious discourse of his chief. 
 
 The day follo's^dng that discourse, Sir Guy 
 D'Esterre found himself left for a longer 
 time than usual quite alone ; the object 
 of his detestation, the old yellow-headed 
 Celt, having supplied him with an Irish 
 change of linen, and deposited some eatables 
 within his reach, examined his wounds, and 
 departed in a manner that led him to 
 understand she was going to collect some 
 fresh medicaments for his benefit. In a 
 recess of the chamber he discovered the 
 dress and armour he had worn on the day 
 of his misadventure, and, coming to the 
 wise conclusion that his strength would not
 
 SIK GUY d'eSTERRE. 21 
 
 increase by confinement and sick-nursing, 
 he managed to equip himself without much 
 difficulty. A doubt as to whether he was 
 a prisoner or not had often tormented his 
 mind ; it was, therefore, with some impa- 
 tience that he hastened to try if the door 
 of his chamber were secured without. It 
 yielded at once to his hand, and, joyfully 
 completing his toilet, the young man 
 prepared to sally forth and surprise his 
 charitable hosts by his unexpected appa- 
 rition in their family quarters. His door 
 opened into a square hall, of small size, w^ith 
 doors similar to that he had left ; these 
 were easily opened, and admitted him 
 into rooms precisely like the one he had so 
 discontentedly occupied ; but no mode of 
 egress from them could he find. The idea 
 that he was a prisoner began very uncom- 
 fortably to present itself ; but it was com- 
 bated by the fact that there must be a means 
 of entering and leaving the tower, and that 
 the entrance, if he could only find it, might 
 be as open to him as to another. 
 
 His search, however, was vain, and he 
 was forced to come to the conclusion that
 
 22 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 the place in which he was, was designed 
 for secret puq^oses, and the mode of access 
 to it was a concealed one. 
 
 There was no resource but one — to watch 
 the entry of his old guardian, secure her, 
 and depart by the way she came. 
 
 Sir Guy, calming himself by reflection on 
 the facility of effecting this plan, had thrown 
 himself on a bench in the hall or passage of 
 the tower, when a wild exclamation of won- 
 der or fear caused him to start to his feet. 
 Beside him stood the old Celt : how she had 
 got there he knew not. 
 
 " Show me the way out," he exclaimed. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You spoke just now — speak, or you 
 shall never do so more !" 
 
 Not only the head, but the whole of the 
 poor creature's body, shook now. 
 
 The knight grasped her shoulder. 
 
 " Conduct me hence, old crone, or thou 
 diest !" 
 
 She sank on her knees, and, drawing a 
 wooden crucifix from her breixst, fell to 
 prayer, moving her lips with rapidity. Sir 
 Guy felt ashamed of his violence.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 23 
 
 , " Hear me, mother," lie said, more gently, 
 " sorry should I be to do thee harm ; 1 owe 
 thee thanks and recompense, which thou 
 shalt have for thy care of me ; but I must 
 go hence, and without delay. Come now, 
 guide me to the entrance of this cursed 
 lodging, which, sooth to say, is harder to 
 come at than that of a better place. I 
 would not hurt a hair of thy old head to 
 be made the ruler of thy vile land : but lead 
 me out thou shalt, and that without further 
 parley. What ! thy head is shaking again ! 
 Well, then, hear me — I will not hurt thee 
 — but thou shalt never leave this place till 
 I do so too." 
 
 He drew her into the room he had lately 
 occupied, and then, exchanging places with 
 her, left her there while he resumed his seat 
 outside it, taking care not to lose sight of 
 that door lest she should effect an escape. 
 
 Five minutes' meditation, he thought, was 
 enough to subdue her obstinacy, and at the 
 end of that time his impatience to get out 
 led him to try its result. To his astonish- 
 ment, the room was empty ! 
 
 It was so small and so bare that a very
 
 24 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 rapid glance sufficed to show him the old 
 woman was not in it. He kicked away the 
 bed of rushes, under some suspicion, perhaps, 
 that she had in her terror hid beneath it; 
 or perhaps the movement was stimulated 
 by that emotion of anger to which the young 
 knioht, who had hitherto been a rather 
 favoured nursling of Fortune, had latterly 
 become subject. She was not hid beneath 
 the rushes; and Sir Guy's first conviction 
 was that, beyond all controversy, the old 
 hag was a witch. 
 
 " She is a witch," he cried, as he pitched 
 the rushes about in his anger. But a burst 
 of suppressed laughter followed the words. 
 He stood utterly confounded in the centre 
 of the room, gazing around it. 
 
 There was no door but the one ; the walls 
 were pierced, as is usual in fortifications ; — 
 these narrow openings being the only chan- 
 nels of light and air. 
 
 " That was not an old woman's laugh — it 
 was the laughter of a young heart," said the 
 now doubly tantalized Sir Guy, as, rushing 
 to the loophole, he vainly endeavoured to 
 see througli it. A glimpse of the ocean was 
 nil lie could disconi.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 25 
 
 "Yet she canuot be a witch— she used 
 the holy rood," was his sager recollection; 
 and, therefore, that she had got away by 
 mere human, if not by ordinary means of 
 exit, became clear. The laugh he had 
 heard provoked him most of all. With 
 some vexation he recalled the memory of 
 the vision he had fancied he had seen on 
 first regaining consciousness, but which had 
 latterly passed from his thoughts under the 
 belief that it had been a delusion of the 
 brain. 
 
 " Such a being as that, if she were indeed 
 what she seemed, could never mock my 
 misery with her laughter," thought Sir Guy 
 to himself; but what was ludicrous in his 
 own position — a captive in the guardianship 
 of an old nurse— struck him so forcibly that 
 he involuntarily echoed the laugh that had 
 provoked him. It was joined in, evidently 
 close beside him, but the sound was retreat- 
 ing, and smothered or silenced almost im- 
 mediately. 
 
 Many a tale of knights confined in en- 
 chanted bowers was familiar to Sir Guy, 
 but he knew it could not be the old woman
 
 26 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 who prayed with the crucifix that was the 
 enchantress, and if it should be she who 
 laughed so tantalizingly, he fervently wished 
 she would appear. 
 
 Evening drew on ; the setting sun cast 
 its bright rays through the narrow opening 
 in his chamber ; there was food enough to 
 keep him from present starvation in his 
 chamber, but the young knight had now 
 an appetite for something better, and had 
 he seen his old Celt rising like a veritable 
 Avitch through the floor, he would gladly 
 have taken a good supper from her hands. 
 Leaving his room, he paced heavily and 
 moodily through the outer hall and ^the 
 several chambers, of which he had flung all 
 the doors open, in oi-der to see in what 
 manner his strange attendant would come, 
 if come she would. 
 
 His weary rounds ended with the depar- 
 ture of the sunbeams : even in those cell-like 
 chambers he could tell that the soft shade 
 of evening was falling over the earth. List- 
 less and perplexed, he re-entered what he now 
 began to think was indeed his prison-cell. 
 At its threshokl lie stopped with a sui-prise
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 27 
 
 that soon gave way. to pleasure, for there, 
 on the rough misshapen board that served 
 as a table, was spread a good and substantial 
 meal, with a flask of wine. 
 
 Such a repast, though he ate it sitting on 
 the old Celt's block of wood, tended wonder- 
 fully to subdue the irritation of the young 
 soldier's spirits. He began to think that 
 some jest was being played off at his 
 expense, and determined on the morrow to 
 find out the perpetrator of that hearty, 
 child-like, but most provoking laugh ; and 
 with that resolution he gathered together 
 the rushes he had so madly kicked about, 
 recomposed his couch, and consigned him- 
 self, as he thought, to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sleep, nature's best raediciner for the woes 
 that flesh is heir to, would not close the 
 eyes of the much perplexed knight. Where 
 he could be, and with whom; for what 
 purpose he was detained ; and how his libe- 
 ration was to be effected, were naturally the 
 topics on which he pondered. If he was 
 with enemies, why was he so carefully tended ; 
 if with friends, why were they not visible, 
 and why was his freedom restricted. If 
 he were in the hands of robbers, or of the 
 rebel Irish, his ransom would surely be 
 accepted ; but with whom was he to make 
 terms, since the obstinate silence of the old 
 woman, and the mysterious nature of his 
 imprisonment, debarred him from all at- 
 tem})ts at negotiation.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 29 
 
 The sun had not yet fullyrisen on the earth 
 when he uprose from his lowly bed, and, 
 with negligent impatience attiring himself, 
 left his cell, in order to make another tour 
 of inspection through those adjoining it. 
 He had not proceeded far when he perceived 
 a stair that had not been visible the day 
 before, and which he was now convinced 
 had then been masked, and was, at this early 
 hour, incautiously exposed. With a bound 
 he ascended it ; a sudden turn brought upon 
 him a burst of light and air, and a few steps 
 onward placed him on the battlement of 
 the tower. 
 
 With a sense of exultation, of renovation 
 to his enfeebled frame and sickening mind. 
 Sir Guy sprang lightly on the embattled 
 platform that ran round the tower, at an 
 elevation of not more than four or five 
 feet from the windows of the chambers 
 he had left. The ffladdenins; sense of 
 liberty was lost in the feelings suddenly 
 awakened by the scene that now lay before 
 him. From where he stood the rude fortress 
 appeared to crest a vast rock, the surface of 
 which formed a level platform extending
 
 30 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 several yards beneath him, the sides of which 
 were nearly smooth, unbroken, and precipi- 
 tous, affording no visible mode of ascent 
 or descent. At their base the sea, chafed 
 and tossed by reefs and isolated rocks 
 at this stilly time, broke with the loud 
 sound that had been distinguishable within 
 his chamber. But at a little distance it 
 now lay calm and blue, stretching off, 
 unrelieved by any ol)ject on its surface, 
 to the distant horizon where, just as the 
 young man sprang out from his gloomy 
 cell to behold it, the morning sun came 
 forth witli a glorious bound, rising up, as 
 it were, from its bed of waters, and rejoicing 
 as a giant to run his course. 
 
 Guy D'Esterre was an enthusiast in nature: 
 the scene before him caused him to forget his 
 own trouble and perplexity, and it was not 
 until the emotion it excited had subsided, 
 that he became fully sensible how much the 
 sublimity of the scene militated against any 
 attempt of his own to escape from his 
 irksome position. As he leaned on the 
 battlement with an impatient feeling, not 
 unmixed with dismay at finding his capti-
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 31 
 
 vity was too evidently designed, a low sound 
 of voices struck on his ear : they were the 
 first he had heard in this place, with the 
 exception of the terrified cry of his old 
 attendant when she saw her patient was 
 not only alive, but well again. A slight 
 projection of his head allowed him to see 
 that others were apparently enjoying the 
 glorious sight of a sunrise at sea. 
 
 Beneath him, on the platform of rock, 
 and a few yards to one side of the elevated 
 spot he occupied, stood two female figures : 
 one was tall, the other in stature appeared 
 not to have passed the age of childhood. 
 The arm of the elder was round the waist 
 of the younger, who looked up to her face 
 with brown shiny eyes, which seemed rather 
 more intended to gleam in laughter than 
 to melt in tears. The eyes of the other 
 gazed out to tlie sunlit, sparkling ocean, 
 glistening in ripples of gold beneath the 
 uprising sun. 
 
 The heart of Sir Guy thrilled with an 
 emotion to which it had yet been almost 
 a stranger, as he beheld those eyes. The 
 eyes, face, and form, were those with which
 
 32 SIR GUY d'kstkrhe. 
 
 he fancied his wandering senses had invested 
 an unreal being. But she was there in real 
 presence, and was precisely the vision that 
 had bent a face of pity and wonder over 
 him as he lay hardly restored to conscious- 
 ness on his rushy couch. But now the 
 expression of that face, which had appeared 
 to his fancy as one that his guardian angel 
 might present to hhn, was clianged ; a 
 pensiveness amounting to sadness had sup- 
 plied its place. 
 
 The younger girl pointed to the sun- 
 glorying horizon, looking up to her sister's 
 face with a smile of hope. That lovely 
 face bent down upon her childlike head, 
 and a kiss was the only answer. A move- 
 ment, as if to go away, followed. 
 
 With one considerably more rapid Sir 
 Guy swung himself on the parapet, and 
 dropped from the height of a dozen feet 
 upon the rock. The youngest girl screamed, 
 the elder, in silence, but with clasped hands 
 and a look of terror, sprang to the spot 
 where he fell. His unrestored strength 
 caused the shock of such a descent on the 
 rock to be severely felt; and a minute or
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 33 
 
 two passed before he could reply to her 
 terrified exclamation — an exclamation which 
 delighted him not the less that it was made 
 in English. But while he spoke in courtly 
 terms, an aspect of proud severity became 
 plainly legible on the face whose gentleness 
 he had found so captivating. 
 
 "To adventure life or limb thus heed- 
 lessly, methinks a graver cause should be 
 found," she made answer to a speech which, 
 fashioned though it was in the phraseology 
 of commonplace gallantry, was not really 
 untrue to the sentiments that had actuated 
 Sir Guy. 
 
 " Madam," he replied, rather mortified at 
 her look and words, " a grave, if not a 
 graver, cause did exist. Sir Guy D'Esterre 
 sought some one endowed with the power 
 of speech, to whom he might render thanks 
 for the service and care bestowed upon him, 
 and to whom he might also say that, being 
 now restored to health, he was able and 
 willing to depart, and need no longer bur- 
 then their hospitality." 
 
 A singular smile slightly curved the beau- 
 tiful lip of his listener. It said, what indeed 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 SIR GUY i)'p:sterre. 
 
 was the truth, tliat the lady did not give 
 him the least credit for sincerity in thus 
 politely expressing himself. That he had 
 known he was confined as a prisoner, and 
 that his rash descent from the battlements 
 was simply made in the hope of escape, were 
 to her mind obvious facts. 
 
 " You wrong me, lady," said Sir Guy, 
 more coldly, as he read at once the signifi- 
 cancy of an expression easy to be under- 
 stood, — " I came to this country ^n the 
 service of her Grace, the Queen. Sooth to 
 say, it is neither a service nor a land much 
 to my liking! How I came hither I know 
 not ; I am beset with mysteries. That I am 
 among enemies, the charity bestowed on a 
 sufferer forbids me to believe; that I am 
 with friends, the bearing that I now witness 
 scantily allows ine to hope." 
 
 The lady turned her lovely eyes upon 
 his face; the young knight felt his colour 
 mounting high, but an open brow and 
 honest countenance met and stood the calm, 
 inquiring gaze. It was not continued many 
 seconds: tiie deep white eyelids and long 
 black laslies were declined, and the graceful
 
 SIR GUY d'esterrk. 35 
 
 neck drooped, while a slight blush appeared 
 to be repressed by a shade of heavy thought- 
 fulness. 
 
 Sir Guy did not withdraw his answering 
 gaze so quickly. At that moment two good 
 and honest minds had unconsciously ex- 
 changed a sentiment of confidence. 
 
 " Alas !" said the girl, still with downcast 
 head, " alas ! it is even so ! Enemies we are 
 not, friends we cannot be." 
 
 " You speak enigmas, lady — surely this is 
 a castle of enchantment !" cried Sir Guy ; 
 but, as he uttered the words, a large, loose 
 stone, that lay on a projecting part of the 
 building suddenly fell from its place on the 
 rock close beside them. His companion 
 sprang, with a look of almost wild aifright, 
 to his side, yet extending her arm rather as 
 if she would shield him than seek protection 
 from him. Mistaking the object, however, 
 he caught her in his, hastily feeling for the 
 sword he no longer possessed. The little 
 girl, who had shily kept at a distance, ran 
 laughing up to them, crying as she came — 
 
 " Fear not, fear not, there is no one there ; 
 it was the eagle onl}^, Hilda." 
 
 13 2
 
 30 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 " Did you see it, Isabel ?" asked the other, 
 disengaging herself, yet tremblingly ; then, 
 to Sir Guy's surprise, changing her language 
 into Spanish, Avhich was not quite unknown 
 to him, she anxiously inquired if a man's 
 face had not appeared looking over the rock 
 at the stranger. 
 
 "I think not, I am sure not, Hilda; the 
 eagle I saw alight there not five minutes be- 
 fore, and it was hovering round the spot," 
 Isabel, in the same language, answered. 
 
 "Thy name is Hilda, then, fairest lady? — 
 a northern or Norman name, — I, too, am 
 of Norman descent," said Sir Guy, in his 
 softest tones ; for his feelings towards his 
 beautiful warder were considerably softened, 
 or soothed, by the weakness she had shown 
 in clinging, as he fancied, to his protection. 
 AVithout noticing either the tone or rather 
 familiar speech, the lady said — 
 
 " Stranger, our parleying here can do thee 
 no good, but, on the contrary, may do thee 
 harm. Return whence thou earnest." 
 
 The last sentence was a command. Guy 
 D'Esterre opened his fearless brown eyes, 
 and smiled that sort of smile whicli proud,
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 37 
 
 jjowerful man bestows on the petty assump- 
 tion of strength by powerless woman. 
 
 " And if I will not so to do ?" — was 
 his unfinished and rather taunting rejoin- 
 der. 
 
 Hilda shu ddered. She dropped her j oined 
 hands before her with a touching gesture. 
 
 " For my sake — for ours, if not for your 
 own — I implore" — ^ 
 
 Sir Guy bowed low and respectfully. 
 
 " Enough, fair lady ; show me the way 
 back ; I yield me a willing prisoner to thy 
 request." • 
 
 The lady, taking the young girl's hand, 
 preceded hjm in silence to the extremity of 
 the rocky platform, where a secret entrance 
 admitted them to the lower floor of the keep, 
 for such, he now perceived, was the place of 
 his confinement. A concealed door revealed 
 a very narrow flight of stone steps, at the 
 top of which he found himself in utter dark- 
 ness, but his conductors, accustomed to it, 
 went on ; a slightly creaking sound Avas fol- 
 lowed by the admission of fight, and Sir Guy 
 beheld himself at once within his own cell. 
 
 A loAv laugh that was breaking from the
 
 38 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 rosy lips of the younger girl, and only re- 
 pressed by the hand of the elder, reminded 
 him of the provocation he had before expe- 
 rienced ; he felt glad to know that such wild 
 laughter had not proceeded from her whose 
 face and form betokened a mind as dignified 
 as sweet. 
 
 Tlie escape of his old Celtic attendant 
 now appeared to him to have been easily ef- 
 fected without the necessity of witchcraft. 
 The rough walls of this small chamber were 
 thickly set with pebbles and shells ; a false 
 wall or screen, made exactly to correspond, 
 formed the means of communication with 
 the dark passage by which access and egress 
 were obtained. The extreme simplicity of 
 the device prevented it from being easily dis- 
 covered ; but without the knowledge of the 
 means by which it was moved, the discovery 
 would have been useless, "While his pride 
 was soothed by thus ascertaining that he was 
 not, as he had suspected, merely made a 
 sport of since his recovery to health, the 
 anxiety he felt as to his detention was redou- 
 bled. As his warders, with a lowly salutation, 
 were about to leave him in solitude, —
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 39 
 
 " I crave one word," said Sir Guy, with an 
 earnest gravity that made tliem pause. " I 
 have done your bidding, lady, and mean, as 
 far as in me lies, to obey your behests ; it is 
 but justice now I would ask for." 
 
 " We thought the word was unknown to 
 Saxons," said Hilda ; " you must pardon us, 
 therefore, sir knight, if we are unable to 
 discuss it with you." 
 
 An impatient movement of Sir Guy's foot 
 on the floor spoke of anger, which even his 
 gallantry could scarcely repress. 
 
 " Such taunts, madam, are needless. I 
 have said I like not my service in this land ; 
 if injustice be done to its natives, it is not 
 willingly done by me. I demand, then, to 
 know for what purpose I am detained here. 
 If ransom be the object, it is forthcoming." 
 
 A look of intense pain was the only reply. 
 
 " As to why you are detained, I fear me, 
 you, and we too, shall shortly know," after 
 a long pause she said, in a voice of sorrow, 
 and turned to leave him. 
 
 " Lady, I conjure you," he cried, springing 
 in her way, "tell me, at least, into whose 
 power I have fallen — by whom I am de- 
 tained ?"
 
 40 SIR Guy d'esterre. 
 
 The same gaze that had lately made them 
 almost ""ood friends was a";aiii fastened on 
 his countenance. 
 
 " Is it truth ?" said she thoughtfully, and 
 speaking as if to herself. " Tell me," she 
 added, " as truly as you hope for peace here 
 or hereafter, know you not, indeed, with 
 whom you are?" 
 
 " Is he the rebel chief, O'More ?" 
 
 " Rebel ! —but let it pass. No, the O'More 
 hath nousjht to do with this." 
 
 " Then, truly, as I hope for peace and 
 happiness on earth or in heaven, I can guess 
 no other." 
 
 " The blessed saints be praised !" exclaimed 
 the lady, with a look of gratitude that ren- 
 dered her lovely face still lovelier. " Fare- 
 well, Sir Guy, we will labour for your de- 
 liverance, and pray that it may be speedily 
 accomplished." 
 
 "Thanks! thanks!" cried the young man, 
 warmly; "the day that restores me my free- 
 dom shall leave me thy captive. Till then," 
 he added, "will not my gentle warder ligliten 
 the miseries of solitude by lier occasional 
 presence ?"
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTEERE. 41 
 
 A deep blush during this speech had 
 overspread the usually pale face of the 
 girl to whom it was addressed. She bent 
 over her young companion's head, perhaps 
 in order to conceal it, and spoke to her in 
 a whisper. Then, as if an agreement had 
 been made between them, she replied to his 
 petition. 
 
 " We will do what lies in our little power 
 to lighten those miseries. But I bethink 
 me," she said with a smile that animated her 
 whole countenance, "that captive knights 
 are wont to give their parole of honour, by 
 which they are bound to keep within the 
 limits prescribed for their enlargement, or 
 to render themselves to durance when the 
 term of liberty expires." 
 
 Sir Guy bowed with gravity in acquies- 
 cence. 
 
 " You will, then, find henceforth," she con- 
 tinued, " the door leading to the battlements 
 always left open, as it was, accidentally, at the 
 early hour when you discovered it this morn- 
 ing. Your word must be given to keep only 
 on the same eastern side on which you were 
 just now; and on no account whatever to 
 turn from it to the north, south, or west."
 
 42 SIR GUY d'esteure. 
 
 " My parole is given, fair warder, on the 
 honour of knighthood. But may not your 
 captive, still keeping to the east of his prison 
 tower, be permitted to descend on the rock 
 below?" 
 
 " Such a daily exercise, methinks, would 
 become severe," she gravely answered, while 
 the little girl broke into an irrepressible 
 laugh." 
 
 "Perhaps use might accustom my limbs 
 to it," said he, joining in the laugh with 
 restored spirits ; " but, by my troth, ladies, I 
 would undertake such a daily exercise with 
 good wiU, if, instead of that yellow-headed 
 crone, I might behold the faces that impelled 
 me to essay it this morn." 
 
 " Nay," said Hilda, " we accept no homage 
 at the expense of our faithful nurse: we 
 forbid your bounds to be broken by any 
 such rash descent." And she hastily re- 
 closed the screen between herself and the 
 prisoner, leaving him with abundant matter 
 for thought and speculation, wliich, with 
 the discussion of a very substantial break- 
 fast, might tend to beguile some portion of 
 his drearv hours.
 
 SIR GUY d'ksterre. 43 
 
 Before the latter occupation had ended, a 
 low chanting sound, appearing to rise from 
 underneath his apartment, suspended his 
 operations; he had heard it, he thought, 
 during his illness ; but now it became loud 
 and distinct, so that the voices were as 
 plainly heard by him as if he had been in 
 the chapel, or oratorj^, whence this sweet 
 and sacred harmony came. 
 
 "The day drags on, though clouds keep 
 out the sun," and so, though the rest of that 
 day was uncheered by any further glimpse 
 of his morning apparitions. Sir Guy con- 
 trived to get through it, being considerably 
 aided thereto by a book which he found 
 conveyed into his chamber, together with 
 his noontide repast, during another of his 
 elevated walks. 
 
 That the terrified old nurse would hence- 
 forth keep out of his way, he now perceived, 
 and any visitor being almost better than 
 none, he repented of the rudeness he had 
 showed to her. 
 
 Night had fallen while he read, when a 
 slight noise caused him to start up. A 
 small packet attached to a string fell through
 
 44 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 the narrow window to the floor. Sir Guy 
 hastily seized the lamp that was still burn- 
 ing, and, untying the packet, found it only 
 to contain these words, written in misshapen 
 characters : — " If you still desire relief from 
 your friends, enclose a token in this packet, 
 and drop it from the window." 
 
 Never doubting but the merry little Isabel 
 was the author of this trick, which he sup- 
 posed would insure him the society of his 
 fair wardens on the morrow, he drew off a 
 ring bearing his cipher, and, enclosing it 
 as he was directed, threw it through the 
 window.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Wearily had passed a long summer's day. 
 How many times the unfortunate captive 
 had patrolled the eastern side of the battle- 
 ments of his prison tower he had not kept 
 count of, but he knew that, save for the 
 benefit of air, light, and a view of the ocean, 
 his walks had all been in vain. No other 
 sight had met his searching eye ; no sound, 
 save the monotonous roll of the waves, had 
 relieved his ear. 
 
 The glaring sun had moved to the west, 
 where he was prohibited by his parole from 
 following it ; and, in the hope that the cool- 
 ness of the platform rock would now tempt 
 the visitors who had there watched the sun- 
 rise to enjoy the refreshment of its departure. 
 Sir Guy D'Esterre had once more sallied
 
 46 SIU GUV D'lSTi UKK. 
 
 forth from his cell, and paced again liis 
 sentry wjdk with measured tread, the sound 
 of which might have been plainly audible to 
 the dwellers in the lower apartments of the 
 keep, if such there were ; but, heard or not, 
 that tread was permitted to go on undis- 
 turbed ; and, with a strong sense of dis- 
 gust at his lately accorded privilege, the 
 discontented prisoner returned to his cell. 
 
 Seated on the block of wood, with limbs 
 stretched down to their utmost extent be- 
 fore him, and arms — must we say it? — 
 raised in like manner in the contrary direc- 
 tion. Sir Guy D'Esterre yawned most fear- 
 fuUy. 
 
 This was his first imprisonment, and that, 
 considering the times he lived in, is not 
 saying little for his good fortune or discreet 
 conduct. It is no marvel, then, that lie 
 took it impatiently, especially under the 
 mysterious and tantalizing circumstances 
 that attended it. 
 
 His yawn was interrupted in the same way 
 that bis breakfast had been, but this time b}' 
 a fuller and diviner burst of sacred harmony. 
 It was the hour of vespers, and one voice,
 
 SIR GUY d'esteuke. 47 
 
 that floated up and around him in rich and 
 heavenly tones, was a woman's : he heard 
 another also, and was satisfied that both his 
 lovely warder and the young girl whom he 
 supposed was her sister were assisting in the 
 divine service, the performance of which, 
 hope, or perhaps vanity, suggested had been 
 removed into his immediate vicinity with a 
 view to his consolation. 
 
 Another reflection speedily checked this 
 pleasure. " Was it thus, then, she engaged 
 to lighten the miseries of my solitude ! Pooh ! 
 After all, there is something nun-like about 
 that girl. What a noble lady abbess she 
 would make ! — severe and cold enough — and 
 Avith that proud bearing and graceful sta- 
 ture ! They say the cloistered nun knows 
 not of earthly sympathies. Such a face as 
 hers must change when the heart it so plainly 
 reveals becomes thus insensible. Well ! nuns 
 are out of fashion in these days, as well as tlie 
 Mass — though the people of this cursed land 
 are still Papishers. I would fain speak with 
 this strange damsel again, were it only to 
 revoke my parole, and tell her I would seek 
 by all means I could devise to escape from 
 this den.
 
 48 SIR GUY d'ksterre. 
 
 With the thought the weary knight arose 
 and regained his post on the battlement. 
 The calm scene before him was soothing. 
 The light of day still lingered, and blended 
 with that of the moon, which stood pale and 
 clear in the deep blue summer sky, its beams, 
 as the daylight faded, faintly glittering in 
 the rippling sea. Sir Guy leaned over the 
 parapet, feeling something of the poetic spirit 
 of the hour and scene, which, as these always 
 do, recalled his mind to other times, and 
 to companions and friends from whom he 
 was so strangely parted, and who were in 
 ignorance of his fate. . 
 
 " They think me dead, slain in a miserable 
 foray — ^knocked on the head as a midnight 
 robber by one of the vile Irishry. Would 
 that I had never given my word — I would 
 now gain my liberty, or lose my life." He 
 projected his head over the parapet as these 
 thoughts arose, and very complete was the 
 change of feeling which the action produced. 
 
 Almost beneath the balcony, so nearly be- 
 neath where he stood as to be hitherto un- 
 seen, was a singular group. An aged man 
 in a loose, flowing, white robe, with a beard
 
 sill GUY d'esterre. 49 
 
 still whiter descending half a yard in length 
 upon his breast, and hair as colourless, pro- 
 fusely covering his shoulders, sat on a rude 
 seat, holding before him the long celebrated 
 harp of his country. Beside him stood the 
 two young girls ; the costume of the elder, al- 
 though equally that of her nation, contrasting 
 with the simpler dress of the bard. A kirtle 
 of dark blue was surmounted by a curiously 
 fashioned mantle of a deep golden colour, 
 partly drawn in folds to the throat, where 
 it was fastened by one of those large gold 
 brooches now familiar to the antiquary, and 
 falling in a point behind almost to the feet of 
 the wearer. Her black hair, of a wondrous 
 length and richness, was gathered over a large 
 silver bodkin, but still fell in long plaits from 
 her shoulders, whose graceful slope the pe- 
 culiar form of the mantle was adapted to 
 reveal. 
 
 All three were silent : the bard, leaning 
 his white head upon the harp, seemed full of 
 thought, or was, perhaps, meditating a theme 
 for song. Scarcely would the prospect of 
 his deliverance have tempted Sir Guy to 
 break the silence, or disturb the group, on 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 SIK GUY d'kSTEKRE. 
 
 which his eyes rested with sensations of in- 
 terestthathad been hitherto unknown to him. 
 
 A wild prelude rang out from the harp, 
 stealing up on the sea-wafted breeze of even- 
 ing to his ear ; a voice of wild and melan- 
 choly melody followed. It was the wail of 
 the Genius of the land. The captive knight 
 involuntarily sighed over the departed glory, 
 of which the diro-e was suno;. 
 
 When it ceased, the old man again bent 
 his head on the harp. A short conversation 
 in Irish, unintelligible to the listener, fol- 
 lowed, and then the little girl, taking up a 
 small instrument, seated herself on the rock, 
 and the rich voice he had heard at vespers 
 accompanied her, as they sung together 
 a Spanish hymn. Sir Guy, when they 
 stopped, leaned down, and in a subdued 
 tone breathed in words some of the enrap- 
 tured feeling he had experienced. The little 
 girl started, and from shyness, fear, or to 
 repress her ready laughter, covered her face 
 with her open hands. A deep flush suffused 
 that of the elder, but, without turning 
 it to the admiring knight, she held up her 
 finger as an admonitory and warning signal.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. .51 
 
 "More mysteries," said Sir Guy, with 
 irritation, to himself; " they must neither 
 see nor hear me now. I wish they would 
 at least sing to me what a common mortal 
 might understand." 
 
 But a thought darted to his brain, creat- 
 ing a sudden pain, the origin of which 
 he was unconscious of — was this Hilda the 
 wife of some jealous tyrant, some savage of 
 the Irishry, whose displeasure she dreaded 
 to excite by her kindness to his prisoner ? 
 The fear she had shown when some observer 
 was suspected to be on the rock, the alhi- 
 sions he had heard made in Spanish — of 
 which language he understood more than 
 they supposed — to the present absence and 
 expected return of someone at whose disposal, 
 it would seem, his fate lay, and for whom 
 she acted as deputy — this Hashed upon him, 
 like a new light on a bewildered mind, but 
 accompanied with a sensation exceedingly 
 disagreeable, and one that Sir Guy D'Esterre, 
 had he been more experienced in such 
 cases, might probably have pronounced to 
 be very like that of jealousy itself 
 
 " What right has any Irish savage, and 
 
 E 2 
 
 OWJVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 SIR GUY d'estehke. 
 
 rebel into the bargain, to such a wife as 
 that?" he indignantly asked himself, as 
 there was no other to put the question to. 
 " It is absurd ; improbable — every way an 
 impossibility ; — nevertheless, if she will 
 neither look at nor speak to me, I will 
 neither look at nor listen to her longer." 
 
 And with an emotion of spite and ab- 
 solute craving to avenge himself on some 
 one, or on anything, Sir Guy went back 
 to his cell, and spent his irritation on 
 the wooden blocks and the rushes of his 
 couch. 
 
 His precipitate retreat was observed, and 
 not unlamented. 
 
 "You see now that he will never be 
 satisfied," said the little girl, " he will go 
 from bad to worse — when he gets an inch 
 of liberty he Avill want an ell. So he will 
 go on till you never can hold him ; he will 
 break bounds some day and get clean away. 
 Then will he to the Saxon camp, and 
 Morven — ah ! Hilda, — may not some evil 
 happen to Morven from this ?" 
 
 Hilda drew the little head upon her 
 breast.
 
 SIR GUY DESTERRE. i}6 
 
 " Sweet Isabel, fear not thus. Morven is 
 very dear to me also. But, Isabel, sure I 
 am that concern for his safety should lead 
 us to make this stranger our friend." 
 
 " You are always right, Hilda, always, — 
 the stranger is of noble and gracious pre- 
 sence, handsome withal — is he not, Hilda ? 
 — those brown eyes looked so bright and 
 fearless yester-morn when he held you in 
 his arm." 
 
 "Cease, dear one! — such prattle suits us 
 not now. Thy loving heart, my Isabel, 
 outgrows thy years." 
 
 "I am fifteen — fifteen, and well nigh a 
 fourth of another year; and of Spanish birth," 
 she said, with a pretty boastfulness. 
 
 " And already a plighted wife," said Hilda, 
 in a voice of grave and tender sadness ; 
 " the betrothed of a hostage in the English 
 Pale." The shining eyes of the little girl 
 were sufi'used — 
 
 "• Hilda, I would fain go as a minstrel boy, 
 or disguised as a page, or an old fortune- 
 teller, to the English camp, to learn tidings 
 of Morven." 
 
 Hilda sighed.
 
 54 siK GUY d'esterke. 
 
 " My brother's silence wearies me, too," 
 she said, — " the only brother left to me — he 
 will be thine one day, Isabel, if he live, and 
 then I shall be alone — yet not alone." 
 
 Isabel clung to her companion. 
 
 " I know now thy thoughts, most naughty 
 Hilda : a convent and a sister's hood are 
 floating before thy fancy." 
 
 " -N ay, dear child, thou art wrong now ; it 
 is true, such a fancy often visits me, but now 
 I thought only of the other, the first and 
 strongest of the ties of earth which must 
 bind me to it, though Morven and thou wert 
 gone. He will return to-morrow, and I 
 tremble to think of what will be his state 
 when he hears that the Saxon soldier he 
 sheltered and succoured from motives of 
 pity is not only alive and well, but is a 
 knight of consideration in the service of 
 Elizabeth of England." 
 
 " But if he only succoured and sheltered 
 him here ?" said Isabel. 
 
 "Alas! how vainly would such causes be 
 represented at the court of the Deputy ! and 
 besides, tlie truth must be told, it was from 
 his hand the Saxon knight met his wound.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 55 
 
 A less offence is readily construed into an 
 act of rebellion." 
 
 "And then, his hostage?" — cried Isabel, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 " Nay, weep not, mavourneen," said Hilda, 
 fondly, yet with sadness : " weep not till 
 cause for weeping come. I trust this knight ; 
 I pray that others may do so, too ; did it 
 rest with me, he should ere now have been 
 sent hence." 
 
 " Truly," said the lighter-minded Isabel, 
 smiling among her tears, " he has given us 
 some pastime in this dreary solitude ; but 
 for all that, rather than that one lock of 
 Morven's head should fall, I could wish his 
 comely form were now where some folk deem 
 it to be." 
 
 " "Wicked sprite !" whispered a voice above 
 them, so low that they heard it not ; for, his 
 vexation being soon expended, the object of 
 all their perplexity had wandered back to his 
 former station, and, concealed by a buttress, 
 was nearer to them than he had been before. 
 
 Some light dawned on the perplexities of 
 his case. The discourse to which he had 
 been a listener — the bard having withdrawn,
 
 5(3 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 and the girls, not suspecting tlie knight's re- 
 turn, having spoken so audibly that, in the 
 stillness which reigned around, every word 
 was distinct — was full of interest to him, not 
 only on his own account, but for the family 
 story of which it gave him a glimpse. That 
 Hilda's anxietj^didnot arise fromfear of a hus- 
 band's jealousy, his vanity ceased to suggest ; 
 but whether a husband were in the family 
 story or not, he could not determine. 
 
 The facts of his case, -which he gathered 
 from it, were these. He had been conveyed 
 to this island-fortress in an apparently dying 
 state, from a benevolent desire of saving him 
 from the infuriated clan of O'More ; the im- 
 pulse, rashly yielded to, had been followed 
 by regret and anxiety: he was kept in secret, 
 lest the fact of his being assaulted and de- 
 tained should be known at the English camj), 
 and thus endanger the life of one of those 
 hostages who, according to a recent practice, 
 had been taken by the English Lord Deputy 
 as a pledge for the submission and fidelity of 
 his father's clan. 
 
 Such reflections were l)r()ken oil' by the 
 voice of Hilda. She liad sat in silent
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 57 
 
 thought, seldom finding it necessary to an- 
 swer all the wild speeches of her younger 
 companion. 
 
 " Isabel," she said, but in a voice provok- 
 ingly indistinct, "tell me, are you certain 
 that you saw the eagle yonder yester-morn, 
 when the fragment fell from that projecting 
 rock?" 
 
 " When you clung to the Saxon soldier ? 
 — Yes, I certainly thought I saw it, but it 
 was gone instantly : but wherefore look so 
 sad for that ?" 
 
 " I fear some treachery," Hilda answered ; 
 " I fear there is a traitor among us ; old 
 Canna doubts there is, and she is wiser than 
 most. What if he were even now to depart 
 to the Saxons, and give tidings of this?" 
 
 AVith a bound she started from her seat, 
 and vanished within the concealed entrance 
 to the lower apartments of the tower. 
 
 Young Isabel more slowly arose, and, 
 facing to where Sir Guy was, stood lookino- 
 onward with fully opened and rather won- 
 dering eyes : her child-like figure, her inno- 
 cent, merry face, and fawn-like shyness, 
 rendering it diflicult to believe that already
 
 58 SIR GUY d'esterue. 
 
 her heart had awakened to the emotions of 
 womanhood. The captive knight, leaning 
 over the parapet, addressed her aloud. 
 
 Trembling, blushing, uncertain whether 
 to fly or to stand and listen, she remained 
 as if transfixed, gazing up like the frightened 
 child who looks anxiously in the face whose 
 expression it fears. It was but a moment ; 
 and then, leaping from the slight elevation 
 she stood upon, with outstretched hands she 
 fled as if from the sight of a monster, and, 
 overtaking the more stately Hilda, cried 
 with vehemence — 
 
 " He has heard all — every word — what I 
 said about him, too !" 
 
 " He has heard little that can do us hurt," 
 the other answered calmly, " save thy silly 
 prattle, thou simple one ; there was nought 
 said I would not wish he might know. There- 
 fore, though we designed it not, I am not 
 grieved that it so chanced. I seek for 
 Canna or Fedlim, Isabel, for I must know 
 if any retainer be absent." 
 
 Sir Guy D'Estcrre meantime, amused at 
 the little runaway, leaned on the parapet, 
 and looked at the moon ; a solace ^•ery ge-
 
 SIR GUY DESTERRE. 59 
 
 nerally indulged in by persons in like cir- 
 cumstances. Its light had now become 
 strong ; the scenery was almost as clear as 
 in the day, and the golden beams fell in 
 long, bright, quivering lines upon the stilly 
 sea. He thought, as we all at such seasons 
 do, of past times, and thus diverted his 
 gloomier reflections from the present.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The anxiety Sir Guy had felt concerning 
 his own position had been all along mingled 
 with a large portion of curiosity concerning 
 the family history of the people among 
 whom he found himself so singularly placed. 
 That such a person as Hilda Fitzclare existed 
 in a land so uncivilized, he had previously 
 had no idea, and she was daily becoming 
 to him still more a source of wonder, united 
 to a considerable degree of interest. Their 
 intercourse was becoming frequent, and, 
 though evidently the cause of constant 
 apprehension on her part, he felt that she 
 had lost the reserve, and even acrunony 
 of manner, with which she had at first 
 treated him. She even went so far one 
 (hiv as to ackiiowled;:e that she considered
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 61 
 
 his present service an accident merely of 
 his position, and his duty to his Queen 
 rather a misfortune to be pitied than a crime 
 to be resented. 
 
 " My present service is as hateful to me 
 as it is to most others employed in it," said 
 Sir Guy. " Yet," he added, with a smile, 
 " I have not heretofore deemed it a misfor- 
 tune to serve the most glorious Princess 
 that Europe, or the world, has ever seen 
 upon a throne." 
 
