A Tug of War. A novel

Front matter

r, Il a IRovel BY MRS HUNGERFORD AUTHOR OF "MOLLY BAWN," ''APRIL'S LADY," "A MAD PRANK," " pkter's WIFE," etc., etc. LONDON: F. V. WHITE & CO., 1-1 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1895. CONTENTS PACE Chapter I. — How Ellen O'Neil has her life arranged for her by her grandfather, and how she resents his interference, . 1 Chapter II. — How The O'Neil scorns advice that would have been well to take, ........ 10 Chapter III. — How Ellen enters the woods of Carrigdhass and meets there one that wounds her, and one that 16 Chapter IV. — How a kiss is asked for and refused under strange circumstances ; and how, later on, blows are very hardly averted, 27 Chapter V. — How Connelly pleads for house and home, and is denied ; and how Ellen's fears are strengthened, . . 33 Chapter VI. — How Strangford decides on giving a little "useless " hint to Connelly ; and how a most treacherous plot is hatched, .... ■ H Chapter VII. — How Denis meets an old friend ; and how she confides in him little trines about her daughter.

And how Kathleen Drummond plays two parts, .... 55 Chapter VIII. — How twilight grows deeper and deeper, and how the rising winds of night breathe of coming horrors, . 69 Chapter IX.— How O'Neil is done to death ; and how Denis makes an effort to save Ellen, and how he learns to think of her in a new light. ........ CONTENTS VI PAGE Chapter X.— How Denis trembles for Ellen, but soon finds that she knows no trembling for herself ; and how a most difficult journey is begun, ....... 86 Chapter XI. — How the difficult journey is accomplished in safety ; but how Ellen and Denis are startled by an unsuspected presence, and have to make a run for it, . . 91 Chapter XII. — How Ellen and Denis make a false step, and sink into the bowels of the earth, ..... 98 Chapter XIII. — How Denis and Ellen learn the meaning of the blackness of darkness — and how Denis learns another meaning that leads to the brightness of light.

And how Ellen refuses to be left alone, and so creates for herself the beginning of many unpleasant things, ..... 101 Chapter XIV. — How Denis climbs into the open air and looks around him. And how he and Strangford come to a deadly grip — and how he overthrows one cousin and is overthrown by another, 108 Chapter XV. — How Denis grows a prey to conscience, and how Ellen absolutely refuses to let him obey its instincts, . 116 Chapter XVI. —How the dawn grows. And how Ellen gets a new and very awkward maid to do her hair. And how Denis hears the approach of horse's feet, .... 122 Chapter XVII. — How help comes to them ; and how Ellen sails home to Drummond Hall on the top of a Star, . . 133 Chapter XVIII. — How Lady Augusta holds forth, and how Drummond explains matters. And bow Lady Luton makes herself very unpleasant, and Sir Strangford very explicit, . 138 Chapter XIX. — How Denis comes once again face to face with Strangford.

Chapter I

How Ellen O'Neil has her life arranged for her by her grandfather, and how she resents his interference. " That will do for to-day ! " says the old man, in his harsh, dictatorial voice, when the last column of figures has been added up satisfactorily. " You can go now." He glances up at his granddaughter from the hard oak chair in which, in spite of his seventy years, he invariably sits when in the library, des pising the comfortable cushions of modern days. The girl springs to her feet with alacrity, and gives way to the mad longing to stretch her arms that has been possessing her for the past half-hour. Ugh ! Those hideous rows and rows of figures. Her gesture is singularly graceful. Her long, slender arms thrown slowly out, and her hands with the palms held upwards. It is the prettiest thing, and she is as charming as her gesture.

In deed, distinctly beautiful, in a bright, happy, vivid A style, as are so many Irish girls. Her eyes, large, and of that dark blue shade that trenches upon purple, are heavily fringed, and the principal feat ures of her face, but her mouth runs them very hard. It is not small, but sweet and lovable, and yet with a certain gravity about it that marks the strength and generosity of her nature. The nose, it must be confessed, is hardly worthy of her, being slightly tip-tilted, but it is a very clever nose for all that, and adorable in its own way, and perhaps after all the faultlessly perfect face is very seldom the most lovely. Now, as she lets her arms fall again slowly, gracefully to her sides, she turns to The O'Neil. " You won't want me again ? " asks she. She truly hopes not. On this sweet August day, a run through the cool recesses of the glorious woods of Carrigdhass, her grandfather's place, and her home since her father's death, seems the best this life can offer.