 Hilda regarded him for a moment with 
 an inquiring expression, and then said — 
 
 " Is that your real sentiment, permit 
 me to ask, or merely the current one 
 which all use in addressing your Queen ?" 
 
 " It is my real sentiment ; one which 
 posterity will verify. Do you not agree in 
 it, fair lady?" 
 
 " I think," said Hilda, slowly, ' " that if 
 report say true, EHzabeth of England 
 unites in her character, and manifests in 
 her conduct, the greatest and noblest qua- 
 lities of men to the lowest folhes, or the 
 worst, most detestable vices of women."' 
 
 Sir Guy stared, and then broke into a 
 lauoh.
 
 C2 SIR GUY d'kSTKKKE. 
 
 '' Heaven grant me a good deliverance if 
 ever I come to be tried by a judgment so 
 keen," he said, carelessly waiving a discussion 
 which few of his country would be incau- 
 tious enough to continue. Diverging into 
 another track, he continued the conversation 
 by remarking that the condition of Ireland 
 was a sore grievance to the heart of his 
 royal mistress. 
 
 " Since Mountjoy's war," he said, " she has 
 been heard to say she had sent wolves, not 
 shepherds, to care for this land, since they 
 had left her but ashes and carcases to reign 
 over. She complains, and justly, that her 
 treasury is wasted, her soldiers slaughtered, 
 and no end gained." 
 
 " Why not, then, send us just rulers, 
 and cause them to administer equitable 
 laws?" 
 
 "Why, sooth to say, lady, your land 
 appears to me to resemble that enchanted 
 island on which whosoever landed straight- 
 way lost his senses and ran mad. For my 
 part, the best wish I would utter for a 
 friend who came to govern or to serve in it, 
 would be for a fair wind to blow him from 
 thence."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 63 
 
 " Discourteous knight !" said the lady, 
 with what he fancied was only a playfully 
 assumed air of offenc^e, " know you not we 
 are of the land you revile? — at least," she 
 added, as if correcting herself, " we claim 
 to be more than half so." 
 
 "And for the other half," he rather 
 eagerly interposed, " English, I trust?" 
 
 "Nay, not one drop of English blood 
 ever has, ever shall — at least, I believe so, — 
 mingle with that of our race," the lady 
 replied, speaking proudly ; but a bright 
 blush and a slight air of confusion showed 
 some involuntary hesitation in her intended 
 affirmation. 
 
 "No," she continued, elevating her some- 
 what stately head, " my mother's mother 
 was a Spanish dame ; my mother lived in 
 Spain till her marriage, and sent me there 
 at an early age. I was brought home 
 to see her before her death, and after that 
 returned again, until the law, forbidding 
 persons to send their children for education 
 to foreign lands, caused my father — who 
 feared, on my brother's account, to involve 
 himself with the Government — to order me
 
 64 sill GUY i)'i;sTi:i{!{i:. 
 
 home. Then this dear child, my Isabel, 
 whose father, an exiled Irishman, died in 
 Spain, and her mother, a Spanish lady, 
 being also dead, left her to my care, accom- 
 panied me here to share all the miseries 
 and uncertainties of such a home." 
 
 Sir Guy appeared to be hitently listening 
 to all this little family story, which, in 
 truth, he had been rather curious to hear ; 
 but one part of it had, in reality, fastened 
 on and engrossed his attention. That face 
 he had seen before : he knew it — even when 
 it appeared to his confused brain but as a 
 spiritual vision, it was still one that had been 
 beheld before. His gaze was now so earnest, 
 so wondering, that Hilda turned her head 
 haughtily away. 
 
 " Remember you Cadiz, lady ?" he asked, 
 with grave deliberation, while all the time 
 he felt his heart pant for the answer, " re- 
 member you the convent ?" 
 
 But ere he could finish, the averted face 
 was turned back ; the beautifully expressive 
 eyes filled with tears, and the bright colour 
 that glowed on the usually pale face made 
 those eyes seem more dark and lovely.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 65 
 
 " Methought, even when you lay senseless, 
 that you were the same," she said ; " at least, 
 if unrememberecl, I have thought of Cadiz, 
 and of Santa Maria, as often as we have 
 seen your face, or heard your voice — that 
 gallant knight who, we were told, leaped 
 after the banner of Essex from its walls, 
 and who, generous as brave, restrained 
 the rude soldiers of England from violence, 
 and, with the noble Essex, preserved our 
 convent and its treasures from their fury !" 
 
 " Its treasures ? — its best of treasures !" 
 added Sir Guy. " Remember you, also, the 
 young girl, the wonderfully beautiful child, 
 who stood in that convent chapel, one hand 
 grasping the holy rood, the other holding 
 to her side a weeping babe, — so calm, so 
 haughty, defiant, was her aspect, that the 
 conqueror of Cadiz might have owned her 
 power ?" 
 
 "It was a dreadful moment," she said, 
 without raising her eyes, or directly reply- 
 ing to his speech ; "but already I had known 
 one still more so, — here in my own country, 
 when my poor brother was killed, and our 
 father's castle fired." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 "And then her words," continued the 
 English knight, as if he were talking to 
 himself, and untempted, even by this fresh 
 glimpse into the lady's family history, to 
 turn from the still more interesting picture 
 that had been for some years fresh to his 
 memory, "her words, as she stood facing 
 the rude soldiers who had dared to enter 
 that hallowed retreat, — ' Ye call yourselves 
 men and Christians ; these are women in 
 Christ's sanctuary!'" 
 
 Hilda's frame seemed to thrill with a 
 sensation that sent the blood to her finely 
 formed neck and white temples ; hastily she 
 pressed her finger tops upon her eyes, 
 concealing her face from the gaze that was 
 fastened upon her. 
 
 The emotion was subdued as quickly as 
 it rose. 
 
 " You remember childish words and bear- 
 ing, sir knight," she said, "])ut to excuse 
 the forwardness of the little maid you must 
 also remember that she was the only one 
 there who knew the English tongue, or 
 understood the reply of the captain of that 
 fierce band, when, rushing in. he di-ove them
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. ()7 
 
 back, and then, presenting the hilt of his 
 sword to the frightened child, said these 
 words in answer:— 'We trust to prove 
 worthy of the names we call ourselves. 
 Use this against my breast if aught of harm 
 be done by us against thee or Christ's 
 servants and sanctuary !" 
 
 " The fair child did not take the sword, 
 however," he replied, smiling, " and well it 
 was for me that her delicate hands refused 
 it, for though ready at the moment to yield 
 myself, rescue or no rescue, both the gallant 
 Essex and myself had sharp work for our 
 swords the next minute." 
 
 " Well do I remember that blast which 
 sounded at our door, and how you rushed 
 away," said Hilda, forgetting that till then 
 she had spoken as of a third person, " and, 
 though a guard was placed round our house, 
 we saw our preserver no more." 
 
 " No ; because, I believe, by some mistake I 
 was deemed by the people to be an invader 
 rather than a preserver of that house; and my 
 soldiers found me left for dead on the ground. 
 1 had scarcely recovered of the wound 
 when Essex was obliged, by the jealousy of 
 
 F 2
 
 68 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 his rivals, and to his rage and indignation, to 
 resign the possession of Cadiz ; and the me- 
 mory of that fearless child, and of the trem- 
 bling nunswho were her instructors, crowding 
 round their abbess at the altar, — while she, 
 alone and erect, fronting the danger, protect- 
 ing the little one, and protected herself only 
 by the tall cross, has been to me ever since 
 a memory-picture, Avhich it may now be my 
 lot to have supplanted by another." 
 
 She did not attend to the last words, so as 
 to feel their meaning. * 
 
 " That noble Essex I" she said — " worthy of 
 a better age, of better circumstances. He 
 should have lived in the glorious times of 
 chivalry, instead of wasting liis prime of life 
 as the guarded, fondled, darling of a care- 
 taking old woman. Generous as brave, he 
 guarded from insult and robbery the town 
 he had taken ; treated the women with 
 chivalrous respect, and preserved inviolate 
 the religious communities which in his own 
 land would have been made a prey. Well 
 did the Infanta admire him, and truly did the 
 King he fought against say of him that such 
 a gentleman was rare among the heretics!"
 
 SIR GUY d'esteere. 69 
 
 " Heretics ! foul, dishonouring word," said 
 Sir Guy, with rising choler. " Thus does his 
 HoHness of Rome brand all nations who re- 
 fuse subjection to his universal dominion ; 
 no matter how closely soever their tenets may 
 approach to his own ; nay, if they were the 
 same altogether. This very land, when the 
 seat of learning and of the true faith, was 
 held to be heretical, till our second Henry 
 brought it into subjection to Rome. This it 
 is that perpetuates or increases strife in this 
 wretched land ; for, having excommunicated 
 our Queen, she must prohibit here a form 
 of religion which acknowledges her subjects 
 to be also the subjects of the Pope, who ab- 
 solves them from their alleo;iance to her bv 
 way of binding them to himself" 
 
 " Your exposition is a learned one, sir 
 knight ; but let me add to it the slight know- 
 ledge which our own family history gives me 
 as to the cause of this heart-wearying strife 
 and turmoil in this land, which you truly call 
 a wretched one. It would seem to me that 
 a new seed of rancour and confusion is now 
 planted here, but this will only add to the 
 original evil ; because, if religion w^ere the
 
 70 SIK GUY d'eSTERUE. 
 
 cause, or the Pope the omnipotent ruler you 
 say, wherefore was it that in the late reign, 
 that of Queen Mary, who turned the new re- 
 lio-ion out and re-established the old, the case 
 was nearly the same : war went on with her 
 too ? No ! from the time of the Danes to 
 the present, the mixture of races, the clashing 
 interests of continually fresh-planted settlers, 
 have caused this strife. My father's uncle, 
 O'Connor, was kept prisoner in the Tower 
 by Mary, although he was a rigid Catholic. 
 When pardoned, he returned to reclaim his 
 lands, but found they were to be bestowed 
 on the Lord Deputy's followers, who grudged 
 a release that so inconvenienced them. The 
 holy name of Christ is now, indeed, begin- 
 ning to be made a war-cry ; and in future 
 years it may be still more so ; yet the change 
 in religion has only aggravated, not caused, 
 the distractions we suffer. There are many 
 who would, and do, part with life rather than 
 with faith ; but there are many who part with 
 faith rather than with gold. Here we may 
 even see one who serves the altar, or who 
 has served it, first as a reformed priest ; then, 
 by Mary's order, as a Catholic priest; and 
 
 I
 
 SIR GUY d'ESTERRE. 71 
 
 afterwards, at Elizabeth's command, as a 
 Protestant ! You, sir knight, are of your 
 Queen's religion ?" 
 
 " Even as you are, lady ; we all must 
 be so." 
 
 " I believe she even calls herself the little 
 Pope," said Hilda : " it is a curious fact 
 in the world's history that a woman should 
 fill such an ofS.ce. But then, her wor- 
 shippers address her in terms suited only 
 to God Himself, which is going some steps 
 beyond the subjects of his Holiness." 
 
 Sir Guy was spared the difficulty of re- 
 plying by the appearance of the old nurse, 
 who beckoned her young mistress and foster- 
 child to her. Their conference was not 
 long, but the latter came from it in agita- 
 tion. 
 
 "Our intercourse must now cease," she 
 said, rather hurriedly ; " I crave pardon 
 for requesting you to retire within the 
 tower." 
 
 Sir Guy bowed. 
 
 "You have my parole, lady," he said, a 
 little haughtily ; " but when, 1 pray you, is 
 this mystery likely to end?"
 
 72 SIR GUY d'ksterre. 
 
 " Heaven only knows ! — when — how !" 
 she exclaimed, and dropped her clasped 
 hands on her breast. " Oh ! that this mo- 
 ment all these miseries should end, and the 
 angels take me from this fearful world of 
 sin and crime." 
 
 "And you will not trust me?" said Sir 
 Guy, stepping closer to her, — " you will not 
 let me know if I could serve you ?" 
 
 " Serve me ! Oh, no ! I think not of my- 
 self — would to Heaven we had never met 
 before, for to meet here is now terrible." 
 
 Before the last words were fully finished, 
 she had turned away, uttering them, indeed, 
 more as if expressing to herself than to him 
 the sensations that caused them. 
 
 Sir Guy D'Esterre returned to his turret- 
 chamber. His retrospections of the past 
 blended somewhat strangely with his re- 
 flections upon the present. 
 
 He thought of that gallant time when, 
 albeit its mode of sea warfare bordered nar- 
 rowly on the piratical character, he had 
 swept the sea with the adventurous spirits 
 of the age, won Cadiz with the daring young 
 Earl, and accompanied him when he sounded
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 73 
 
 his challenge to the Governor of the city of 
 Lisbon, daring him to come out and do him 
 single combat. 
 
 And now how very odd was his position ! 
 A captive, as it seemed, at the will of a young 
 and beautiful woman, whom he would not 
 defy, yet grudged to obey. His parole was 
 given to confine himself to a prescribed 
 boundary ; and, as long as she kept him 
 company there, and did not arbitrarily en- 
 force obedience, truth to tell, the gallant 
 knight bore his thraldom more patiently 
 than might have been anticipated from his 
 natural temperament ; but there were times 
 when the reverse of these conditions oc- 
 curred, and at such times the trembling old 
 Celt shrank cowering from her half-fero- 
 cious prisoner. 
 
 Such chanced to be the case the day after 
 their interview on the rock, when the recog- 
 nition concerning the meeting at the con- 
 vent at Cadiz was mutually made. After 
 that conversation Sir Guy was left to utter 
 solitude. Wearily passed his time ; all the 
 more so, perchance, because he felt an in- 
 creasing desire for the society that was 
 sometimes vouchsafed to him.
 
 74 SIR GUY D^ESTERRE, 
 
 His sentry-like walk on the balcony was 
 unimpeded ; and, after a tiresome day, as he 
 was taking his usual stroll there when the 
 sun had set, his arm struck from the para- 
 pet to his foot a couple of books, left there 
 evidently for his use : he found one was the 
 translation of Ariosto by Master John Har- 
 rington; the other, a copy of the English 
 Gospels. 
 
 " Thanks, gentle Hilda," he said, touching 
 his lip to the name.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Hardly had the grateful captive uttered the 
 words, and performed the action attributed 
 to him at the close of the last chapter, when 
 the gentle Hilda he apostrophized stood be- 
 fore him. Sudden and light as an appari- 
 tion she had come ; her rather strange attire 
 rendering more remarkable the unusual 
 paleness of her face, on which the golden 
 moonbeams directly fell. Behind her ap- 
 peared the yellow-headed Celt. 
 
 " Sir Guy D'Esterre," the lady said, in a 
 voice that trembled either from haste or 
 emotion, as she arrested the words which 
 the eager looks of the young man told her 
 were on his lip, "you mean to thank me 
 for some small acts of courtesy or charity. 
 I come to throw myself — ourselves — upon 
 your honour or your clemency !"
 
 76 siK GUY d'esterke. 
 
 He gazed upon lier in silence, till her eyes 
 fell before his. The conversation he had 
 lately listened to on the rock soon enlight- 
 ened him as to her real meaning. lie ad- 
 vanced a step, and putting one knee to the 
 ground, he took a cold and passive hand, 
 and pressed his warm lips upon it. 
 
 " Speak, lady ; and, if it be to the death, 
 depend on the honour, the truth, and — as far 
 as in him lies — the service of Guy D'Esterre." 
 
 A sUght cough spoke of an effort to clear 
 away emotion, to which the girl he thus ad- 
 dressed was too proud to yield. 
 
 "I ask, sir knight," she answered, "but 
 for your silence. My young cousin has 
 told me you overheard our late discourse ; 
 knowing such to be the case, I have been 
 emboldened to take this step. I fear me we 
 shall be betrayed by others, if not by you, 
 and, to prevent that danger, I come as your 
 warder to open your prison-door, and bid 
 }'0U depart." 
 
 " But only to return — a free man — but 
 ^till" 
 
 " Hush !" she whispered, in a tone so low 
 that it seemed with diHiculty the word was
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 77 
 
 breathed. "This is a serious moment — let 
 no vain protestations, no idle language, pass 
 between us. Sir Guy, you said you were 
 ignorant of the name of him from whom 
 you received your wound — that is my ex- 
 cuse — I would say my reason — for breaking 
 your captivity. That person will be here 
 by to-morrow's dawn ; such ignorance might 
 then be removed. At all events, after meet- 
 ing him face to face in his own castle, your 
 difficulties, if hereafter called on to witness 
 against him, would be greater. Such con- 
 siderations determine me, with whom he 
 left you in ward, to act now without his 
 knowledge or permission ; — besides, he will 
 be accompanied by one who is the deadly 
 foe to the Saxons. This," she added, with 
 increasing paleness, "I have but just learned. 
 Now, sir knight, you know my reasons. In 
 one hour all but ourselves and this faithful 
 nurse of mine will be in secure repose. 
 Hold yourself in readiness, then, on this 
 spot, for our return." 
 
 "You trust me, lady? — say, Hilda, that 
 you trust me !" 
 
 " With a brother's life," she responded, in
 
 78 SIR GUY d'esterhe. 
 
 a low voice, bending over him as he again 
 knelt before her, — " say, in return, shall I 
 trust in vain ?" 
 
 " The word of a D'Esterre is not lightly 
 broken. I mil be true to thee and thine. 
 And here I solemnly swear" 
 
 " Swear not," she cried, — " a vow may not 
 bind an honest man more than his simple 
 word ; and if thou art false, oaths may be 
 so too." 
 
 She drew a step or two back, and Sir Guy 
 was again alone Avith the moon. 
 
 He wandered back to take a last look of 
 his cell, for which he was surprised to feel 
 now for the first time a certain sort of affec- 
 tion ; a strange degree of regret minglingwith 
 the joy inspired by his unexpected deliver- 
 ance. That sentiment was still more strongly 
 experienced when the young man returned 
 to the trysting-place, and looked over the 
 scene which he had first beheld sparkling 
 under the vivid rays of the rising sun — now 
 lying cold and silent beneath the fading 
 light of a retiring moon. 
 
 To melancholy he had been a stranger : 
 somethinn; akin to that sensation ])Ooan now
 
 SIR GUY d'esterke. 79 
 
 to be felt. On that rock, beneath the glorious 
 sunlight, he had first seen the lovely face in ac- 
 tual presence, which had bent over his lowly 
 couch of suffering, which he had thought of 
 in half- waking dreams as that of a minister- 
 ing angel, depicted to him by a distempered 
 fancy. Might he ever again behold her, or 
 that fair young thing, so early betrothed 
 to one whose very life, it seemed, had so 
 strangely been placed in his keeping? 
 
 Thus was he thinking when a light touch 
 on his arm caused him to look round. A 
 tall, slight form was beside him, shrouded in 
 a thick frieze mantle, the hood of which hung 
 over the face, so that Sir Guy was obliged to 
 approach his closely in order to ascertain to 
 whom it belonged, — so closely, indeed, that 
 it was precipitately withdrawn some steps 
 backward. 
 
 "No more words," whispered in saddest 
 tones the voice he had learned to know; " fol- 
 low in silence, and tread sofUy if you can." 
 
 The moon was bright, the whole scene vi- 
 sible. Noiseless and quick she glided along 
 the battlements, and turned the corner to the 
 side where she had forbidden him to ffo. A
 
 80 SIR GUY d'eSTEUKK. 
 
 minute more brought him to the opposite 
 side, the western one of the keep ; and he 
 perceived that it was a detached portion of a 
 rather extensive fortress or castle, standing 
 on another pile of rock adjoining the coast ; 
 with which building it was connected by a 
 strong drawbridge, so as to form it into a keep 
 or place of safety and retreat ; the ascent of 
 the precipitous rock being impossible, access 
 to it was unattainable when the bridge was 
 raised, and, in the absence of artillery, such 
 a place had been one of considerable strength. 
 
 While these observations were being made, 
 they passed the drawbridge, and descended 
 the steps along the side of the rock at its 
 other side, up whicli he had been carried by 
 the herculean strength of the Irish chief. 
 At their feet the wicker boat was lightly 
 heaving in the tide ; within sat the old Celt, 
 holding an oar in readiness. A sense of the 
 ridiculous in being thus absolutely in the 
 power of two women assailed Sir Guy ; and 
 while it forced a smile from himself, he felt 
 glad to think none of his comrades should 
 know of his adventures. 
 
 " Yet arc we not all under the command
 
 SIK GUY d'eSTERRE. 81 
 
 of a woman ?" was his consoling reflection ; 
 " a woman, whose nod is as omnipotent as 
 Jupiter's ; one who must be courted as a 
 Venus, and dreaded as a Mars." 
 
 He had now reached the lowest step of the 
 descent. At the water's edge stood his late 
 warder, her light form loosely enveloped in 
 the dark mantle that hung open around her, 
 for the hands that had confined it were now 
 crossed in an attitude of devotion upon her 
 breast. She felt the gravity of the act she 
 was engaged in ; she breathed a prayer that 
 it might not be followed by suffering to her 
 house. Her hood, falling a little backward, 
 showed him a calm, yet somewhat anxious, 
 f^ice, beautiful in its piety. The young 
 knight bowed his head, and, whatever might 
 be the subject of her prayer, added to it a 
 deep but inward Amen. 
 
 " Thou art free, sir knight," she said, in a 
 low voice. " Keep to the right along the 
 coast on landing; the way is safe to the 
 English camp." 
 
 "Leave me not, sweet Hilda! I cannot 
 leave thee thus at this hour alone on this 
 wild rock. At least attend me to the shore." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Slie stepped silently into the boat: it was 
 paddled off by Canna, and soon reached the 
 land. Seeing her prisoner slow to depart, 
 the young girl sprung on the shore, point- 
 ing out the road he was to pursue. 
 
 He stood beside her, yet lingered still. 
 
 " Come with me !" he suddenly cried. 
 " Come — let me bear thee from a spot unbe- 
 fitting a being such as thou art. I will bear 
 thee to one more suited to such 5'Outh and 
 loveliness, to society more kindred to such 
 gentleness !" 
 
 The hood fell back ; the face was raised up 
 to him with a look of such bewildered won- 
 derment as that the child-like Isabel's might 
 wear. The rising blood dyed for an instant 
 her cheeks, her brow, and throat ; but the 
 next moment they were paler than before. 
 A wonderfidly speaking expression of bitter 
 reproach, of keenly wounded feeling, and 
 unutterable pain of heart, rapidly succeeded 
 that simply inquiring gaze. 
 
 " Pardon, pardon !" cried Sir Guy, more 
 eagerly. " Pardon the words that erred far 
 more than my thoughts. Believe in me still ; 
 — retract not thy confidence. Hilda, believe
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 83 
 
 still in my truthfulness and honour : for, 
 trust me, not thy brother, father, husband, 
 Avould more tenderly shield and guard thee 
 than would I. On the impulse of the mo- 
 ment I spake." 
 
 "Yet they say," she answered, with sad- 
 ness, " that the Saxon race yields less readily 
 to that impulse than do ours." 
 
 " It hath not been my wont to do so — as 
 the noble, but rash Essex could well testify," 
 was his rejoinder; "and if I have yielded to 
 it now, it was, in sooth, because my heart 
 hath never been put to such proof before." 
 
 The hood fell again over the head. 
 
 " Say, only say, ere thou leavest me, that 
 thou dost believe — wilt believe in me," he 
 urged. 
 
 "I do; I will. Christ and His help be 
 with thee." 
 
 One light spring replaced her, almost as 
 she spoke, in the wicker-boat : it moved off, 
 and Sir Guy stood looking after it till the 
 dark form that stood in it, with drooping head, 
 grew more and more indistinct in the misty 
 light, and finally seemed to blend with the 
 gloom of the distance, and melt away in it. 
 
 g2
 
 84 SIR GUY d'esterre, 
 
 " Thus, then, has the vision dissolved, not 
 in light, but darkness," he sighed : and, with 
 a pang at his very heart, the notion of which 
 would have been a matter of jest to him not 
 a great many days^ before, the liberated cap- 
 tive turned from the gloomy sea-girt rocks, 
 and took his way along the shore. 
 
 The wicker-boat moved on to the island 
 rocks. The girl it bore had stood erect and 
 calm till the figure standing on the shore 
 she left became likewise invisible ; then she 
 dropped upon the bench, bowed her face in 
 her hands, and wept. Pride might then 
 give way.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The youth of Guy D'Esterre had been hap- 
 pily spent: although left an orphan at an 
 early age, he had been placed under the 
 guardianship of his godfather, whose daugh- 
 ter was the wife of the noble Sir Philip 
 Sidney, and thus experienced nothing of the 
 neglect or danger which so often befalls 
 unprotected boyhood. At an early age he 
 took service under that chivalrous knight : 
 he, as well as the young Earl of Essex, stood 
 beside him when, while dying himself, he 
 resigned his di'aught of water to the expir- 
 ing soldier, — the action by which his name 
 has become most popularly known. 
 
 Sir Guy had shared with Essex in the 
 merit, if not in the glory, of taking Cadiz ; 
 and in the still greater merit of protecting
 
 86 SIR GUY d'estekre. 
 
 the women, the religious communities, and 
 property of the town. A friendship had 
 existed between them, which neither dispa- 
 rity of disposition, nor the regret and impa- 
 tience with which D'Esterre beheld the noble 
 spirit of the Earl held in subjugation to the 
 extraordinary caprice, and stooi)ing to mi- 
 nister to the singular vanity of his old Queen, 
 could altogether change ; although, when 
 united to the career of dissipation into 
 which his own loss of self-esteem had drawn 
 the latter, these circumstances had inter- 
 rupted an intimacy that now was utterly 
 suspended in consequence of Sir Guy's ser- 
 vice in Ireland, to which country he had been 
 sent with some of the best of the English 
 troops who had been employed against 
 Philip II. in the Low Countries. 
 
 Foreign service was sought for by the 
 adventurous spirits of the age ; Essex had 
 twice privately escaped from the bondage of 
 his doting sovereign to share, contrary to 
 her commands, in the dangers and glory 
 of arms, instead of wasting youth and ta- 
 lents in the absurd and degrading mock 
 courtship by which the royal favour of the
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 87 
 
 maiden Queen, of nearly twice his age, was 
 won or secured to all aspirants 
 
 Neither nature nor art had formed Guy 
 for a courtier ; above all, for one of his own 
 epoch. He kept at a distance from the court 
 of Elizabeth, whose fame was still dear to her 
 army and navy, since they created it them- 
 selves ; yet he had associated with some of 
 the choice spirits who shed a lustre on the 
 age, and who were the means of creating even 
 a fictitious glory for her in the estimation of 
 posterity, by the writings which handed her 
 down to successive ages in the flattering 
 portraits which she both drew of herself, 
 and obliged all who approached her to draw 
 of her. 
 
 But, whatever might have been the moral 
 influence of the Elizabethan age, it was one 
 outwardly too glorious in the annals of Eng- 
 land not to serve the ofiice of charity in the 
 judgment of later times, and cover over the 
 multitude of sins which eyes that penetrated 
 deeper might espy beneath the exterior 
 lustre. 
 
 Pity it was so foul a page as that which 
 relates to the vexatious history of Ireland
 
 88 sill GUY d'esterre. 
 
 should occur in annals to which Englishmen 
 refer with pride. Sir Guy was not the only 
 one of the military sent to that wretclied 
 land who bewailed his lot. Content, care- 
 less, and happy, with a fortune adequate to 
 his wishes, and without other ambition than 
 that of military distinction, he had never 
 before been brought into connexion with 
 such scenes of wretchedness, of moral tur- 
 pitude, confusion, and debasement. In his 
 own mind and character lingered a strong 
 reflexion of the elder knight of the days of 
 chivalry, to which nothing could be much 
 more opposed than the service on which he 
 was employed, and the people with whom 
 he was connected. 
 
 The brief description given by Essex when 
 he termed Ireland " the cursedest of all is- 
 lands," is one that seems to have gained a 
 sort of currency in the traditionary belief of 
 successive ages. That island was then what 
 it still is — an enigma among nations ; and 
 what it will probably continue to be until 
 its [)eople learn to look at home for the 
 source of all the evils that afflict them. The 
 Abbe Mac Geoirlieiian makes one true obser-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 89 
 
 vation when, in writing the history of his 
 country, he says : " The source of her destruc- 
 tion can be discovered in her own bosom." 
 The whole history of Ireland is a tissue of 
 civil discord; the natives, notwithstanding, 
 make England their scapegoat, and, by cast- 
 ing on her broad shoulders all the odium 
 that attaches to its past history or present 
 state, get rid of the diificulty that embar- 
 rasses a thoughtful mind. 
 
 At this period, however, a new element 
 of strife was admitted into that little king- 
 dom, which was thenceforth to absorb, or 
 envelop in its capacious folds, all other 
 sources of discord, — combining them with 
 itself, and being the form or pretext for 
 all future civil broils. This was religion. 
 Religion — holy, much profaned word — ■ 
 gave a new, a sadly perpetuated form to 
 Irish discord, but it was far from having 
 been the cause of producing it. 
 
 Internal discord invited the Anglo-Nor- 
 mans to Ireland ; and from that time up to 
 the one we write of, the chiefs and the people 
 of the land were more engaged in fighting 
 with each other than in fighting against the
 
 90 SIR GUY d'eSTEKUK. 
 
 English. Thus, a clerical historian of the 
 Church of Rome in that land says : " The 
 disputes between the Bishops of Waterford 
 andLisraore, relative to Church property and 
 tithes, during a great part of the thirteenth 
 century, had given rise to much angry 
 feeling and bloodshed." And another as- 
 serts that at this juncture two of the 
 leading chiefs were too much engaged by 
 their enmity against each other to care 
 for religion or their country. The entire 
 province of Ulster was desolated by a civil 
 feud between O'Neil and his son, afterwards 
 the great opponent of the English. 
 
 But from the later years of Queen Eliza- 
 beth's life, the Irish were to fight for religion ; 
 the Pope himself authorized them to do so, 
 in his famous letter to Geraldine of Desmond, 
 oiferinor to all who fouo^ht for the true 
 faith against Elizabeth the same privileges 
 as were accorded to the Crusaders against 
 the Turks. The fighting had been the 
 same before, and was the same afterwards ; 
 but in the latter case, so far as Enghind 
 was concerned, religion became the watch- 
 word of strife, though up to the date of
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 91 
 
 a few years within that of which we write, 
 what M^ere called "faction fights" exhibited 
 the perpetuated spirit that had rent the 
 land into detached atoms, under chiefs and 
 leaders who each fought for himself, and 
 each against the other, while all claimed 
 to possess a common country, and then, a 
 common faith. 
 
 Pope Adrian gave Ireland to Henry II., 
 " for the reformation of its manners ;" this, 
 Roman Catholic historians now admit,* 
 and the Irish fought ao;ainst the zealous 
 invaders ; the invaders became in time 
 most troublesome to their mother country ; 
 and, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the 
 Anglo-Norman names of the men most dis- 
 tinguished in those dreary wars proved, as 
 they still do, a descent from the English 
 people, whom they had learned to regard 
 as another race. 
 
 The Abbe Mac Geoo-heo-an denies the 
 genuineness of Adrian's Bull, on the ground 
 that it would be ridiculous to believe that 
 the Pope had sent "ferocious" persons to 
 
 '^- See Brennan's "Ecclesiastical History."
 
 92 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 reform the manners of "so civilized" a people 
 as the Irish ; but in a later part of that 
 curious history he quotes the letter of Gre- 
 gory XIII. to the famous Geraldine ; and 
 adds: — "Thus did Gregory XIII. endeavour 
 to remedy the evils which had been inflicted 
 on Ireland by Adrian IV., one of his pre- 
 decessors. He wished, by separating that 
 country from England, to repair the impru- 
 dence committed in bestowing it on Henry 
 II., under the specious pretext of establishing 
 the faith in it, and reforming the morals 
 of its people. Gregory's plan, however, 
 was too weak, and the evil too deeply 
 rooted."* 
 
 The native Irish had fouo;ht ao-ainst the 
 Papal Crusaders who were sent by Pope 
 Adrian to reform them, whom their his- 
 torians accuse as bitterly as they do the 
 English of later days ; and now the descen- 
 dants of those invaders no longer considered 
 
 * " Histoiy of Ireland," by the Abbe Mac Geoghegan, 
 chap. xlii. See also chap, xv., wliereiu the author refutes, 
 as an incredible absurdity, the " impudence" and " spe- 
 cious pretext" which he thus afterwards attributes to 
 Pope Adrian IV.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 93 
 
 themselves of the same stock as the English 
 people they have learned to hate. 
 
 From this miserable era, however, a 
 new element was infused into the spirit of 
 animosity against England, that had from 
 generation to generation passed into the 
 breasts of the native, or, as the English styled 
 them somewhat contemptuously — the mere 
 Irish — from the time of the first invasion ; 
 and the same spirit extended itself to the 
 Anglo-Irish, who had made themselves, or 
 been made by the English Government, 
 lords of the soil. The spirit of faction that 
 covers the page of Irish history with con- 
 fusion and bloodshed became from this 
 time gradually exchanged for, or identified 
 with, the party spirit of politics and religion 
 — a spirit that has never since been long suf- 
 fered to repose in the land it seems to choose 
 for its own, above all other nations of the 
 earth. 
 
 At the period when the adventures of 
 Sir Guy D'Esterre began in that western 
 isle, a part of the view we have glanced at 
 was still prospective ; that part of it which
 
 94 SIR GUY d'estekre. 
 
 was retrospective may be supposed to have 
 mingled itself in the meditations which were 
 not wholly given to another subject; one 
 that, perhaps, possessed more interest for 
 him, if not for his historian, as the released 
 knight trod slowly the rocky line of coast 
 along which an ill-formed road led to the 
 fort then garrisoned by the English. 
 
 Truth to tell, his sensations of disgust at 
 the moral debasement, ignorance, and des- 
 titution which met him on all sides in his 
 new service, had been blended with a very 
 large portion of indignation at the miscon- 
 duct of his o^vn countrymen. He had come 
 too directly from foreign service to have un- 
 derstood beforehand the actual condition of 
 the land he was sent to, or the extraordi- 
 nary amount of embarrassment and annoy, 
 ance it caused to his Queen and Government. 
 His sentiments it were vain to record, since 
 his contemporary, the tuneful author of the 
 sweet "Faerie Queen," as well as the historian 
 Camden, and many others, have left us de- 
 scriptions and disquisitions enough. The 
 victim at once of its own internal e\ils — 
 the evils produced by tlie restless, turbulent,
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 95 
 
 revengeful disposition of its numerous petty 
 chiefs, and tlieir uncivilized, excitable de- 
 pendants ; and of the changeful Government 
 that adopted a policy sometimes weakly 
 temporizing, at others cruelly unjust, and 
 at all times too partial to new settlers — he 
 saw a land, small indeed, but sufficiently 
 fertile to supply the necessities of its inha- 
 bitants, presenting an unparalleled scene of 
 poverty and woe; the people barely reco- 
 vered from the horrors of famine, caused by 
 the fierce vengeance which had followed the 
 rebellion of Desmond : the chiefs, in many 
 cases, beset with spies and informers who 
 misconstrued and misrepresented their de- 
 signs or actions, and reported them either 
 to the Government, or to persons whose pay 
 they received for the information helped 
 them to gain that which numberless adven- 
 turers came there to seek — an estate in the 
 " cursedest of all islands." 
 
 Revenge, the deadly and too generally 
 the dominant passion of a native Irish 
 character, found ample means of gratifica- 
 tion ; and the treachery that would not be 
 practised for gold was readily made subser-
 
 96 siu GUY d'estkrrk. 
 
 vient to eninity, or employed for the repay- 
 ment of injuries. 
 
 Religion had become a word of discord 
 or of dread ; the people were in danger of 
 altogether forgetting that it had any other 
 significancy. For let controversialists on one 
 side or the other say what they will, the im- 
 partial mind will work out between their 
 contradictory statements this one obvious 
 conclusion. 
 
 The melancholy aspect of the country was 
 increased by the ruins of religious and cha- 
 ritable houses. The ravages caused by that 
 rapacious monster, who, in some inscrutable 
 mystery of Providence, was certainly the 
 moving spring of the Reformation in Eng- 
 land, were everywhere visible, — the conse- 
 crated property sold, the lands bestoANcd on 
 a settler who became tributary to the arbi- 
 trary despot. The practice had not ended ; 
 in the time of Elizabeth fresh confiscations 
 were made, fresh robbery and wrong were 
 practised. The ruins of those beautiful edi- 
 fices erected by the Anglo-Normans after 
 their settlement in Ireland still touchingly 
 appeal to the heart ; and, alas ! that it should
 
 SIR GUY d'i<:sterre. 97 
 
 be so ! — serve a purpose directly the reverse 
 of that they were intended for. They were 
 built to promote charity — built in love to 
 God and men. In men they perpetuate 
 rancour ; they stand silently witnessing to 
 bygone wrong ; and the homily they utter, 
 even to the unlearned peasant's ear, incites 
 not to peace and good-will with the de- 
 stroyer.* 
 
 In addition to those more magnificent 
 buildings left to ruin by the spoliation of 
 Henry VIII., were now to be seen many 
 parish churches, utterly desolate, unroofed, 
 or dilapidated. This was not the work of 
 violence so much as neglect : it is true 
 that the natives, or their leaders (even that 
 " dear son" of the Pope himself, the great 
 O'Neil), did not scruple to rob or burn a 
 church occasionally ; but, this devastation 
 apart, it was not wonderful that the churches 
 should fall to decay, when there were 
 neither priests to serve nor people to at- 
 tend them. 
 
 ■* It is true that many of the ruins so numerous in 
 Ireland are associated by the poor people with tlie 
 name of Cromwell : a foe alike to them and us. 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 The Church of England was now estab- 
 lished in England by the indomitable will of 
 that true daughter of the Tudors, who would 
 consign Puritan or Papist alike to the block 
 or the scaffold, if the question of her supre- 
 macy were too boldly assailed by either. But 
 in Ireland it was nearly powerless ; at least, it 
 was there, as it still is, in a militant state. 
 All persons were by law compelled to go 
 to its service in the parish churches ; all 
 other service was by law prohibited, and 
 only performed when opportunity or cir- 
 cumstances were favourable ; but even where 
 people were disposed to obey the law, the 
 state of the ordained but unregulated Church, 
 on which their attendance was commanded 
 under severe penalties, precluded their obe- 
 dience. Most of the churches wxre left 
 without priest or pastor ; some, confided to 
 the charge of men who had twice changed 
 their forms or doctrines, in order to continue 
 to " live by the altar," might naturally be 
 regarded mth aversion by the flock, to whom 
 the shepherd who had obeyed both Queen 
 Mary and Queen Elizabeth might appear to 
 be still of doubtful fidelity ; and of others.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 99 
 
 again, the benefices to which they belonged 
 were bestowed as a recompense, or grant 
 of favour, on some layman, who employed 
 the lowest and poorest clerks who would 
 perform their prescribed duties at the cheap- 
 est rate. 
 
 This practice, unhappily adopted even in 
 England by the imperioushead of the Church, 
 was the cause of much and perpetuated evil: 
 Elizabeth herself presented a living to the 
 lay follower of a favourite courtier, just as a 
 government office would be now disposed of; 
 leaving him to provide his clerical substitute 
 as he pleased. 
 
 It has been said that the poet Spenser de- 
 scribed the state of Ireland in exaggerated 
 terms, from a desire to please his sovereign 
 by such a portrait of her enemies ; but surely 
 such a description maligns rather her own 
 government, although it is corroborated by 
 that of her Deputy, Sir Henry Sidney, whose 
 statement was drawn from his own inspec- 
 tion, as he writes, "of each province, and al- 
 most each county thereof." The reformed 
 Bishop of Meath, " a godly minister of the 
 Gospel, and good servant of the Queen's 
 
 h2
 
 100 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 Highness," informed him that there were in 
 his diocese very nearly the one-half of the 
 parish churches thus situated, their lands or 
 benefices being leased out to farmers, and a 
 sorry curate appointed to serve them. Of 
 224 parish churches, the number of 105 were 
 thus situated in the diocese of Meath alone : 
 no vicar resident on any of them; and of the 
 curates, only eighteen could speak English, 
 which language had been substituted in Divine 
 Service for the Latin. The others appear to 
 have been priests of the old religion, as it was 
 called; since, the livings being impropriated, 
 they lived by the altar literally, or, as Sir 
 Henry says, by " altarages," without having 
 any one house standing for them to dwell in ; 
 in many parts the walls of the churches were 
 down ; the chancels of others unroofed. 
 
 Edmund Spenser adds his well-known dark 
 picture to this sketch, showing the ground of 
 the evils that left such seed in the Irish soil : 
 " All Irish priests, who now enjoy church 
 livings, are in a manner mere laymen, saving 
 that they have taken holy orders ; but other- 
 wise they live as laymen do, following all 
 kinds of husbandry, as other Irishmen do.
 
 SIK GUY d'ESTERRE. 101 
 
 They neither read Scripture, nor preach to 
 the people, nor administer Communion ; but 
 baptism they do, for they yet christen after 
 the Popish fashion. Only they take tithes 
 and oiFerings, and gather what fruit else they 
 may of their livings." With such a reformed 
 clergy, it followed as a necessity that most of 
 the Bishops who ruled them were as bad. 
 " Yea," saith the poet, •' and some of them, 
 whose dioceses are in remote parts, somewhat 
 out of the world's eye, do not all bestow the 
 benefices, that are in their donation, upon 
 any, but keep them in their own hands, and 
 set up their servants and horseboys to take 
 up the tithes and fruits of them, with the 
 which some of them purchase great lands, 
 and build fair castles upon the same." 
 
 These disorders, and especially those aris- 
 ing from lay proprietors, produced a fruit- 
 ful source of still enduring evil. The laws 
 against recusants in force in Ireland as well 
 as in England, were much more fruitless in 
 the former land, where the natives clung 
 to their religion with a zeal that had been 
 awakened, and was now maintained, by 
 the fact that it now formed a part in their
 
 102 SIK GUY D'ESTJiKUE. 
 
 Struggle against what was called the Saxon 
 power. But little was done to create an 
 inclination for the Reformation that was 
 enforced, and much was done which tended 
 to deepen and cherish an attachment to the 
 faith that was proscribed.* 
 
 Even the clear head, strong mind, and 
 indomitable will of Queen Elizabeth found 
 Irish affairs a matter too perplexing and 
 vexatious for their powers. The country, 
 never yet wholly subdued, was still rather 
 in a state of resistance to the power of the 
 English than of rebellion against an acknow- 
 ledged sovereign. Such a recognition had, 
 even by the Irish Parliament, been only re- 
 cently made, and that on the stipulation of 
 an equal administration of English law, and 
 equal freedom of its own Parliament; but one 
 great bane of that unhappy country existed 
 
 * The Jcsiiit and historian Campion, whose zeal 
 against Queen Elizabeth brought him to the scaffold, 
 was converted to the Church of Home in consequence of 
 the dreadful abuses he witnessed in Irehind when he 
 went there as one of the English missionaries, to teach 
 the people the doctrines of the Reformation. Instead of 
 converting them, he became a proselvte himself.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 103 
 
 in the fact that each Lord Deputy, as its 
 Governor was styled, had his own distinct 
 Council, and ruled by means of it and his 
 his own despotic authority, — imposing taxes 
 and making decrees at his pleasure. 
 
 The English Government might have 
 difficulties to contend with, from the wild, 
 restless, and fiercely independent spirit of 
 the chieftains and their followers; but the 
 Anglo-Irish, or English settlers, were its 
 greatest nuisance, and were found to be 
 worse than what were termed "the mere 
 Irish ;" to the resemblance of whom some 
 writers of the period complain that they 
 soon degenerated. 
 
 The refuse of society was now swept over 
 there ; needy and base adventurers found 
 in it a place of security where they might 
 enrich themselves without much fear of pro- 
 voking justice. Thus Perrot, the Queen's 
 half-brother, whom she afterwards con- 
 demned to death for contempt of her Ma- 
 jesty, wrote to her these words during his 
 administration: — "I can please your Ma- 
 jesty's Irish subjects better than I can the 
 English, who, I fear me, will more shortly
 
 104 bin GUY d'esterre. 
 
 learn the Irish customs than did the Jews 
 those of the heathen." 
 
 Each Governor and military commander 
 had his own adherents and friends to pro- 
 vide for ; and on any symptom of disaffec- 
 tion being manifested by an Irish chief, his 
 lands were not unfrequently promised be- 
 forehand to an English adventurer in the 
 event of his breaking out into rebellion : so 
 that it became the interest of those who 
 wished to become "settlers" to foment dis- 
 turbances, or magnify causes of suspicion. 
 Needy and unprincipled men were often 
 employed to excite impatient and fiery 
 tempers, the effects of which would put such 
 persons in possession of a coveted property. 
 Suspicious circumstances were aggravated, 
 or false accusations made: the cases were 
 rare in which such conduct did not succeed 
 in goading the victims into some act of re- 
 sistance or retaliation, which was eagerly 
 seized on as a plea for confiscation. AVhen 
 Elizabeth was informed of the Earl of Ty- 
 rone's inclination to take up arms, she an- 
 swered : " If lie does, there will be lands for 
 those who want them."
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 105 
 
 On some occasions hostages were taken 
 from the suspected chiefs, and confined in 
 the English camp, or sent to London, where 
 their lives would pay the forfeit of any want 
 of submission to the demands made upon 
 their families. 
 
 It was with some such circumstances as 
 these that the events alluded to in the pre- 
 ceding chapters were connected, — an expla- 
 nation of whicli was desirable before we 
 follow our English knight on his return 
 from the fortress of the Irish chief
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A STRANGER in the country in which he 
 now was, and only recently from foreign 
 service, the circumstances, before related, 
 were so little known to Guy D'Esterre as to 
 render him quite unapprehensive of encoun- 
 tering any difficulty in reporting the cause 
 of his absence. 
 
 The account he gave of himself was sim- 
 ple as well as true. He had been wounded 
 in the attack made on the party returning 
 from the seizure of O'More's fortress: a 
 friendly stranger had saved him from death, 
 and on his recovery he had returned to his 
 duty. 
 
 " And think you that tale will content our 
 Lord Marshal?" said one of his comrades, to 
 whom he first related it.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 107 
 
 "For what purpose would you conceal 
 the truth, Guy ?" asked an elder one, who 
 had been his friend from childhood. He 
 had drawn him aside, and spoke in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Truth ! I know no trutli to conceal, and 
 I speak no falsehood," he exclaimed aloud. 
 
 The answer made the younger men smile, 
 and the old men look grave. 
 
 " In what thou say est last, thou art right, 
 boy," he thoughtfully replied ; "but strange 
 tidings have been brought here before thee." 
 
 " In what respect, good Anster, I pray 
 you tell me, and show me, if you can, their 
 author." 
 
 " I can tell you what is said, but I cannot 
 tell you who has said it, for if he is in the 
 camp, he is kept close. It is said that you 
 were assaulted by O'Connor of Fitzclare, 
 whose loyalty has long been suspected ; and 
 were detained in his stronghold, in durance 
 vile, under the wardership of some giant of 
 the Irishry in feitiale form !" 
 
 " Durance vile !" interrupted the younger 
 officer, " shame on the Avord ! Sir Guy looks 
 as much confounded at hearing it as if his
 
 108 SIR GUY d'eSTEKKE. 
 
 fetters had been well nigh too soft to hold 
 the doves of Venus." 
 
 " Silence !" cried the object of this plea- 
 santry, with anger, which was prevented from 
 any further explosion by the entrance of a 
 messenger to summon him to the presence 
 of the Lord Marshal, which title was now 
 conferred on the Commander of the Eng- 
 lish forces in Ireland. 
 
 " Ho ! Sir Guy, art safe escaped from 
 the enemy's quarters ?" said this personage, 
 in a tone of cordiality. " AVe thought ere 
 this thou wert stiU more securely lodged. 
 We were preparing to go in search of thee 
 Avith the dawn, and thou art come apropos 
 to show us the way to this deceitful traitor's 
 den." 
 
 " Pardon my dulness, my Lord Marshal ; 
 I know not of whom you speak ; and as to 
 escape, that affords small cause of congratu- 
 lation, since I was despatched hither in 
 friendliness, so soon as my unlucky wound 
 was healed." 
 
 Sir Henry Bagnal, whose zeal in the ser- 
 vice he was engaged in might be just then 
 quickened by the indignation he felt at his
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 109 
 
 sister's marriage with the formidable O'Neil, 
 eyed the speaker with a scrutinizing glance, 
 which ended in a gaze of astonishment, real 
 or feigned. 
 
 " Your detention was then a friendly 
 one ?" he said. 
 
 " I had reason to beheve it was so." 
 
 " By whom were you detained ?" 
 
 " I heard no name." 
 
 " You know by whom, notwithstanding." 
 
 " I know not to what this tends, my Lord 
 Marshal. The circumstances that befell me 
 I will relate. When my party was cut off 
 by the clan of O'More, I received a wound 
 on the head, which rendered me senseless. 
 I know no more than that I was tended Avith 
 charitable care, and allowed to depart when 
 recovered." 
 
 " By whom were you so charitably 
 tended ?" asked Bagnal. 
 
 " By — an Irishwoman of the baser sort," 
 said D'Esterre, reddening as he spoke ; and 
 the smile the answer caused made his angry 
 blood to rise still higher. 
 
 " Sir Guy," said Bagnal, suddenly chang- 
 ing his scarcastic tone, " let us cease to jest. 
 I sent for you, as in duty bound, to in-
 
 110 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 quire into matters of which the Government 
 of her Grace in this land must take cogni- 
 zance. The man by whom you were, if not 
 wounded, at least kept in confinement, is 
 one, we have cause to believe, who has been 
 already disaffected, and whose son is even 
 now a hostage for his father's faith. It 
 would speak ill for a loyalty that has never 
 been tarnished, were Sir Guy D'Esterre to 
 seek to conceal the name or to palliate the 
 ofience of this rebel." 
 
 A smile, more scornful than he wished it 
 to be, was curling the young man's lip, 
 but, repressing it, he bowed coldly, and an- 
 swered, 
 
 " I have said all, Lord j\Iarshal, that I 
 have to say." 
 
 " But not all that it is necessary to say !" 
 Bagnal, quivering with anger, responded. 
 But, controlling his anger, he resumed 
 the smoother tone in which he had before 
 spoken. 
 
 " Did you not know. Sir Guy, that you 
 were in the fortress of O'Connor of Fitz- 
 clare." 
 
 " I did not," he answered, to his ques- 
 tioner's evident disappointment : for he knew
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. Ill 
 
 that tlie young knight's character would not 
 allow him to appear suspicious of his truth. 
 
 " It is strange : yet it may have been that 
 you heard not the name. The place of your 
 late imprisonment, however, must be known 
 to you, sir knight. You will guide us to it, 
 and thus supply the proof we want of this 
 fellow's dishonesty." 
 
 " I will not !" cried D'Esterre. 
 
 "Enough, Sir Guy; you will await, then, 
 the orders of the Lord Deputy. Having by 
 this token claimed our help to free you from 
 that traitor, such a disobedience in the ser- 
 vice of the Queen is all the more incompre- 
 hensible." 
 
 As he spoke, the Lord Marshal drew 
 forth the ring that Sir Guy had unwittingly 
 dropped from his prison window. 
 
 " That ring is mine," said D'Esterre, ex- 
 tending his hand to take the ring, which 
 Bagnal was about to replace in a drawer. 
 
 " Your pardon, sir knight, having sent us 
 this token, we must keep it to lay before the 
 Lord Deputy as a proof of some facts which 
 we find are not now to be remembered." 
 
 " Fool that I was !" cried the young man, 
 impatiently, and, checking himself, added —
 
 1 12 SIR GUY d'ESTERRE. 
 
 " Lord JSrai'slial, on the honour of kniglit- 
 hood, I never sent that ring to you, or 
 claimed your help by such a token." 
 
 " To whom, then, did you send it ?" asked 
 Bagnal. 
 
 " How it came into your possession is a 
 question I would rather have answered," re- 
 turned the other, with some haughtiness. 
 
 " Seeing that it is your property, you have 
 a right to such an answer," said the Lord 
 Marshal. "The injury you suffered, Sir 
 Guy, it seems, still affects your memory. 
 We must remind you, therefore, that on the 
 evening of that day when you had made a 
 somewhat rash attempt to escape by throw- 
 ing yourself from the battlement of your pri- 
 son tower, a friend of ours, suspecting you 
 were there detained against your will, de- 
 sired you, if you wished for the help of your 
 friends, to send some token of such desire. 
 You dropped this ring in reply, which was 
 forthwith conveyed to us ; and the help it 
 solicited should have been sent sooner but 
 for our attendance at the Council of the Lord 
 Deputy. Does Sir Guy D'Esterre now re- 
 call this occurrence ; or does he still deny 
 having sent this signet ?"
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 113 
 
 " Sir Guy D'Esterre recalls the occurrence; 
 but denies, and Avill deny, all thought of 
 sending that ring here, or of asking the 
 Lord Marshal's help by it," he answered 
 with his former haughtiness ; and, bowing to 
 his interrogator, drew back some steps to 
 signify that his part was ended. 
 
 Bagnal, calling an officer of the guard, 
 delivered his orders respecting him, and 
 D'Esterre, at once mortified and indignant, 
 left his presence. 
 
 Almost at the same time another inter- 
 view was taking place between two men who 
 were profoundly interested in the issue of 
 the English knight's adventure — one, from 
 the long-cherished and ever-burning thirst for 
 revenge, — the passion so deeply seated in an 
 Irish heart; the other, from the prospect it 
 opened to him of becoming enriched by the 
 ruin of the chief whom his confederate had 
 vowed to destroy. Both rejoiced in the un- 
 expected accident that facilitated such de- 
 signs; each would rejoice if the project of 
 the other were disappointed ; for each used 
 his confederate for his own ends. Symonds, 
 a needy adventurer, who cared not in what 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 SIR UUY D'eSTERRE. 
 
 land or in what way he sought his fortune, 
 was now a creature of the Lord Marshal's, to 
 whom he rendered himself useful as well as 
 subservient ; while he had so far obtained his 
 confidence as to secure the adoption of the 
 schemes which his own self-interest, or the 
 vengeance-seeking mind of his associate, sug- 
 gested. 
 
 About midway between the English camp 
 and the fortress of Fitzclare, one of these 
 men sat on a ledge of rock, looking thought- 
 fully over the sea, whose waves alone broke 
 the stillness of the wild and dreary coast. 
 This man was Lawrence, the person for- 
 merly mentioned as being one of the fol- 
 lowers or retainers of that chief. He saw 
 the approach of Symonds, whom he had 
 waited for, but would not notice him until 
 he came beside him and spoke ; then, with- 
 out changing his posture, he answered with 
 a negligence amounting to scorn. Detesting 
 his associate in evil, the solitary pleasure he 
 allowed himself in his pursuit of vengeance 
 was that of tantalizing and tei-rifying him. 
 
 '' Thou hast seen the Lord Marshal ?" 
 said Symonds, speaking as if he feared the 
 rocks and waves might overhear him.
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 115 
 
 " Yes, and thy other fair countryman, the 
 young gallant we had of late among us." 
 
 " What ! hath he, then, got away ?" 
 
 "He hath been sent away," returned 
 La^^Tence, still looking over the sea. 
 
 "Dismissed! — how? — not by Fitzclare?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ha ! that is well ; so that the act were 
 not his own voluntary one, it matters not by 
 whom it were done." 
 
 " Thou thinkest so ?" 
 
 "Dotard! speak out, and say what is to 
 be said at once. By whom was this young 
 knight released?" 
 
 " By the Lady Hilda Fitzclare," said 
 Lawrence, without the least change of look 
 or posture. 
 
 The fierce exclamation that burst from 
 the quivering lip of his hearer gave him the 
 happy consciousness of his success in dis- 
 pleasing him. 
 
 "Thy tale was true, then?" 
 
 "True. Hilda Fitzclare can be won by 
 one Saxon, though she rejects another." 
 
 But the man he spoke to was more deceit- 
 ful than himself 
 
 I 2
 
 ILG 
 
 SIR GUY D ESTERUE. 
 
 "If such l)e the case, good Lawrence, me- 
 thinks our cliase is up," he said, with re- 
 sumed cahnriess, or rather with an assump- 
 tion of carelessness. " I, at least, shall fol- 
 low such scent no longer." 
 
 A scowl of suppressed wrath overspread 
 the gloomy brow of the man he addressed. 
 He could not, without the influence of the 
 man he despised, work out the end he had 
 in view. 
 
 "AVherefore question me on love matters?" 
 he exclaimed. " What has one like me to 
 do with love ? Ill might I understand its 
 
 signs, who have known no love save" 
 
 He stopped ; the memory of some past affec- 
 tion changed for an instant the expression of 
 his countenance ; it was a momentary light 
 on that dark ground — " soon hatred settled 
 in its place." 
 
 "Proceed in your own way," he added, 
 gloomily, " and I will proceed in mine. 
 But I tell you, Master Symonds, that never 
 while he lives will Fitzclare give his daugh- 
 ter to one of Saxon race." 
 
 " He may soon be powerless to give or to 
 keep her," said Symonds. " He has long
 
 SIR GUY d'ESTERRE. 117 
 
 been a baited beast; were he but to turn 
 and try his tusks, we should soon pull him 
 down." 
 
 He smiled, and LaA^^^ence frowned more 
 darkly. 
 
 "For that purpose," the latter added, 
 " the young chief must be taken out of the 
 way : as long as he is a hostage, the father 
 will do nothing." 
 
 "His father has broken faith already," 
 Symonds replied ; " the Lord Marshal must 
 deal with his hostage." 
 
 " In that case the rest is easy. The O'Con- 
 nor's lands are yours." 
 
 " Not all ; you shall have a share, worthy 
 Lawrence. That I have promised." 
 
 "Pooh!" muttered the other, rising on 
 his short legs, and seeming suddenly to de- 
 crease to the stature of a boy, " I fear not 
 that the time will come when our accounts 
 shall be justly settled !"
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Hilda, accompanied by her Celtic nurse, 
 strolled slowly down the rocky shore. The 
 uncleared woods, bogs, and morasses, ren- 
 dered the interior of their island fatal to 
 the English troops ; but the coast was not 
 without a wild, though melancholy sort of 
 beauty, not out of unison with the charac- 
 ter of its natives. The evening sun, which 
 was descending on the waters, and leaving 
 the land in soft and saddened shade, while 
 it added a charm to the scenery, increased 
 also its melancholy tendency. 
 
 The well-contrasted pair who slowly 
 wound along the rocky path might seem 
 to share in its influence. The old woman, 
 with arms folded in her ugly mantle, and 
 head bent downward, walked silently beside
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 119 
 
 her young companion, who, by established 
 usage, was at once her child and her mis- 
 tress — governed while governing — or, in 
 her own idea, doing so. 
 
 " A desperate case, Canna, requires despe- 
 rate measures," the latter was saying ; " my 
 father thought not of the results when he 
 brought the Saxon knight to die, as he be- 
 lieved, a Christian death within his walls. 
 The fact was known to us alone ; your care 
 restored him." 
 
 " Mine !" muttered the nurse. " St. Pa- 
 trick be good to us ! It was she herself : 
 he might have died like a heathen for what 
 I cared !" 
 
 "Your skill in healing, nurse dear, is a 
 second nature to you now ; you cannot help 
 it," the other, with a rather sly smile, made 
 answer. " Then, when he became impatient 
 of restraint" — 
 
 "That was only when he could not get 
 me to speak to him," the old woman again 
 interrupted. " He was tame enough when 
 he talked with you and Isabel." 
 
 " When he became impatient of restraint," 
 said Hilda, resuming her speech without
 
 120 siii GUY d'estekrk. 
 
 appearing to have heard this interposition, 
 "it was evident that his detention must 
 become known, and bring ruin upon our 
 house : it was then that we decided it were 
 better to trust to his honour, and let him 
 go free before my father returned from his 
 journey, accompanied by a man by whom 
 Saxon blood would be shed with horrid sa- 
 tisfaction." 
 
 "And small wonder that it were! The 
 youth was a brave-looking one for a Saxon, 
 and honest-looking, too, though he does 
 serve the hag;* but if the blessed saints 
 heard my prayers, there is not one of his 
 tribe who would not have sunk in the depth 
 of the sea before ever he set foot on our 
 land. But you trust this youth, my dar- 
 ling, and his heart must be blacker even 
 than the rest of them if he betrays you." 
 
 " I do ; I will," said Hilda, in a low voice, 
 repeating the words she had used to Sir 
 Guy. 
 
 As she spoke, an abrupt turn round 
 
 * The wars of Elizabeth in Ireland were called "The 
 Hag'a Wars."
 
 SIR GUY D'ESTERRE. 121 
 
 some rocks placed them at once before Law- 
 rence, who was returning from his expe- 
 dition to the camp, and his meeting with 
 Symonds. 
 
 " Where have you been ?" cried his lady, 
 with a sense of mistrust. 
 
 " At the Saxon camp," he answered, meet- 
 ing the gaze of her clear deep eyes, and let- 
 ting his own only slowly sink beneath it. 
 
 The readiness and truth of his answer 
 made her repent of the misgiving that had 
 crossed her mind. Whatever might have 
 been the cause of his visit there, it could 
 not have been connected, she thought, with 
 treachery to his lord. 
 
 " And for what purpose, I pray you ?" 
 
 Lawrence was silent: but looked at her 
 with such a countenance as declared him to 
 be the herald of evil tidings. 
 
 "My brother! — speak!" she cried. 
 
 " The young chief," he answered, relieved 
 by the direction her thoughts had flowed in, 
 " is said to be in good health." 
 
 " And in safety ?" she rejoined. 
 
 " In safety for the present," said Lawrence, 
 who by this time saw his way out of an un- 
 expected embarrassment.
 
 122 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 "What then took you to the Saxon 
 camp '? — or what tidings dost thou bring ? — 
 for, surely, man, they are not of good." 
 
 "Lady," he answered slowly, "y ester-morn 
 at daAvn I sat among yonder rocks, as it is 
 sometimes my wont to do." 
 
 A crimson colour flashed over Hilda's 
 face, and in a moment left it pale as death. 
 His dark, deep-set eyes seemed to gloat on 
 that confused and terrified expression. In- 
 voluntarily she pressed her hands tightly 
 together, as she forced the trembling in- 
 quiry — 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 His eyes dropped down, and did not rise 
 once till the following speech : — 
 
 " I saw a Saxon soldier spying O'Connor's 
 fort : he stood just at yonder point, from 
 whence it can be seen or examined either 
 for the first or last time before you turn ofi" 
 from the shore. I followed him, for I feared 
 his purpose was not good ; he returned to 
 the camp, and I went thither also, and heard 
 the base and lying tale that he reported. 
 It were sin to vex your ear with it." 
 
 " Speak on," she said, with a sickening
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 123 
 
 faintness at her heart, and resting one hand 
 on the shoulder of the nurse. 
 
 " This caitiff, whom I had taken for a 
 simple soldier, proved to be a gay knight, 
 named Sir Guy D'Esterre. He accused one, 
 whom he named a rebel chief, of wounding 
 and detaining him prisoner in his fort, 
 guarded by two women of the Irishry, one 
 of whom he described as old, ugly, yellow- 
 haired, and yellow-faced ; the other" — 
 
 At that moment the speaker lifted his 
 downcast eyelids. The face that met his 
 glance produced a change even on his dark 
 countenance. It was pale as death : deep 
 pain seemed to have entered the heart, but 
 the features were at rest ; even the usually 
 speaking eyes had lost their expressiveness, 
 as if some strange thing, unknown, unseen 
 before, had suddenly come before their vi- 
 sion, and chilled and changed the soul that 
 had beamed through them. 
 
 Lawrence stopped ; in all men in whom 
 the vestige of God's work remains, there is 
 some remnant of good : he felt he was doing 
 what the laws of the children of Israel for- 
 bade, — seething the kid in its mother's milk.
 
 124 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 " Say on," said Hilda, in a low, but firm 
 voice. "Did that knight tell how he had 
 left the fort?" 
 
 The question, undesignedly put, confused 
 the traitor, for of this circumstance he was 
 io;norant, havino- been on his road before 
 D'Esterre. He had really seen him standing 
 in the position he described, to take a last 
 survey of the singular fortress which, uncon- 
 sciously almost to himself, had been the 
 means of creating a new and deep interest 
 in his breast. 
 
 The deceiver is easily deceived ; a true 
 heart and firm faith will more quickly dis- 
 cover the absence of a kindred spirit. A 
 light came to Hilda's eye — a light that it 
 was almost terrible to see as it fell do-wn on 
 the graceless form before her. 
 
 " Blessed Heaven !" she exclaimed, '* can 
 it be ? — is truth, the virtue our forefathers 
 boasted, — the virtue savage heathen possess, 
 banished from this miserable land ?" 
 
 Lawrence blinked, like a man abruptly 
 meeting a sunbeam striking on his dark- 
 ness ; a nuirky flush tinged the dark pallor 
 of his face. There were reproach, sorrow.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 125 
 
 almost a sense of shame in her tone, far 
 more than anger or contempt. 
 
 Fortunately for the traitor, the old nurse, 
 whose perceptions were more cloudy, inter- 
 fered — very unintentionally, for with a sort 
 of animal instinct she detested him in her 
 heart — to deliver him from the awkward- 
 ness of a half-convicted falsehood. 
 
 " He has told on us !" she cried, " the 
 false-spoken knave ! He will destroy us all 
 now. The holy saints defend us ! — didn't I 
 say this would come of our letting him go, 
 and the O'Connor away ?" 
 
 " I only tell the tale I have heard," said 
 Lawrence, in an offended manner. " They 
 say that same knave is to appear shortly at 
 the Council of the Lord Deputy in Dublin, 
 to give account of these matters. I was fain 
 not to answer the question the Lady Hilda 
 put to me touching the manner in which he 
 left the fortress : she loves not to hear false- 
 hood, and such untrue and dishonouring 
 words are not for her ear. He had, belike, 
 heard many a goodly tale of captive knights 
 set free by the fair dames whose favour they 
 had won, and spoke but idly of an adven- 
 ture that had not chanced."
 
 126 SIR GUY d'esteure. 
 
 Hilda turned away ; she walked aside for 
 a minute or two among the rocks, and then 
 came back to Lawrence. A deep colour 
 burned in her face ; it alone told of the 
 emotions of pride, anger, and some sensation 
 — the bitterest of all — that worked within 
 her heart, while externally she was calm. 
 Looking him fully in the face, she said — 
 
 " I fear not that the lady of whom thou 
 speakest shall ever know dishonour, though 
 it may be her lot to suffer from falsehood ; 
 if wrong be done to her, she need not blush 
 if she have done right. Better to be be- 
 trayed than the betrayer. Lawrence, the 
 true heart would fain not suspect untruth : 
 I know of no cause that could lead thee to 
 act dishonestly in this matter ; did I doubt 
 thee, it were vain to give thee this com- 
 mand. I charge thee, then, on thy allegiance, 
 say not a word, drop not a hint, of aught of 
 this in the hall or elsewhere. Be silent." 
 
 Tiie man made an awkward bow of as- 
 sent ; but soon added — 
 
 " I obey, lady ; but should not the chief 
 know of the danger that may threaten him, 
 and be prepared to meet it ?"
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 127 
 
 She pressed her hand to her forehead, and 
 bowed her head. 
 
 " I will confer with him ; do thou be si- 
 lent," she said, lifting her head with an air 
 of command that agreed better with her 
 form and aspect than it did with her cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 To know that she did so, Lawrence silently 
 resolved ; for as without D'Esterre's evidence 
 against him, proceedings were not likely to 
 be taken against Fitzclare, it was necessary 
 to their scheme that he should be urged by 
 apprehension of the threatened danger to 
 form some alliance with declared rebels ; or 
 to take some other step that was contrary 
 to the ever-changing and ill-understood laws 
 of the English Council, which acted inde- 
 pendently, and often in defiance, of the Irish 
 Parliament, — such as would afibrd the pre- 
 texts which his enemies had so long sought 
 for to complete his ruin. 
 
 He was not long in suspense. Too well 
 did he know Hilda Fitzclare to suspect 
 that fear of his displeasure would tempt 
 her to conceal from her father aught which 
 she believed it was his interest to know :
 
 128 SIR GUY d'esteiike. 
 
 but he doubted whether such a clear-judg- 
 ing mind as her's might not believe that his 
 safety was more promoted by his ignorance 
 of threatening danger than by his fore- 
 knowledge of it. Such, on another occasion, 
 would have been her decision ; but now, a 
 sentiment, concealed even from herself, led 
 her to shrink from the idea of keeping their 
 late prisoner's conduct a secret from her 
 father ; and, while Lawrence was still me- 
 ditating on the probabilities of her conduct, 
 the opportunity of ascertaining it was af- 
 forded. 
 
 The laro-e fig-ure and somewhat solemn 
 step of the Irish chief were already observ- 
 able, slowly progressing towards them along 
 the shore. His daughter went on to meet 
 him. Her steps, at first quick and impulsive, 
 slackened and became irregular as she 
 advanced, grew unsteady as she approached 
 him, until, as she drew near, she tottered 
 with extended arms like a faihng infant to 
 meet his, and, with a low moan of inward 
 pain, sunk on his broad chest. 
 
 Her face was hidden by the long locks 
 which, in defiance of the English laws against
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 129 
 
 them, her father continued to wear. His 
 head was bent over her ; his arms, with a 
 tenderness wholly out of unison with his 
 aspect, gently encircled her. 
 
 "Mavourneen, what aileth thee? Who 
 hath alarmed thee?" 
 
 " Believe him not, my father, — trust him 
 not; he is false! — Lawrence is false ! — the 
 world itself is false !" she murmured, as 
 if incoherently. 
 
 He raised her face between his large 
 hands, and held it up to his. 
 
 " Of whom does Lawrence speak ?" 
 
 ''Of the Saxon — the prisoner — the sol- 
 dier we released." 
 
 " We !" With a hasty movement Fitz- 
 clare had shaken her from him ; with a 
 second impulse he drew her again to his 
 side. "Be it so, my child, — we released 
 him. Yes, O'Connor's honour was saved 
 by his child, and she will let him have 
 the merit of her act." 
 
 " Mock me not, father ! — You would not 
 have sacrificed that honour by the death 
 of the stranger to whom you had given 
 refuge. It was not you I feared, it was 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 SIK GUY D'eSTERKE. 
 
 that fierce and angry man -who was to have 
 been your guest — our Isabel's uncle : who, 
 for her sake and Morven's, would have been 
 loath to let him go free." 
 
 " He has, then, broken his word ? — on his 
 doing so we might reckon, since he is a 
 Saxon." 
 
 O'Connor said no more, but, striding 
 towards Lawrence, desired him to repeat the 
 intelligence he saw he had just given to his 
 daughter. 
 
 With some surprise Hilda listened to an 
 account given by him of D'Esterre's conduct, 
 in which she had little or no part ; an ac- 
 count which, in fact, simply detailed the 
 event of which his lord was already con- 
 scious — the knight's having been assaulted, 
 wounded, and kept in imprisonment by 
 O'Connor of Fitzclare. 
 
 " And Morven — my son ?" cried the chief, 
 impatiently, cutting him short. 
 
 "They talk of sending him forthwith to 
 London ; they say the O'Neil will break 
 forth again, and the hostages will be in 
 safer keeping in a place they call the — " 
 
 " Tower" — added Fitzclare. " Verily,
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTEERE. 131 
 
 Elizabeth's headsman has a hard service. 
 Well, we can only trouble him twice more." 
 And, with a speech that showed but little 
 of his stormy emotions, he turned from the 
 others, and with long strides reached the 
 landing-place of his fortress, where he was 
 soon standing erect in the wicker boat ; his 
 long hair blowing out on the breeze that 
 was now gloomily sweeping the water, and 
 his strange dress and immense size looking 
 still stranger and larger in the deepening 
 twilio-ht. 
 
 o 
 
 His daughter stood some minutes silently 
 looking on the dark face of the man before 
 her. 
 
 "Lawrence," said she then, in a voice 
 more full of sadness than anger, " to suspect 
 is hateful, and to mistrust is bitter where 
 trust has once been placed. Spies and 
 informers are plenty in this injured land. 
 Canst thou have been amongst them ?" 
 
 He did not reply directly to the question, 
 but answered — 
 
 " I have not been with that Saxon in 
 whom the Lady Hilda placed her fullest trust, 
 and of whom, belike, she now speaks." 
 
 K 2
 
 1 32 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Stung by the tone and the words he 
 uttered, she exclaimed — 
 
 " Man ! — the kniglit of whom thou speak- 
 est, and whom in my heart I trow thou 
 slanderest, knew not the name of thy lord ; 
 and yet but now I heard thee say he had 
 accused O'Connor of Fitzclare !" 
 
 "Truly I myself heard not the name 
 mentioned," he answered readily, "save by 
 Master Symonds, and others also, to whom 
 the fortress and person of the O'Connor 
 and — and — of the Lady Hilda, might have 
 been, perchance, only guessed at from 
 some description they had heard. It may, 
 then, be but a report, the truth or false- 
 hood of which a coming day will make 
 plain." 
 
 The last supposition was uttered in a 
 manner that left no doubt of the speaker's 
 belief as to the perilous nature, to the 
 Fitzclares, of the day to which he had al- 
 luded. 
 
 " Poor nurse ! thou at least wilt be true 
 to me !" sighed the girl, as she felt the old 
 woman assisting her tottering steps along 
 the beach. Her hand was kissed.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 133 
 
 "Keep a good heart, child," said the 
 nurse ; " I love not the Saxons, and would 
 as lief that bold youth were in the bottom 
 of the sea as where he is ; but for all that 
 I hke not that dark-faced Lawrence. The 
 O'Neil, they say, Avill rise again ; and, with 
 the help of God, he will drive out the 
 strangers, just as the blessed Patrick drove 
 the venomous reptiles into the sea." 
 
 And, thus comforting her child, she ap- 
 proached with her the island rock, on a 
 ledge of which they saw the childlike little 
 Isabel dancing merrily to her own shadow, 
 her fair hair flung wildly round her glowing 
 face. 
 
 "To blight that young heart, to wither 
 its glad spring-time — shall that be given 
 me to do ?" was her cousin's anxious and 
 sorrowful thought.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The council.room of the Castle of Dublin 
 was more than usually filled — for many 
 petitions, complaints, and much harassing 
 intelligence, were at that moment confusing 
 and irritating the Lord Deputy, and, through 
 him, his Queen. 
 
 AVith a few military acquaintances Guy 
 D'Esterre loitered in a window, feeling some 
 anxiety, and a good deal of impatience, 
 to learn the result of the unpleasant but 
 not uncommon charge that was laid against 
 him, of forming an alHance with a suspected 
 traitor or rebel of the Irish. His compa- 
 nions, finding him determined not to say 
 more than he had already said on that 
 sul)ject, were now amusing tliemselves by 
 remarking the proceedings that went on,
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 135 
 
 and laughing at the awkward movements 
 of the old natives, as they walked about 
 in the English dress which, in compliance 
 with the desire of Sir John Perrot, a late 
 Governor of their wretched country, they 
 had assumed. 
 
 Peter of Russia was not more earnest 
 in cropping the beards and changing the 
 attire of his subjects, than were the rulers 
 of Ireland in the same. The bard of that 
 country has alluded to this in one of his 
 melodies, in which the lady promises to fly 
 with her " cooleen," — 
 
 " Nor di'ead that the false-hearted Saxon shall tear 
 One string from his harp, nor one lock from his hair." 
 
 And the wisdom of this alteration might 
 be apparent in the subdued aspect of the 
 men who had submitted to it. With this 
 approximation to foreigners, the old Irish 
 lords appeared to bear about a badge of ser- 
 vitude, and to lose the independent and 
 usually fierce demeanour that had charac- 
 terized them. 
 
 Some commotion in the ante-room drew 
 the attention of the young observers towards
 
 136 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 it. A man of striking appearance was 
 passing in : a splendid person, an open 
 intelligent countenance, a bold and free 
 carriage, blended with something of English 
 or courtly grace, distinguished the celebrated 
 chieftain, called by his countrymen The 
 O'Neil, and by the English the Earl of 
 Tyrone. His dress, too, united the ancient 
 Irish with the English mode, the fully 
 plaited yellow shirt, and cherished "cooleen" 
 being still retained. It was thus he visited 
 the Court of Queen Elizabeth, and was 
 well received by her, although doomed to 
 harass and embitter the painful latter end 
 of her life. 
 
 On the present occasion he wore, as he 
 usually did, a light frock of mail ; and 
 carried his helmet in his hand, as he entered 
 the room with the step and bearing of an 
 independent prince. 
 
 A murmur of surprise at the boldness 
 of this suspected chief thus presenting him- 
 self at the Court of the Lord Deputy, ran 
 almost audibly through the room. 
 
 D'Esterre inquired who lie was. 
 
 " Know you not the Earl of Tyrone ?"
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 137 
 
 replied a weak-minded young officer at his 
 side, — " her Grace knows him but too well — 
 the famous rebel whom our Lord Marshal 
 watches so close." 
 
 "For what cause, if he is quiet now?" 
 said the other. " Surely, were he devising 
 treason, he would not thus walk into the 
 lion's den ?" 
 
 Opinion concerning this chief, whose 
 conduct was of dubious interpretation, was 
 divided. 
 
 " Na}^," observed another, " he has broad 
 lands, and some bold castles, and took a 
 wife to boot, who was sister to the Lord 
 Marshal, and that without asking his leave. 
 He will make us work soon, I doubt not." 
 
 "His marriage, methinks, was treason 
 enough," said D'Esterre, smiling ; " but let 
 us cease this talk, lest it lead us all to walk 
 through the Traitor's Gate." 
 
 "And you would go through it alone, 
 Guy, it seems? — you will do so if you 
 do not speak out. Have a care, boy, for 
 they have been discussing thy matter," said 
 his old friend. 
 
 "That could hardly be," said D'Esterre
 
 138 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 reddening ; " slight offences, Heaven knows, 
 are grievously punished : but I have been 
 guilty of none." 
 
 He spoke uneasily ; but, as he did so, the 
 Lord Deputy was seen advancing to meet his 
 unexpected visitor. He stood with O'Neil 
 near the council-table, and, after a brief dis- 
 course, an officer, joining the group of which 
 D'Esterre made one, gave them an account 
 of what had passed. 
 
 " The Lord Deputy is right content," he 
 said ; " Tyrone has made his just dealing, as 
 the Scripture saith, clear as the day. He 
 avows his loyalty and his desire to abide by 
 the terms he made with the Government; 
 and lays all the blame of what has been 
 otherwise reported on the late Deputy. He 
 explains his absence from this Court by say- 
 ing he was obliged to retire while Fitzwil- 
 liam governed, by whom his conduct was 
 unjustly misrepresented ; and from whose 
 Government he could obtain neither proof 
 of false charges nor satisfaction for -svi'ongs. 
 He wishes to be on friendly terms with our 
 present Deputy, and is ready, he says, to 
 prove that the Queen hath no more faithful
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 139 
 
 subject than he, if justice only be done to 
 him, and the petitions of the ParUament be 
 heard. The Deputy already sees he has 
 reason ; his boldness has won the day." 
 
 The speaker drew back with a salute, for 
 the Lord Marshal just then came in, and 
 went straight to the council-board. He 
 started at seeing the object of his fierce 
 personal animosity in apparent friendly con- 
 ference with the new Lord Deputy. The 
 two men looked at each other sternly and 
 silently : O'Neil's gaze seemed to say his op- 
 ponent was known, and would be braved. 
 Bagnal's expressed hatred, and a scarcely 
 hidden thirst for revenge ; O'Neil would not 
 withdraw that gaze; but Bagnal, turning 
 aside to the Lord Deputy, desired to speak 
 to him alone. 
 
 As they withdrew, the Earl retired to a 
 little distance, and remained leaning by one 
 of the pillars, with a changed and cloudy 
 aspect, until the others returned from a 
 conference which had evidently effected an 
 equal change in the manner and conduct of 
 the Lord Deputy towards him. 
 
 " There !" said the old officer who had
 
 140 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 before spoken, "there is a brave turn in 
 affairs — see now the stability of court fa- 
 vour: but late that Earl was our good friend 
 Tyrone; now it needs but a few whispers 
 in private, and the question is, whether he 
 shall be detained here in durance, or suffered 
 to depart to work us mischief The Lord 
 Marshal is fain to secure the prey ; but the 
 Deputy thinks shame of such a measure. 
 See ! he dismisses him briefly and scornfully. 
 There he goes — our offered friend converted 
 into a steady foe. We shall hear ofthis ere long." 
 
 " A man so suspected could not, methinks, 
 be received to favour," said the young officer, 
 as O'Neil, with a singularly altered aspect, 
 left the audience-chamber. 
 
 " The Council," returned the other, "should 
 either rely on the protestations a man makes, 
 or not leave it in his power to break them. 
 Where is the use of outraging that brave 
 lord's feelings, and then sending him forth 
 free to vent his angry passions in the way 
 he would not have, perhaps, chosen if he 
 were not driven to it?" 
 
 A summons to Sir Guy D'Esterre ended 
 the discussion. The coldness with wliich he 
 was received told him his case was already
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 141 
 
 prejudged by the Deputy and his Council. 
 His answers were considered as evasive and 
 unsatisfactory ; his refusal to point out the 
 fortress wherein he had been confined was 
 sheer disobedience. He received the un- 
 grateful intelligence that the case would be 
 referred to the Queen, and that in the mean- 
 time his services in Ireland were dispensed 
 with, and he must remain in arrest till he 
 was conveyed to London. 
 
 At that epoch of the sixteenth century 
 such an intimation might convey to our 
 young hero the disagreeable prospect of lan- 
 guishing out half his years in the historically 
 dishonoured Tower of London, if some angry 
 humour of the " maiden Queen" had once 
 consigned him to it ; with the further pro- 
 spect of having his head chopped olf, in case 
 any fresh trouble given by the Irish rebels 
 should appear to implicate him more deeply. 
 Of the chief, O'Connor of Fitzclare, he 
 knew literally nothing ; his loyalty or dis- 
 loyalty was to him alike hypothetical ; but 
 in his fidelity or on his rebellion, Sir Guy, 
 rather uncomfortably, felt his own fate most 
 probably depended.
 