Her father, third of The O'Neil's sons, had died in India, his wife following him within a month to his grave, and she — the little Ellen — who had been only ten years old then, and had been brought back to Ireland by a faithful Ayah, safe and sound , having escaped, as children often will, the deadly cholera that had devastated the station where her father had been stationed. She glances at the clock which points to three. A whole long lovely morning gone, as so many mornings have gone of late, adding up those hateful figures ! Rebellion rises in her heart. " Not I," says her grandfather curtly, uncivilly. He had taken the girl in on her parents' deaths, but he had given her no welcome, and no love ; and as she grew, her free and honest nature had become actually distasteful to him. " But I suppose," with a curl of his lip, " this new nephew of mine — this new cousin of yours — who has come down to spy into the land, will expect you to give him his afternoon tea."

" He hardly came down on a quest of his own," says the girl, with a shrug. " Surely you sent for him." " Had to, or I should never have let him darken my doors." " Your grandson is — " The son of a most detested son," says the old man frowning. " His father was my eldest born, and he — " He stops short. " I daresay that accounts for it," continues he drily. " One always detests one's heir, and very naturally too. To hate the person who is longing for one's death seems actually virtuous." " Is that why you hate Denis ? " asks the girl calmly, and with great courage. " Hah ! you think he too longs for my death ? " Well, you say all heirs long for the death of those before them." " That is not why 1 hate him, however," says O'Neil coldly ; " his father thwarted me from — I verily believe," frowningly — " the hour he was born.

He married against my wishes. He openly longed for my death — he laid plans," and the old man's face grows furious — " about what he would do for the tenantry when the estate came into his hands. He would play the good landlord with these treacherous brutes — and he so spoke to them at certain times down here — that they grew to believe in me as a very devil incarnate. Well," The O'Neil stands up — drawing himself to bis full height — a good six feet one, " that's all over. But I've not forgotten it. He is dead now, and there is no chance of his ever entering into the kingdom he so coveted — but," bitterly, " I have not forgiven." " I don't really see what Denis has to do with this," says Ellen, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. " Don't you ? " sarcastically. " I do. I shall visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.

And, to tell you the truth, Ellen, I dislike the young man, this barrister, who has come over from Eng land to look into the affairs of this place. Yes," putting up his hand to stop her second disclaimer, " I know. I know I asked him to come, because it had to be done." And with a slight touch of maliciousness that makes his handsome features almost diabolical, "I told myself I should find a comedy provided free of expense in his coming. This property — look at it, girl — " He catches her arm, and draws her to the window whence she can see the sweet meadows, reaching until the eye can see no farther, on her left, and to the parks and uplands on his right. " Could these be kept up without ready money ? " " But you — ? You have kept it up. And it is there — " She makes a charming movement, a sweep of her graceful arm towards the land with out.

" Ay. I have kept it up. But how ? Land in Ireland nowadays does not pay. I have money; sixty thousand pounds to leave as I will, and besides, there are the townlands of seven different parts of the estate unentailed. These are in my power of bestowal too, and I shall leave them all between you and Strangford." " Between me and Strangford ? " The girl's face grows suddenly very pale. " Grandfather, I have thought of late that you — desire — a — " " A marriage between you and Strangford \ Don't be a hypocrite, girl ! You must have known for months that that was my desire, the desire of my life. Strangford's mother was my only daughter — the one child I loved. You despise me " — here he turns a sneering face at her — " for scorning my own children — your father and Denis's father. But Strangford's mother I did not despise.

I loved her. And after all you are a little too ready with your condemnation of me about your own people, because I have quite set my heart on a marriage between you and Strangford." " A marriage between me and Strangford ? Oh Impossible ! " says the girl sharply. " When I set the facts before you," says The O'Neil, with his usual most damnably callous air, "perhaps you will regard it from another view. You have lived with me now since you were ten years of age. And unless I had taken you in, you " — cruelly — " would be at this instant the resident of a workhouse. You see this ? " He turns upon her in his cold, merciless way. " I don't," says Ellen. " I should have run away long ago from any workhouse, and made a name for myself." She is pale — her breath is coming in little heaving throbs.

" No doubt — but a name hardly to be envied," says O'Neil pitilessly. " You can run away any moment you like, even from here, you know. But I should strongly advise you to remain. Sixty thousand pounds, and the rentals, even in these depressed times, from the townlands I have men tioned," pointing to a paper lying before him, evidently a will, " are not to be despised. They amount to close on five thousand a year ! " " You would leave all that away from Denis — from your heir ? " " Certainly. I dislike my heir. I like Strang ford. A man may surely do as he will with his own." He looks at her sharply, but seeing her looks are still very mutinous, he puts on the screw. " If you refuse to marry Strangford," says he, " you will not get one penny from me, and can then go out into the world, an independent young woman, to make that name you speak about."