 142 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 " Hilda, of the beautiful face and sweetly- 
 speaking eyes, it had been, perhaps, as well 
 for me — for thee, poor girl, far better — had 
 I never seen thee !" 
 
 Such was the reflection, not altogether 
 consolatory, that crossed a mind, until then 
 too provoked and irritated to feel dis- 
 tressed, as Guy D'Esterre beheld the shores 
 of unhappy Ireland recede from his view, 
 while he stood on the deck of the ship that 
 bore him from them ; and, distasteful as his 
 service in Ireland had been, felt a burning 
 pang of indignation at quitting it -with a slur 
 on the name and on the fame that had 
 hitherto been unstained. The reflection was 
 probably deepened, rendered more aflinna- 
 tive, when, on unhappily reaching London at 
 a moment when his friend Essex was " keep- 
 ing his chamber" in consequence of a quarrel 
 with his petulant old lady-love, the oflicer 
 who was reported to her as having taken 
 part with her vexatious Irish was, without 
 further ceremony, ordered to the Marshalsea. 
 
 " So far, so good," thought Sir Guy, hope- 
 fully, as he stepped into the boat on the 
 Thames : " it is not to the Tower, and the 
 sickness of Essex never lasts long."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 143 
 
 The prison at that moment was well filled: 
 the keeper, understandingthe new guest came 
 from Ireland, and was imprisoned for a slight 
 offence, offered him the companionship of one 
 from the same country ; and Guy D'Esterre 
 was conducted to a chamber already tenanted 
 by a youth whose appearance at once excited 
 his interest. He was seated on the floor, 
 perhaps simply for change of posture ; his 
 long, lithe, active-looking limbs stretched 
 languidly out, and bent back at the knees ; 
 his arm rested on the stool he should have 
 sat on, and his head on it; the long locks hung 
 negligently down. The newcomer steadfastly 
 regarded him ; and the longer he looked, the 
 stronger became the idea which at first sight 
 had occurred to him. The eyes were black, 
 vivid, excited almost to wildness, or rapidly 
 chanoino; to gloom. 
 
 "Hers," thought Sir Guy, "are deep blue; 
 changeful indeed, but still full of a calm, soul- 
 breathing sweetness : his hair is bro^vn, hers 
 a raven black ; her complexion is lily-white, 
 his is like the mellow peach. Yet surely," he 
 said, gliding his thoughts into words, and 
 speaking aloud, " surely it is the brother 
 of "
 
 144 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 " Of whom ? I pray you," said the youth, 
 rising and speaking in a manner that left no 
 doubt of his nation. 
 
 " I cry you pardon," the other hastily re- 
 plied ; " I was struck by a likeness which 
 may be but in fancy ; tell me, I pray you, 
 is your name Morven ?" 
 
 " Morven O'Coimor of Fitzclare," the 
 youth replied ; " imprisoned here as hostage 
 for his father's faith, on the charge of a caitiff 
 Saxon knight they style Sir Guy D'Esterre," 
 was the haughty answer. 
 
 Sir Guy reddened and grew pale in the 
 same instant. 
 
 "Young man, I would tell thee thou 
 liest in thy throat, could I but prove my 
 words with my sword against thine : as 
 it is with us both, say what thou hast against 
 Guy D'Esterre, for he is here to answer 
 thee." 
 
 The youth regarded him in a sort of 
 stupified surprise. The countenance rather 
 than the Avords of the speaker convinced 
 him he had been in error. 
 
 " That Symonds," he murmured, " is a 
 false-hearted knave — that I always sus-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 145 
 
 pected. Most likely he had some scheme 
 in view when he told me that lying tale." 
 
 " Sir knight," he added, " tell me if you 
 know a lady that is styled Hilda of Fitzclare, 
 and what of her ?" 
 
 " I know a lady whose name is Hilda," 
 he answered, " her other titles 1 am ignorant 
 of: for the rest I know only that to me 
 she seemed as good and noble in mind as in 
 person she is lovely !'' 
 
 Morven frowned, — whether in reality dis- 
 pleased, or the better to conceal or conquer 
 the emotion of pleasure which it is not 
 impossible he felt, might be doubtful. 
 
 " Wherefore are you a prisoner here, sir 
 knight?" 
 
 " For being true to thy " he was about 
 
 to say "sister," but he corrected his speech ; 
 '' for being true to thee and to thy house." 
 
 " Fidelity," rejoined the young man, " is 
 a virtue so little known between your 
 nation and mine, that you should pardon 
 me. Sir Guy, if I be somewhat anxious to 
 know the cause of its being shown by 
 you ?" 
 
 " You owe me no obligation," said I>'Es- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14G SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 terre, perceiving a sort of reluctance on 
 his companion's part to feel that he had 
 been laid under one so great as his o\vn 
 speech had implied, and by a man who was 
 still a stranger. "You owe me no obli- 
 gation," he said ; " I but scantily fulfilled 
 the terms, or rather, I would say, I but 
 scantily returned the good-will shown to 
 me." 
 
 He then briefly related the leading cir- 
 cumstances of his misadventure with the 
 father of his present prison companion. 
 
 When he had ended the narrative, Morven 
 grasped his hand with the warmth of an 
 excitable and sensitive nature. 
 
 "AVe must be comrades, but we shall 
 voluntarily be friends," he cried. 
 
 "I trust so," answered D'Esterre, smilingly; 
 " this dreary place would be worse than the 
 wild beast's den were we to be foes."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The incident that had attended his entrance 
 within the prison walls tended for some 
 days to direct D'Esterre's mind from a 
 consideration of his circumstances. In 
 spite of the resolution he had entered into 
 with himself, to subdue the interest he had 
 felt for his late fair warder, he found 
 himself frequently suggesting some topic 
 which led his communicative companion 
 to dilate freely on the events of his family 
 history. 
 
 " It seems to me that your father has not 
 •had justice done him?'' he observed on one 
 occasion. 
 
 " He has to deal with Saxons," the youth 
 briefly replied, — as if the simple fact he 
 asserted were reason sufficient to give. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 siii GUY d'esterre. 
 
 D'Esterre smiled, but not pleasantly. 
 
 "Are all your family — I would say all 
 your nation — alike prejudiced ?" 
 
 " All who have not been bought over." 
 
 "Yet you but lately offered me your 
 friendship !" 
 
 " I forgot you were one of them," said the 
 young man, laughing; "no matter, you 
 shall have it while we are cao;ed ton;ether : 
 if ever our wings are given to us again, we 
 can decide which way we shall fly. Know 
 you, Sir Guy, for what cause I am here ?" 
 
 " I have heard it said you had been taken 
 as hostage for your father's faith." 
 
 " Say, rather, as heir of my father's house 
 — the last of his race," said Morven, bitterly. 
 " Shall I relate a part of his history, to help 
 to mle away these dreary hours ?" 
 
 D'Esterre willingly assented ; adding that 
 he was aware that crying complaints daily 
 were brought to the Queen concerning the 
 fearful state of affairs in Ireland. 
 
 "Truly," he said, "they are a tangled 
 skein, which even our strong-witted lady 
 cannot unravel. She would deal equal- 
 handed justice to all, were her ability as 
 large as her will."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 149 
 
 " Of which your own case is a fair proof?" 
 said the other, somewhat scoffingly. 
 
 " Appearances were against me ; and, 
 moreover, that case was never fully laid 
 before her Highness." 
 
 "An evidence, at least, of the misrule 
 permitted among us." 
 
 "That there is misrule, is admitted too 
 generally to be denied," returned D'Esterre ; 
 " but, methinks, no rule would content the 
 Irishry so long as they might not rule them- 
 selves after their own wild fashion." 
 
 Morven started on his feet, flinging back 
 his long hair, and, with a wild flash of his 
 dark eyes, he cried — 
 
 " Saxon, I tell thee to thy face, that could 
 I see my country what our bards tell us it 
 once was, I would the next moment give not 
 my heart's blood alone, but die fifty deaths 
 if I could!" 
 
 " It is well if walls have not ears, good 
 friend, or your words would not help to 
 clear your way out of these." 
 
 " But think not," added the youth, " that 
 all my countrymen share such sentiments 
 as these. No ; there are cooler heads than
 
 150 aiR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 mine, and all the majority of them wish for 
 is fair and equal rule, with liberty to be go- 
 verned by their own lawful Parliament, 
 instead of by the ever-changing acts and 
 laws of the English Deputy's Council. It is 
 for this the O'Neil contends ; how can two 
 Councils almost always opposed to each 
 other do aught but embroil the land, and 
 distract and ruin its people?" 
 
 "Truth to say, good youth," said D'Es- 
 terre, warily, "I vex not my brain with 
 politics ; it seems to me that in your most 
 wretched land they act as the troubled sea, 
 whose waves cast up mire and dirt. I have 
 served the Queen as a soldier hitherto, 
 with some honour. The name of Elizabeth 
 is glorious in the world. Shame and sorrow 
 it is that one little island of her own do- 
 minions should be the one dark spot in 
 the crown of her fame !" 
 
 " One r muttered Morven, with emphasis, 
 but, not wishing to provoke his more loyal 
 companion, he added — 
 
 " Not to Elizabeth alone do I ascribe all 
 the shame and sorrow which ought justly 
 to darken the history of }'our land, Sir Guy,
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 151 
 
 in connexion with its government of mine. 
 The acts of the late Queen, though she was 
 of our faith, and re-established that faith for 
 us, were in some instances almost as bad ; 
 and with the reign of Mary began the mis- 
 fortunes and wrongs of our house." 
 
 " Of which you engaged to tell me," said 
 D'Esterre, " and, mayhap, from the relation 
 I may gain some more knowledge of the 
 state of affairs in your land than I have yet 
 cared to learn." 
 
 " My father. Sir Guy, I need not tell you, 
 is the descendant of that unfortunate mo- 
 narch who first invited the Saxons, under 
 the second King Henry, to our shore — " 
 
 " Say, rather, the Normans," interrupted 
 D'Esterre, " for if you speak of lineage, I 
 myself am of Norman, not of Saxon .race." 
 
 " In our own language we call your nation 
 Saxon ; but I will term you English, if it 
 please you better," returned Morven, as he 
 resumed his narrative. 
 
 " My father is the descendant of the last 
 Irish king, Roderick O'Connor. In the time 
 of Queen Mary the two districts, now 
 named after her and her husband, Philip
 
 152 biK GUY d'estekre. 
 
 of Spain, the King's and Queen's Counties, 
 were the territories of O'Connor and O'More. 
 O'Connor was my grandfather ; my father 
 married O'More's daughter. Both these 
 counties were taken possession of by the 
 orders of Mary of England : the chiefs were 
 seized, thrown into prison, and deprived of 
 their possessions : their territories were, as it 
 is termed, 'settled' by the English ; that is, 
 they were made over in grants to English 
 settlers, and their names will probably per- 
 petuate their history. When released, or, 
 rather, turned out of prison, the names of 
 the O'More and O'Connor become foremost 
 among the firebrands of their country. 
 Their former people, or the inferior chiefs, 
 who had been also dispossessed of their lands, 
 appealed in vain. They rose ; but were 
 soon defeated ; massacre followed ; the 
 whole districts were nearly depopulated, 
 and quite ready for new settlers, who were 
 soon to give as much trouble as the old. 
 This occurred under the reign of a Queen 
 whose religion was that for which we would 
 now shed our blood. It was after my 
 grandfather's death that my lather, who in-
 
 SIR GUY u'esterre. 153 
 
 herited lands in another district, and was 
 known as O'Connor of Fitzclare, and some- 
 times, by the people, as Fitzclare of the Seven 
 Castles, involved himself with the rulers of 
 our land by wedding the O'M ore's daughter 
 at the moment when her father stood at 
 bay against his enemies. Until then he 
 had given no ground of offence. From 
 that time he became more or less suspected, 
 and his actions have ever since been more 
 or less observed. 
 
 "I may have spoken hardly of your 
 country, Sir Guy ; but methinks the wrongs 
 now practised against us will hand down to 
 ages and ages to come the same sentiment 
 of rankling animosity. At the same time, 
 think me not so crack-brained as to believe 
 mine to be still that island of saints of 
 which our bards and romancers tell. No ! 
 those saints might blush — if saints do blush 
 — for the deeds that are done by their dege- 
 nerate children. Even the spy and informer 
 are to be found among our own people ; and 
 the base crew that sweeps over from England, 
 to seek their fortunes on the ruin of ours, 
 find these creatures but too useful instru-
 
 154 SIR GUY D'ESTiiKRE. 
 
 merits in attaining their object. This evil 
 is increased, if not caused, by tlie miserable 
 feuds that have from time immemorial 
 divided us against one another. The de- 
 sire of vengeance lurks long and deeply 
 in an Irish breast; the clan of one man, 
 for an injury caused by another, may 
 pursue a whole family with unremitting 
 hate. That my father has some such secret 
 foe, or that there is a traitor in his house, 
 many occurrences that reached my ear, 
 while I was retained in the English Pale, 
 have led me to believe." 
 
 The wild energy with which the young 
 man had formerly spoken had been ex- 
 changed for a gravity more pleasing to his 
 companion, who had begun to fear that he 
 had been condemned to share his prison 
 with a most determined and open rebel. 
 His last words, and the sadness of the tone 
 that uttered them, recalled the recollection of 
 some he had heard from his sister : and the 
 thought rapidly awoke another. He had, 
 until that moment, forgotten what he be- 
 lieved to have been a trick phn'cd upon him 
 in his tower-chamber during his abode — lor
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 155 
 
 he had ceased to consider it imprisonment — 
 in the island fort. Could that have been the 
 design of a traitor who wanted to give infor- 
 mation against Fitzclare ? Unwilling to say 
 to her betrothed that he had imputed the 
 missive he had received to the little Isabel, 
 he resolved on a future day to speak to him 
 about it, and resumed the conversation by 
 an inquiry concerning the further history of 
 O'Connor. 
 
 " My father," said Morven, " married, as 
 think I told you, the daughter of O'More, the 
 sister of the present chief of that clan," 
 
 " The rebel against whom I led that hap- 
 less party,''* D'Esterre interposed. " Little 
 did I know that I should be thus conversing 
 with his nephew in the Marshalsea." 
 
 "The fortunes of war lead men to strange 
 chances," said Morven. 
 
 " War!" the other echoed in a tone of con- 
 tempt, " call you that war ? If it were, I 
 should pray I might never see war again. 
 But continue, I pray you, and let this pass." 
 
 " My mother knew too well the troubles in 
 which his union with her involved my father : 
 he loved her to idolatry, and still almost wor-
 
 156 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 ships her memory. Fear, anxiety, and grief, 
 shortened her life. She died, and left him 
 three children, two of whom, my sister and 
 myself, were almost infants : my brother 
 was about fourteen years of age. Her only 
 bequest to him was these children ; her last 
 prayer was that for their sakes he would ab- 
 stain rigidly from giving even the appearance 
 ofoiFence to the English Government. He pro- 
 mised; and so far as he could, he kept his pro- 
 mise ; but my brother, as he grew towards 
 manhood, showed another spirit. Had he 
 lived to a ripe age, he would not have brooked 
 what my father has. His impatient spirit 
 caused an untimely death. While Fitzwilliam 
 was the hateful Governor of Ireland, it was 
 asserted that a vast quantity of treasure, 
 taken from the lost vessels of the Spanish 
 Armada, was secreted in some castles of the 
 nobles on the western coast. One of these 
 belonged to my father. In his absence a 
 ruffianly host invaded our home : disap- 
 pointed in their expected booty (for we had 
 nothing but the broken rudder of a castaway 
 ship), they attempted by every insult to pro- 
 voke some act that would give a pi'etence
 
 157 
 
 for the plunder they meditated. Unhappily, 
 they succeeded too well, though to the cost 
 of their leader. My young brother, in a 
 burst of rage, seized a battle-axe, and laid 
 him dead at his feet. His own blood was 
 shed on the instant— the blood of an O'Connor 
 for that of the low-born stranger !" 
 
 A smile, notwithstanding the gloomy cha- 
 racter of the narrative he heard, played 
 round the lip of D'Esterre at the closing 
 words : he repressed it speedily. 
 
 " And yourself and sister," he asked, "were 
 you in that castle ?" 
 
 "Yes, we were mere children; my bro- 
 ther was not quite eighteen — the age my 
 sister now is ; 1 was five years younger, and 
 my sister is one year younger than I. When 
 they had killed my gallant brother, they 
 plundered the castle, and then fired it. 
 This passed as an act of hasty vengeance for 
 their leader's death." 
 
 " How, then, were you saved ?" 
 
 " Singularly enough. Sir Guy — by a Pu- 
 ritan minister : one to whom we, good Ca- 
 tholics as we are, had given refuge. You 
 know the axe or the halter of your Queen- 
 Pope is as ready for one as the other. Well
 
 158 SIR GUY d'estkrre. 
 
 — frown or smile as you please — let me tell 
 you the rest. One of these poor heretics, in 
 trying to save his conscience or his neck, 
 was cast on our coast from a ship^vrecked 
 vessel. My father, who had not secreted 
 the Spanish treasure, secreted the heretic. 
 He was a good-minded man, though, of 
 course, misled by Satan. He got to like us, 
 became our tutor, taught us the English 
 language, which we thus learned to speak, 
 you see, as bravely as yourselves, and the 
 French speech also." 
 
 "I have heard Spanish spoken by your 
 sister." 
 
 " Oh ! that of course : our connexions 
 with Spain are close : it is our land of re- 
 fuge." 
 
 "Well! goon." 
 
 " This poor minister discovered a former 
 friend or relative among our invaders, whom 
 he knew would not betray him, and by his 
 means contrived to save us. Hidden in a 
 cavern which communicated with the sea, 
 we witnessed from its extremity the confla- 
 gration of our castle. Our fother beheld 
 the same; lie was returning at night when 
 the smoking and still blazing pile rose to liis 
 
 i
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 159 
 
 view. At that moment he might have 
 joined with his kinsman O'More in a vow 
 of irreconcilable hatred and war against the 
 Enghsh rule. But our heretic refugee came 
 forth to meet him, carrying Hilda in his 
 arms. The child had the mother's face, and 
 her looks, her words, recalled the promise he 
 had given to the dead. He then resolved to 
 depart for Spain, and forsake the land which 
 seemed given over to violence and wrong. 
 It was necessary, however, to dispose of his 
 lands in some way that would save him 
 from ruin ; and, while he was seeking to do 
 this, another source of disturbance arose, 
 and was the means of binding him to the 
 land he would leave. A Spanish invasion 
 was rumoured ; in revenge for the loss of 
 the Armada, it was said, a descent in favour 
 of the rebels was projected by the Spaniards 
 on the western coast. The chiefs were sum- 
 moned to give hostages for their fidelity to 
 Elizabeth of England. Resistance would 
 have been vain, but my father, who is easily 
 persuaded, and, like myself, prone to act on 
 impulse, was led to believe that in his case 
 an example of other more refractory nobles 
 was the object in view. The hostages were
 
 inO SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 to be returned so soon as the threatened 
 danger was over. I own to you, Sir Guy, 
 that I would rather have drawn the sword 
 with the Spaniards than have gone as a 
 bondman to the English Pale. But what 
 could be done? Hilda, poor girl, whose 
 desire to leave her unhappy land was con- 
 stantly increasing, joined with others in 
 believing that a ready compliance ^vith this 
 mandate on our part would facilitate the 
 measures our father contemplated, and that 
 my detention would be very short. In fact, 
 we had the promise of the Lord Deputy 
 that I should be released almost imme- 
 diately. 
 
 " Well ! that Spanish invasion ended as 
 others have done, but I have only been re- 
 moved into safer durance, on the pretence 
 that my father has taken part with O'More, 
 attacked an English party, and wounded 
 and imprisoned its officer, — tlie gallant 
 knight. Sir Guy D'Esterre." 
 
 Morven O'Connor rose up as he said the 
 last word, and, walking away, flung himself 
 on his rough couch, and appeared to fall 
 fast asleep, leaving his companion to niedi- 
 tate as he pleased upon what he had heard. ,
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Time, at the best, passes but wearily in 
 a prison ; on D'Esterre's hands it hung 
 heavily. The silence of his friends distressed, 
 and the aspect of his circumstances per- 
 plexed him. 
 
 " Surely, even had not Essex's ' sickness' 
 left him, he should have sent or written to 
 me," he hourly thought. " I would write 
 to Norris, were not that the sure way to 
 anger Essex. He must be out of favour 
 with the old lady — 1 must e'en wait till 
 the sun shines on him again : when a man 
 has to pretend his heart to be in the keeping 
 of her who also makes him feel she has 
 the care of his head, his friends need not 
 marvel at some seeming forgetfulness." 
 Thus, affecting to be patient under an 
 VOL. I. -. M
 
 1G2 sni GUY d'esterre. 
 
 apparent neglect, which was daily becoming 
 more irritating, Sir Guy was meditating 
 the propriety of a letter to the now neglected 
 wife of Essex, the widow of his first and 
 honoured commander. Sir PhiUp Sidney — 
 in which he would request tidings of her 
 lord, and inform her of the mischance that 
 had befallen himself 
 
 The young Irishman, whose petulance 
 at one time, and reckless disloyalty or 
 random gaiety at another, often annoyed 
 him, had been poring over a packet, the 
 contents of which appeared difficult to de- 
 cipher. 
 
 " Know you, Sir Guy," he now asked, 
 " one of the name of Symonds at the Enghsh 
 camp ?" 
 
 " I know that one of the name is said to 
 have now the ear of the Lord Marshal," 
 was the answer ; " but he is not one of my 
 associates : he is one, methinks, of those who 
 have yet their fortune to find, yet care 
 not to carve their way to it with the sword. 
 They say he serves the Government, never- 
 theless." 
 
 " That is easy of belief. Beware, however. 
 
 A
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 1G3 
 
 sir knight, that you hint not aught to the 
 discredit of that fair countryman of yours, 
 since I must, in that case, avenge the 
 honour of a man who, belike, ere this 
 may be my plighted brother-in-law." 
 
 " What mean you ?" cried D'Esterre, with 
 a look and tone that made the careless 
 speaker start. 
 
 " Nay," he said, smiling in scorn, " I am 
 not thinking of measuring swords with 
 3^ou on his account — but Hilda — poor 
 girl ! — can they persuade her to such weak 
 ness ?" 
 
 " May I ask," said Sir Guy, more calmly 
 " of what fresh matter you speak ?" 
 
 "Why, that this Symonds, an old suitor 
 for my sister's hand, has come forward again 
 oifering my release in exchange for it." The 
 speaker laughed aloud, as if in mockery of 
 the proposal. 
 
 " You would not accept such terms ?" 
 said D'Esterre, arrd looked gravely and 
 fixedly at him. 
 
 " Oh !" cried the other, " let me alone 
 for that ? W^hen they come and say to me, 
 Morven O'Connor ofFitzclare, yourbrother- 
 
 M 2
 
 1G4 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 in-law keeps his word, and your prison- 
 door is open, — see if I do not walk out of 
 it?" 
 
 Contempt and indignation were too legible 
 on his companion's face not to be perceived 
 by him. He burst into an almost frantic 
 laugh. 
 
 " You see such is my baseness. Sir Guy, 
 — you see what poor stuff the mere Irish are 
 made of. Oh ! give me but the chance, 
 and if my sword could not draw the black 
 drop from that villain's heart, I should 
 be content if his laid bare my o^vti." 
 
 " Calm yourself, Morven !" said D'Esterre, 
 approaching the almost frenzied youth with 
 altered sentiments; " calm yourself, for your 
 sister's sake, for if such treason threaten 
 her, you must take measures to stop it." 
 
 " What measures?" 
 
 " Write and warn her ; tell her this fellow 
 cannot be trusted." 
 
 " And how send the letter ? Think you 
 any letters from my hand do not pass 
 through other hands before they reach my 
 father, or my father's house ?" 
 
 "Would to Heaven that I were free!"
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 165 
 
 cried D'Esterre ; " but can it be that your 
 sister will listen to this vile man ? How 
 has she known him ?" 
 
 " She does not know him. To me he 
 became known while I was detained at the 
 Pale. But no private communication with 
 my family was allowed; at least, I knew that 
 it could not be maintained. He therefore 
 appears to her much as he did when he 
 saved both our lives as children." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Symonds was the Saxon who, as I told 
 you, our Puritan guest engaged on our be- 
 half" 
 
 " What strange links in this chain of cir- 
 cumstances !" was D'Esterre's reflection. It 
 passed unnoticed by the other, who added — 
 
 " Symonds accompanied that searching- 
 party to our castle, and while our old friend 
 was the means of saving myself, he bore my 
 sister to the cavern, and thus won a claim to 
 our gratitude. At the time the castle was 
 fired, almost all the retainers were absent save 
 Hilda'snurse,who escaped with us; and a man 
 named Lawrence also escaped then, who had 
 not long joined us, and of whose previous
 
 1G6 siK GUY d'esterke. 
 
 course or taiiiily we knew nothing : lie came 
 as a stranger, and, after the fashion of our 
 country, he remained at his pleasure. I have 
 since often wondered how this man contrived 
 to save himself, for our nurse affirmed that 
 he stood beside Roderick at the moment he 
 struck that fatal blow, and had whispered 
 some intelligence that enraged him, pre(;isely 
 as the leader of the band approached. It was 
 not until my father had resettled at another 
 dwelling-place that Lawrence was seen among 
 us again. AVe were too young to suspect : 
 our father too incautious, or too much en- 
 grossed by care : it is only since I have been 
 a prisoner that I have begun to perceive 
 signs of secret connexion between Symonds 
 and this Lawrence." 
 
 " But how — I understand not" — cried 
 D'Esterre, "how this Symonds can have 
 dared — said you not that he had formerly 
 been your sister's suitor ?" 
 
 " Yes : he had at various times visited us, 
 and received the hospitality given to all ; he 
 had, however, attached himself to the for- 
 tunes oi' Sir John Perrot ; and when that 
 unhappy Deputy was sent by his royal
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 167 
 
 half-sister to languish out his life in the 
 Tower, Symonds, not liking such fortunes any 
 longer, came to us, and, while Hilda was yet 
 almost a child, demanded her in marriage. 
 She was then of livelier mood than she is 
 now ; and while the blood of the O'Connors 
 boiled in the veins of my father and myself 
 at the offered disgrace, she only made merry 
 at the expense of her lover, whose age more 
 than doubled her own, and who was not in 
 .other respects likely to take the fancy of a 
 young maiden of good parts and so fair a 
 countenance. Master Symonds was dis- 
 missed with but sorry success in his wooing. 
 Soon afterwards I was claimed as the hostage 
 of my house ; and now it seems that this 
 base minion proposes my release as my fair 
 sister's bridal gift; and in case she refuses — " 
 
 The young man stopped, and, clasping his 
 neck with both hands, added : — 
 
 '•Well! your Queen, Sir Guy, learned an 
 early lesson in the art of chopj)ing off heads; 
 and, as her own fair mother said, I, too, can 
 say, 'I have not a very large neck.' Large or 
 small, however, if I had as many as she has 
 fingers, I would let her strike at them all be-
 
 168 SIR GUY d'esterbe. 
 
 fore the blood of the O'Connor should mix 
 with that of a low-born, villanous ^^ixon." 
 
 " To sacrifice her so were a deadly sin," 
 said D'Esterre ; " we must take measures, 
 good Morven, to stop such villany. I will 
 write to the Earl of Essex again, on the in- 
 stant ; it may, perchance, be that he has not 
 had my letter." 
 
 The thought of his ring, so idly lost, re- 
 turned, and in the narrative he had just 
 heard, he found a corroboration of the opi- 
 nion he had already begun to form : namely, 
 that he had been decoyed into betraying his 
 position to some secret spy or household 
 traitor, who had made unfair use of his 
 incautious act. 
 
 He now briefly related the occurrence to 
 his companion.; but felt a little discomposed 
 when the young man inquired how, without 
 desiring by that means to send intelligence 
 of his state to the English camp, he had 
 come to comply with a request for which 
 he could not account. 
 
 His silence was an awkward one, for 
 Morven's eyes, fixed on his countenance, 
 expressed some doubtfulness as well as im- 
 patience for the answer.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 169 
 
 "I like not mystery," said he at length, 
 " where plain speaking can be used, afid we 
 have confusion enough around us already. 
 This then was the case. There was in 
 that place a merry sprite, whose mocking 
 laughter had before then angered me ; I 
 deemed her but a child, and thought the 
 missive I received was but the prank of this 
 wild child. Sooth to say, I wondered to 
 learn, from some words I afterwards over- 
 heard, that she was already the betrothed 
 of the absent heir of the house." 
 
 " Poor little Isabel ! dear girl, she holds to 
 that betrothal still !" sighed Morven, whose 
 easily diverted thoughts rested on the re- 
 collection recalled by the last words he had 
 heard. "We were betrothed when her father, 
 at her mother's death, first brought her to us 
 from Spain, where she was born. She was 
 then about as high as my knee, and I was 
 twelve years old." 
 
 " You speak of her less warmly than she 
 seems to feel for you," said Guy, smiling. 
 
 " Does she still feel warmly towards me ?" 
 the other, with a kindling cheek, inquired. 
 "But it were better she did not. If I ever am
 
 170 «IK GUY d'eSTERRE, 
 
 free, my country must be my first bride : to 
 its cause shall I devote myself. The fate of 
 my poor mother shall not be that of my 
 wife. And if I am not to be free, why 
 should sorrow blight that gay young heart ? 
 — better, a thousand times, in either case to 
 be forgotten." 
 
 "If his love were as deep or warm as hers," 
 thought D'Esterre,"he would not speak thus." 
 
 " But Isabel, Sir Guy," the other added, 
 " had no part in the artifice of which you 
 speak, — if, indeed, it were an artifice. It 
 seems to me, rather, that some one having 
 overheard your speech, believed you would 
 willingly be released, and, wishing no good 
 to our house, was desirous to be your mes- 
 senger to the English camp." 
 
 Guy coloured as the reflection these words 
 excited passed through his thoughts. He re- 
 collected the noise on the rocks ; the terror 
 of Hilda ; how she clung to him, and how his 
 arm encircled her. 
 
 " Truly," thought he to himself, " if a spy 
 were there observing us, he might well have 
 believed a token was necessary to witness 
 against me, for, save by a foul cheatery, he
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 171 
 
 could not gain me to his ends. Fool that I 
 was, to give way only to the lighter thoughts 
 that airy little damsel put in my head !" 
 
 " And now, if that villanous Symonds tri- 
 umphs !" — Springing to his feet with a noise 
 that aroused his prison comrade from a deep 
 reverie, he said aloud — " Time must not be 
 lost ! Morven, I must write to Essex, to 
 Norris, to Elizabeth herself, — to have a stop 
 put to this iniquity." 
 
 " Do so, good knight," said the youth, with 
 a gloomy smile, supposing he alluded to the 
 general evil of the corruption that over- 
 spread his land. " Do so; and methinks the 
 noble knights of old who took the holy cross 
 as thou dost the pen, to war against the 
 deadly dragon, never set before their valour 
 a harder and a worthier task." 
 
 D'Esterre set himself to the task, notwith- 
 standing this scepticism as to its success. 
 He wrote to Essex; and, while wearily, impa- 
 tiently, and tediously awaiting an answer, 
 he was at times amused, at others indignant, 
 at the versatility of mind which caused his 
 prison chamber to alternate with gloom and 
 gaiety, as young Morven passed from de-
 
 172 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 spondency to mirth, from pensiveness to 
 light-hearted merriment, from almost fran- 
 tic excitement respecting his sister's fate to 
 an apparent oblivion of the circumstances 
 which D'Esterre found to be almost engros- 
 sing himself 
 
 Anxiety, grief, and distress, had the 
 strange effect of rendering the young Irish- 
 man a more pleasant comrade : whether 
 it was from that self-forgetting disposition 
 which is one of the most pleasing, though 
 to themselves unbeneficial parts of the na^ 
 tional character, or from a sensitiveness of 
 feeling that often leads its possessor to dis- 
 tract the pain it causes by apparently 
 thoughtless merriment; certain it is that the 
 wild legends, romantic tales, and bardic songs, 
 with which Morven indulged his changeful 
 humours, tended to beguile many an hour, 
 which the more equable temperament of 
 Guy D'Esterre would have rendered one of 
 dreary monotony.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 We left Hilda Fitzclare returning to the 
 isolated and barren rock on which she dwelt, 
 and seeing the airy figure of the young be- 
 trothed dancing to its own shadow. Isabel, 
 light as a bird hopping from spray to spray, 
 skipped down the intervening ledges of 
 rock, and, with her last spring, ahghted with 
 extended arms clasping the graver lady's 
 neck. 
 
 Hilda pressed her trembling lips silently 
 on the young girl's forehead, then dramng 
 her close to her side, and holding her there 
 by an arm around her tiny and rounded 
 waist, she ascended the rocks towards the 
 keep of the fortress. There Avas something 
 in her now flushed face and heaving bosom 
 that gave even Isabel some perception of the
 
 1 74 SIR GUY d'esteure. 
 
 emotion that struggled in her heart. She 
 "walked beside her in silence. Some awe of 
 her superior nature had always mingled with 
 the child-like fondness she felt for one who 
 had been for years as her elder sister. Isabel 
 knew no one to love save Hilda and ^lorven, 
 and she loved them with all the ardour of 
 her nature. 
 
 They went on to the rocky platform be- 
 neath the tower ; and, entering one of its se- 
 cret passages, proceeded to the chapel beneath 
 the chamber that had been tenanted, so 
 fatally to them, by the English knight. Still 
 in silence Hilda approached towards the 
 altar, and knelt, by the movement of her 
 arm drawing the other also on her knees. 
 Isabel joined in a prayer of which she knew 
 not the purport. She knelt beside her as 
 the innocent infant might do, looking in her 
 countenance for direction or inspiration ; 
 her soul all the time only praying that her 
 sister's prayer might be granted. AYhen 
 Hilda bowed her sorrowful head, so did Isabel; 
 when Hilda rose up from prayer, Isabel, too, 
 arose. But Isabel rose up as slie had been 
 when she knelt down. Hilda was not the
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 175 
 
 same. The flush on her cheeks was gone ; 
 the heaving bosom was at rest ; the storm 
 had been laid ; and the calm face was not 
 only pale, but firm. 
 
 She drew the young girl's fair head on her 
 breast, kissed the white temple, and said — 
 
 " God will help us, mavourneen ; no harm 
 shall come to you through me." 
 
 " Has that knight done you wrong, Hilda?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Us wrong ?" the other repeated, correct- 
 ing the form of inquiry. " You will hear all, 
 dear, soon, that I have heard. There is, I fear 
 me, but little truth on earth, and none in this 
 wretched land : they who come to it lose 
 what little they may have had." 
 
 " And Morven — sister, tell me if that 
 knight has betrayed the trust you persisted 
 in reposing in him ?" 
 
 " Such reproach, Isabel, must fall on me. 
 To save Morven must, however, be our first 
 thought. I tell you myself wdiat you must 
 otherwise hear, perhaps more rudely — 
 Morven is going, perhaps gone, to London." 
 
 A shriek from the poor child rang through 
 the silent vault of the chapel.
 
 170 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 '' To that fierce woman who will fix his 
 head over her gate ! Oh ! Hilda, Hilda, save 
 him ! It was your doing — oh ! save him." 
 
 Her cries, her tears, and sobs, rendered the 
 few words useless that Hilda could force her- 
 self to utter ; her own calmness might seem 
 almost indifference to the frantically grieving 
 child. She did all that such a state rendered 
 available ; she half led, half carried, the girl 
 to her chamber ; undressed and laid her on 
 her couch, where, as her hysteric passion sub- 
 sided, she finally sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
 Hilda opened a casement, and looked out 
 at the serenely beaming moon, — the mooi\ 
 that always seems as much in contrast to the 
 stirs and strife of this strange earth, as her 
 own face had lately been to that of the wildly 
 grieving Isabel. 
 
 " I have been deceived, betrayed," she 
 thought, " but truth will yet prevail. How 
 these words haunt me ever ! the last that our 
 poor heretic refuge ever spoke — ' Truth,' he 
 said, with his dying lips, ' will prevail.' We 
 see not great signs of that; yet, nevertheless, 
 I will try its power. I will myself to the 
 Lord Deputy : if he will not hear me, his
 
 SIR GUY d'estekre. 177 
 
 Queen will. Elizabeth of England, fierce as 
 she is, they say understands justice, though 
 her servants administer it not. Never shall 
 I know rest nor ease till the truth be made 
 known, andMorven saved, or the race of the 
 O'Connors of Fitzclare be ended." 
 
 So did Hilda's thoughts syllable themselves 
 to herself; but, almost unheard by her, there 
 was another voice in her secret heart, ever 
 and anon suggesting a doubt of the veracity 
 of the tale she had been told. It was that 
 strong perception which high and pure natures 
 generally have of spirits akin to their own, 
 which had led her originally to trust, and 
 still forbade her entirely to believe evil of the 
 English stranger. That one earnest gaze, in 
 which each soul seemed to penetrate the 
 other, was still unforgotten ; and if a blush 
 coloured her cheek as she thought of it, the 
 thought was not altogether distressful. It 
 was from that she drew an excuse to herself, 
 though not to others, for the seemingly bold 
 step she had taken. 
 
 " And can one with speech so noble, with 
 looks so brave and undisguised, be thus 
 cowardly and false ?" 
 
 VOL. I. * N
 
 J 78 SIR GUY j)'ksteuke. 
 
 So she seemed to inquire of the cold, pure 
 moon, as her large, deep eyes were raised to 
 it as earnestly as if she expected an answer 
 from it. 
 
 Thus was she still meditating when some 
 days had passed away, and brought no 
 change, neither reply to the question. — 
 The childish complainings of little Isabel 
 irritated, almost as much as they pained, 
 her ; her endless questionings wearied her : 
 and she sometimes listened in silence to in- 
 quiries that could not be answered. Her 
 father maintained a moody reserve : he 
 seemed to wait for a doom he could not 
 avert. Isabel betook herself to the old nurse 
 for companionship or sympathy ; and Hilda 
 continued to haunt that rocky platform 
 alone, its stillness broken only by the dash 
 of the waves, the melancholy cry of the sea- 
 gull, or the distant scream of the eagle. 
 
 The seat on the rock, where D'Esterre had 
 once overheard her conversing with the 
 young betrothed, was now usually occupied 
 by her alone. One evening, as she sat there, 
 the distant sound of Fedlim's harp — a sound 
 but seldom heard there now,— gave her notice 
 that stranirers had arrived in tlu- hall of the
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 179 
 
 fortress, for to receive or honour such the 
 harp of the bard was always required. On 
 such occasions, unless summoned, the female 
 part of a household did not appear in the hall. 
 Hilda, therefore, retained her seat, and con- 
 tinued her anxious meditations. She heard, 
 after some time, an advancing step ; she ex- 
 pected a summons to the hall, and, reluctant 
 to obey it, still sat quiet, hoping not to be 
 seen by the messenger. 
 
 He had, however, seen her at once, but 
 stood looking at her Avith a questioning, 
 wondering expression. A man stood a 
 little above her on the rock. Three years 
 had passed since he had seen Hilda Fitz- 
 clare, — seen her as a beautiful high-spirited 
 girl, just emerging from childhood, haughty 
 and proud, yet wild and free. She had de- 
 spised him — mocked and laughed at his suit. 
 Now she rose and stood before him, collected, 
 though surprised — her head slightly thrown 
 back, her tall figure drawn up, — the face of 
 the child toned to the thoughtful mind of 
 the woman, — while, paler, but as beautiful as 
 ever, it was turned to him with an air of 
 stately inquiry as to the cause of the stran- 
 
 n2
 
 180 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 ger's presence. A stranger he was to Hilda 
 at the moment ; for if three years of age had 
 changed and developed the person of the 
 child, three years of dissipation, of dishonest 
 toils, and anxious pursuit of unlawful gains, 
 had still more changed, and planted far 
 other and more evil signs of their progress 
 in the person of the base adventurer. Sy- 
 monds felt himself shrinking from her gaze ; 
 a western sun-ray, slanting obliquely on the 
 rock fell on the golden bodkin in her black 
 hair : it sparkled and glanced in the light ; 
 a sort of glory seemed to rest over her head, 
 and to dazzle the bad man's vision. 
 
 Slowly her remembrance of her sometime 
 suitor awoke. 
 
 " Master Symonds !" in a tone of surprise, 
 were her only words. 
 
 He bowed, with an air so miserably awk- 
 ward as at once engaged her to set him 
 more at ease; and, stepping up from her 
 lower position, she stood beside him, and 
 inquired if he would repair to her father's 
 hall. 
 
 " My business is with you, fiiir lady," said 
 the quickly reassured man ; " I have jour-
 
 SIR GUY D'ESTERRE. 181 
 
 neyed here on purpose to confer with Lady 
 Hilda." 
 
 " Great pains, I fear me, for scant reward," 
 she answered,' with a slight curl of the finely 
 cut lip. 
 
 There is a curious trick of the eyes that 
 some people are subject to, which makes 
 them turn inward when any matter of cogi- 
 tation or perplexity of mind abruptly comes 
 across them. Only a small portion of the 
 whites of Symonds' became visible under 
 the half-closed lids. His mouth was affected 
 by a contrary motion, for the lips partly 
 opened with a hasty spasmodic gasp that 
 brought his teeth together with an almost 
 audible sound. Another iilstant, and the 
 face was smooth ; a look of gentleness, al- 
 most of pity, was cast upon the haughty 
 speaker. 
 
 " It may be vain for me to commend my 
 motives to the Lady Hilda Fitzclare," he 
 said, "but the past cannot be lightly for- 
 gotten ; nor am I one prone to forget. — 
 Taunt me not, therefore, lady, if I repeat 
 my words, that for you, and on your account 
 alone, I have re\dsited your house ; and, in
 
 1 82 biu GUY d'esteuiii-:. 
 
 pledge of my truthfulness, I produce a token 
 that may be known to you." 
 
 He drew out and held towards her the 
 ring of which mention has been already 
 made. 
 
 A deep burning glow overspread the 
 lately pale face. She had first noticed that 
 signet when it rested in the apparently life- 
 less hand of the wounded knight. AVith its 
 present appearance she beheld the restoration 
 of her former trustfulness in his honour and 
 truth. Symonds had, she concluded, come 
 from him with this ring as the then common 
 form of certificate, or credentials, of a messen- 
 ger. One single glance of the mind, quick as 
 the passage of light itself, had taken in this, 
 and more than this, in connexion with the 
 sight of the token held before her ; and the 
 eyes, lately so cold and proud, drooped under 
 the long lashes as she murmured the words — 
 
 " Sir Guy D'Esterre's !" 
 
 With the ring held towards her, his keen, 
 uneasy eyes riveted on the blushing face 
 and suddenly altered mien, Symonds stood 
 silent, endeavouring to collect from these 
 appearances some clue to the nature of the
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 183 
 
 expectation wliicli he saw its sight had 
 excited. His associate, Lawrence, he had 
 not seen since Hilda had heard from that 
 man the tale he had himself chiefly invented 
 on the impulse, or necessity, of the moment. 
 Her present emotion he attributed wholly 
 to an affection for Sir Guy. A spasm of 
 anger worked for a moment over his fea- 
 tures ; but her few words brought to the 
 mouth which was the most expressively bad 
 among them, a smile or grin of triumph. 
 
 " This ring is Sir Guy D'Esterre's, lady ?" 
 he repeated, as a question. 
 
 " Yes ; what says he?" she replied, without 
 lifting the eyes, of whose power of mirror- 
 ing every thought she was, perhaps, herself 
 aware. 
 
 " Ho !" thought Symonds, " the ground 
 is yet open, I must plant the seed most 
 likely to suit myself. She knows not yet of 
 what has passed." 
 
 That Lawrence had already conveyed to 
 her so much information bordering on the 
 truth, he was far from suspecting. To gain 
 both time to arrange his plan, so as to 
 fashion it to the chano;ed character he found
 
 184 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 he had now to deal with, and to acquire 
 further information on circumstances as yet 
 only partially kno^ATi to him, and to avoid 
 compromising himself by words he might 
 again desire to retract — were now this man's 
 objects. She had already committed herself 
 by an incautious recognition of the ring, 
 and of the name of its owner. An evasive 
 answer to her inquir}'- as to the tidings 
 sent with it, his subtle wit now perceived to 
 be the safest. 
 
 "Weighty affairs," he said, " now engage 
 that knight, to the prevention of all other 
 cares. By to-morrow eve I shall have fur- 
 ther tidings for the Lady Hilda's ear. — 
 Had she not deemed my visit here uncalled- 
 for, I had not produced the token of Sir 
 Guy until these tidings were presented 
 with it." 
 
 Hilda bowed her head, and, only saying — 
 
 " I bid you to the hall, Master Symonds ; 
 the supper, methinks, must wait, for the 
 sun is down," — passed on with a stately step, 
 already half repentant of the consciousness 
 she had betrayed. 
 
 Symonds dared not join, and would not 
 
 I
 
 SIR GUY d'esteere. 185 
 
 follow her : he stood looking over the sea 
 until she had gone some little distance, 
 then took his own way to the chieftain's 
 hall, not more eager for his supper than 
 he was to meet the dark-faced Lawrence. 
 
 The hall of O'Connor was then unusually 
 filled : his aifairs were becoming known, 
 and man}^ resorted to it as to the cave of 
 Adullam in the times of David of Israel, 
 and from much the same causes. It was 
 supposed impossible for that chief to avoid 
 a rising, and his union with O'Neil and 
 the young Tirconnel was freely spoken of. 
 Fitzclare took no step, and said no word 
 to strengthen or contradict such a belief. 
 If his son's life were taken, he had vowed 
 in his heart to avenge him in whatever way 
 he could : beyond that vow he did not 
 go, but awaited in gloom rather than anx- 
 iety the fatal tidings he was convinced he 
 should receive. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, the 
 feast was spread in his rude vaulted hall, 
 and Fitzclare feasted, or appeared to feast, 
 with his clan ; for the guest whom he 
 received, with the accustomed rites of hos-
 
 186 sill GUY d'estp:rre. 
 
 pitality, had come as the envoy of the 
 Lord Marshal, and pride still more than 
 policy dictated the courteous reception he 
 had met, and the profuse liberality with 
 which he was entertained. 
 
 The table, served with dishes most re- 
 lished by tlie Irish people, of which pork 
 was then, as it may still be, a favourite one, 
 was surrounded by the followers of the chief, 
 whose wild voices acquired additional eleva- 
 tion from the strong fermented liquors which 
 tlie attendants presented in cups of brass, 
 while the old bard, seated in the place of 
 honour, raised the exhilaration still higlier 
 by singing the praises of their heroes of old, 
 and the glories of other days. 
 
 It was night, and the rough floor of that 
 hall was well-nigh covered with the bodies 
 of the late revellers, who lay stretched upon 
 their usual bed, sleeping as if to wake no 
 more. Fitzclare had long withdrawn, and, 
 if he slept, two only of the men who had 
 joined, or seemed to join, that " wassail roar" 
 were now awake. The bard had guided the 
 guest to his room, and, according to the es- 
 tablished rule, chanted a tale to lull liim to
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 187 
 
 sleep. Symonds was apparently plunged into 
 profound slumber immediately, and the old 
 man, satisfying himself that his task was 
 done, retired to indulge in the same. Then 
 the guest rose up, hastily re-attired himself, 
 and descended to the hall he had left. Dis- 
 turbing with a foot one of the sleeping 
 bodies, he made a signal for silence, and 
 beckoned the man to rise. A few minutes 
 afterwards he and Lawrence stood together 
 on the steps at the base of the rocMs. 
 
 " Wherefore not arrange an easier meet- 
 ing ?" said Symonds, angrily ; " if I had not 
 feigned sleep the old wizard would have sat 
 droning beside me all night." 
 
 " Wherefore seek a meeting at all ?" re- 
 turned Lawrence ; " I wanted none." 
 
 "Fool! at the moment our projects are 
 ripening" — 
 
 " Yours, mayhap : you may deem so." 
 " And why not thine? Are they not one?" 
 " No ; you seek the misery of the daugh- 
 ter by making her your Avife, that her dower 
 may be yours also. I was bound by a vow 
 pledged to the dying, and repeated over the 
 dead, to pursue O'Connor and his sons until
 
 188 SIR GUY d'estekrk. 
 
 my mother's oath of vengeance against his 
 father's house were accomplished. For this 
 she trained me, and to this with her dying 
 breath she bound me. You work for the 
 base love of gold ; I, for vengeance." 
 
 " It is false! I love the maiden," cried 
 Symonds. 
 
 " Love !" echoed Lawrence, with a hoarse 
 and provoking laugh, or a sound rather that 
 imitated laughter. " Your wooing, I trow, 
 will be niade at the sword's point, and your 
 love-speeches uttered in the presence of the 
 Lord Marshal's soldiery !" 
 
 ".When that is so, look to thyself. Master 
 Lawrence, lest his soldiers mistake thee for 
 an honest man, and put thee out of their 
 way for lack of better use for their wea- 
 pons." 
 
 " I will say I am your friend, and no one 
 will suspect me of honesty." 
 
 Flushed with strong drink, angry at an 
 impertinence which, however accustomed he 
 was to the morose and taunting manner of his 
 associate, was galling to his craven nature, 
 Symonds struck him sharply with liis un- 
 drawn sword, which for precaution he car-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 189 
 
 ried in his hand. The next instant he 
 repented of an act which would make an 
 enemy of an ally. Before the other could 
 bring speech from the lips which were pale 
 with deadly passion, he said — 
 
 " Be not wroth, good friend, I do but jest ; 
 as our gracious Queen did but lately when 
 she boxed the ears of the great Earl of Essex. 
 Let us be friends, Lawrence, for we cannot 
 do apart !" 
 
 The moonlight scantily allowed a glimpse 
 of the man's countenance to whom he spoke : 
 had it been fully revealed, Symonds' coward 
 heart would have quailed at its expression. 
 Though, by a freak of nature which rendered 
 him disproportioned, Lawrence was almost 
 a diminutive man, he possessed considerable 
 strength. Standing on a slight elevation 
 above Symonds, he had another advantage ; 
 his face — 
 
 " Pale as marble o'er the tomb, 
 Whose pallid whiteness aids its gloom" — 
 
 was composed to rigidity, as, suddenly lean- 
 ing forward, he seized Symonds by the back 
 of the neck, and, with an unexpected jerk,
 
 190 SIR GUY D'eSTEHKE. 
 
 plunged him downward into the sea that 
 laved the base of the rock. 
 
 A miserable cry broke the stillness of tjie 
 hour. It soon ceased; and Lawrence, listening 
 till the stillness returned, tlien rapidly moved 
 away, and ascended the pile of rock. Be- 
 fore he reached the summit, he stopped, 
 turned, gazed over the tranquil sea, and 
 finally sat down, looking on it as wave after 
 wave swept on, to return to the deep they 
 left. 
 
 " So," he said, " that hated yoke is burst, 
 and by his own hand ; blow has been given 
 for blow — the life of a base Saxon for a blow 
 given to a Mac Mahon. Now Hilda is free ! 
 AVeakness, miserable weakness, though it is 
 to feel thus for one of O'Connor's blood, I 
 would rather see her father, her gay, silly, 
 taunting young brother, free and happy, than 
 see her the bride of that base hireling ! AVas 
 it not I who made him save her at the very 
 moment when 1 had instigated her proud 
 lirother to the act that cost him his life: had 
 Morven perished then, when his elder brother 
 fell, my task had now been well nigh done. 
 Detested Saxons ! Think ye I care for your
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERKE. 191 
 
 gold ? AYoiild that your whole herd lay 
 where yon miscreant lies!" 
 
 Amid the dark and, unconsciously to him- 
 self, repentant thoughts that swept gloomily 
 over the mind of this man, not one touch of 
 remorse for his recent act assailed iiis breast. 
 He thouo'ht no more of havino- drowned the 
 English adventurer than he would have done 
 for the death of a reptile his foot shoved out 
 of his path. 
 
 Other painful thoughts weighed heavily on 
 a heart in which vengeance had worked with 
 all the worst effects of an intense and devour- 
 ing bigotry. 
 
 To revenge he had been dedicated in boy- 
 hood — a vengeance that had already de- 
 scended to a second generation, and Avas yet 
 unaccomplished. A long-established feud be- 
 tween the O'Connors and Mac Malions might 
 have seemed to be extinct, Avhen, in a bloody 
 fray, the whole family of the latter, with the 
 exception of the mother and her youngest 
 son, who was then a child, were killed, 
 O'Connor, and his younger and more fiery- 
 tempered brother, being engaged in it. That 
 brother had soon after fallen a victim, no one
 
 192 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 knew how, to the spirit of revenge. A more 
 lingering destiny was reserved for O'Connor. 
 The widowed mother reserved for her only 
 surviving child this so-esteemed sacred dut}'. 
 To it she vowed him at the cursing-stone.* 
 Now came before him, passing like the sha- 
 dowing of a great cloud between him and the 
 pale, holy moonlight, the memory of that 
 hour which had stopped for ever the spring 
 of youth, hope, almost of life, in the heart 
 that henceforth was devoted to gloom. The 
 wild scene, the fearful stone, the weird as- 
 pect of his mother, wasted by sorrow, and 
 looking taller in the gray twilight, as she 
 stood in her uncouth garb, — her long, thin 
 
 * The superstition connected with tliis stone is, or, 
 even at the earlier part of this centurj', was, among the 
 the few of a feai-ful character remaining in Ireland. The 
 author is unacquainted -wnth the changes which late 
 years may have wrought in that country. Formerly, 
 that stone was one of those Druidic remains so common 
 and so curious there. People sometimes resorted to it 
 from great distances for the purpose of cursing their 
 enemies, who were then believed to be given over to the 
 power of demons. Vows of enmity or vengciuice were 
 made, and held sacredly binding. It is a cm-ious in- 
 stance of the descent of a lieathen tradition.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 193 
 
 arm upraised from the large rough mantle : 
 the ceremonies of that dark superstition; the 
 dread that seized the mind of one who was 
 then only on the verge of youth, and who 
 felt far more fear of the supernatural terrors 
 of that place than he did at the prospect of a 
 life devoted to hatred and revenge, — yet 
 knew a change passed over him as he breathed 
 that vow which, in one minute's space, .se- 
 parated the past from the future of his ex- 
 istence. 
 
 For one year after that time his mother had 
 lingered : her voice would often startle him 
 in the stillness of night, uttering fierce rav- 
 ings against the O'Connors. She died, caus- 
 ing him to promise instantly to set about 
 the execution of his vow. When she was 
 dead, Lawrence looked on the corpse of a 
 mother who had loved him with all the 
 fierce strength of an almost savage nature. . 
 Neither relative, friend, nor acquaintance, 
 had he then left, for she had retired into 
 an utter seclusion, where she had nursed 
 him up to revenge her husband and sons, 
 as a pious parent might train her child for 
 a holy work. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 ]!)4 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 He buried his mother, and went out on 
 the world alone and unknown : the name of 
 MacMahon he dropped, and called himself 
 Lawrence. Accident brought him into con- 
 nexion with Symonds, to whom, with na- 
 tional incaution, he was beguiled to reveal 
 his history, and the vow of vengeance he 
 had taken. That man at once perceived 
 the use he could turn this to, and enrich 
 himself, while Lawrence gratified his passion 
 by the ruin of the chief 
 
 It was by his device that the latter en- 
 tered the service of O'Connor, or rather, 
 that he repaired to his castle, where free 
 and open quarters were easily to be had, 
 without a question being asked. There, he- 
 reditary hatred became personal, at least, in 
 regard to the young heir of the house, the 
 proud and rash Roderick, whose witty and 
 gay humour was too often indulged at the 
 expense of the short legs and large body of 
 the newcomer. Susceptible, silent, morose, 
 Lawrence drew from these taunts that fuel 
 which a passion that might otherwise have 
 slackened so much needed. Tlie natural 
 kindliness of the father, the careless merri-
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. IQ-') 
 
 ment of the younger boy, but, above all, the 
 tenderness of the little Hilda, to whom any 
 oppression or suffering was a plea for at- 
 tachment or support, might have weaned 
 hnn from a purpose less steadfastly and 
 superstitiously embraced. But the reckless 
 temper of the elder son counterl^alanced the 
 softening tendency of that of the others. * 
 
 The search for Spanish treasure, said to 
 be taken from the lost vessels of the Armada, 
 first brought Symonds, then a creature of 
 the Lord Deputy, to O'Connor's castle. The 
 same event gave Lawrence his first act of 
 vengeance. He roused the fiery temper of 
 the young Roderick against the leader of 
 the searching party, until he provoked the 
 fatal blow that was instantly avenged by his 
 followers in the manner Morven already 
 related. 
 
 That one deed of blood cooled for the 
 time the fever that devoured the wretched 
 votary of revenge. Symonds, to his as- 
 tonishment, had found his good Puritan 
 and proscribed uncle concealed and pro- 
 tected by the proscribed Papist. If not in- 
 stigated by Lawrence to save Hilda, he was, 
 
 o 2
 
 1 90 SIK GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 at least, permitted })y him to do so, — tlie 
 English tutor having, without their help, 
 and, perhaps, against their wish, already 
 saved her brother. 
 
 Immersed in other engagements, or ab- 
 sorbed in other schemes, Symonds had beej;i 
 unable to devote his time to projects against 
 O'Connor, and had kept Lawrence for nearly 
 three years as a sort of dependent spy, 
 averring that the quietness of the chief gave 
 as yet no pretence for proceeding against him 
 in the manner they had projected. At the 
 end of that time his own prospects changed, 
 and, leaving Perrot, his fallen master, to lan- 
 guish out his life in the Tower of London, 
 he repaired to the inland castle, to which 
 O'Connor had retired on the destruction of 
 the stronger one on the sea coast. There he 
 found one obstruction in his path was re- 
 moved; the old Puritan was dead, and 
 buried by the pertinacious Irish ; and ano- 
 ther scheme, perhaps latent there from the 
 moment he had carried the cliild from the 
 fire into the cavern, arose in. his ever- 
 scheming mind. Hilda was in lier sixteenth 
 year — a lovely, proud, and saucy girl. The
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 197 
 
 notion of a compromise by taking the 
 daughter of Fitzclare to wife, with the half 
 of her father's wealth, instead of goading him 
 to conduct that would obtain the alienation 
 of it all, with the loss of life or liberty to 
 himself and his son, now became his plan. 
 This was made known to, or discovered by, 
 Lawrence, who then saw himself to have 
 been merely the instrument by which the 
 Saxon adventurer would work his own ob- 
 jects. 
 
 Detestation of his associate soon acquired 
 strength, and he made a determination to 
 reverse the case, and use Symonds from 
 that time as a means to attain his own 
 single end. That Hilda of Fitzclare would 
 refuse him with scorn he was well assured ; 
 that she n^ver should be betrayed, or forced 
 into a marriage with him, he also resolved. 
 Disappointed in his wooing, and irritated 
 by the scornful mockery of the haughty 
 child, Symonds left the O'Connors, and 
 soon after contrived to accomplish the 
 only act which Lawrence felt to be a step, 
 on his part, towards the fulfilment of his 
 vow. Morven O'Connor was taken to the
 
 198 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 English Pale, as hostage for his father. That 
 he would never be delivered back he was 
 assured. By nature Lawrence was unformed 
 for the terrible task laid upon him : he 
 would even rather save than crush an insect, 
 unless it were one that stung or angered 
 him : he felt a degree of horror at the 
 idea of shedding by murder the blood of 
 the O'Connors ; neither would he, by com- 
 passing merely their death, fulfil the oath 
 his vengeful mother had laid upon him. 
 To leave his only son, the hero of his name, 
 to waste out life in a prison, was just in uni- 
 son with his still undecided nature : to goad 
 on the father to an act of hostility to the 
 Government was now all he wished to do. 
 
 But even in this removal of Morven 
 O'Connor, Lawrence saw somet^iing more 
 on the part of Symonds than a simple 
 act of spite at his successless suit. He 
 did not believe that man's hopes to be 
 extinguished; and he knew how important 
 it was to these that the spirited young 
 lieir should be taken out of the way ; 
 and how much more desirable Symonds 
 would deem the match with tlie sister.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 199 
 
 if he had ceased to live. Thus, hating his 
 associate, and wishing to cross his schemes, 
 Lawrence was angry at the success of his 
 own purpose when it tended to advance 
 that of the Saxon. 
 
 The incident that occurred with respect 
 to the Enghsh officer, was the only one 
 ' that gave him a chance of acting for him- 
 self, without the co-operation, and conse- 
 quently,- he supposed, without any advan- 
 tage to that adventurer. For that reason 
 he had watched, and listened, and observed 
 all that passed during his illness and de- 
 tention in the keep, and having so easily 
 succeeded in obtaining from him the token 
 of identity, he had set off to the Enghsh 
 camp, to give information — not being aware 
 that Symonds was there at the time, and 
 would step in, like the fox in the fable, to 
 apportion the amount of benefit to each that 
 might accrue from such a piece of intelli- 
 gence. But his interview with Hilda, not- 
 withstanding the false tale he had improvised 
 for her ear, to allay her suspicions, had caused 
 him to feel towards her as he had never 
 done for one ofthe human race. The emotion
 
 200 SIR GUY d'ksterke. 
 
 he then felt was a strange one for a heart 
 like his : if it could have continued that 
 heart might have been renewed — made as 
 when it first was formed by God. Remorse, 
 pity, respect, tenderness, — yes, even love, — 
 combined to form that strange and brief emo- 
 tion in a heart that had been warped from 
 good, or kept in ignorance of all good,' 
 Brief as that reviving was, it gave that 
 wretched heart a rest such as the spirit in 
 suflfering might know who was for one in- 
 stant allowed to enjoy the repose of those 
 in peace. — Merely to feel good is itself a 
 bliss. 
 
 To such a nature the very success of his 
 plighted enmity to the O'Connors was sure 
 to deaden the zeal that guided it into ac- 
 tion. Already a degree of reluctance to 
 effect the full accomplishment of his vow 
 was at intervals known to himself; but the 
 knowledge only exasperated and stimulated 
 him to fitful efforts, or to malignant tem- 
 pers, such as had been so beautifully met 
 by poor Hilda when he tried to gall her by 
 the forged account of Sir Guy D'Esterre's 
 dishonourable conduct.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Lawrence had left liis place on the rocks, 
 to resume that he had vacated on the sum- 
 mons of Symonds, on the rush-strewn floor 
 of O'Connor's hall. There he lay; the 
 thought that he had taken the life of a hu- 
 man being not in the least tormenting him ; 
 or, at least, exciting very different sensations 
 from what he would have experienced on 
 shedding the blood of an O'Connor — of one 
 of his own country's chiefs. A base-born 
 Saxon, and a hireling who worked for gold 
 and not for vengeance, was no more in his 
 estimation than any other animal; he was, 
 moreover, a Protestant, and Lawrence had 
 not, therefore, the sin to answer for, of 
 putting a man to death without benefit of 
 clergy. Hilda was saved, and he himself 
 was free from an association he loathed.
 
 202 silt GUY d'esterue. 
 
 So the muii thought, as he lay down in 
 his lair ; but, all the time, the other, whom 
 he supposed to be somewhere beyond the 
 limits of this earth, was disrobing himself, 
 not of this mortal coil, but of sundry earthly 
 garments which were saturated with sea- 
 water ; having quietly re-entered the cham- 
 ber he had left. In fact Lawrence had 
 forgotten the practice lately adopted of 
 mooring a boat close to the spot from which 
 Symonds fell. His cry had ceased, not 
 when choked by the water, but when the 
 wave drove him against the boat, which his 
 hand quickly grasped. A coward in his 
 heart, and fearing another attack from his 
 late confederate, he remained in the boat 
 until he thought Lawrence had retired to 
 the hall, and then, cautiously creeping along 
 the side of the rocks, he, too, remounted to 
 the lodging he had so unprofitably left. 
 
 There was matter enough to keep him 
 waking, but the effects of a cold bath after 
 a long ride produced a degree of exhaustion 
 that forced him into sleep which lasted until 
 far in the day. On waking, he started up 
 in a paroxysm of dread. If La^v^ence had
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 203 
 
 the start of him in accusation to O'Connor, 
 he was lost: his only plan now was to be- 
 tray Lawrence, and gain the merit of dis- 
 covering and revealing to his lord the fact 
 that he had a traitor in his house. 
 
 Very wily persons are often exceeding 
 blunderers; it never occurred to him that 
 if Lawrence believed he had caused his 
 death, he would let the matter rest, and be 
 the last to mention his name, or to seem de- 
 sirous to blacken his character. 
 
 Such, indeed, was the case, for that person, 
 wishing to be out of the way when, per- 
 haps, the Saxon's body might be found, had 
 managed to be sent, on a message of some 
 importance to O'Connor, to a place from 
 whence he could not return for a few days. 
 Ignorant of this, and ignorant also that the 
 chief had likewise left the fort at day-dawn, 
 Symonds, fevered with impatience and 
 anxiety, fearing to meet Lawrence in the 
 hall, yet dreading that he had already re- 
 vealed enough of his villany to O'Connor to 
 render his stay there impossible, even if the 
 respect paid to the laws of hospitality ren- 
 dered it safe, continued for hours to prowl 
 around the quarter wherein he was lodged,
 
 204 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 hoping to intercept some one who spoke 
 enough of EngUsh to give him the intelli- 
 gence which he had art enough to draw 
 even from a reluctant speaker. 
 
 No one, however, came that way : no 
 trace of womankind was visible : during the 
 now frequent absences of the chief, the ladies 
 and their attendants always retired to the 
 detached keep, which, only communicating 
 with the abode of the retainers by means of 
 a drawbridge, afforded them a perfectly se- 
 cluded dwelling-place. In equal ignorance 
 of this practice as he was of otlier domestic 
 circumstances, Symonds harassed himself by 
 a thousand conjectures ; and attributed to 
 design, on the part of O'Connor and his 
 daughter, the total abandonment to which 
 he was left. 
 
 Hilda, on the contrary, had, as her custom 
 was, risen with the sun, and still struggled 
 with the intense desire which, in spite of her 
 efforts against it, only increased, to hear 
 from him the tidings which he had given 
 her to understand he bore from Sir Guy 
 D'Esterre. The night before she had left 
 liim with the proud resolve, expressed even
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 205 
 
 in her manner, to seek no further tidings 
 from him, nor intercourse with him ; and 
 now, believing him either to be in the hall, 
 or to have already quitted the fort, she con- 
 cluded that he had conceived this apparent and 
 haughty indifference a sufficient warrant for 
 a departure without further communication. 
 The day had advanced, and hunger began 
 to increase the discomforts of the perplexed 
 Symonds, when he perceived the old nurse 
 advancing towards him. This woman, al- 
 though indignant at his presumption, and 
 somewhat suspicious of his sincerity, had 
 never forgotten that to him she owed the 
 life of her foster-child. Her knowledge of 
 
 o 
 
 English was sufficient for his purpose ; but 
 the designing, as well as the wicked, are often 
 in fear where no fear is ; and so his fears as 
 to what she might already know created a 
 long delay before he had artfully extracted 
 from her a piece of intelligence she would 
 have given as promptly as simply had she 
 been directly questioned, — namely, that 
 Lawrence and the chief had both gone out 
 with the morning's dawn ; and that she had 
 heard nothing whatever of himself, but sup-
 
 206 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 posed, as her young mistress did, that he, too, 
 had departed. 
 
 Lawrence had gone away, but O'Connor 
 also had done so. " No doubt," thought his 
 coward heart, " on some purpose against 
 me." But no ! that was absurd : he was 
 amenable to no laws, save those fierce ones 
 by which an Irish chief might find himself 
 justified in avenging violated honour and 
 honesty. His next thought and wiser reflec- 
 tion was that Lawrence believed him to 
 have been drowned — a truth that never pre- 
 viously occurred to him ; for, on finding the 
 boat moored so close to the spot where he 
 fell, he supposed that the other, kno-vnng it 
 to be there, had seen him almost imme- 
 diately grasp its side, and that the cessation 
 of the cry he uttered had given him intelli- 
 gence of his safety. He did not until now 
 ascribe to that man a determined intention 
 to drown him ; but rather attributed his im- 
 mersion to an act of hasty resentment. The 
 absence of Lawrence without having, so far 
 as he could learn, even named him, although 
 his usual office was to wait on strangers with 
 the morning cup, gave another colouring to
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 207 
 
 his opinion ; and Symonds saw the necessity 
 of at once saving and avenging himself by a 
 double denunciation of his late confederate, 
 as a traitor to his lord, and an assassin by de- 
 sign of himself. 
 
 Prepared with this tale, he sent by Canna 
 a message to her mistress, demanding, rather 
 than in his customary manner craving, an 
 interview with her, as her father's substitute, 
 on a matter of moment to her house. Had 
 it been merely to announce his tidings from 
 D'Esterre, Hilda would have hesitated, might 
 have contended against her own anxiety to 
 receive them. As it was, duty required an 
 acquiescence, and she received the man she 
 could not help despising, much as a queen 
 might receive an ambassador from a wily 
 and untrustful power, to whom a sense of 
 her own weakness compelled her to grant an 
 audience. 
 
 Symonds did not now shrink abashed 
 from her eyes as he often had done : these 
 truth-demanding eyes were looking into his, 
 and he met their clear, deep gaze, fortified by 
 two cogent reasons : first, his case, if he 
 could not do so, were helpless ; secondly, he
 
 208 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 had a little truth on his side, and very 
 easily believed he had a great deal. 
 
 With a straightforwardness quite un- 
 usual to his manner, he ])riefly related the 
 event of the preceding night. 
 
 The lady listened to him with a surprise 
 she sought not to conceal, as he accounted 
 for his late appearance by relating the 
 attempt made upon his life on the pre- 
 ceding night by one of her father's re- 
 tainers. 
 
 Before the short narrative was ended, 
 that expression of surprise changed to one 
 of ineffable disgust. 
 
 "And is it thus that a second time the 
 honour of O'Connor is to be impugned ?" 
 she said ; " were not the base version al- 
 ready given of one Saxon life endangered 
 by him, enough to accomplish the - end 
 designed, without another being added to 
 it?" 
 
 It was seldom that Symonds ever felt 
 what, it was to be falsely accused : it was 
 a sort of pleasure to him to hear Hilda 
 attribute to him an act of vileness of which 
 he had not even entertained the thought.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 209 
 
 His face expressed that pleasure, as, with 
 the calmness which truth only can really 
 give, he answered — 
 
 " Your suspicion, lady, is too natural 
 to excite anger in one who is its object. 
 Beset, as you are, or as your father is, by 
 spies and traitors, it may be safer to mis- 
 trust all than to trust to any. Nevertheless, 
 what I have said is true, and, if you desire 
 it, not even to O'Connor shall the deed be 
 made known." 
 
 " I desire no secrets," said Hilda, coldly ; 
 " and were such a deed attempted, it ought 
 to be speedily punished. Say, then, if 
 you know it, the name of the man you 
 accuse." 
 
 "One who goes by the name of Law- 
 rence." 
 
 " Lawrence !" she cried, with a start, 
 recollecting the intimacy that had subsisted 
 between the two, and her own recent doubt 
 of that man's fidelity. " Lawrence !" she 
 repeated, in a low, musing tone, and the 
 even painfully rushing blood that crim- 
 soned the slender throat, and ascended to 
 the fair temples, might show to one of finer 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 SIR GUY D'eSTERRE. 
 
 perceptions than the man before her, the 
 rapid association of thought which con- 
 nected his information with the latent hope 
 of her heart. 
 
 Lawrence was false ! — and, as a sequence, 
 Sir Guy D'Esterre was true. Such were 
 the links so rapidly connected by the 
 thoughts that, with an electric thrill, stirred 
 the whole current of her blood with a flush 
 of joy. That his tidings, so gravely im- 
 parted, »gave his strange hearer more plea- 
 sure than pain, Hilda's face was too pure, 
 her eyes too faithful, to prevent him from 
 perceiving : but, still in ignorance of the 
 narrative Lawrence had given her, he could 
 not divine the cause of that emotion. Hope 
 — a joy, the excess of which alarmed, almost 
 ashamed, herself — rendered her so beautiful, 
 that the cause of that accession of beauty 
 was overlooked by the low-minded Symonds, 
 who derived from it only a stimulus to 
 the base efforts he was making to accom- 
 plish his purpose. 
 
 " She shall be mine !" was the vow he 
 was mentally breathing, when Hilda, pass- 
 ing her hand, as if by an accidental 
 movement, across her eyes, said slowly —
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 211 
 
 " Lawrence, then, is false ! and his trea- 
 chery has had relation to — to — the Saxon — 
 to him of whom you spake yester-even ?" 
 
 " It has." 
 
 " God be praised !" burst from his hearer's 
 trembling lips, as he uttered the confirma- 
 matory words : two little words, so full of a 
 significancy to her, which was not even 
 imagined by him. 
 
 The astonishment depicted on the coun- 
 tenance of Symonds would have produced 
 a change in her state of feeling had she 
 beheld it ; but, conscious of her own emo- 
 tion,— convicted, as it were, in the presence 
 of the last person in the world she would 
 have liked to witness it, she bowed her 
 face, as she breathed the ascription of thanks, 
 upon both her hands, pressing the points 
 of the fingers on her suffusing eyes. 
 
 " Small cause for thankfulness, I trow, 
 has the Lady Hilda for this," said he, — after 
 a short observation, — " scarcely more than 
 I myself have had : — unless it be that the 
 designs of the traitors against one who 
 would fain overthrow them, may be to her 
 a ground for such satisfaction." 
 
 p 2
 
 212 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 His voice more than his words recalled 
 her to self-coUectedness. Not destitute of 
 self-command, she could speedily recover 
 from the agitation which the sensitiveness 
 of a fine nature occasioned. 
 
 " I crave your pardon, Master Symonds," 
 she said, — " in my satisfaction at finding that 
 knight's honour was unimpaired, I forgot, 
 for the moment, the danger you had run 
 in our service." 
 
 She spoke and looked so kindly — for 
 happiness begets kindness — that he felt a 
 step was made in his progress. 
 
 " Of what knight, I pray you, may you 
 speak ?" was his cautious, or, rather, artful 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Of him whose messenger you announced 
 yourself to be — of him whose signet you 
 showed me," she answered, meeting his 
 gaze, as if she meant to say there could be 
 no real doubt of her meaning. 
 
 " Pardon my doubtfulness — there is, me- 
 thinks, reason for it. Lady Hilda refers 
 to the signet she recognised as that of 
 her Grace's servant, Sir Guy D'Esterre ?" 
 
 Hilda bowed her head ; a chill seemed 
 already creeping to her heart.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 213 
 
 " From whom," she said, in a voice that 
 was far from firmness, "Master Symonds 
 expected to have further tidings to impart 
 to-day ?" 
 
 " Again I cry you pardon, lady ; here 
 is some error. I came not here as the 
 messenger of Sir Guy D'Esterre, and I 
 bear his signet for a very different pur- 
 pose from that which Lady Hilda may 
 expect; — it is not as a token of honour, 
 truthfulness, or love, to her, or her father's 
 house, that I brought hither the ring ; nei- 
 ther were the tidings of such a nature 
 which I expected this day to have to im- 
 part." 
 
 Hilda had remained standing, because 
 she intended this man's visit to be short, 
 and would not ask him to be seated. Now, 
 with a sudden trembling, she sat down to 
 conceal what the paleness of her lately blush- 
 ing face betrayed — the pang that seemed 
 to stop the pulses of her heart. 
 
 " When men speak in mystery, the wit of 
 woman must be quicker than mine that does 
 not lead them to a rash conclusion," she 
 said.
 
 214 SIR GUY d'estekrb. 
 
 Synionds, in an humble manner, made 
 reply— 
 
 " Lady Hilda has twice this day miscon- 
 strued my conduct, and misunderstood my 
 words, — imputing to me the designs which 
 I came here bent on subverting, and under- 
 standing as a dark speech the truth I uttered. 
 The day on wdiich I was so blessed as to be 
 able to save her life, the years that have 
 since passed, have not been blotted from my 
 memory; my mind is still the same, and 
 whether I am trusted or scorned, my pur- 
 pose shall not alter." 
 
 She did not answer, and he continued — 
 
 "If it please you to recollect, you will, 
 mayhap, see no mystery in my -words or 
 conduct. I presented that ring yester-even, 
 because it was necessary that it should be 
 recognised as one belono-ino; to the Enorlish 
 officer who had been concealed in this fort." 
 
 " Concealed !" cried Hilda — but "svith an 
 abashed countenance speedily drooped her 
 head, as if in assent to the word. 
 
 " It was recognised by you, lady, as that 
 of Sir Guy D'Esterre." "^ 
 
 Again a silence, but a sort of quiver that 
 told of a mental rack.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterue. 215 
 
 " You demanded further tidings, of which 
 you concluded me to be the bearer. Before 
 I could give you the information I had come 
 to deliver, it was necessary to confront the 
 traitor, whom I knew to be within your own 
 walls. I could not answer directly to your 
 question, but I did so truly. I told you 
 Sir Guy had weighty matters to care for at 
 the present moment, and added, that on the 
 morrow I should be able to give you further 
 tidings. It was not from Sir Guy D'Esterre, 
 but from the man named Lawrence, I hoped 
 to receive them. For that purpose I drew 
 the traitor from your father's hall after the 
 midnight hour had passed. We stood on 
 the edge of the rock when I showed him 
 this ring, and charged him with his villany. 
 His answer was a blow that precipitated me 
 into the sea, where, doubtless, he believes 
 me now to lie ; and the evidence of his 
 treachery, and of the honourable knight's 
 fidelity to his allegiance to her Grace the 
 Queen, to be buried with me !" 
 
 The sneering tone of the last words was 
 an escape of the man's natural humour : he 
 could not forbear the passing sting. But
 
 216 SIR GUY DESTERRE. 
 
 anxiety, wonder, and almost horror, at what 
 she heard rendered his hearer little sensible 
 of this. She motioned Symonds to a seat, 
 and requested a further account of the part 
 Lawrence had acted. 
 
 " That man," he continued, " became 
 known to me some time ago, in consequence 
 of a design I happily was able to frustrate, 
 against his lord. Possessing, as I do, the 
 favour and confidence of the Lord Marshal, 
 it was my good fortune on several occasions 
 to be able to turn away the results that 
 would have followed this fellow's plots 
 against O'Connor." 
 
 " Wherefore not sooner reveal them ?" 
 asked Hilda, impatiently looking up. 
 
 "I had not your favour, lady, nor the 
 friendship of O'Connor — perhaps not your 
 confidence : it was better to labour to cir- 
 cumvent the evil that was on foot, than, by 
 a disclosure that was uncredited, do myself 
 an injury, and your house no good. It was 
 but of late that I discovered this LaAvrence 
 to be vowed to a revengeful purpose, ihe 
 object of which was the ruin of O'Connor 
 and all his race."
 
 SIR GUY d'estekre. 217 
 
 Hilda sat as if transfixed, erect and rigid, 
 gazing mutely on his face. 
 
 With what may be called an inward 
 smile, since it was not suffered to disarrange 
 the gravity of that face, he continued — 
 
 " His designs, so often subverted, have 
 now been met with a deplorable success. 
 The accident, or whatever else it may be 
 termed, that led to the concealment of a 
 wounded English officer in the fortress of 
 his too often suspected chief, was discovered 
 by this Lawrence. When Sir Guy became 
 impatient of detention, he contrived in some 
 manner to enter into conference with him ; 
 the issue of which was, that the traitor was 
 despatched to the British camp, bearing this 
 signet as his credentials, to give information 
 concerning his state, and demand assistance. 
 A band of soldiers was already ordered to 
 proceed against O'Connor, when Sir Guy, 
 having effected his escape, returned to. his 
 quarters." 
 
 " Effected his escape ?" said Hilda, in a 
 tone that startled Symonds with the intima- 
 tion that he was getting out of his depth. 
 
 "Effected his escape, or obtained deli-
 
 218 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 verance, it matters not which," he added, 
 carelessly ; " for such words must sound but 
 harsh to an ear so nice. Suffice it now to 
 say, that, having learned the consequences of 
 this double treachery, I besought the Lord 
 Marshal, who owes me some return for my 
 service, to stay the execution of the measures 
 resolved upon, until I could myself inquire 
 into the truth of the affair." 
 
 " And Morven, — my brother," gasped 
 Hilda. " Is it, then, true of him also?" 
 
 " You have heard of him ?"' — was said in 
 an inquiry, for Symonds had to feel his way. 
 
 " From Lawrence," she replied, with an 
 effort pronouncing his name. " I was told 
 by him what you have now told me, with 
 some additions, it is true, as to the false 
 charges laid against us by that English 
 knight, at whose accusation, he said, my 
 brother was like to be sent forthwith to 
 London." 
 
 Symonds now regarded her with some- 
 thing of the same surprise and expectancy 
 with which she had lately regarded him. 
 AVhy Lawrence should have told her any- 
 thing of this he could not imagine. From
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 219 
 
 his late confederate, however, he now derived 
 a hint : it was, to throw the odium of all that 
 befell O'Connor on D'Esterre; and to take on 
 himself the merit, not only of convicting the 
 treacherous Lawrence, but of acting in op- 
 position to the more^ influential Sir Guy, 
 whom he was all the more disposed to ca- 
 lumniate since he drew from the lady's 
 emotion a warrant for the suspicion that 
 Lawrence had expressed, of her predilection 
 in his favour. 
 
 " Alas !" he said, " it is but too true. The 
 measures must be timely that can save the 
 heir of the O'Connor of Fitzclare." 
 
 " What are those measures to be ?" she 
 demanded, in trembhng anxiety. 
 
 " On that, lady," replied Symonds, looking 
 intently on the floor, " we shall, Avith your 
 permission, confer on another day. Mean- 
 time I shall not rest in your cause. The flrst 
 object to be efi'ected by you, or your father, 
 is to put a stop to the further plots of the 
 traitor, Lawrence. "While he lives, you can 
 know no safety." 
 
 " Lives ! Blessed Saviour ! would you 
 have him put to death with all his crimes on 
 his head ?"
 
 220 sill GUY d'esterre. 
 
 A smile lurked in the corner of his mouth 
 as Symonds answered — 
 
 " Piety is shocked at such a deed : but the 
 people of God in old time were ordered to 
 kill their brethren on the spot who were 
 guilty of any offence." 
 