Ellen's spirit dies down a little bit, and very naturally too. She is entirely dependent upon her grandfather. He has, it seems, sixty thousand pounds to leave in ready money, and half will be hers — half Strangford's, if they marry ! But to marry Strangford ! That seems a sacrifice of all that makes life sweet — a bargain too dear for Ellen. Still, to be a pauper ! To be thrown out upon the world, and not only at O'Neil's death, but now. She knows him so well that a little thrill of horror runs through her at the idea of defying him. She, who has been reared in luxury from her birth, to be cast out now upon the world's high road. " By-the-bye," says O'Neil, presently, " Strang ford is coming over this afternoon. If you don't care to be in to receive Denis at tea, I must actually order you to be in to receive Strangford, though I hope no command is necessary.

You," authori tatively, " understand." " Quite," says Ellen, coldly. Yet, in spite of her self, her face changes — not so much at his command as at the nature of it. To meet Strangford again, and so soon ! Why, he was here only yesterday. A feeling of disgust seizes on her. All these many meetings, so undoubtedly arranged by her grandfather and Sir Strangford, only lead to one interpretation — the marriage with the latter, just now discussed. Her whole spirit rises in revolt. Perhaps she had hardly known how she detested Sir Strang ford until now, when the question has been laid so plainly before her. To marry him ? No ! a thousand times No ! " You answer very glibly," says the old man, angrily. " But your face — It tells me that you dislike your cousin." " I dislike my cousin," says Ellen, calmly.

" Which cousin ( Denis ? " " No. I hardly know Denis, so I could hardly dislike him. I meant," calmly, " Strangford." " A pity," says O'Neil harshly, " for beyond doubt you shall marry him. He desires you for his wife, and you — who are you" — with terrible want of feeling — "who would daresay a -word anent his choice ? I tell you," striding towards her, his strong, angry old face aflame, " you should thank Heaven he has set his mind on you, because, if he had not, I should have left all to him. What are you to me — you or your father — or the woman your father married — a woman I hated? . . . . Take care, girl ! " He has come near her now, and is towering over her, a frown on his stern, old face. " But if I dislike him ? " said Ellen, with a little flash of temper, that suddenly, all at once, makes her look like him, shows — the relationship between them.

" Since when have you learned to dislike him ? Since the advent of Denis ? I tell you this, Ellen, that you are going on a wrong chase, there." " What do you mean ? " says she, turning upon him with almost violent anger. The girl is hurt to her heart's core. " It is just as well that I should not explain," says the old man, meaningly. "And I am rejoiced," with a cold touch of sarcasm, " that you (as you give me to understand) have cast no thought towards Denis. That is very well, for, as I have explained to you, his interest in this old place will amount to only barren honours. Every penny I possess — you hear me — will go to Strangford. He is to add O'Neil to his title. Sir Strangford Letway it is now, Sir Strangford O'Neil it shall be. I have written to Moore and Dart to come up next Wednesday, and make a fresh will for me to that effect.

I should have liked their coming to be earlier, but Tuesday is the day of Connelly's eviction. My death shall make Strangford a rich man and Denis a beggar ! " He seems to gloat over this last word. And there is indeed the most extreme rancour in his voice whenever he speaks of Denis. " I care as little for one cousin as I do for the other," says the girl proudly, throwing up her beautiful head. " A good thing, for it leaves you free to choose — and a rich man is better than a poor. You remember, then," seeing her turn away as if to go, " that you are to be in at five to give tea to your cousins ? " " I shall remember," says Ellen. She turns to the door. Almost as she reaches it, he stops her.

Chapter II

How The O'Neil scorns advice that would have been well to take. " Those Connellys," says he, " those tenants of mine. You say they will prove troublesome, but their farm is in a bad state." " Their crops have failed this year, and they cannot pay their rent." " That's the result, naturally, of their land being in such a state. By-the-bye, these Connellys have been impertinent lately, and they shall either pay — or," sternly, " go." " They are very respectable people," says Ellen, lingering on the doorstep. " They paid always when they could." " They paid, like all the rest, until they were encouraged, under a beneficent English Govern- £> > *"***» ment of later days, not to pay at all. You will make an excellent mistress, I can see, my dear Ellen, when I am gone and you and Strangford reign over the Connellys and all the rest of them — " " I don't look forward to that," says Ellen, quietly.