 " Is that your doctrine?" said Hilda, as her 
 eyes flashed upon him ;* but, with a painful 
 consciousness of being by necessity bound to 
 action with him, she added — 
 
 " I will see to it that he is put out of the 
 way of wronging us more. Our laws afford 
 no security to the traitor, and what you say 
 is in accordance with them." 
 
 So saying, she rose from her seat, and, not 
 forgetting her stateliness in her anxiety, she 
 saluted him in a manner that expressed the 
 audience to be ended.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Symonds, satisfied above his expectation 
 with the turn affairs had* taken, and the 
 result of chances he had so well made use 
 of, deemed it wiser and safer to leave them 
 in such good train, and depart without 
 risking an interview with O'Connor, or 
 braving the desperate Lawrence. Hilda, he 
 saw, implicitly believed him ; his narrative 
 was by chance too well connected with that 
 of Lawrence to excite her doubts ; and her . 
 very fear of inclining to the calumniated 
 D'Esterre, even in heart, caused her to be 
 the more easy dupe of those deceivers. 
 
 Unaware of this hidden ally in her secret 
 heart, Symonds began to fear her less, and 
 to assure himself of the facility with which 
 he could beguile her further. Of such a
 
 222 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 nature as hers he was one to stand in awe ; 
 one more disposed to admire and fear a mind 
 so pure, noble, and clear in its perceptions, 
 than to love, or seek communion with it. But 
 now, he believed the fiiir Hilda to be formed 
 in a weaker mould than he had supposed, and 
 the discovery was very pleasing to him. He 
 would not risk tlie advantage he had gained 
 by seeking another interview with her, but — 
 contenting himself with a brief message sent 
 by the nurse, whicli she might understand 
 to signify that his hasty departure was on 
 purpose to watch over the interests of 
 O'Connor at the English Pale, and that he 
 tacitly left tlie conduct of the other matters 
 they had discussed to her direction — he de- 
 parted the next morning at an early hour. 
 
 The evening of the following day Law- 
 rence was on his return to the fortress. A 
 thunder-storm on such a coast as he had to 
 travel produces generally magnificent effects. 
 The lightning, striking in vain on the dark 
 adamantine rocks ; the reverberating sounds 
 of thunder pealing through them ; the 
 gloomy dash of the swollen waves, reflect- 
 ing the hues of the angry sky, are in them-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 223 
 
 selves calculated to impress solemnity on 
 the mind. But Lawrence, as he cowered in 
 a cavern scooped within a mighty rock, 
 shrank from the lightning flash that illumi- 
 nated its gloom as the wicked may shrink 
 from the light of truth, that makes manifest 
 their works of darkness. 
 
 Strange to say, that man, deceitful, false, 
 vowed to cruelty and blood, as he was, was 
 still far from being an infidel; whether he 
 might best be styled religious or superstitious, 
 still he Was a believer : a believer not only 
 in our common creed, but in the declaration 
 of Holy Writ, that " the recompense of a 
 man's hands shall be given unto him." In 
 his ignorance he put evil for good, and per- 
 suaded himself, or rather suffered another 
 to persuade him, that he was pursuing a 
 sacred end, — dedicating himself to a right- 
 eous vocation, — when he wearied and vexed 
 his soul in efforts to accomplish the vow he 
 had undertaken. 
 
 But now, as he lurked within the gloomy 
 cavern, there was something in the light- 
 ning^s flash, something in the thunder's roar, 
 that seemed to reveal his soul in some de-
 
 224 sm GUY d'estkkrf.. 
 
 gree to himself, as it must be revealed at the 
 last to the light of Heaven. At other times 
 he had asked forgiveness in his prayers of 
 Heaven, of his mother, too, for the lack of 
 determination he felt in fulfilling his vow ; 
 but now, involuntarily, he found himself 
 praying for forgiveness for having taken the 
 vow, — repenting of what he had done to- 
 wards performing it. 
 
 The storm, short as it was violent, passed 
 away ; the western sun darted strongly from 
 the large, many-coloured clouds. Lawrence 
 approached the entrance of the cave, and 
 rested there a minute's space — it was not 
 longer before he started to hear his name 
 pronounced. 
 
 " Lawrence !" said a voice which his dis- 
 turbed mind might imagine to come from 
 Heaven. He looked round ; no one was 
 visible, but the voice again, and nearer to 
 him, said — "Lawrence!" and it was a voice 
 of sorrow and reproach, yet full of gentle pity. 
 He crossed himself, and muttered a prayer; 
 then, bending forward, he saw above him on 
 the rock a form that might seem to him like 
 that of the blessed Mary, for whom, all fallen 
 and wretched as he was, he still felt reverence.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 225 
 
 The white mantle, falling from her shoul- 
 ders, caught the sunbeams' watery lustre ; 
 and round her head that same radiance 
 gleamed which had dazzled Symonds on 
 another occasion. It was to the eyes of 
 Lawrence the glory playing round the 
 cross that rested on the head of her to 
 whom, not long before, his prayer had 
 been addressed. 
 
 But Hilda was still of mortal mould ; 
 she had been watching for him, and was 
 now emerging from a similar cave on a 
 higher rock, from whence she had seen him, 
 though he could not see her. 
 
 Unconscious of the effect his fancy pro- 
 duced, she stood thus before him, and repeated 
 his name in the same thrilling tone. He 
 cowered before her, only slowly recovering 
 from his superstitious fantasy. 
 
 " Lawrence," said Hilda, " your treachery 
 is known, and I come to warn you of the 
 ftict! If you return to yonder hall, you 
 know well your death will be as lawful as 
 it will be instant. I come to charge you, 
 as you will one day have to answer at Christ's 
 bar, to do one of two things. Go on to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 O'Connor's hall ; seek open satisfaction, if 
 you can find it, and die the death of a 
 traitor when it is found, — or else, turn back 
 on your path ! Seek absolution from your 
 wicked oath, and live to repent — live in 
 penitence, and I will join my prayers daily 
 to yours, and pray our dear Lord, who 
 forgave His murderers, to forgive you also !" 
 
 " You know my oath, lady !" said the 
 man, after a long silence. " AYhat was 
 it ?" 
 
 "To destroy O'Connor of Fitzclare and 
 his race, as I have been told." 
 
 " And you, who are of them, came forth 
 here to meet and tell me this alone !" 
 
 *' I thought not of that : I thought only 
 of the body and soul that must miserably 
 perish, if I came not," she calmly answered. 
 " Farewell ; we meet not again. Let your 
 choice be made, and your part taken." 
 
 She drew back, and rapidly disappeared 
 among the rocks. He stood gazing upward 
 to the spot where she had been, then turned 
 from the fortress, to which he had been 
 advancing, and took his way in the opposite 
 direction.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 227 
 
 The departure of Lawrence was a fortui- 
 tous event for Symonds : all affairs seemed 
 to combine in furtherance of his wishes : 
 even had he been forced to confront the 
 traitor, who had so recently been his con- 
 federate, the fact that he had brought to 
 the Lord Marshal the ring and message 
 from O'Connor's prisoner was sufficient 
 evidence against him ; while, against him- 
 self, Lawrence had been carefully left with- 
 out the least means of proving any testimony 
 he might be tempted to give. 
 
 It was, therefore, with what he considered 
 a clear mind — that is, not a misgiving or 
 apprehensive one — that this man revisited 
 the fortress ; where the first news that met 
 him on entering the hall was that of the dis- 
 covered treachery and consequent desertion 
 of Lawrence. 
 
 Hilda would have no secrets between 
 Symonds and herself: she had, therefore, 
 related to her father the entire of what he 
 had detailed to her. 
 
 After a more prolonged absence than he 
 had expected, the chief returned home, to 
 receive this strange narrative, and learn 
 
 q2
 
 228 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 the additional danger he had run from a 
 secret enemy within his house. 
 
 ■"It is strange," he said, musingly, "and 
 haunts me like some memory of another 
 life, that I have seen the face of this Law- 
 rence years ago : yet he is young, and the 
 time appears to me long past when the same 
 face, in full maturity, has looked upon me in 
 the same manner as I have often seen that 
 of Lawrence do." 
 
 " Has there not been a hereditary feud, 
 father, of which I have heard you speak, 
 before all those troubles began which have 
 so diverted you from other thoughts ?" 
 
 " St. Patrick !" cried O'Connor, starting 
 to his feet, — "he is Roger Mac Mahon's 
 son — there was one, I heard — a child, left 
 alive !" 
 
 He uttered a heavy groan, and, sinking 
 back on his seat, pressed his hands on his 
 broad forehead. 
 
 His daughter drew close to him ; bent 
 over his head, as she stood, and said — 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 " God ! leave me not childless !" he 
 groaned, clasping her in his arms. " I am
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 229 
 
 content not to live out half my days : — 
 that was a part of the burden her curse 
 laid upon me ; but let not the other be 
 fulfilled — let my children live after me !" 
 
 " What is this, father ? — hide it not from 
 me," said Hilda. 
 
 " It passed before your time, my child — • 
 it was when my own blood was hotter, 
 and that of your uncle still more so — I love 
 not now to speak or to think of that time. 
 Enough it is to say, that, of the whole 
 family who met and fought with us, only 
 the mother and an infant survived. Years 
 afterwards, when I was riding at nightfall 
 in a solitary place, a witch-like woman 
 stood above me on a bank, and predicted 
 my fate. Sorrow and loss, treachery and 
 final want ; to be left without wife or child, 
 houseless, landless, and friendless — and to 
 die as the man of blood should die, before 
 my time had come — was the doom she 
 uttered. It may be all fulfilled, Hilda, — 
 my wife and my eldest son have gone ; 
 
 my second soon may go — and then " 
 
 He laid his large hand upon her neck, arid 
 a heavy tear fell down upon his rough cheek.
 
 230 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Hilda's soft lips kissed it off. It was a 
 tear of penitence, and doubly precious to 
 her. She knew her father had done many 
 a penitential act in bitter remembrance of 
 the sin of his youth. 
 
 " But this man, my father — this Law- 
 rence — if he were .indeed the surviving 
 Mac Mahon, and should have come here, 
 what you have done is the recompense of 
 his treachery." 
 
 "Bid him, if he would, to slay me on 
 the spot, openly, honestly, — but to take his 
 mother's curse from my children." 
 
 " Would you not, then, have caused him 
 to die for his crime against you ?" 
 
 " Hilda, I cling still to the old religion : 
 hear what I tell you. When first I confessed 
 myself after that fearful night when the 
 Mac Mahons fell. Father Eustace refused me 
 absolution, because I justified my conduct 
 by asserting my brother's wrongs : he then 
 desired me to think of Christ's words — ' If 
 thy enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, 
 give him drink.' Father Eustace may hear 
 Christ's words now, Hilda ; but if he can 
 hear mine, he will know that I would, this 
 moment, fulfil that saying to the last of
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 231 
 
 the Mac Mahons. — Yes ! be this Lawrence 
 what he may — I would not shed his blood. 
 We ought to send him out from among us 
 unscathed, save by the worm in his own 
 conscience." 
 
 " Father," said Hilda, softly, " forgive 
 your child for having misjudged you." 
 
 And then her last secret was told, and her 
 interposition with regard to the wretched 
 man made known. 
 
 " A second time !" said O'Connor. " In re- 
 spect to the Saxon you had reason, Hilda ; 
 for even now I would to Heaven we could 
 have otherwise disposed of him, for to Saxon 
 honour I trusted but little ; this Lawrence, 
 however, is one of ourselves, and might have 
 understood a generous action." 
 
 " Master Symonds is a Saxon, father." 
 
 " As such I love him not : but, my child," 
 O'Connor hesitated before he added — " I 
 know he loves you — has long loved you. 
 That accounts to me for a zeal in our service 
 that might otherwise appear unwarranted. 
 He is labouring for your brother's release, 
 Hilda ; he has already obtained the delay, if 
 not the abandonment, of proceedings against 
 me."
 
 232 siii GUY d'esterke. 
 
 Hilda trembled : her father's manner, his 
 look, the tone of his voice, told her that 
 there had been some previous communica- 
 tion between him and Symonds. Could it 
 be that tliat man would renew his suit, and 
 that he would listen to it as the price of the 
 good offices he spoke of ? 
 
 " He will deserve and meet our gratitude," 
 she said, " if this be so ; but a love so long 
 rejected has, I trust, long ere this grown cold 
 and dead." 
 
 O'Connor was silent ; he had, in fact, 
 agreed with Symonds that this old love was 
 not to be pleaded anew until its fair object 
 were more prepared to listen to it, which the 
 latter well knew would only be effected by 
 the pressure of her father's affairs, and a 
 sense of the danger of her brother's position. 
 His purpose was to win O'Connor to his side, 
 by holding out hopes and projects which 
 must afterwards appear to depend on the 
 consent of his daughter to be his wife. 
 
 Something of this kind passed between 
 them before the previous visit of Symonds 
 to the fortress : he had come there after hav- 
 ing conversed with O'Connor, and from per- 
 ceiving, on liis part, a sort of fear of rejecting
 
 siK GUY d'esterre. 233 
 
 his services, on which he expected to be able 
 to work. Fearful that Lawrence would not 
 combine in his present purpose, he had deter- 
 mined to work on his fears by threats of re- 
 vealing that trick of his own devising, by 
 which he had obtained the ring which he 
 had conveyed in the name of its owner to 
 the Lord Marshal ; and which Symonds had 
 succeeded in getting possession of on pretence 
 of the expediency of having its ownership 
 acknowledged by the O'Connors. The pre- 
 cipitancy mth which their confederacy had 
 closed, rendered all such schemes needless ; 
 and successive accidents in his favour cleared 
 the way he had meant only to feel, in so far 
 as to enable him to walk on with unexpected 
 ease to an end that became still more the ob- 
 ject of desire, since he had seen Hilda in the 
 pride of early womanhood, and found the 
 sordid avarice that had prompted his pur- 
 suit of the young girl had become mingled 
 Avith a fierce passion for the pure and lofty- 
 minded woman. It was a passion that par- 
 took as much of the nature of revenge as 
 love : a union with him, he well knew, 
 would be misery to her, but for that he cared
 
 234 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 little, if he thought at all. He should have 
 triumphed over her former scorn, her former 
 girlish mockery ; her father's lands would 
 then be hers ; for though the release of her 
 brother was to be the condition of their mar- 
 riage, it may be easily understood that such 
 a man would find abundant means whereby 
 the fate of Morven should be made depen- 
 dent on persons or circumstances beyond the 
 reach of his influence. 
 
 To draw O'Connor more deeply and readily 
 into his scheme, he had indited for him the let- 
 ter wliich the young man received in prison 
 in the manner already related. The chief, not 
 having made much progress in the art of 
 writing, allowed him to be the scribe ; and 
 though, when read over to him, he thought 
 the subject of his daughter's marriage was 
 much more positively asserted than the stage 
 of proceedings justly warranted, he was easily 
 persuaded by the writer that the consolation 
 the prospect of safety and freedom would 
 afford to his son more than compensated for 
 thus forestalling a statement that would in all 
 })robability soon be verified. 
 
 O'Connor, racked by anxiety, and broken
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 235 
 
 in sjDirit, weakly yielded to the plea, and thus 
 gave Symonds a double advantage, — the ap- 
 pearance of having given his consent, and 
 the admission into his own mind of the 
 probability of finally doing so. Symonds, 
 nevertheless, by a distant and almost reve- 
 rential demeanour, sought to allay Hilda's 
 suspicions, and prevent the rising of a spirit 
 he had reason to fear. 
 
 Her father's silence, his reserve towards 
 herself — the first he had ever maintained — 
 caused her a keen pain, the more acutely felt 
 because she imagined that the decisive part 
 she had acted in respect to the wounded 
 knight, who had proved the cause of their 
 fresh troubles, had been the means of chill- 
 ing the alFection he had formerly so warmly 
 shown her. 
 
 It was when, with this belief pressing 
 sorely on an already anxious mind, Hilda 
 had seated herself in the great black oak 
 chair in the apartment which in the olden 
 time would have borne the inappropriately 
 sounding title of the " Lady's Bower," that her 
 musings were broken off by the fairy-spring- 
 ing step of little Isabel, whose sylph-like
 
 236 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 form dropped light, as if it descended by 
 winfjs, on the same wide and cumbrous 
 chair. 
 
 Whether it had been that the elder lady's 
 deeper thoughts caused her unintentionally 
 to withdraw from the constant society of 
 the child-like girl, or that the pettish hu- 
 mour, and, at times, passionate grief of the 
 latter, rendered the society of her hand- 
 maidens, and their warm and clamorous 
 condolences, more desirable : the result had 
 been, that Hilda and Isabel had been of late 
 more divided than had ever before been the 
 case since they had first met. 
 
 Now, with her pretty face dimpled with 
 joy, the little girl threw her soft arms 
 around her neck, and nestled there, lifting 
 up her eyes with the old laughing, loving 
 gaze, like that of the playful child to its 
 mother, to which Hilda was so well accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 , The loss of one friend — fancied or real — 
 makes the possession of another the more 
 precious : she bent her head to meet the 
 upturned face. 
 
 "Come back to me, my child? — tliou art 
 happy now, sweet Isabel."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 237 
 
 "And you — and all — we shall all be 
 happy soon !" 
 
 " Alackaday !" sighed Hilda, " why are we 
 not always children ? Dear one, the cloud 
 that is so black to me has turned its white 
 side to you." 
 
 "Most grave lady," said Isabel, shaking 
 her little head, " I marvel much what spell 
 has been cast over you ever since that 
 wicked knight — who, trust me, I believe to 
 have been an imp of darkness in disguise — 
 vanished so strangely from your hold. You 
 ever like to look on the darker side of 
 things." 
 
 " Nay, little slanderer, I look not on dark 
 things now, for I look on this bright face." 
 
 " But tell me, Hilda, — ^you trust him ; do 
 you not ?" 
 
 " Him ! whom ? — who is there left to 
 trust?" 
 
 " Why, your lov Nay, I will not say 
 
 that ; I was desired not to call him so ; — 
 but I know all about it, most sly Hilda." 
 
 " Of what speak you, child ?" 
 
 "Honor has told me somewhat, and he 
 himself has told me more," said the little
 
 238 SIR GUY d'ksterre. 
 
 babbler, \vith the air of a child telling the 
 secrets it was desired to conceal." 
 
 " Of what ?" repeated the listener. 
 
 "Of your true knight, — not that false 
 one, — but he who, like the true knights 
 of old, who took the cross in honour of our 
 Lady and their true love, vowed himself 
 years ago to your service, and has gone 
 about the world ever since in your defence. 
 It is not a romance, Hilda ; it is true ; he 
 has himself told me of the dangers he has 
 run from that terrible woman over the seas, 
 and her executioners ; — it would make your 
 blood creep to hear of it all ; — and this was 
 to save the O'Connor, and you, and Morven, 
 and, mayhap, myself too, for — but do not 
 be jealous, Hilda,— he can give me sweet looks 
 oft-times, and praises me much. Neverthe- 
 less, I like not those eyes — they see two 
 ways at once. In good sooth, it seems that 
 they are looking for you while they are 
 gazing on me." 
 
 " Has Master Symonds held converse witli 
 you, Isabel ?" said Hilda. 
 
 " Know you not that ? Honor said you 
 were well pleased that 1 should entertain
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 239 
 
 him mth my lighter talk when weightier 
 matters engaged you." 
 
 " And did he tell you to inform me of the 
 matter of his talk ?" 
 
 " No, no ! he said he did not desire to 
 gain your favour by recounting his acts of 
 service, — that he wished you not to know of 
 them; that what he did was for love, and 
 not for reward. So I am not to tell you, 
 Hilda, what he is going to do." 
 
 "Be silent then, my child," said the other, 
 gravely. 
 
 But Isabel, raising her head to a level 
 with hers, whispered, while her lips almost 
 at the instant pressed a delighted kiss on 
 her cheek, — "He is going to set Morven 
 free !" 
 
 Hilda started, as the words, with the soft 
 breath of the whisperer, who seemed to 
 deem a Avhispered secret to be still untold, 
 passed to her ear. 
 
 They conveyed to her a mingled sensa- 
 tion, in which gratitude and joy were blent 
 with a heavy but indistinct presage of ill. 
 It was good news heard by one who even 
 from them foreboded evil. 
 
 " God grant him grace !" was all her reply.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 We left Sir Guy and Morven O'Connor in 
 an awkward and disagreeable position. The 
 length of time that elapsed without an an- 
 swer to his application to the Earl of Essex 
 tended not a little to the irritation of the 
 former, while it afforded ground for the 
 light sarcasms of his younger comrade, who 
 found in it sufficient warrant for railing 
 against the cold-heartedness of the Saxon 
 race. 
 
 At length, it chanced that one morning 
 when Sir Guy, having spent part of the 
 night in enjoying the pleasures of a wonder- 
 ful romance lent to him by the keeper, slept 
 much later than customary, he was gra- 
 dually aroused by a voice that muttered 
 broken and only half audible sentences be-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 241 
 
 side his couch ; of these the words — " rash 
 youth — random love affair — all folly — must 
 be cleared," were some of those most dis- 
 tinct to him. He rose, and saw his old 
 friend, Anster, standing a little at the back 
 of his head, so as to be able to see him with- 
 out being seen. 
 
 " So, boy, with all that discreetness of 
 thine, thou art in a hobble at last !" 
 
 " And desire to be well out of it," cried 
 Guy. 
 
 " Would not get into it again for all the 
 yellow-headed damsels of cursed Ireland — 
 eh ? I trow not, Guy ; there are fairer and 
 better, and less dangerous ones, to be had 
 at our side of the water." 
 
 "Your meaning, worthy friend, passes 
 my shallow comprehension," said the other, 
 shaking his head in token of its incapacity 
 of understanding. He saw the old officer 
 was accompanied by the courtier, John 
 Harrington. 
 
 "Well done, Guy; keep good faith, above 
 all when it is pledged to a fair dame. Even 
 her Grace, though she loves not to hear of 
 the love matters of other folk, would hold 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 242 SIR GUT d'esterre. 
 
 thee but an arrant knave were it otherwise," 
 — the latter interposed laughingly. 
 
 D'Esterre coloured, but looked, as he 
 felt, amazed to find the circumstances of his 
 late adventure, of which he believed Hilda 
 alone to be cognisant, had thus become 
 known. 
 
 "But hear me, lad," continued Anster, 
 more seriously, as he saw Guy was about 
 to offer an explanation, " you must not 
 affect that shallowness of comprehension 
 when Essex confers with you. He has got 
 the whole and true account from those who 
 bear you good-will, and it is one that touches 
 less dangerous matter than the report the 
 Lord Marshal has given." 
 
 A light began to dawn on the prisoner's 
 understanding : Essex was devising another 
 version of his late affair. 
 
 " And what," said he, " has been the report 
 that has reached the Queen ?" 
 
 " Simply that you, Sir Guy D'Esterre, 
 serving with the army in the realm of Ire- 
 land against those factious rebels, had formed 
 an alliance with some of them, whereby the 
 troop you had in command was surprised
 
 SIR GUT d'esterre. 243 
 
 and cut off, and the booty they were carry- 
 ing rescued ; — that you had entered into 
 friendly relations with the brother of the 
 rebel O'More, and been absent from the 
 camp for some weeks, which time you were 
 known to have spent in that man's fortress, 
 although you denied, or refused to give any 
 account of the fact." 
 
 D'Esterre looked very grave, as he saw 
 how much might be worked up from a little. 
 
 " That report," he said, " has but one fault 
 — it is false." 
 
 "The true, which should have no fault, 
 is hard to come at," answered Harrington, 
 "but, now that the matter hath a little 
 blown over, and passed from her Grace's 
 observation, the real case will be more easily 
 pardoned." 
 
 " And what may that case be ?" 
 
 " Why Essex hath it that you had been 
 enticed by the wiles of one of the damsels of 
 the Irishry to enter her father's castle, where 
 he in vengeance held you in durance, till the 
 fair lady granted your release on your pa- 
 role of honour never to betray her name ; 
 but he learns that no wrong to her 
 
 R 2
 
 244 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Highness, on one side or the other, was 
 intended. 
 
 " So far, so true," said Guy, thinking of the 
 mixture of truth and untruth in both re- 
 ports. That the latter was simply an inven- 
 tion of Essex, and the truth it contained a 
 chance such as often occurs, he readily 
 guessed. He only remarked, in answer, 
 that Essex had taken a moderate portion of 
 time in ascertaining the facts he now heard 
 of. 
 
 " Essex hath his own matters to care for 
 as well as thine," the other rejoined, with a 
 meaning look. The good Earl hath had a sore 
 sickness on him but lately, and as the phy- 
 sicianers kept aloof, he was fain to bear it as 
 he might ; until the sun of that countenance, 
 which he sweareth can be his sole medicine 
 and nourishment, rose upon him again, and 
 set him on his feet." 
 
 A peevish expression at the degradation 
 to which the young lord submitted in his 
 pretended love to his old Queen, was D'Es- 
 terre's comment on this speech. His visitor 
 then added, — 
 
 " He had but left his chamber, and re-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 245 
 
 sumed his office at the court, when he en- 
 countered the Irish varlet who had ventured 
 to that unknown region from his own vile 
 bogs, to tell her Highness, as he said, the 
 truth of your affair." 
 
 Again D'Esterre found himself bewildered, 
 and hastily inquired of whom he now 
 spoke. 
 
 " In truth I know not : an Irish Mercury 
 belike ; seeing he had neither wings to fly 
 nor legs to run, yet came as Cupid's mes- 
 senger !" 
 
 " I pray you leave off riddles," cried Guy 
 almost angrily ; " when grave matters are 
 in hand, such speech is idle !" 
 
 " I saw the fellow, but I know him not ; 
 he was one that would not have furthered 
 thy cause with her Grace, seeing he was a 
 misshapen knave, with legs not so long as to 
 my knee, and a body somewhat longer than 
 thy own. 
 
 " Lawrence !" shouted Morven from his 
 pallet, where he had lain, utterly forgotten 
 by his prison comrade. 
 
 "Whom have you there, Guy?" asked 
 Harrington, in a lower voice.
 
 246 SIR GUY u'esterre. 
 
 " The brother — I mean the son" — he 
 stopped without expressing exactly what he 
 meant. 
 
 " Soh ! marry, it -will work to a romance !" 
 said the other, comprehending whose brother 
 he would have said. 
 
 But Morven, raising himself up, and fixing 
 his excited and flashing eyes on the stranger, 
 angrily and even imperiously demanded to 
 know the business on which a follower of his 
 father, and one suspected to be a traitor to 
 him, had come to the English Court. 
 
 " Heed not his lack of courtesy," said Guy, 
 speaking to Harrington so as not to be over- 
 heard ; " the youth has much care, and has 
 suffered much wrong." 
 
 " I gave but scant attention to his matter," 
 Harrington resumed! " If I remember me 
 aright, the tale he told was of this sort : — 
 He had learned that Sir Guy D'Esterre was 
 in jeopardy, and found that a man, who was 
 a rival of his for the aflections or the wealth 
 of the damsel who had brought him into 
 trouble, was plotting to keep him out of the 
 way until he had, by vilifying his rival, won 
 her from him by means of pretended ser-
 
 SIR GUY d'estekre. 247 
 
 vices. My lord of Essex heard more from 
 this fellow than I have learned, the time 
 being passed when love-passages gave me 
 matter of interest." 
 
 A low but fierce growl told of the gather- 
 ing rage of Morven O'Connor, which Har- 
 rington perceiving, hastily added, — 
 
 " That man seemed anxious to obtain the 
 speedy release of Sir Guy, in order that his 
 reappearance might frustrate the scheme of 
 some base knave whose intrigues hath sent 
 him hither. He said he owed the fair lady 
 a service, and would willingly pay it at the 
 expense of the false villain who was her sui- 
 tor. And so, young sir," he concluded, with 
 a bow to the frowning Morven, " under your 
 favour, shall I end the tale I had to tell." 
 
 And, carelessly turning away, he drew 
 D'Esterre to a distant recess, and, assuming 
 another manner, asked him some questions 
 concerning his own aifair. D'Esterre gave 
 him the acccount of his misadventure which 
 he had formerly given to the Lord Marshal, 
 and which was the truth, although a part of 
 the truth was reserved : he would neither 
 accuse O'Connor of forcibly detaining him.
 
 248 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 nor mention a name, to his ignorance of 
 which he partly ascribed his release. But 
 the falsity of the charges brought against 
 him he declared himself anxious to prove. 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Sir Guy ; matters are 
 now in train : put not thy neck in the keep- 
 ing of the Queen's Attorney !" 
 
 " But my honour is belied !" 
 
 "Pah! who is there now-a-days who has 
 not a spot of treason on his jerkin ? Why, 
 man, if you are to be known at Court, you 
 must be a lover or a traitor ; — in good troth 
 I jest not. Gray hairs and beardless chins 
 must keep on their owner's shoulders by the 
 same means ; the old lady is fractious, and the 
 young man froward — it is ever a caress and 
 a blow — a blow and a caress. Heaven save 
 us from such love-making. The Irish tigress 
 who chained you in her father's den were 
 no whit more to be feared in such a case 
 than the British lion." 
 
 " Prison walls, they say, have ears," said 
 Guy. " Tell me rather, I pray you, how 
 my own matters are likely to S})ccd. The 
 long sickness of our gallant Earl has, haply, 
 passed."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterke. 249 
 
 " Know you how it was caused ?" said the 
 other, in a whisper — " By a sound box on 
 the ear !" 
 
 D'Esterre opened his eyes with a kindhng 
 glance. 
 
 " You look bravely fierce," most valorous 
 knight : "aye, and so did Cadiz look, towering 
 in wrath." 
 
 " And he took the blow! — from a woman's 
 hand !" 
 
 " Why there was the mischief of it all : he 
 forgot whether she was a man or woman, and 
 pulled out his sword instead of kissing the 
 hand that smote him." 
 
 " Cadiz ! Cadiz !" sighed Sir Guy. 
 
 "You leaped from its walls after the 
 banner of Essex," said the other. 
 
 " That noble and gallant spirit!" Guy con- 
 tinued, in a saddened manner — "chained, 
 degraded, smothered, by its own ambition ! 
 Oh ! leave me, Fortune, but a free mind and 
 a free path, and, though penniless in the 
 world, I would shun the tainted atmosphere 
 that has poisoned the life-springs of such a 
 noble heart !" 
 
 " Bravely spoken, good knight ; but be
 
 250 sill GUY D ESTEKRE. 
 
 not over confident. We shall have thee to 
 Court speedily, and thou wilt then sue to me 
 for a love-sonnet if thou cannot frame one 
 thyself. I must begone now; time speeds 
 apace. Tell me, ere I go, who is that wild 
 youth yonder, and wherefore is he here ?" 
 
 Guy briefly, but warmly, related the cir- 
 cumstances of young Morven. They were 
 listened to with an interest that surprised 
 him ; and when he had ended, Harrington 
 departed, with a promise that he should 
 shortly hear from, or see, some other friends. 
 
 Amused, even amid his annoyance, at the 
 turn which had now been given to his con- 
 nexion with his family, D'Estcrre felt some 
 awkwardness in approaching Morven, whose 
 sentiments, respecting the singular proceed- 
 inirs of Lawrence, he was curious to learn. 
 But the youth, stretched on his face, with 
 hands clasped on the back of his head, 
 affected a state of such heavy slumber that, 
 after once or twice calling him, he saw he 
 was obstinately bent on avoiding discourse, 
 or was, perhaps, still under the influence of 
 the anger which Harrington's jests had 
 excited.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 251 
 
 That moody or angry humour continued 
 through the day in a temper the less way- 
 ward and susceptible Englishman could ill 
 understand ; the petulant Hibernian gave 
 himself up to a morbid state of feeling, which 
 the slightest wprd only seemed to irritate ; so 
 that D'Esterre, finally yielding him to its in- 
 dulgence, applied himself to the wonderful 
 romance that had occupied him on the pro- 
 ceeding night, for relief from the reflections 
 that only plunged him into further per- 
 plexity. 
 
 Thus dragged on the leaden- winged hours, 
 and his heart sickened as he thought of the 
 many who were even then languishing out 
 years, as he did hours or days, in hopeless 
 captivity. 
 
 " And can such a lot be preferable to the 
 stroke of the axe-man ?" he asked himself. 
 " Yet to it is not the brother of the Queen 
 consigned, since he boldly dared her to shed 
 her kindred blood ? Strange is that love of 
 life — life dragged out to its utmost limit of 
 helplessness — life pined out by inches within 
 the bars of a dungeon ! Methinks, were I in 
 Perrot's place, I should claim the privilege of 
 dying rather than of living !"
 
 252 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 And for wliat a mere trifle, an absolute 
 nothing, was he himself forced to learn by- 
 experience what must be the wretched state 
 ofhigh-minded men, of gentle-hearted women, 
 condemned — 
 
 "Like things within the cold rock found 
 Alive, while all's congealed around" — 
 
 to a dreary, hopeless imprisonment. 
 
 Thus returning, as perhaps the captive 
 ever does, to himself, Guy finally turned 
 his thoughts to the singular intelligence 
 he had received from his morning visitor. 
 
 The visit of Lawrence to England and 
 to its Court was inexplicable. Morven 
 supposed him to be a traitor to the chief 
 he served ; but such information as he 
 had given to Essex did not savour of trea- 
 son to O'Connor, or rather, to O'Connor's 
 daughter. Might it not be — was his next 
 idea — that he was the messenger of the 
 latter? — that, having learned the disgrace 
 which had befallen liimself, Hilda, true to 
 the character he had already perceived, had 
 thus boldly sought to bring the truth to 
 the cars of Elizabeth.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 253 
 
 Sir Guy ruminated on this possibility 
 until he had almost turned it into a 
 fact. 
 
 But while, with limbs stretched out to 
 their full length, an arm on his rude table, 
 and a hand buried in his thick chestnut 
 hair, he was thus, by a combination of 
 ideas — 
 
 " Chcvring the cud of sweet and bitter phantasy" — 
 
 a wild burst of song, breaking the deep 
 silence of the prison chamber, caused him 
 to start to his feet. 
 
 " You are merry of a sudden. Master 
 Morven," he said, annoyed at having been 
 so discomposed. " Methought you had 
 matter for care just now?" 
 
 " Care ? — hang it ; drown it ; put it to 
 any end that pleases you," cried the youth, 
 passing from melancholy to mirth, as the 
 transition of a moment. " I will think no 
 more. You, sir knight, are a Saxon, — I 
 fight on the other side : we both fare alike, 
 share the same prison, mayhap shall share 
 the same block !"
 
 254 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 " Or, by an equal chance, may have our 
 honour restored," said Guy. 
 
 " Restored ! that can hardly be restored 
 which never has been lost," returned Morv^en ; 
 if you, sir knight, feel the need of seeking 
 for lost honour — " 
 
 D'Esterre turned upon the speaker a 
 look, which, rash as he was, stopped him 
 in his speech. The colour that mounted 
 to the cheek of the youth pleaded his 
 apology \\Tlth one who was at that moment 
 less disposed than usual to quarrel with 
 the wild brother of Hilda Fitzclare. 
 
 "The honour that is doubted, Morven," 
 he said, " is accounted to be lost." 
 
 There was an unusual tone of melan- 
 choly in the voice that uttered these words, 
 and that tone at once found its way to 
 the sensitive heart of the young Irish- 
 man. 
 
 " Tell me," he said, " on your word as 
 a true knight, have I wrongfully doubted 
 your honour, when I believed till now, 
 that the narrative that stranger gave this 
 morn, touching your late affair with my 
 family, was the true one ?"
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 255 
 
 " You did me wrong," replied Guy, turn- 
 ing his eyes full upon him. " I am here 
 for no cause, that I know of, but that which 
 I truly told you when we first met. I 
 never beheld your sister until I was re- 
 covered from my wound. As to being 
 bound not to reveal your father's name, 
 that part of the story is true, and the rack 
 itself should not force me to break my word; 
 and that for its own Avorth's sake, as well 
 as for hers to whom it was pledged. And 
 now that we speak once more on this 
 matter, I will declare to you, Master Mor- 
 ven, that, belied and ill-treated as it has 
 been my hap to be, no disgrace, even, 
 that could fall on myself, would be so 
 sorely felt as the thought that, through 
 me or by my fault, the shadow of dishonour 
 should fall on your true-hearted sister's 
 name ! Let it, I pray you, not be named 
 between us, at least in relation to such 
 unseemly and untrue reports ; and though 
 it is not like to be my fair fortune ever to 
 see her face again, I would that she and 
 all others should know, that neither father, 
 brother, friend, nor lover, would more freely
 
 256 SIR GUY ryESTERRE. 
 
 draw sword in defence of her honour than 
 would I !" 
 
 A hand was pressed upon his shoulder, 
 another grasped his own ; Morven's excited 
 eyes, shining through dew, looked into the 
 steady, full-opened, truth-telling eyes of the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Guy," he said, dismissing the formal title, 
 " I doubt you no more : henceforth we are 
 friends." 
 
 "You told me that when first we met, 
 good friend: you shift your humour too 
 often and easily, Morven!" 
 
 " I know it. It is my country's fault : 
 mine is the land of the flitting cloud and 
 passing sunshine — my temper is of like 
 complexion, with a whirl of the tempest 
 mingled therewith. It is pity, Guy, that the 
 cold-blooded English and hot-blooded Irish 
 agree not better : methinks a mingling of 
 the races might produce a more moderate 
 temperature. By the mass, good knight, I am 
 tempted to give thee my petulant, froward, 
 yet loving little Isabel, to be a fitting mate 
 for one so cool and passion-free as yourself ; 
 and to seek a cold and careful Saxon dame.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 257 
 
 whom I will take to wife as men take an 
 ice-lump to cool hot liquors !" 
 
 " Neither fair lady might well be pleased to 
 hear your speech," said Guy, " and truly so 
 bhthe a maiden as Mistress Isabel would find 
 me as sorry a mate as I should find her an 
 ill-matched wife. The doctors tell us that 
 without affinity of the elements there can be 
 no identity ; so that if holy Church should 
 make two diverse minds into one by out- 
 ward union, the efifect would be but as the 
 mingling of fire and water !" 
 
 " Are you wedded already, or have you 
 only a lady-love ?" asked Morven ; " in either 
 case, the lady 1 trow, has small cause of 
 jealousy." 
 
 " Neither case is mine at this present mo- 
 ment," the other answered, with a smile, "and 
 for all I can see, may not ever be. If I wed, 
 trust me it will be with one whose heart 
 I can love, and whose pure and lofty mind 
 I can revere. She shall be as good as fair, 
 and as wise as good : — such a lovely and 
 noble dame as I can worship and serve all 
 the days of my life in honour and truth. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Such a one may not incline to me, but to 
 none save such will I ever incline." 
 
 Morven remained silent some time, and 
 then said carelessly, — 
 
 " My little Will-o'-the-wisp will not do for 
 you, Guy ; I must keep her myself, if haply 
 she has not ere this found a more fortunate 
 love."
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 O'CoNNOK of Fitzclare was pacing moodily 
 the rocky floor of his rude hall ; the re- 
 tainers were absent, and the storm that raged 
 without caused him to exchange his cus- 
 tomary patrol-like walk on the cliff for 
 that equally meditative one within his for- 
 tress. Quick and light as the descent of the 
 sea-bird on that rock, his daughter appeared 
 at his side ; one hand fastened on his 
 arm, the other extended backwards to a 
 form that more slowly and heavily followed 
 hers. 
 
 " He says," murmured Hilda, speaking as 
 if the words choked her — " he says that you 
 bade him urge again his audacious suit. It 
 is not true ? — say it is not true !" 
 
 O'Connor turned towards the advancing 
 
 s 2
 
 260 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 figure of Symonds, who, with a curious mix- 
 ture of self-assurance and mortification, fol- 
 lowed at a distance the floating form of the 
 indignant Hilda. Pointing to him with a 
 finger, with sparkling eyes and flushing 
 cheek, she repeated — 
 
 " It is not true ?— say it is not true !" 
 But she raised those anger-sparkling eyes 
 to the chieftain's face, and the look of shame, 
 of sorrow, that she there beheld, was enough 
 for her. 
 
 " My father !" she murmured, as she wove 
 her li";ht arms round his huoe fio-ure, liftinoj 
 her beautiful e^^es to his — " m}- father, can it 
 be ?" 
 
 A groan heaved the chieftain's frame : — 
 " Not for my sake — no !" he murmured — 
 " but, child, thy mother would have died for 
 thee — for thy brother !" 
 
 " And I also," cried Hilda ; raising up 
 her head, and, standing erect with flashing 
 eyes, she boldly turned to Symonds, and 
 said, " Ask me to die only, and I am ready 
 with God's help to do so — but not to marry 
 him — to die to save another would not be 
 sin ; to marry so would be sin and shame."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 261 
 
 " Go," said the chieftain, waving his hand 
 to the suitor, who with compressed lips stood 
 darkly eyeing him, and watching the storm- 
 clouds that seemed to sweep over his work- 
 ing countenance — " Go, it is ended ; Hilda 
 Fitzclare will die with her brother rather 
 than be the wife of the Saxon." 
 
 " Sir Guy D'Esterre will vow he thinks 
 otherwise," replied Symonds, with a cold 
 sneer : but his eyes fell before the full gaze 
 of those that looked into them for a moment ; 
 and then, with an expression of the deepest 
 scorn, Hilda slowly left the hall. 
 
 She went not far : seated on a ledge of 
 rock, while the cold autumnal wind blew 
 wildly around her, she leaned her pale face 
 on her hands, and tears, woman's best relief, 
 fell through the white fingers. 
 
 The reptile we despise can cause us bitter 
 pain. The sting the human tongue inflicts 
 is sometimes not the less felt because the 
 being from whom it comes is the object of 
 our contempt. 
 
 Feminine indignation and anger, perhaps, 
 still more than apprehension for her brother 
 or herself, were the source of Hilda's heavy
 
 262 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 tears; for the sarcasm of Symonds, if not pro- 
 ductive of the effect he meant it to have pro- 
 duced, was felt by her as proud and sus- 
 ceptible woman feels the very shadow of 
 such an implication as that it conveyed. 
 
 What a train of troubles had an occurrence 
 so trivial in itself led her into ! But, what- 
 ever way she might try to free herself and 
 her family from them, that way should not 
 be by marriage : any sacrifice might be made 
 save one, so revolting to womanly feeling, so 
 contrary to the precepts of religion as well 
 as nature. That Sir Guy D'Esterre was not 
 false, Hilda in her secret heart believed ; but 
 what could his conduct have to do -with her's 
 in such a case as this ? Had she even loved 
 him, and been slighted in return, — could 
 that be a reason for wedding another whom 
 she loved not ? 
 
 Yet her cheek burned while these thoughts 
 swept through her troubled mind, and a 
 doubt came now, still more painfully, to 
 mingle with them; the doubt that the te- 
 nacity with which she clung to the belief 
 that the English knight, though he came 
 not, sent not, to satisfy her of his truth, was
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 263 
 
 still true to honour and to his plighted word 
 — might, if perceived by others, favour the 
 taunting hints that Symonds had dared to 
 throw out. 
 
 " I have done no wrong," she repeated to 
 herself—" thought no wrong. Heaven knows 
 in what I did, not one thought of self ever 
 mingled! I acted without advice, certainly, 
 — too rashly, it may be, but as I thought a 
 Christian should act by another in like case; 
 and as I believed was the best and safest 
 course for my father. Will God forsake 
 those Avho do right, and suffer those who 
 do wrong to prosper ?" 
 
 Poor Hilda ! the Psalmist had asked that 
 question long before, and he had no answer 
 until, in the sanctuary of Heaven, he under- 
 stood the end of those men who here on 
 the earth did wickedly, yet flourished like a 
 green bay-tree. 
 
 She bowed her face on her hands, and, 
 sitting there on the lofty rock, she prayed 
 in her heart to our Father to deliver her 
 from evil. 
 
 The day had been stormy ; now the rain 
 had ceased, and the wind fallen, but heavy
 
 204 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 mists hung upon the coast : the sun had 
 sunk in the west, and cast its parting 
 light on a cloud that rested on the rocks 
 nearly opposite to where she sat. The dark 
 mass grew light ; it moved and rose as the 
 air stirred and the light shone; the centre 
 was white and glistening; the dark edges, 
 less under the action of the sunbeam, circled 
 it like a frame, within which the white 
 moving mist gradually formed itself into a 
 shape resembling that of a draped figure 
 with an extended arm. Hilda looked up 
 from her prayer to see this vision. To her 
 already prepared mind, it appeared to bring 
 her the answer she expected, the strength 
 she required. The arm of the figure pointed 
 eastward, in the direction her thoughts had 
 taken. 
 
 " My mother," said the distressed maiden, 
 "^vishes me to save her son — but not by 
 means her pure soul would abhor ; my 
 father wishes me to do so too, but alas ! 
 his heart has grown weak : she shows me 
 the path to take. Elizabeth of England, 
 they say, bad as she is, loves justice. To 
 her 1 will so — but not to her servitors in
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 265 
 
 this land. Elizabeth shall hear of the 
 wrong they do ; and she may give me 
 back my brother, or take my own misera- 
 ble life !" 
 
 The cloud-figure softly dissolved, melting 
 away in a brighter sunbeam ; the girl felt 
 an angel's smile fall upon her heavy heart. 
 
 But the bold step she now projected, to 
 be of any avail, must be taken at once; 
 and promptitude and decision were as pro- 
 minent in Hilda's disposition as they were 
 wanting in her father's. 
 
 The necessity of keeping her real purpose 
 a secret from Symonds was apparent ; and 
 in order that it might be so kept it was ab- 
 solutely necessary that no one should know 
 it save her old faithful nurse ; for not even 
 her father could she trust, lest his incautious- 
 ness should cause an involuntary betrayal. It 
 was, moreover, more than doubtful that she 
 could obtain his consent to a project so 
 wild. Yet she could not, would not, depart 
 without his knowledge, without giving him 
 some reason for absence. Various plans 
 presented themselves, — one only appeared 
 to be what she could willingly adopt. The
 
 266 silt GUY d'esterre. 
 
 time of pilgrimages was not then, any more 
 than it is now, at an end in the western isle; 
 and the defeat of Bagnal and success ofO'Neil 
 having left the country clear for all such 
 pious purposes, Hilda resolved not to make 
 a mere excuse of such a purpose, but to 
 repair to a sacred place, of which she had 
 often heard her mother speak, and there to 
 spend some hours in retirement and prayer 
 before proceeding on her hazardous expedi- 
 tion. To obtain her father's consent to her 
 performing this pilgrimage for her brother's 
 sake, would, she knew, be easy, especially 
 when the present state of the country was 
 favourable to it. 
 
 There was, however, one difficulty that 
 still presented itself Canna must be the only 
 depository of her secret, and she must have 
 power to reveal it in the case that accident 
 should befall her. Canna, therefore, must 
 remain behind, and who, then, could accom- 
 pany her ? Must she go alone ? That she 
 dare not do; and, besides, she must have 
 money and clothes for her journey. With 
 a heavy sigh, she had almost resigned the 
 project that had given her so much hope.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 267 
 
 when she recollected that not far from a 
 convent of St. Bridget was the house of 
 her foster-brother, who would provide her 
 with a horse, and attend her on her journey- 
 to Dublin, from whence she should sail 
 for London. Canna could easily convey 
 to him what things she required, and she 
 had no fear of setting out as a solitary pil- 
 grim to St. Bridget's. 
 
 With her plan arranged mentally, she 
 hastened to seek for her faithful Canna ; 
 whose fears, or rather terrors, at her daring 
 undertaking, were more than balanced by 
 her admiration, and firm belief that it was 
 the blessed Virgin herself that had appeared 
 in the cloud to her, and inspired her with 
 a resolution which she would crown with 
 success. 
 
 Having arranged with her for the prose- 
 cution of the plan she had formed, Hilda 
 considered it wiser to take her father — too 
 much inclined to waver and halt between 
 two opinions — by surprise, on the morrow, 
 and only ask his consent and blessing 
 when she was preparing to set out on her 
 pilgrimage. And, all being decided upon,
 
 268 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 she went to leave her nightly kiss with 
 little Isabel, before she sought her rest. 
 
 Though it was not late, the girl was 
 sleeping, in dreams, happier, poor bird, 
 than waking hours might be. Her bright 
 hair, left at liberty at night, half covered 
 the soft cheek, on which the rosy hue 
 flushed deeper beneath Hilda's kiss, as 
 the sleeper's pouting, child-like lips parted 
 with a murmured name — it was that of 
 Morven. 
 
 The girl started, opened her eyes, and 
 gazed in wonder at the unusually animated 
 ones that bent over her. 
 
 " I meant not to wake thee, mavourneen ; 
 I would but have left thee a kiss, lest thou 
 shouldst sleep late in the morning : for I 
 go on a pilgrimage, Isabel — a pilgrimage 
 for the sake of Morven!" 
 
 " Morven ?" Isabel repeated, fixing her 
 bright, newly opened eyes on the speaker's 
 face, — " for Morven's sake !" — and, placing 
 a hand on each of Hildas shoulders, slie 
 sprung up and off the couch. " And 
 you would have left me — his betrothed 
 —behind !"
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 269 
 
 " Child ! — how could you think of such 
 a thing ? — little one as thou art ! Look 
 at these tiny feet — to tread a weary way — 
 that pretty fairy figure, to undergo toil, 
 and brave rough weather !" 
 
 " For Morven's sake," repeated Isabel, 
 making an effort to get on some attire. 
 "Yes ! these feet, if they are not as large as 
 true Irish ones, could carry on a heart as 
 true as any of pure Irish blood. Yes, for 
 Morven's sake they would tread on burning 
 mountains ; they would try to walk over 
 flowing waves, if 'for Morven's sake' were 
 written as the signpost before them. ! 
 most cruel Hilda, would you let it be said 
 that his sister could do what his ow^n be- 
 trothed would not do ?" 
 
 " A sister's love is strong, is deep," sighed 
 Hilda, as she looked earnestly, admiringly, at 
 the childish maiden, whose heart in a short 
 time was outgrowing its years, and deepening 
 into the intensity of the feelings of woman- 
 hood. " But yet such love as this I never 
 knew — never may know. base and 
 miserable Symonds, to try to force me to 
 wed without it !"
 
 270 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 " I, too, would have wished thee to do so," 
 cried Isabel, thromng herself on her neck. 
 " Love is a selfish, a dreadful thing, my 
 Hilda, — you are greater, better, without it. 
 It will sacrifice all, all to itself, to the one 
 beloved !" 
 
 " Dear child," said Hilda, returning her 
 caress. " You have felt much, and learned 
 from feeling — you must pray, my Isabel, 
 pray, and you will feel better, more wisely." 
 
 " You will take me with you, then ! You 
 will let me pray with you for our Morven's 
 weal?" 
 
 She clung with her arms around the elder 
 girl, pressing her cheek on her bosom, her 
 dark eyes glancing through her gleaming 
 and dishevelled hair up to the calmer coun- 
 tenance of Hilda, with the pretty coaxing 
 smile of innocent childhood : and adding an 
 emphasis to the word " our," that she thought 
 must be soothing to the jealous love of the 
 sister. 
 
 " Little coaxbox ! — a woman and a child 
 at once ! But know you where I go, sweet 
 one? It is to St. Bridget's of the Holy 
 Cross." 
 
 " The haunted convent !" cried Isabel, lift-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 271 
 
 ing up her head in terror. " Hilda, 
 would no other place be as good?" 
 
 " She does not say," thought Hilda, " that 
 she would not come even there : strange as 
 have been the tales she has heard of it. It is 
 there I must go, love," she continued aloud ; 
 "for there I once promised my mother to 
 go, and I never yet fulfilled the pledge I 
 gave. You know it is there, they say, the 
 faithless nun is seen. You know the story, 
 dear ?" 
 
 " Yes," Isabel said, shuddering. " Lights 
 are seen constantly in that deserted convent; 
 and they say a nun in white robes walks 
 there, and even lights up the altars. It 
 was in King Henry's time," — continued 
 the girl, whose fondness for the wonderful 
 equalled her dread of the supernatural, — "it 
 was in the time of that terribly bad King 
 that a nun who liked the pleasures of the 
 world — poor thing ! — better than the holy 
 duties of her convent — which was very 
 wrong, of course, though it is natural too — 
 left St. Bridget's, and, taking advantage 
 of the disorders of the time, lived in the 
 world just as gay as— as 1 might live myself.
 
 272 SIR GUY d'esterhe. 
 
 Poor soul ! she got into some trouble, I 
 suppose, or broke her leg, or something, 
 that made her think how ^\Tong it was to be 
 merry-making; and so she repented, and 
 went to the priest, and confessed, and vowed 
 from that time forth to perform double 
 duty in St. Bridget's convent if the abbess 
 would pardon her. The abbess agreed to 
 pardon her if she kept her vow ; but when 
 the poor penitent was on her way back to 
 the convent, she died unpardoned, and the 
 abbess did not know it ; and soon afterwards 
 the convent was broken up, and the nuns all 
 dispersed : but then there appeared a solitary 
 in the white robe and veil of tlie order, 
 and she is still seen at times in the dusk flit- 
 ting about the deserted place, and at night 
 a light is seen moving through the empty 
 house. They say it is the ghost of the peni- 
 tent nun now fulfilling the vow she made, 
 and performing the service she left un- 
 done." 
 
 " Such is indeed the story,'' said Hilda, 
 " and none can contradict it. Therefore, 
 little trembler, must I go alone, since many 
 would brave any danger i-ather than a 
 spiritual one."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 273 
 
 "I would indeed that we were not to 
 see the ghost of the nun," said Isabel ; 
 " but I could meet even a ghost if it 
 were for Morven's sake : so, my o'wn sweet 
 Hilda, I will share thy peril in order to 
 share its reward." 
 
 " So determined art thou ! Ah ! dear one, 
 even still thou kno west not all. Listen, Isabel, 
 thou art almost a woman grown — women, 
 they say, cannot keep secrets — that is false, 
 but for Morven's sake thou wilt keep this — 
 it is not solely to Heaven and its Powers 
 that I meditate supplication." 
 
 And, bending her loftier head, she whis- 
 pered her real purpose in the ear of the 
 little girl. 
 
 The colour sank from the soft cheek ; the 
 eyes seemed to lose their colour also : they 
 looked dimly into the dark blue orbs that 
 met them in calm resolve. 
 
 The name of Queen Elizabeth had been 
 the bugbear of the girl's infancy. After the 
 terrible desolation which followed the rebel- 
 lion of Desmond, that destructive period was 
 honoured by the natives with the epithet of 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 the " Hag's War," and by that injurious 
 epithet had the 
 
 " Fair Vestal throned in tlie West" 
 
 become known to the child, who, not 
 knowing that it was high treason to doubt 
 that the royal lady was less than a divine 
 miracle of mortal perfection, always repre- 
 sented to herself the image of Elizabeth as 
 a withered hag, whose palace -gates were 
 adorned with human heads and grinning 
 skulls ; whose throne was surrounded with 
 instruments of torture ; and at whose feet 
 was the dungeon wherein her victims were 
 cast. 
 
 The ghost of the penitent nun was some- 
 thing far less frightful to her fancy than 
 the actual bodily presence of this regal ty- 
 rant, and the }'oung lady visibly shivered. 
 
 " At length she yields," said Hilda to her- 
 self, and only began to tremble for the safe 
 keeping of her secret. 
 
 "For Morven's . sake," murmured Isabel. 
 "Ah ! I thought not the sign-i)ost I spoke 
 of would point so far oif. But no matter : 
 we shall go together, Hilda, even to tliat
 
 SIR G'JY d'esterre. ' 275 
 
 terrible Elizabeth ! They say she has had 
 many loves — she knows not a sister's : she 
 might not feel for thee ; but if she has 
 loved, as they say, she may pity me, and not 
 wish that so young a thing should die a 
 widow ere she had become a bride." 
 
 " Whatever love she has known, she knows 
 nought so pure, so devoted, as thine, my 
 Isabel, my little rose ! opening into fuller 
 fragrance, the keener and drearier blows 
 the blast that might nip thy beauty," cried 
 Hilda, caressing her bright locks. " Yes, 
 my heart's child, the strength of thy love 
 will carry thee on. We will set forth in 
 company ; be patient, Isabel, and brave. 
 
 Now rest thee weU, for at dawn thou must 
 arise." 
 
 With arms entwined, the young girls 
 laid themselves down to sleep ; and Hilda, 
 having come to a decision that gave rest 
 to a long harassed mind, slept more calmly 
 than had latterly been her wont. 
 
 At the dawn of light she rose, and im- 
 parted to her father the wish of herself and 
 her young relation to make a pilgrimage to 
 
 T 2
 
 276 SIR GUY d'esterrk. 
 
 the Holy Cross at St. Bridget's deserted 
 convent. 
 
 The chieftain would not obstruct so pious 
 a purpose ; nor was he sorry for any delay 
 that tended necessarily to retard his daugh- 
 ter's decision as to the suit of Symonds. 
 
 " Tell him he shall have his answer on 
 my return, and engage him to wait till 
 then," was all she said on that subject.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The news of the intended pilgrimage spread 
 quickly among the followers of Fitzclare ; and 
 when the young pilgrims came out on the 
 rock, clad in long gray cloaks, with white 
 linen veils on their heads, and sandals 
 only on their feet, they were surrounded 
 by many of those faithful men, who stood 
 around, beholding them with respect and 
 veneration. 
 
 The girls advanced to the chief, and, kneel- 
 ing before him, craved his blessing. With 
 both broad palms stretched over their heads, 
 the chieftain gave it, and then, with that 
 stifled cry which it thrills the ear to hear 
 issuing from a strong man's heart, he clasped 
 his daughter to his breast, held her there 
 a moment, and turning, plunged down a
 
 278 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 projecting portion of the rock, hiding him- 
 self from sight. 
 
 At the point that commanded tlie road 
 they were to take stood Symonds, evidently 
 waiting to address them. AVith a low in- 
 clination they turned aside ; and he stood 
 where they had passed, engaged in that 
 singular occupation of disappointed men 
 — biting the nail of his thumb. The chief- 
 tain had already referred him to their re- 
 turn as the time when Hilda's answer was 
 to be given; and the sorely tried father stood 
 looking upon her now, as with her little com- 
 panion she descended the rocky stairs in her 
 pilgrim attire, with much the same feelings 
 that Jephthah might have witnessed the de- 
 parture of his daughter to the mountains 
 of Israel. 
 
 The successes of O'Neil had given Sy- 
 monds cause to fear that his schemes might 
 fail if their reward were delayed. The 
 hold he had over the chieftain, in conse- 
 quence of the detention of his son in London, 
 was indeed his strongest point of hope. He 
 did not think it unlikely that superstition 
 might lead Hilda to take the means she
 
 SIB GUY d'esterre. 279 
 
 had now adopted of arriving at a decision 
 on a doubtful matter ; and while he sneered 
 at it himself, he had some idea that a mind 
 so high in tone as hers might be influenced 
 by a pious sentiment to an act of self-sacrifice 
 naturally repugnant to it. 
 
 The convent to which they were bound 
 was scarcely a day's pilgrimage from the 
 fortress, and the English soldiery having 
 been drawn away to oppose the northern 
 rebels, they reached it without adventure 
 or molestation of any kind — the few people 
 they met respecting their appearance and 
 object. 
 
 It had been some years previously occu- 
 pied by the sisters of the renowned St. 
 Bridget, who was, for her first fifteen years, 
 the contemporary of St. Patrick, as she is said 
 to have been born a. d. 453, and he to have 
 died. A. D. 465. Overlaid as such actions 
 as hers become by "the imaginations of 
 men," and the extraordinary endowment with 
 miraculous powers with which the Church 
 of Kome invests the memory of those who 
 have simply been strong in faith and love, 
 we are often careless in discerning the real 
 among the fictitious ; the true gold that
 
 280 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 has been strangely covered with mere 
 tinsel.* 
 
 In educating and cultivating a barbarous 
 people emerging from paganism, this good 
 woman took an active part. To relieving 
 or maintaining poor or destitute Christians 
 she devoted her life : her institutions 
 combined both objects, and were at once 
 schools and hospitals, or alms-houses. 
 Such, indeed, Avas the character of all 
 religious houses before the Invasion of the 
 Normans gave them a grander style of 
 architecture, together with a less active 
 rule of life. 
 
 This convent, an offset of St. Bridget's rule, 
 had been recently alienated with one still 
 richer, and its possessions made over to one of 
 the English adherents. Its vicissitudes had 
 been man3^ In its earlier state repeatedly 
 
 * In ultra Protestant Sweden, the fame of its St. 
 Bridget still remains ; perpetuated by the remains 
 of her great convent of Wadstena, on the shores 
 of Lake Wettem. Though a later saint than her 
 namesake of Ireland, and the mother of some reno-vrned 
 sons, the Irish Annals claim for their Bridget the same 
 honours from Rome as those conferretl- on Bridget of 
 Sweden.
 
 SIR GUY d'estekre. 281 
 
 sacked by tlie Danes, it had revived with 
 their conversion, and again suffered from the 
 Christian and Papal followers of Henry II. 
 Passing over many another trial, it had 
 been confiscated by Henry VIIL, restored 
 on the intercession of its Abbess by Queen 
 Mary, and was finally alienated by Elizabeth, 
 and despoiled by her unjust and rapacious 
 servants. 
 
 It now presented a touching scene of 
 desolation, more melancholy because the 
 mellowing hand of time had not added 
 grace and beauty to the vestiges of human 
 havoc. Its situation was pleasant, though 
 the hills or mountains that bounded the 
 small landscape were barren and gloomy 
 in aspect. 
 
 The convent and its appendages now ap- 
 peared to stand in a green field, for both 
 the approaches to it and the court round 
 which tlie cloisters ran were thickly over- 
 grown with grass. In the ruined garden a 
 fountain still flung its waters over the weeds 
 in which the Irish soil is at present so pro- 
 lific. The west window of the church, which, 
 having been built considerably after the era of
 
 282 SIR GUY D ESTERRE. 
 
 the Normans, was of a. more imposing style of 
 architecture than the convent, was entire, but 
 the roof, either from violence or neglect, had 
 partly fallen in, and the doorway beneath 
 the window by which strangers had been 
 admitted to the nave was rudely, but 
 strongly, blocked up with large stones. 
 
 To the right of this church were the 
 buildings of the convent; to the left was 
 a small grove, one extremity of which was 
 bounded by a narrow but deep and rapid 
 stream, which rolled murmuringly by 
 through some small masses of rocks. In 
 this spot rose one of those curious Round 
 Towers which, while they add a more pecu- 
 liarly melancholy feature to the character 
 of the country where they occur, seem 
 placed there as monuments to show us that 
 no age of its history leaves Ireland without 
 
 * These Towers alone might prove a standing refu- 
 tation of such fabulous stories of Ireland's ci^-ilization 
 and greatness before the Christian era as are given 
 by Keating, O'Halloran, and others. Surely, from 
 the same sources from which they derived such infor- 
 mation, we might learn the purpose of these enigmatical 
 Towers.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 283 
 
 Beside this beautiful monument of a passed 
 away religion — for that they are of Pagan 
 origin there appears little doubt — there stood 
 one more hopeful and touching to the Chris- 
 tian heart. A stone cross, beautifully sculp- 
 tured on an elevated pedestal of three tiers, 
 told of the faith which, however mankind 
 might fight and destroy each other for its doc- 
 trines or its rites, was rooted in the immutable 
 Rock which no change could overthrow. 
 
 Around this cross the earth was bare, 
 though the grass grew high elsewhere. Our 
 young pilgrims may explain the cause ; for 
 they, too, approached tl^e spot, and, kneeling 
 there, offered up their first prayers to the 
 Saviour of all those who put their trust in 
 Him — to Him who took their sorrows as 
 well as sins updn Himself. 
 
 Long would Hilda Fitzclare have prayed 
 there, for her heart was full, and her spirit 
 weary and heavy laden : but she would fain 
 have been alone, and little Isabel was faint 
 with fatigue and want of refreshment. To 
 look for a place of repose for her was Hilda's 
 first care. The deserted cells offered a suffi- 
 ciently quiet lodging, and thither she led the 
 weary girl.
 
 284 SIR GUY d'esterke. 
 
 The long silent cloister they traversed 
 without any hesitation or doubt ; but when 
 they ascended the dark stone stair, and 
 found themselves in the narrow and, it al- 
 most seemed, endless gallery, at each side of 
 which were the doors, some lying open, 
 some closed, of the empty cells recently 
 inhabited by the sisters of this charitable 
 house, even Hilda, strong in heart as she 
 generally was, felt some emotion akin to 
 dread. This gallery was nearly dark, for 
 the twilight hour was insufficient to lighten 
 it. They stopped, and Isabel, pressing hard 
 the hand to which she clung, whispered an 
 entreaty that they might descend to the large, 
 now vacant, dormitory they had passed, si- 
 tuated exterior to this part of the convent, 
 and which had been appropriated to the 
 reception of houseless -wanderers or desti- 
 tute poor. There the plaint of pain, the 
 groan of death, the voice of prayer, had 
 once been heard. Now, all was still. 
 
 They were about to turn and retrace 
 their way, when a sound, unusual and al- 
 most unearthly, rose up, faint yet distinct, 
 and, as it were, from below the place on
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 285 
 
 which they stood. There is something even 
 in the silence and emptiness of a deserted 
 house that inclines the mind to imaginative, 
 or what is called superstitious feeling. How 
 much more strongly this sentiment might be 
 experienced amid the desolation of a religious 
 one, from whence the traces of its recent oc- 
 cupants have hardly passed away ? 
 
 Drawing the trembler close to her side, 
 Hilda leaned against- the wall, supporting 
 the more timid Isabel. Faint, weak, yet 
 thrillingly and plaintively distinct, they 
 heard the voice of the choir nun ascend in 
 melancholy sweetness, and steal around 
 them, enveloping them, as it were, in its 
 spiritual harmony. 
 
 The hymn ceased ; the sound died away, 
 and the death-like stillness of the place re- 
 turned. But while the trembling girls still 
 held their breath with awe, an apparition 
 at the end of the darkened gallery renewed 
 that sensation with redoubled force. A 
 light gleamed upon the wall at that ex- 
 tremity; and when the light advanced, they 
 saw, as if encircled in it and visibly revealed 
 to them in their obscurity, the tall figure of
 
 286 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 a white-robed nun, with long white veil 
 flowing from her head. The light moved, 
 the figure moved with it ; then darkness 
 came again, and they saw no more. 
 
 Half carrying the terror-stricken Isabel, 
 Hilda hastily turned, and drew her along 
 the passage in another direction to that they 
 had been taking : a short staircase presented 
 itself; and, without considering if it were 
 the same they had come up by, they rapidly 
 descended it, and found themselves in a 
 large and now nearly dark room, over the 
 floor of which were ranged in lines several 
 rude couches, such as were commonly used 
 at that day, and which still remained much 
 as they had been left by the last poor occu- 
 pants. This had been the dormitory for 
 the sick or need)'. Many of these houses, by 
 their constitution, were obliged to have a 
 certain number of beds always in readiness 
 for the wayfaring, the distressed, or wounded, 
 whom the casualties of the time might bring 
 to the convent-door. 
 
 Scarcely had they entered this deserted 
 dormitory, and leaned against the wall be- 
 side the door to regain their breath, when
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 287 
 
 their terror was renewed and augmented by 
 seeing a light gleam along its further end, 
 at which, also, another door led in an oppo- 
 site direction. It spread rapidly on, and, 
 before they were able to move from their 
 position, the ghastly figure of the white nun 
 appeared advancing through that opposite 
 entrance. She carried in her hand a long 
 rod, the end of which, being dipped in some 
 inflammatory substance, shed a faint but 
 glaring and unsteady light around herself 
 as she moved through the airy passages, — 
 but one insufficient to reveal to the person 
 who bore it the objects that might be at a 
 distance. Her other hand moved in the air, 
 as if making the sign of benediction. Thus 
 did the figure pass along each line of the 
 empty couches, until, approaching directly 
 opposite to the spot where even the stouter- 
 hearted Hilda leaned, gasping with awe or 
 fear, and the half fainting Isabel bent down 
 her pale face on her open hands — there it 
 stopped ; the feeble torch, - held low and 
 straight forward, made the face of the 
 bearer more ghastly by being seen above 
 its light. 
 
 The complexion was that of a corpse ;
 
 288 SIR GUY d'esteure. 
 
 the bones were all but visible ; the long 
 thin nose and pallid lips had no look of life ; 
 but the eyes were of another character — 
 large, black, and full of a spiritual, unearthly 
 light, they seemed as if all of life had 
 centred in them. The spirit was alive, 
 though the body was all but dead. The 
 apparition — for such the tremblers deemed 
 it — showed no surprise at seeing the visi- 
 tors ; the torch was raised higher so as to 
 reveal the strangers more distinctly, and 
 the effect of the light being cast down, 
 instead of thrown up on her countenance, 
 produced an agreeable change in its ca- 
 daverous aspect. 
 
 " AVelcome, my children : what are 
 your wants?" she said, in a mild but hol- 
 low voice. 
 
 "Who speaks to us?" demanded Hilda, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " The Abbess of St. Bridget's," answered 
 the voice. 
 
 " Who died here ?" said Hilda, faintly. 
 
 " Who keeps her rule here still. Are ye 
 travellers, children ?" 
 
 The last words were spoken in a manner 
 too natural to allow of doubt. It was the
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 289 
 
 abbess in real form still, though reduced to 
 the likeness of a spectre. 
 
 Hilda knelt down ; and little Isabel's eyes 
 fearfully peeped through the covering fin- 
 gers ; while, with all the dignity of her 
 former state, she gTavely gave them her 
 blessing. 
 
 " We sought but for rest, mother : we 
 are bound for a distant journey." 
 
 "The rule of our order, daughter, is 
 always observed ;" with a slight inclination 
 she made answer, — " though these are trou- 
 blous times ; troublous times" — she repeated, 
 in a hurried manner, and with a wilder light 
 in her large eyes, — " our community is not 
 what it was : sister Agnes used to wait on 
 strangers, and sister Martha, — but come, my 
 children, I will myself serve you !" 
 
 Isabel hung back ; and Hilda falteringly 
 expressed a reluctance to incommode a 
 hostess who still inspired them both with 
 awe. 
 
 Raising an arm that was truly spectral 
 in its wasted aspect, and with a reproving 
 glance at the speaker, the nun pointed to 
 the inscription on the wall of the dormitory, 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 — " I was a stranger, and ye took me in ;" 
 and in the tone of one accustomed to be 
 obeyed, added only the words, " Follow me, 
 my children." 
 
 Drawing by the hand the more trembling 
 of the two, Hilda followed the uncertain 
 light of the feeble torch, which the nun held 
 high so as to throw a forward gleam on the 
 darkness that now filled the passages, through 
 which she preceded them with a gliding, 
 hasty step, but one more indicative of mortal 
 weakness than of supernatural movement. 
 
 She led them to what had been — still 
 were — the apartments of the Abbess of St. 
 Bridget's. A single stool, and on the floor 
 a wooden trencher, a cup, and a pitcher of 
 water, were all the requisites for hospitality 
 that were to be seen. 
 
 "Our stores have not yet arrived," said 
 the stately lady, waving her hand as if to 
 say they saw all she had to offer. "To- 
 morrow — to-morrow will be our festival. 
 Ye have chanced ill, daughters, to come on 
 the vigil of St. Bridget, when we are but 
 preparing for her festival : nathless, our rule 
 shall not be broken, and what we have shall 
 l)e set before ye."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 291 
 
 So saying, she drew from a corner two or 
 three dried up and undressed roots, and, fill- 
 ing the cup with water from the pitcher, in- 
 vited them to partake of St. Bridget's hospi- 
 tality. A painful suspicion occurred to the 
 mind of Hilda; — the poor woman, who thus 
 dispensed the charity she had power to be- 
 stow, was herself suffering from famine. — 
 Without consideration, she thew her pil- 
 grim's wallet from her shoulder; and, hastily 
 opening it, said, 
 
 " We have food, mother : condescend, I 
 pray you, to partake of it with us." 
 
 " We eat only in community," the nun 
 answered, with that gentle air of correction 
 which causes one instantly to be sensible of 
 an error. 
 
 " But you have fasted long, molher," the 
 girl pleaded, now recurring to her first belief 
 that the intellects of the recluse were disor- 
 dered. The large, almost glaring, eyes she 
 looked at fastened for an instant on the pro- 
 visionSr.that appeared before them ; the sight 
 of bread caused them to dilate ; but with a 
 shudder the nun turned away her head. 
 
 " The longer the fast, the sooner the feast," 
 
 u2
 
 292 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 she said ; while a smile, ghastly indeed, yet 
 spreading a beautiful light over her death- 
 like countenance, for a moment revealed the 
 shining teeth, whose whiteness gave the sal- 
 low face, from which the flesh seemed to 
 have dropped away, a more cadaverous 
 aspect. 
 
 Having uttered this equivocal saying, 
 the Abbess of St. Bridget's showed them a 
 heap of rushes, on which they were to 
 repose, and retired to her own cell. 
 
 Too weary to eat, and too frightened to 
 believe herself able to sleep, Isabel sat dowm 
 on the rushes, drawing Hilda beside her. 
 Soothing the trembler with assurances that 
 the poor nun was the object of pity rather 
 than of fear, Hilda prevailed on her to 
 recline, without undressing, on the couch ; 
 but not until she had placed herself beside 
 her, when, clasping her arms around her, 
 and clinging to her like a timid child, the 
 little girl soon yielded to the effects of 
 fatigue, and fell asleep. 
 
 Hilda could not do so ; many thoughts 
 kept her awake. The mysterious nun she 
 saw was no phantom ; but liow, as a real 
 
 1
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 293 
 
 living creature, she had been supported in 
 her strange state of isolation, she could not 
 think, since, that it was not by miracle, 
 her wasted form too plainly declared. — 
 TAvice, when the drowsiness of fatigue was 
 stealing over her senses, she was again 
 aroused by the quavering, weak, and grating 
 voice that had once blended in full choir, 
 breaking the deathlike stillness of the de- 
 serted convent by the feeble chant of the now 
 disused offices. 
 
 At length a deeper slumber stole over her. 
 With arms fast clasped round each other, 
 both the young pilgrims slept profoundly. 
 They were awoke at the dawn of light by 
 the opening of the door : both started up : 
 the spectral nun stood in the doorway, 
 appearing more spectral in the gray dim 
 light. She waved her hand, and seemed 
 to attempt speech, which was beyond her 
 powers : a faint gurgling sound was all 
 they heard. They obeyed the motion of 
 her arm, and, hastily rising, followed her 
 unsteady progress down the passage. It 
 was the same they had entered the pre- 
 ceding evening, and at the extreme end of
 
 294 silt GUT d'esterke. 
 
 which they had first seen the apparition 
 that had so appalled them. As they fol- 
 lowed her now, under the belief that she 
 was conducting them to the portal from 
 whence they were to be dismissed on their 
 journey, they saw her movements were 
 even more ghost-like than the night before. 
 She glided on, as if impelled by a volition 
 that did not depend on animal powers for 
 its accomplishment. Sometimes a reeling 
 movement would take her out of the direct 
 line, which was quickly recovered ; at others 
 an involuntary pause was succeeded by a 
 progress that nearly resembled flying. Thus 
 was the extremely long passage traversed 
 in a way that sometimes obliged her young 
 followers to change their quick walk to a 
 short run, in order to keep up with her. 
 
 At the end of the passage she stopped ; 
 raised upwards a sliding door that, when 
 down, formed part of the wall, and entered 
 within it. 
 
 The next moment they stood in the chapel 
 of St. Bridget. It was small, but the altar 
 was in a blaze of light, though daylight 
 was excluded by the blocking up of tlic
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 295 
 
 windows as well as of the external door. 
 With some astonishment they saw a richly 
 decked altar, whereupon gold cups and 
 a richly jewelled chalice, together with 
 ornaments of costly price, glittered in the 
 artificial light. 
 
 The nun went on rapidly to her place 
 near it : the girls, with a feeling of awe that 
 impressed them both with a sense of some- 
 thing strange being about to happen, 
 stopped at a short distance. A priest, 
 attired in the richest robes, was at the 
 altar when they looked up from their 
 kneeling posture. 
 
 Mass went on ; the voice of the abbess 
 was heard in the responses, at times loud, 
 at others harsh, guttural, and lost in a vain 
 effort. She had communicated, but still 
 knelt in the same spot. As Hilda watched 
 her, she saw her sink lower and lower, 
 until she lay where she had knelt. She was 
 soon beside her, and even Isabel hastened 
 to assist. They lifted her between them; 
 — she was not a heavy load — and the priest 
 hastened to divest himself of his robes hi 
 order to join them.
 
 296 SIR GUY d'estebre. 
 
 They carried her to the apartments they 
 had left, laid her on their rushy couch, and 
 knelt beside it, believing her to be dead. 
 While the awe, the horror, with which the 
 sight of death fills the hearts of the young 
 who are unused to its aspect, kept them 
 silent there, she opened her immensely 
 large, but now dim eyes, and, glancing them 
 around, said the words — " Not here !" — rais- 
 ing her hand in another direction. The priest 
 came in at the moment, and interpreted her 
 meaning by saying she wished to be taken to 
 her own cell. They carried her there. A 
 faint smile was shed over her face when laid 
 down in the familiar place. To get a cor- 
 dial was Hilda's desire ; but the priest, shak- 
 ing his head, prepared to administer the last 
 rite. 
 
 When they stood beside her again, the 
 glassy eyes were fixed ; the white teeth 
 were painfully visible, while with consider- 
 able effort she said the words, " Summon 
 the community !" 
 
 Her behest she supposed to be obeyed, 
 for the next minute, as if addressing the 
 community then scattered to tlie four quar-
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. '297 
 
 ters of the earth's compass, she uttered her 
 last injunction, " Observe your rule." 
 
 There was a sudden pause, the word " Jesu" 
 came faintly gurgling to the pallid lip, and 
 the ejected Abbess of Saint Bridget's was 
 dead.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The priest who had unexpectedly appeared 
 among them was able to explain to Hilda 
 and Isabel the reality of the case that had 
 given rise to the supernatural story they had 
 heard of this deserted convent. 
 
 The abbess, only now deceased, had been 
 dedicated by her mother in infancy, in fact 
 before her birth into this Vorld, to the ser- 
 vice of St. Bridget. She had entered that 
 community while still a mere child, and found 
 in its rule of charity the only species of happi- 
 ness she could understand. She rose to be 
 its head, and had long held her sway as 
 Abbess of St. Bridget's, when rumours of 
 its sequestration became rife. 
 
 At that time she made a vow never to 
 abandon the rule she had long before vowed
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 299 
 
 to observe ; and to this repeated voav she 
 added another — perhaps more rash — never 
 to leave the house in which she had been 
 dedicated, and which she ruled. 
 
 When the act of confiscation was perpe- 
 trated, the abbess secreted the treasures of 
 Saint Bridget's chapel ; and entered into a 
 compact with its chaplain which he could 
 not refuse to maintain. It was, that he 
 should come at stated times to perform cer- 
 tain offices at that altar. At some risk he 
 had kept his compact, and at these times 
 had brought to her a bag of provisions, 
 which, with roots from the neglected garden, 
 was all the means of sustenance she had had. 
 She had returned to the convent when it was 
 divested of all save the treasures she had 
 safely hidden ; and there she had lived ever 
 since : the recent compulsory absence of the 
 priest had caused her to be left for a longer 
 period than usual without any supply, 
 however scanty, of provisions. That her 
 intellect had latterly become disordered, 
 there was no doubt ; and that her death 
 was finally owing to want of nourishment, 
 there was abundant proof.
 
 300 siK GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Thus did the two young wanderers find 
 themselves now occupying the uncongenial 
 post of watchers of the dead. The body, 
 laid out in its conventual robe, was carried 
 back to the chapel and placed before the 
 altar. The lamp, which the zeal of the priest 
 had continued to supply, was kept burning 
 there. There w^as no one to perform the last 
 offices for the dead save these young stran- 
 gers, except the priest, who, having main- 
 tained the secret of her existence in her old 
 habitation, was anxious that it should be 
 still preserved. He undertook to prepare 
 the grave in the spot where he had laid 
 some of the sisters to rest, and that evening 
 they agreed to inter the body of the last Ab- 
 bess of St. Bridget's. 
 
 Having said the customary prayers, the 
 old man went to his task with a heavy 
 heart ; for the sister who had passed away 
 at last' from the place from whence earthly 
 power had failed to uproot her, had been 
 the last link that connected him to the past 
 of his life. His occupation was gone : the 
 proscribed service she had engaged him, 
 at no little risk, to continue to perform at
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 301 
 
 the deserted convent, could no longer be 
 maintained. He was left alone ': for, of the 
 brethren of his acquaintance, some had been 
 reformed, some had obeyed the Queen's man- 
 date, and, by conforming, had remained in 
 possession of their livings ; others had gone 
 beyond the seas, and taken religious service 
 in foreign lands. A few like himself lived 
 as they could among the poor people on 
 the hills, or were lodged for charity 
 and in disguise in the dwellings of the 
 higher classes, who were subjected to even 
 capital penalty for harbouring them. 
 
 In this state of things, when he buried 
 the last. Abbess of St. Bridget's, he buried, 
 too, the last link that had held him to 
 the profession to which his life had been 
 devoted. The lamp that had ever burned 
 before the altar he served, must now be 
 extinguished. It was marvellous how the 
 old man's tears fell heavily down as he 
 raised the sod that was to cover the 
 dead. 
 
 And younger cheeks were wet, for Hilda 
 and Isabel wept for him still more than 
 for her whose wish and prayer had been
 
 302 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 so well accorded ; who rested where she 
 had prayed to lie, — still, as she believed, 
 observing her rule of charity, and minis- 
 tering to the strangers, who, on the contrary, 
 seemed to have been sent to minister to her 
 in the last labour of love that poor huma- 
 nity craves for. 
 