" The present is enough for me. And I would impress this upon you, grandpapa, that the Connellys are, though honest in my opinion, distinctly dangerous." " You believe they will murder me, eh ? and so give you a speedy entrance into your kingdom." Ellen turns abruptly away. The old man's cynical, almost brutal rendering of the simple warning she meant to give him has entered into her soul. With the slow grace that belongs to her she opens the door, and would have left him, but that on the very threshold he calls her back. " This Connelly ! What time did you say he was coming here this evening to ask me to abate his rent ? " At six," says Ellen, looking back. You arranged the hour ? " Yes. I thought that would suit you." " I suppose I may be thankful you did not ask him to luncheon or afternoon tea.

Your sym pathies are so much in his direction. Well, no matter. When he comes it will be all the same. Out he goes ! He shall pay his rent or go ! Damn the whole crew of them, say I. They think they are to live, whilst we die ' No. I'll teach them a lesson, if no one else will." " They are very respectable people," says Ellen in a low tone. She had spoken for them once or twice before, and got sworn at for her pains, yet she speaks ao-ain now. These fai-mers, who live on the western boundaries of the Carrigdhass property, close to Sir Strangford Letway's place, are very poor people , but honest, and much harassed by the late bad season, which spoiled their crops and has left them unable to pay their rent — and live. The payment of the rent means, for James Connelly, the leaving of his children without bread or milk, or even potatoes, and when it comes to that with a man — why, the rent is kept back to feed the hungry little mouths.

" Respectable ! Let them pay their rents, then," says The O'Neil coldly. " You know there have been failures this last spring amongst the crops. The great heat — " " Pshaw ! it is always the great heat, or the great rains, or the great something or other," says he, contemptuously. " Lazy, idle beggars the lot of them." Ellen makes an impatient movement. It is this overbearing manner of his that has made him the unpopular man he is to-day in his own village. A village that virtually belongs to him. It has carried him above the comprehension of the village, and has left unknown to him the dull rage, the suppressed hatred that is seething in the breasts of all his tenants. He has gone his own way — cruelly unsympathetic — and has enforced his rents, as though he bore a charmed life and could defy the world — his world — in which undoubtedly he is the most detested person.

He has defied a good deal in his time, and is now defying to its teeth a lawless peasantry in the most lawless part of the world. Carrigdhass lies in the south of Ireland, where boycotting and houghing of cattle, and much worse things have been of weekly occurrence during the past twelve months. There had been three murders in the county lately, when the landlords had been the victims, and not half such stern landlords as The O'Neil, and the horror of them had gone deep into the girl's heart. But O'Neil had taken no lesson from these, beyond growing sterner and more un compromising with " those devils," as he called his tenants. He went about everywhere as usual, disdaining police protection though it was offered to him — very unwillingly, by the Liberal Government — demanding his dues with that cool, cynical air that had led the French aristocrats of olden days to the tumbrils and the guillotine.

The O'Neil, a man without the bowels of com passion, and also without fear, has doggedly defied his tenants for the past year, and dared them to defy him — and many and frequent of late have been the evictions on his estate. His granddaughter, who in her walks here and there through his lands has heard many things, and with the late murders in her mind is growing nervous — looks at him now with eyes full of en treaty — more for the old man's sake than for his tenants, though, in truth, her heart is sore for them. Is he rushing on his doom ? These Con nellys, father and mother with ten children, some very small, and some growing towards womanhood, and one — Patsy, the eldest, a young man of twenty — are, if quiet people, still of violent moods, and occasionally Ellen, when passing their little house, A TUO OF WAR and having gone in to see them, had heard words used that frightened her.

Lately, indeed, she had hardly ventured to go and see them at all. " Still, they are in great distress," says she, " and " — she looks at him with earnest meaning in her eyes, for though the old tyrant has been far from good to her, still he is hers, her own kith and kin •" desperate people are dangerous." " These late murders have got into your brain — what there is of it," says The O'Neil contemptuously, " you fancy they will murder me next." " I think only what I say," says Ellen, coldly, thrown back upon herself by the scorn and in civility of his speech. " They are desperate, and therefore dangerous. They will hardly speak to me now, when I chance to meet them on the road." " I should think you must find that a distinct re lief," says her grandfather with a sneer. " / should. Why should you speak to them ?