 Leaving Isabel, whose lighter mind 
 sought relief in employment, to assist the 
 old man in stripping the altar, removing 
 the sacrament and sacred vessels, Avith all 
 the other treasures which the piety of St. 
 Bridget's late votary had so securely con- 
 cealed, Hilda, after the painful and touch- 
 ing ceremony of interment was over, repaired 
 to the spot we before described, to which 
 the curious Round Tower and beautiful stone 
 Cross still lend their interest; and, sitting 
 on the base of the latter, mused long and 
 deeply on the singular event that had 
 passed. Trouble and suffering appeared 
 to surround her on every side, and from 
 musing on general or national calamities, 
 she naturally returned to those of which 
 her own family and she herself seemed to 
 be the peculiar subjects.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 303 
 
 Thus meditating, bent forward with an 
 elbow resting on her knee, she did not 
 attend to a sound coming along the road 
 at the other side of the deep rivulet that 
 ran almost at her feet. It was that of a 
 horse's feet, walking slowly. On its stop- 
 ping, she raised her eyes without lifting 
 her declined head, and thus saw, only partly, 
 a horse and dismounted horseman standing 
 opposite to her. Her thoughts had just then 
 been resting on Symonds with that sort of 
 intuitive abhorrence which good and true 
 minds feel for the base, however artfully 
 that baseness may be veiled. She had 
 dreaded his pursuit, fearing that he doubted 
 the purpose of her journey. Nervously 
 excited as she had been, her fears readily 
 took alarm. She sprung upon the pe- 
 destal on which she sat, and twined one 
 arm tightly round the cross, while the 
 other she waved with an indignant move- 
 ment to the man who stood separated 
 from her by the stream, but intently re- 
 garding her. As she did so, the altitude 
 she had gained caused her plainly to see 
 a velvet cloak over a steel breastplate,
 
 304 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 and a long plume partly shading a face 
 very unlike that of the treacherous Sy- 
 monds. It was the open countenance of 
 Guy D'Esterre! 
 
 With an irrepressible cry, Hilda leaped 
 from her elevated post, and fled away 
 with the speed of terror. Darting into the 
 chapel, the door of w^hich was ajar, with 
 outstretched hands she exclaimed — 
 
 " We are discovered — you are taken — fly, 
 fly for your life." 
 
 The trembling hands of the old priest 
 dropped on the floor the golden chalice he 
 was carrying away. Isabel, starting from 
 an employment the novelty of which had 
 amused her, stood with her arms filled by 
 the vestments he had laid in them, her dis- 
 tended eyes fixed in horror on the pale, ex- 
 cited face of the hasty intruder. The old 
 man's first thought was for a deposit more 
 sacred than tlie golden vessels, and, reve- 
 rently securing it, he gave it into Hilda's 
 hands, sajdng only — " Quick ! to the vault 
 beneath." 
 
 " To the vault !" cried Isabel, " let us all 
 to the vault !'" and, rushing forward, she
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 305 
 
 seized the old priest, and pulled him to the 
 spot wherein they had been secreting the 
 convent riches. 
 
 Hilda, usually so calm and self-possessed, 
 had, on this occasion, lost these attributes. 
 The little trembling Isabel was more capable 
 of thought and action. 
 
 " Shut first that sliding door," cried the 
 priest, as the girl forced him away, "they 
 may not then find the entrance here. It is 
 blocked up from without." 
 
 She closed it, and descended into the 
 vault, down the steps of which Isabel had 
 already flung the load she had carried. 
 There was nothing but what they took with 
 them to be concealed ; and the three fugi- 
 tives stood clinging to each other in almost 
 utter darkness in the small vault, or rather 
 cell, which the nuns had constructed for the 
 concealment of the convent treasures in times 
 of danger. 
 
 Actual danger was more easily borne by 
 the impatient Isabel than suspense ; and as 
 time went on without any disturbance to 
 their solitude and silence — 
 
 " Hilda, what saw you out there ?" she 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 demanded. " How many were they ? — 
 were they men at arms?" 
 
 " Hush ! I saw A/m," was the whispered 
 reply. 
 
 " Him ? whom, then, was he ?" 
 
 The question alone operated a change in 
 the excited feelings of the lady it was put 
 to. One solitary horseman, unattended by 
 a single follower, was all who had caused this 
 panic ! 
 
 " Blessed St. Bridget defend us !" mur- 
 mured the old priest. " May it not be, 
 daughter, that your fears magnified the 
 danger ?" 
 
 " I feared but for you, father," she an- 
 swered ; endeavouring to account for her 
 trepidation to herself, rather than to him. 
 '* Had you been seen engaged in acts they 
 have made unlawful " 
 
 Her words were stopped by loud voices 
 without ; and heavy steps were heard in a 
 part of the building above them. 
 
 " Heaven be thanked that we removed all 
 traces of recent habitation !" said Hilda, 
 who now felt more real cause for fear than 
 she had before. 
 
 " They are actually searchinfx the house !"
 
 siE GUY d'esteree. 307 
 
 — A deep sigh closed her speech. " Such 
 are now the worthy feats of British knight- 
 hood !" was her unexpressed thought, 
 
 A laugh, so very joyous that two of the 
 trembling party, even in such a dolorous 
 state, could scarcely forbear to join in it, 
 rung over their heads, sounding through the 
 empty and vaulted room above them. Isabel 
 had started at its sound, but, ere it ended, 
 her grasp on Hilda's arm relaxed. 
 
 " Morven, Morven !" she cried, with a 
 voice so wild and thrilling that if the person 
 who had been overhead had not moved off 
 even while laughing, he might have heard 
 the cry. 
 
 " Let me go, Hilda ! it is he !" 
 
 " Foolish child ! be still," she whispered. 
 " A¥hat madness seizes you ?" 
 
 But the impetuous girl broke from her 
 hold, dashed up the few stone steps of the 
 vault, and rushed into the chapel. Hilda 
 sprang after her, and managed to intercept 
 her passage to the private door. But, like a 
 wild, frightened little animal, she no sooner 
 saw her way cut off, than she turned with- 
 out stopping in her race, and flew up the 
 
 X 2
 
 308 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 belfry stairs at tlie opposite extremity of the 
 chapel. There Hilda pursued, hoping at 
 least to prevent her from discovering herself 
 to the man whom she supposed she fancied 
 to be Morven. Nimble and wild as she was, 
 they reached the tower almost at the same 
 moment, and, to Hilda's relief, saw only 
 the backs of two horsemen turning over the 
 small bridge which would bring them out on 
 the road that was separated from the con- 
 vent by the river. 
 
 Isabel at once perceived her error : they 
 both wore the English dress, and both be- 
 longed to the service of the Queen. 
 
 " It is not Morven," she sighed ; " and yet 
 how like it was to his laugh !" 
 
 " Silly girl ! how near you were to be- 
 traying — to ruining us all !" 
 
 But Isabel did not think of that. Her 
 hope, her fancy disappointed, she sat down 
 on the stone stair and wept. Hilda looked 
 from the turret to see the horsemen take the 
 opposite direction from that leading to the 
 metropolis ; and, congratulating herself on 
 the fact that there would not now be any 
 risk of encountering Sir Guy again on their
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 309 
 
 road, she twined her arm round the impul- 
 sive and now doubly dejected little lady, 
 and guided her back more slowly to the 
 darksome vault where the poor priest re- 
 mained in a state of woeful anxiety. To es- 
 cape from their dungeon was the desire of 
 all the party ; but the fears of the old man 
 suggested the probability of some guard 
 having been left in the house by the officers 
 who had so quickly departed. It was a pos- 
 sibility ; and, however impatient the young 
 girls were to get away, they dared not ad- 
 venture his detection, especially in the place 
 where he had just concealed the long-hidden 
 treasures. 
 
 In this dilemma the lively wit of the little 
 Isabel suggested a plan which even the priest 
 seconded as an excellent device : it was, that 
 Hilda should array herself in the white robe 
 of the deceased nun, one of which lay among 
 other things in the vault, and thus personify 
 the ghost which was believed to haunt the 
 deserted house. By this means she would be 
 certain to make all their enemies fly before 
 her, and could return in safety to give them 
 a report of the state of things above ground.
 
 310 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 
 
 " Nay," said Hilda, after a moment's 
 thought, " if I go to reconnoitre, it shall be 
 in my own proper person. No one will dare 
 to do me hurt." 
 
 "But I ought to go with you?" said 
 Isabel, inquiringly. 
 
 " Nay, that must not be," she was an- 
 swered ; "Morven assuredly is not there, 
 and the good father must not be again 
 left alone." 
 
 With a little fearfulness she made her 
 first step through the chapel door ; trem- 
 bling and starting at the sound of her own 
 footsteps, she proceeded on, and, nerving her- 
 self for the worst, she gathered resolution as 
 she advanced. But profound stillness was 
 everywhere ; and she soon became convinced 
 that, whatever danger had passed over, none 
 remained to threaten them. 
 
 Her mission safely accomplished, she re- 
 turned to conduct those she had left from 
 their underground station. They ascended 
 gladly to upper air, — not to daylight, for the 
 shades of twilight had gathered so deeply, 
 that, but for the mingling liglit of a rising 
 moon, they could not have seen their way
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTERRE. 311 
 
 through the gloomy and saddening building 
 they now left to decay. 
 
 It was resolved that no attempt should be 
 made to carry away the treasures at this 
 time. A journey of a few hours would 
 bring them to a house, on the fidelity of 
 whose inmates they could rely. There 
 Hilda and Isabel were to meet the horses 
 promised by the foster-brother of the former ; 
 and there also the old man, who accom- 
 panied them, could obtain the assistance 
 that was necessary for the removal of the 
 treasures of St. Bridget's altar. 
 
 Leaving them to pursue a journey, the 
 purpose of which would have been at an end 
 had they only encountered the invaders who 
 so alarmed them in the deserted convent, we 
 shall now render an account of Sir Guy's 
 apparition there.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 In the gloom of a wintry afternoon the 
 aspect of the person who entered the door 
 of his prison chamber might be indistinct 
 to D'Esterre ; but whether it were so or 
 not, he uttered the words of greeting — 
 
 " Welcome hither again, Anster, though 
 we have but sorry cheer to entertain you 
 withal." 
 
 "Your guest but mocks your expecta- 
 tion. Sir Guy," said a voice whose accents 
 made his heart to bound ; " I fear I come 
 only to bear you tidings of Major Anster's 
 departure hence. He has ere this returned 
 to his duty in Ireland." 
 
 The speaker advanced towards the light 
 as he spoke : his noble person was more 
 set off than concealed by the mantle that
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 313 
 
 enveloped it. The large plume of his 
 hat shaded one side of his face ; and 
 turning, so as to keep that side to the 
 young man who was a stranger to him, 
 he presented the other to D'Esterre, with 
 a glance from his kindling eye that, while it 
 told him the visitor must not be recognised 
 by him, made amends for an apparently 
 cold greeting from an early friend. After 
 a few commonplace inquiries, the visitor 
 turned to Morven, and said — 
 
 "And this fair youth — pity that one 
 so young and brave should be cooped up 
 in this vile cell ! — and on what charge, I 
 pray you ?" 
 
 "That of being my father's son," said 
 Morven, before his companion could give 
 another answer. 
 
 " In sooth a grave oiFence," cried the 
 stranger, laughing, " and one worthy of 
 her Grace's displeasure. Sorry am I that 
 it is one that exceeds the bounds of my 
 poor ability to plead against. In another 
 case my service might have somewhat 
 availed." 
 
 "Fear not, most worthy stranger," re- 
 turned the youth, "that your service may
 
 314 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 rest for lack of offences on the part of 
 a prisoner to claim them. See you now 
 another of mine — I am Irish !" 
 
 "We must find thee a surety for that 
 crime," was the answer. 
 
 " I am, moreover, guilty of being my 
 father's heir." 
 
 " Ha ! and his lands are broad, mayhap, 
 and his followers strong ?" 
 
 " Indifferently so, even still." 
 
 " Are those followers true ?" 
 
 "To whom?" asked Morven, opening his 
 eyes. 
 
 "To the Queen?" 
 
 " That depends on her servitors.'' 
 
 " Ha !" ejaculated the stranger again, 
 and mused on the answer. 
 
 " Their lord could bend them to or from 
 her service, methinks ?" 
 
 " He could easily do so." 
 
 "Is such the case with all the Irish 
 chiefs ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Are they readily gained by kindness ?" 
 
 "Even when the bait is scantily hid- 
 den."
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 315 
 
 "Is your father united with the other 
 factious chiefs ?" 
 
 "I know not what the phrase may 
 mean." 
 
 " Is he united with the rebels ?" 
 
 " Rebels ? — I know of none." 
 
 " Tyrone and O'Donnell— all the North 
 is up under those leaders." 
 
 "My father will not take arms," said 
 Morven, coldly. 
 
 " Has he influence with other chiefs ?" 
 
 "With some of them he has connex- 
 ions." 
 
 The stranger turned to D'Esterre, and, 
 in a lower voice, inquired if this were the 
 youth whom he had been told Perrot 
 had taken as hostage for his father's fide- 
 lity. On being answered affirmatively, he 
 turned again to the other, and demanded 
 his name. 
 
 " Morven O'Connor of Fitzclare." 
 
 "A brave-sounding title, in truth," he 
 observed, " and one that would doubtless 
 call up many stout hands to defend it. Fair 
 sir, it may be my lot to do you a service 
 yet, and yours to return it."
 
 316 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 The stranger rose as he spoke the words, 
 and, as if accidentally, drew so close to 
 D'Esterre as to place a hand on his shoulder, 
 whispering the word — "Cadiz," as he passed. 
 But, turning again ere he withdrew, he 
 
 '• Farewell, my masters ; I give you good 
 e'en, and trust it may not be our lot to 
 meet here again. It may be, fair sir," he 
 added, looking to Morven, "that some 
 chance might put it in my way to serve 
 you ; if so, say how it shall be done ?" 
 
 " An O'Connor may not ask a favour 
 from the stranger's hands," replied the 
 youth. 
 
 " Oh ! ho !" muttered the visitor. " But 
 can an O'Connor be grateful for services 
 that are rendered unasked ?" 
 
 "The gratitude that is uncalled-for is 
 ever the most ready," said Morven, gravely. 
 
 The stranger bowed proudly, if not 
 haughtily, and the door opening to his 
 signal, he passed through it in silence. 
 
 On Ihe following morning the keeper 
 entered their apartment, bringing to them 
 the tidings that an order for their removal 
 had arrived.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 317 
 
 " Are we, then, free ?" asked D'Esterre. 
 
 "The orders," he was answered, "were, 
 that the prisoners should depart under 
 the guidance of the person who waited for 
 them." 
 
 "Now, a fair good night to the regions 
 of Tartarus," said Guy, as they emerged 
 from the gloomy portal ; " but whither are 
 we to go ?" 
 
 "Whither?" cried Morven, as the even- 
 ing breeze, heavy as it was, blew out the 
 long locks of his hair. "Give me but 
 liberty under the sky of heaven, and I ask 
 no other lodging." 
 
 " His mantle," muttered the man behind 
 them, in an inaudible voice, "will serve 
 an Irish thief, they say, for a lodging at 
 all times." 
 
 "It is her Highness's pleasure to spare 
 you the trouble of seeking one as yet," 
 said a more courtly voice, as a figure 
 emerged from the shade ; " ye must with 
 me, fair sirs." 
 
 " To the Tower !" Morven ejaculated. 
 
 " Nay, nay ; I have no fear of that. 
 Come on."
 
 318 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 And, taking his arm, D'Esterre proceeded 
 with their guide, watching the way he 
 was taking, and becoming more satisfied 
 that he was leading them in the direction 
 he desired, until they stopped at the en- 
 trance of a mansion he well knew. It was 
 that of the Earl of Essex. 
 
 The flambeaux of many attendants daz- 
 zled the eyes accustomed to prison gloom ; 
 but their conductors received fresh orders 
 from the gentleman in waiting ; and they 
 followed him through the splendid apart- 
 ments to a remote one, where, beside a 
 table strewn with papers, letters, and des- 
 patches, a sickly, infirm figure lay reclined 
 on a couch. The form, decrepid from 
 disease, was contrasted with a countenance 
 of singular activity ; an eye l)eaming with 
 sagacity and acute penetration, the quick 
 inquisitive glance of which, added to the 
 considering and crafty expression of the 
 face, was the very type of the keen poli- 
 tician and diplomatist. 
 
 That eye, having once surveyed the 
 strangers, was again occupied with the 
 papers on the table.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 319 
 
 " Be seated, sirs," he said, " and excuse 
 the infirmities of health." 
 
 This was Anthony Bacon, whose genius 
 supplied his munificent patron with the 
 means of afibrding Queen Elizabeth secret 
 intelligence from foreign courts. As he 
 now sat, preparing some matter of impor- 
 tance for transmission to the Earl of Essex, 
 at the palace, another visitor entered the 
 chamber, and, standing close behind D'Es- 
 terre, said gaily — 
 
 " The Muses beMend me ! and show me 
 the way to fortune by any less brain- 
 breaking matter than that." 
 
 "Every man hath his vocation. Master 
 Harrington," he answered, " and mine is 
 to me more easy than yours would be. 
 Your service seems to me hard enough : 
 you must watch and wait, kneel and pray, 
 worship and rant, suit your humour to 
 every caprice, and cut your jerkin to every 
 fashion." 
 
 " Aye, for the nonce ; if five-and-twenty 
 manors hang thereby," the other answered. 
 " Sweet Petrarch be my aid ! for even 
 now am I racking my brain for a sonnet
 
 320 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 wherewith to take my gentle godmother's 
 fantasy." 
 
 " And think you a sonnet will win your 
 northern lands ?" 
 
 " If it fall short, I must e'en eke it out 
 with some fair offering : a jewel, or new 
 gaud, or quaint device which may move her 
 Highness to make shorter work of it than 
 those tough-hearted thieves, the crown 
 lawj^ers." 
 
 "Let not your wit outrun your wisdom, 
 good Master Harrington. Were it not 
 well your errand were sped?" 
 
 " Rightly said," returned Harrington ; 
 " so, if it please your guests to grace my 
 departure, I will away; the evening wears 
 apace, Sir Guy, and ere long the dull-footed 
 niojht will be treadinpj on our heels." 
 
 They had gone some distance on their 
 way before D'Esterre cared to inquire their 
 destination. He was answered by an ex- 
 clamation of surprise. 
 
 " What ! know you not, forsooth, that 
 we are bound for Hampton Court." 
 
 " Not to enter the presence, surely ?" the 
 other replied, glancing, in dismay, over 
 his careless attire.
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 321 
 
 " Certes, ye are not like to speed well in 
 your matters since your persons have been 
 so little cared for : why, our friend of the 
 Irishry there might suit the humour of 
 the antiquated Hall, who would have us at- 
 tired, mayhap, like the son of the patriarch, 
 in raiment of divers colours. Know you his 
 rhymes, Sir Guy ?" 
 
 Fancying he talked only for talking 
 sake, Guy replied that he had deeper mat- 
 ter than rhymes or rhymesters to reflect 
 upon. 
 
 " The Hibernians are all bards and ro- 
 mancers, I am told," Harrington continued. 
 " Barbarous ones, though; they skill not of 
 sweet harmonies nor gentle devices. But 
 here, good sir, my mission ends : yonder 
 is one of the Gentlemen Pensioners, who 
 has orders to conduct you further." 
 
 And, as if glad to be rid of a commis- 
 sion that might bring him more trouble 
 than it gave him pleasure, he spoke a few 
 words to the Pensioner, who, like all those 
 men selected by the Maiden Queen to 
 that service, was one of lofty stature and 
 handsome countenance, by whom D'Esterre 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 and Morven were forthwith conducted to 
 an antechamber, the other entrance door 
 of which, being open, gave them a full view 
 of that wherein the Queen was. 
 
 It chanced that a foreign ambassador 
 had been received, for whom Elizabeth and 
 her Court had arrayed themselves in all 
 that splendour of attire which caused the 
 scene to burst like a dazzling vision on 
 eyes so unused as ^Morven's to such a 
 display. 
 
 The lovely ladies, whose personal charms 
 so far eclipsed those of their imperious 
 mistress, were careful not to vie with her 
 either in the depth of their ruffs or the 
 richness of their robes ; but to the utmost 
 limits that their fears permitted, the rage 
 for finery, in which she took the lead, was 
 followed by them. 
 
 In a white robe powdered with gold, and 
 covered even on her back with jewels formed 
 into the rarest devices, and with a jewelled 
 fan of feathers in her hand, Elizabeth sat 
 withdrawn from the anxious groups who 
 watched her looks and movements, in 
 earnest discourse with one whose aspect 
 
 I
 
 SIR GUY d'esteere. 323 
 
 still more riveted the attention of the two 
 young men. — It was a figure to cast that 
 of the old, extravagantly dressed Queen into 
 the shade. 
 
 Essex, attired in all the splendour which 
 the gorgeous fashion of the time per- 
 mitted, rested a hand on the chair-back 
 of his vain and doting mistress. He bent 
 his noble head low, as he uttered some of 
 the false speeches which — though only' to 
 such a strain of passionate adoration was 
 the ear they were addressed to accustomed 
 — were becoming disgustful to himself, and 
 his cheek well nigh touched the dry one 
 to which he inclined. Elizabeth tapped 
 that cheek with her feather fan. It was 
 the playful touch with which she was in 
 the habit of noticing the good looks of some 
 expectant who relied upon a handsome 
 figure for an introduction to royal favour. 
 Yet the touch, playful though it was, called 
 up a deep suffusion over a face that had 
 lately more darkly reddened beneath the 
 indignity of a blow from the same fair 
 hand. 
 
 The recollection of that moment still 
 
 y2
 
 324 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 caused the frame of the impetuous Earl to 
 quiver with the tingling of the hot, proud 
 blood that had at the former moment 
 mounted even to frenzy, and led to a scene 
 that, though the quarrels of lovers be, it is 
 said, but the renewal of love (a maxim too 
 often found untrue), it is probable could 
 never be wholly forgiven, as it was not likely 
 to be forgotten, by an insulted Queen. 
 
 D'Esterre gazed earnestly and sadly on 
 the noble form of the man he had loved in 
 youth ; of him who had been both his com- 
 rade in arms, and his leader in some gallant 
 actions. His best years were lost in a state of 
 virtual captivity in a Court to which the in- 
 conceivable passion of a tyrannic mistress, 
 considerably older than his mother might be, 
 so absolutely confined him, that his escape 
 to join her own army was effected in secrecy, 
 with danger, and followed by an immediate 
 recall to the service that he loathed, yet could 
 not leave. Yet at length the fierce fever of 
 ambition, the undermining process of dissi- 
 pation and extravagance, rendered to him a 
 necessity what had once been impatiently 
 submitted to as an indignity ; and he feared
 
 siK GUY d'esterre. 325 
 
 to leave to his adversaries the Court with 
 which his hopes had become identified. To 
 feign a passion which his soul despised, to 
 affect a humility that his towering nature 
 scorned, — this was enough to irritate a tem- 
 per milder than his ; while the lavish fond- 
 ness at one moment, and jealous fury at 
 another, of his lion-hearted Queen, had so 
 utterly spoiled that rash and impetuous tem- 
 per as to occasion quarrels between them, the 
 repetition of which had wearied her, and too 
 often removed from his mind and manner 
 even the semblance of respect for her. 
 
 Noble he still was, and noble he looked, 
 as, splendidly attired and sparkling with 
 jewels, he seemed more fit to be the ruler 
 than the ruled. But the eye of the friend 
 who had known him in better and purer 
 times saw the change which the false syco- 
 phants, the anxious politicians, or pleasure- 
 seeking groups, that filled the glittering hall, 
 were all unconscious of 
 
 A feeling of bitterness against the stately 
 but thin and careworn lady, over whose 
 royal person he leaned, was insensibly blend- 
 ing with. Sir Guy's reflections. How might
 
 326 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 she, even from her high seat, have fostered 
 what was noble, have repressed what tended 
 to ill, in a heart so full of promise, so gene- 
 rous and impulsive, as that of the youth who 
 entered her service so young, when his pulse 
 beat true to honour, and his soul was un- 
 scathed by the falsity to which her strange, 
 inconceivable passion had so long consigned 
 him! 
 
 Did she love ? or was it that the coquette 
 of sixty-five really believed the man who 
 was only verging on what is termed the 
 prime of life, loved her Avith the fulsome love 
 she obliged him, as well as all her other fa- 
 vourites, to profess ? 
 
 Thus ruminating, he had forgotten his 
 companion, whom he, at length, perceived 
 to be entirely absorbed in contemplating a 
 scene so unusual to his eyes. 
 
 The aspect of Hampton Court was at that, 
 its then modern period, very unlike that 
 of the Royal Almshouse of the present time. 
 Left more as the great Wolsey had designed, 
 and his magnificent robber had completed 
 it, it bore to the youthful eye, that had only 
 been for late years accustomed to the rude 
 or impoverished scenes entailed by war and
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 327 
 
 rapacity on his desolated country, an air of 
 almost magical brilliancy. The walls, re- 
 splendent with gold or tapestries, seemed 
 but a rich setting to the fair forms spark- 
 ling in silver, gold, and jewels of divers hues, 
 and to the manly ones not less magnificently 
 arrayed, which they enclosed. 
 
 The excitable and easily swayed mind 
 of the younger man was engrossed with 
 the glittering panorama ; while that of the 
 elder was bent on serious and even sad- 
 dening thought. 
 
 All at once, emerging from the circlet 
 of foes that keenly watched, and faithful, 
 almost desponding friends, who as anxiously 
 followed each change in his undiplomatic 
 countenance, came forth that brilliant star, 
 which, as some fanciful one among the lat- 
 ter had said, paled not its radiancy, though 
 it moved nearest and next to the sun. 
 
 Essex advanced from the chair of Eliza- 
 beth to greet the released prisoners. 
 
 As he approached them, saying in a lowered 
 voice — " Will ye trust a prison visitor again, 
 my friends?" — Morven started, and, open-
 
 3*28 siii GUY d'esterre. 
 
 ing his large eyes, stared at the speaker in 
 some bewilderment. He, the nearest to the 
 throne, the most intimate with her he had 
 learned to hate, was it to him — noble and 
 brilliant as he was — he owed his freedom, or 
 perhaps his life ? The visitor of the Mar- 
 shalsea was, indeed, scarcely recognisable in 
 the splendid figure, glittering with jewels 
 of price, that now appeared to them ; the 
 face, then somewhat clouded by anxiety 
 or care, was now elate in hope and pride, 
 beaming in generosity, — daring, rather than 
 shunning, the scrutiny of all men. 
 
 Essex — who had captivated his capricious 
 Queen as much by a saucy contempt of the 
 arts by which her fawning courtiers mi- 
 nistered to her love both of finery and 
 flattery, and by his careless defiance of the 
 aids of dress in setting off his handsome 
 person, as by the rashness, pride, and im- 
 petuosity of temper, which might render 
 him as interesting to her as some spoiled 
 boys are to a doting parent — had before 
 this time found the necessity of fashioning 
 himself rather more to her taste, and of 
 vying with his numerous oncmics of tlie
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 329 
 
 Court in display, and in that brilliancy of 
 attire, which, at the Court of the Maiden 
 Queen, perhaps surpassed all that had been 
 formerly known in England, or was known 
 in the rest of Europe. 
 
 Guy D'Esterre bowed low and silently; 
 but the eyes of the young men met, and 
 a smile and a cordial salutation followed. 
 They had been comrades in arms, and 
 friends in youth, and, different as their 
 path and their lives had been in other 
 respects, there were links of sympathy 
 not yet dissevered. They spoke a few 
 minutes together in a low voice; and the 
 Earl, apprehensive that the reckless Irish- 
 man would commit some misdemeanour, 
 or utter some wild speech before the 
 Queen, drew him aside, and was giving 
 him some hints for his behaviour with 
 considerable earnestness, when, the atten- 
 tion of the ever-watchful Elizabeth being 
 drawn to the absence of Essex, she de- 
 manded its cause. A lady of the Court, 
 with pale face and dark eyes, that inces- 
 santly followed the movements and watched 
 the changeful countenance of the alreadj^
 
 330 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 doomed Earl, made answer, and said, in 
 the calm measured tone that had become 
 peculiar to her, looking on to the waiting, 
 room as she spoke, — 
 
 " Your Highness may see that the good 
 Earl hath doubtless matter of interest 
 whereon to confer with the young rebel 
 to whom he speaks !" 
 
 The quick, imperious eyes of the suspici- 
 ous Queen followed the slow, almost death- 
 dealing gaze of those black orbs, and she 
 beheld the apparently secret intercourse 
 that was passing in the ante-room with 
 the irritation which she now almost con- 
 stantly felt against her spoiled favourite. 
 
 " Why tarry these knaves in the waiting. 
 room?" she said, in a voice the tone of 
 which reached the ear of Essex, and 
 caused him to hasten back, before she 
 added — 
 
 " My Lord of Buckhurst, command them 
 to our presence, for the Earl makes us 
 wait his leisure." 
 
 Essex regained his place. In the first 
 presumption of his generous, trustful youth, 
 he had scorned to address his vain old
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 331 
 
 sovereign in the adulatory language which 
 all persons used to her, and which many- 
 carried to an extreme that a Pope might 
 reject as being only suited to Divinity, and 
 not to its vicegerent. The lire of her eye, 
 perhaps, was not lost on him as he ap- 
 proached her, for with a humility that at 
 once subdued it, he said — 
 
 "Madam, the objects of your gracious 
 favour, being now freed from the icy 
 chain of bondage, crave to be cheered 
 by the beams of your blessed counte- 
 nance !" 
 
 Elizabeth looked on him : D'Esterre, who 
 was advancing towards her, beheld that 
 look, and it checked his step, as a sudden 
 foreboding shot to his heart. It was a 
 strange look : there was in it affection 
 smothered, alienated, perhaps, but yet 
 not dead ; but there was in it something 
 more and graver than this. We know 
 what it is to meet the gaze of one who 
 is aware of circumstances of peril or of 
 trial impending over us, which we are 
 rashly and ignorantly hurrying on to meet : 
 — such was the look of Ehzabeth at Essex,
 
 332 .SIR GUY d'estekre. 
 
 blent with the repressed working of the 
 passionate affection which, outraged though 
 it had often been, still lino^ered in a heart 
 that had kno-vvn so many loves, and which 
 now found relief from some heavy thought 
 in a lono-.drawn but inaudible sio;h. 
 
 Elizabeth rose, and, silently taking the 
 arm of Lady Scroop, the faithful friend 
 of Essex, motioned to him to attend her, 
 and proceeded to an inner apartment, or, 
 as in modern days it would be called, 
 boudoir, which, though its floor was co- 
 vered with rushes, was lavishly ornamented. 
 
 D'Esterre, while he stopped, overheard 
 a pert young courtier, of the Cecil faction, 
 whisper to another, that " Essex would 
 wear his nio;ht-":own to-morrow." 
 
 "Nay," was the answer, "the time for 
 that trick is over; his next sickness will 
 have no nursing from his mistress." 
 
 " Then the night-gown may go on for good 
 and all," said the other. 
 
 " Amen !" was the grave reply. 
 
 Unable to vent his indignation otherwise 
 than by a disdainful glance, he anxiously 
 awaited the reappearance of the Earl. .Fust
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 333 
 
 opposite to him, he observed the lady of 
 the pale face and dark eyes : the latter 
 were directed to the door of the royal 
 cabinet, and remained so till, with a bear- 
 ing that seemed to hurl the gauntlet to 
 all his foes, Essex appeared at it, and sum- 
 moned Sir Guy and Morven to the presence 
 of the Queen. 
 
 The Eno;lish knight advanced, and bowed 
 knee and head before her ; but the Irish 
 youth remained standing beside the door. 
 
 Glancing at D'Esterre, and then turning 
 to their conductor, Elizabeth said — 
 
 " Is this he of whom you told us, — 
 the knight who served against our enemy 
 of Spain ?" 
 
 " The same, madam, who saved the 
 banner of Essex at Cadiz, and gained 
 honour in the Low Countries." 
 
 "A proper youth, in truth," she ob- 
 served, "were his apparel of a better fashion. 
 Certes, my Lord of Essex, you should have 
 seen to that before bringing him to our 
 Court !" 
 
 " An please your Grace," said the Earl, 
 "prison gear is but sorry attire, and our
 
 334 SIR GUY d'esterrk. 
 
 gallant Sir Guy has had no leisure to 
 change it." 
 
 " Fie on you, Devereux, to bring such 
 vileness into our presence ! — Mayhap, there 
 was infection, too !" And, with a gesture of 
 horror, Elizabeth, who, brave and spirited 
 as she was, had a singularly nervous fear 
 of disease, drew some paces away, motion- 
 ing Guy to arise and begone. 
 
 Essex speedily assured her of safety, 
 declaring that he had well informed him- 
 self on that point before he allowed his 
 friends to come into her presence. 
 
 " Rise then. Sir Guy ; you have got 
 over your late matter well, but mind our 
 words, and meddle no more with those 
 rogues of Ireland, if you would not have 
 some more of that prison soil on your 
 jerkin which our friend of Essex is so 
 fain to excuse." 
 
 While this was saying, the Earl had 
 been speaking in an under voice with 
 Morven O'Connor, with whom he appre- 
 hended some unfortunate difficulty. The 
 result of his rather anxious words sur- 
 passed his hope ; for when the Queen 
 
 I
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 335 
 
 somewhat impatiently demanded — "Where 
 may be your other protege, my Lord — 
 he of the Irishry ?" Morven, stepping from 
 the screen which the person of the Earl in- 
 terposed, suddenly placed his knee on the 
 ground, and answered — 
 
 " He is where he never thought to 
 find himself — at the feet of Elizabeth of 
 England !" 
 
 There was a sort of wild grace, of 
 untaught, careless elegance in the figure 
 and attitude of the youth before her, that 
 caught the fancy so quickly captivated 
 by externals. The devotion with which 
 Essex had already inspired him beamed 
 in the dark eyes that Morven raised to 
 her face, and Elizabeth easily transferred 
 the devotion and admiration they express- 
 ed to herself. 
 
 His speech, which Morven was far from 
 intending to be insincere, but simply 
 meant as a confession of his own surprise 
 at finding himself kneeling to a Queen 
 he had learned to hate rather than love, 
 was naturally as much misunderstood 
 as his impassioned looks. At sixty-five,
 
 336 SIR GUY d'esteuke. 
 
 if the Vestal of England had learned to 
 doubt that she was still the object of pas- 
 sionate love, she still listened to the decla- 
 ration of such love from all who sought for 
 power or favour. 
 
 She smiled graciously on the upturned 
 eyes that gazed on her stately but withered 
 person with emotions very different from 
 those she supposed, and replied — 
 
 "Elizabeth of England, and of Ireland 
 too, fair sir, hath been not a little belied, 
 methinks, to those of that land who know 
 her no more than you but lately did. 
 Could all of your country see us thus, I 
 trow we should not need even our faithful 
 Essex to win our rebels to our service !" 
 
 " In my country, gracious lady," an- 
 swered Morven, " they know of you only 
 by the deeds of your servants !" 
 
 "And we have said ere this that we 
 had set wolves to guard the sheep," she 
 responded, with a clouded brow, " therefore 
 to say they know of us but by them may 
 be scant praise." 
 
 " Prithee, good Devereux," the Queen 
 added, turning to the Earl, who stood by
 
 SIR GUT d'esterre. 337 
 
 her in no little apprehension of the turn 
 the colloquy might take — " Tell us how we 
 should style this fellow? — the nomencla- 
 ture of the Irishry is somewhat beyond our 
 knowledge." 
 
 " I am called Morven O'Connor of Fitz- 
 clare," he replied carelessly, answering for 
 himself. 
 
 " A goodly sounding title, in sooth. Rise, 
 then. Master Morven ; and as we receive you 
 to our favour, so we bind you to our alle- 
 giance !" • 
 
 The young man raised the flashing eyes 
 he had dropped ; and, again gazing ex- 
 citedly on the Queen, murmured in a deep 
 tone — 
 
 " I rise not till the petition I kneel for be 
 granted !" 
 
 In exceeding alarm, but with an outward 
 air of pleasantry, Essex hastily approached 
 the royal ear, and said, in a lowered voice, 
 but one audible to the supplicant — 
 
 " The knave presumes already ; the sun 
 shines on him too strongly. He means to 
 sue for a kiss of that sweet hand, by which 
 his allegiance would be sealed for ever." 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 While speaking thus at her side, his eyes, 
 full of warning, were bent on Morven. 
 
 " Ha !" said Elizabeth, with a smile, 
 "stands it so, young gallant? Hast thou 
 learned to be a suitor, and so new to Court ? 
 Tell us, then, the boon so devoutly sought 
 for !" 
 
 " Justice for my country !" was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 The erect, stiff figure before him was 
 moved by a slight start at one so unex- 
 pected : that fearful oath, so familiar to her 
 lips, and only too often repeated by her his- 
 torians, broke out in impatient accents, as, 
 turning to Essex, she said — 
 
 " ,this youth measures our liberality 
 
 by his knowledge of our character, which, it 
 seemeth us, is scant enough, seeing he sues 
 only for that which it is our wont to give 
 unsought. Justice for his country, forsooth ! 
 Ha ! good lad, hath not our trusty Essex 
 brought thee hither to tell us the tale he 
 hath himself told us full oft? Our deputies 
 are ambitious : our servants corrupt. Thou 
 wouldst have the justice we have withheld. — 
 Thy boon is granted — see, we give it thee, in
 
 SIR GUY d'esterre. 339 
 
 the person of our gallant Earl of Essex, our 
 friend and thine. We give thee a ruler 
 without ambition, and devoid of avarice, who 
 shall have all power to administer the justice 
 ye crave. There is our Deputy for Ireland!" 
 
 Her finger pointed to Essex, who started 
 and grew pale at the unexpected speech. 
 His proud, ambitious temper had led him 
 to desire the dangerous pre-eminence which 
 the government of Ireland would aiford him; 
 the machinations of his enemies won the 
 Queen to consent to his removal from a 
 Court from which, in the earlier years of her 
 fondness, she could not spare him for a day. 
 This consent was a proof that the doting fond- 
 ness of the aged lady had turned into that 
 irritable, fretted, jealous feeling, which is a 
 torment of the bosom in which it dwells, 
 and to the being who is its object. 
 
 Something like a conviction of this truth 
 fell on the heart of Essex, as she thus an- 
 nounced his appointment to a post he had at 
 first desired, and now dreaded. It was as if 
 the first faint stroke of a funeral knell struck 
 on his ear, as he heard the concluding words 
 of his once loving mistress.
 
 340 siK GUY d'esteuke. 
 
 Elizabeth looked at him : the expression 
 of his face and sudden pallor seemed to 
 touch her ; she advanced towards him, but 
 ere she reached his side, she was interrupted. 
 Other eyes had been intently fixed on that 
 face, they were the dark ones of that pale 
 lady which seemed ever to follow his move- 
 ments : this lady approached the Queen, and 
 addressed her in a low voice. 
 
 " To the dance, then ; to the dance, my 
 masters," said Elizabeth, turning round in 
 her progress towards the Earl ; " and you, 
 good lad," she added to Morven, " get you 
 hence, and change your jerkin ; we make 
 thee over to our trusty and well-beloved 
 Lord of Essex, who will henceforth be surety 
 for thy loyalty, and for our justice." 
 
 If, however, the purpose of the dark-eyed 
 dame were to prevent any further communi- 
 cation between her royal mistress and her fa- 
 vourite, it was, on this occasion, frustrated ; 
 for, after a short observation of the dance, in 
 which he did not join. Sir Guy, without in- 
 tention, drew near to a door, the tapestry 
 covering of which being, as if by accident, 
 drawn to one side, allowed him, as well as
 
 SIR GUY d'eSTEKRE. 341 
 
 any other person who chose to stand near to 
 it, to see and hear what was passing within 
 the richly decorated cabinet from whence he 
 had lately been dismissed. 
 
 Essex was still there, and was kneeling at 
 the Queen's feet : both her hands were held 
 in his, and covered with passionate kisses. 
 His emotion at that moment was not 
 probably simulated. 
 
 Elizabeth bent her tall figure till the 
 towering head-gear overshadowed his ar- 
 dent face. 
 
 " Devereux, — rash, impetuous boy !" she 
 murmured ; but her utterance appeared to 
 be impeded. " Blame not Elizabeth," she 
 continued, after a pause, "if she one day 
 have to lament over thee as vainly as Christ 
 lamented over the children of Jerusalem !" 
 
 Then, drawing from her jewelled finger a 
 remarkable-looking ring, she placed it her- 
 self on his, saying — 
 
 " In memory of the affection that hath 
 been, send this ring to your loving mistress, 
 if, feeling still true to that affection, you 
 claim one day, in danger or distress, the ser- 
 vice Elizabeth can render you."
 
 342 SIR GUY d'esterre. 
 
 Conscious of unintentionally entering into 
 what was meant to be a private contract 
 between these illustrious persons, Sir Guy 
 very hastily turned round to the other side 
 of the door, encountering in the act of doing 
 so the almost fearful eyes that had already 
 so much impressed him. A sort of hyena 
 gleam shone over their darkness as that 
 pale lady of the Court more keenly peered 
 in at the scene. Without knowing why, the 
 young knight felt his strong-built frame shud- 
 der, and the thought suddenly arose in his 
 mind, that the patient, silent, long-pursuing 
 vengeance of woman is the surest, the dead- 
 liest, that can threaten man. 
 
 I 
 
 END OF VOL. I.