And if they are inclined to boycott you as you say, then take the initiative and boycott them first. I tell you the only way to manage these people is to grind them. To keep your heel upon them ! Pshaw — fancy being afraid of fools like them ' " The old man's superb, if mad courage in the face of so much rioting and so many awful murders of late, makes the girl's heart sink even lower. If he persists in his stubborn tyranny . . . She would have spoken again — have again expostulated with him, but he puts up his hand. " Pray spare me your views," says he, lifting his brows, " I am sick of politics. There ! go girl — go for your walk. I wish to be alone." This is a command not to be disobeyed. She goes slowly towards the door. " Remember one thing, however," says he, as she reaches it, regarding her harshly, " you are to be back here in time to give Strang ford his tea." " And Denis his ! " says the girl calmly. " You forget you reminded me of it before."

Chapter III

How Ellen enters the woods of Carrigdhass and meets there one that wounds her, and one that . . . Out here in this clear space in the midst of the woods, with all the sweet late winds of autumn blowing on her, Ellen's spirits rise. What, after all, has her grandfather's desire to marry her to Strangford to do with her. She can refuse, thank goodness, and these are happy days when brides cannot be dragged to the altar by their golden tresses — and if refusal means poverty, what then ? She steps out swiftly, bravely, all her heart come back to her — throwing up her beautiful head in a way that youth has — "Youth that knows no dread Of any horrors lurking far ahead, Across the sunny flowered fields of life." And now she has gone past the bare green space, and is in the wood again with its leafy branches overhead — and now again she has broken through into a clearing that shows a boreen or little lane, leading to the high road beyond, and brings her in full view of a small house — better than a cabin, but still of poor dimensions, and fallen into much disrepair.

It is Connelly's dwelling, and as Ellen steps into the light from the shade of the trees behind her — a woman standing on the stone flag that leads to the house door sees her. A tall, gaunt woman, with white locks, bound under a red cotton handkerchief, and a heavy blue flannel petticoat that reaches barely to her ankles. It is Mrs Connelly. Ellen knows her in an instant, even at this distance, and just as quickly the woman knows her. She starts forward at a running pace for a yard or two, and then stops short, as if feeling the of futility the raging desire within her breast, and throwing up her arms above her head pours out, without a second's warning, such a flood of virulent scorn and hatred, as only an Irish peasant can. A little of it reaches Ellen where she stands, held bound as it were by the woman's violent gesture and attitude — but that little is enough.

Sick at heart and intensely offended, she turns aside, and is soon lost to sight again within the -wood. So it has come to this, that the woman curses her — even her (who has so often befriended her in little ways) — because she is O'Neil's granddaughter ! The old terror begins to work again ; the dread of her grandfather's assassination. In the dead of the night, it has come to her often, and very often of late too, even when the lovely sun, Depainter of the bloomit meads, The life of everything that spreads," is high in the heavens, her thoughts have run in melancholy ways — and her eyes have seen ghastly B visions. Not a bush she meets, but she can see a face behind it with arm raised and a gun directed at O'Neil. O'Neil, who goes doggedly from end to end of his large estate week by week, past treach erous bushes, and by low stone walls behind which any lurking traitor could find cover.

Oh ! if only he would listen ! would give these Connellys, and all the other murmuring tenants (their name is legion) even the smallest sop. But he will not. As time goes on — as the out rages in this county and the surrounding ones grow more numerous — so he grows harder, harder. She hurries on — the woman's shrill curses still ringing in her ears; coming to a stile she climbs over it, and with a view to getting home again as quickly as possible, turns into an eastern part of the Carrigdhass Wood, and almost into the arms of a young man with a gun on his shoulder. He had come hastily round the corner, and has been evidently walking very quickly too. Perhaps he also was in a hurry to get back to the house. " Oh * you, Denis," said she. " I must be thc bad halfpenny," returns he, smiling. But a glance at her face shows it white and distressed, and his smile disappears.

" What is the matter ? " asks he. " Why ? do I look pale ? " putting up her pretty slender hands to her cheeks as if seeking to feel for their pallor. "Nothing very much after all," says she, smiling too, but somewhat nervously. " Better tell me, however," says Denis O'Neil kindly, courteously, but without undue interest; the three or four days of their acquaintance has left them little more than strangers. " Well, it is this : I have just walked past the Connellys' farm, and you know — having gone through the papers and things about the estate with grandpapa — liow the Connellys are placed. They have got just five days in which to go out of the home that has been theirs for so long, or pay their rent, and they can't pay. I know that, Denis, and grandpapa knows it too, and yet he is going to evict them next Tuesday.' " Next Tuesday ?