The Secret of two Houses. A novel

Front matter

a Nobel. By FANNY FISHER. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : SAMUEL TINSLEY, 10, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND. 1873. [All Rights of Translation and Reproduction reserved.] DEDICATED, BT PERMISSION, TU HEE EXCELLENCY THE COUNTESS SPENCER, IN ADMIRATION Or HER AMIABILITY, AND AS A TOKEN OF THE HIGH ESTEEM IN WHICH SHE IS HELD BY THE LADIES OF IRELAND- CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAP. PAGE I. The Castle ] II. The Farm 16 III. Dorina 25 IV. The Party from the Castle . . .32 V. A Mystery 46 VI. Clonshavale . . . . . .52 VII. Tried 64 VIII. In the Ruins 77 IX. The Harvest-Home — Morning . . 90 X. The Harvest-Home — Evening . .105 XI. From the Ideal to Reality . . .119 XII. Misconstrued 132 XIII. The Stranger 145 XIV. A Secret Meeting 153 XV. An Old Memory Revived . . .159 XVT. In the Glen 173 XVII. Dorina's Oath 180 XVIII.

The Voice from the Village . . .190 CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. A Friend in Need . . . .198 XX. An Adventure on the Road-side . 208 XXI. Did you Kiss me then? . . .215 XXII. Another Glimpse of the Stranger . 227 XXIII. Strange News 241 XXIV. Foretelling her Fate . . . . 255 XXV. A Retrospect 264 XXVI. Reading her Fate in the Fire- Pictures 274 XXVII. Proofs 285 XXVIII. A Silent Witness . . . .295

Chapter I. The Castle

Under the sheltering branches of a fine old chestnut tree, a group of ladies made as pleasant a picture as any artist need wish to look at. The rays of the burning sun could not penetrate into their leafy bower; and although the demesne of Castlethomond was replete with attractions of every sort, there were none so inviting just then as the group in the cool shade of that old tree. Three girls had taken off their hats to let the slight breeze play refreshingly over their fair foreheads, thus displaying three of the sweetest faces imaginable ; but the sweetest and the fairest belonged to Lady Ada Grray- VOL. I. B ston, the only one present who was not a guest at the Castle, for the simple reason that her parents owned the large manor house whose roof she could see from where she sat. The Desmonds and the Graystons had been, until lately, on the intimate terms which is so agreeable to near neighbours ; •md there were few mornings which did not bring the lively Ada to the Castle for the purpose of cheering Mrs. Desmond, who was a confirmed invalid \ but those visits ceased abruptly, and the sufferer missed the kindly voice which had always made music in her heart.

Once she remonstrated with the young girl for this falling off of the inter course between the two families ; but Ada's confusion was so painful, and the Desmond pride so unbending, that the subject was never again alluded to. Those who had known of this intimacy and seeing its falling away, gave a pretty fair guess as to its cause. Lord Gray ston withdrew his daughter from the dangerous fascination of Mrs. Desmond's three sons, although to the eldest even his lordship could have found no objection, had he not suspected that the heart of the heir was safely captured in another quarter. Thus Lady Ada's visits to the Castle were, like angel's visits now, few and far between, and, like an angel's, they were always hailed with gladness. This morning she was there almost by stratagem, having obtained permis sion on the plea of some of her London friends being there, which was simply the truth ; and having received a warm welcome from them, she sat with her hat off under the old chestnut, asking and answering a hundred questions.

A vacant chair stood right in the centre of the httle group — a low, comfortable-looking one, that would have been irresistible on a winter's day, but which now looked unplea santly warm, with its numerous cushions and pillows, which are the sure paraphernalia of an invalid. Those had been arranged and re-arranged, while anxious glances were directed towards the Castle ; but she for whom the chair was waiting had not yet made her appearance. It was a novel thing to see the young and gay display so much interest in an invalid ; but Mrs. Desmond was an exceptional one, and one for whom the gayest and the youngest would at all times gladly resign any frivolous pleasure for the truer pleasure of serving her. She was a favourite with all, respected by rich and poor alike, and loved most dearly by those who knew her best; yet for months before her husband's death, which occurred some half-dozen years ago, she was the patient, uncomplaining victim of ill health.

At last there was a sign of life on the broad steps ; a servant came out and stood on one side, while Mrs. Desmond, leaning on the arm of her eldest son, walked slowly past him. The little group under the trees watched the advancing figures with deep interest, until they came sufficiently near for the girls to rise and wait for the invalid to take her place amongst them. Ada was the only one who advanced a few steps to meet Mrs. Desmond. This she did in a timid, hesitating manner ; but after one glance at the familiar face, her timidity melted like snow before the sunshine, and she was clasped in a warm embrace, with a welcome as hearty as though there had never been any coldness between them. " We were beginning to despair of you," pleasantly remarked one of the girls. " We were afraid the day was too hot for you to venture out," added another.

And so on, each adroitly slipping in her mite of sympathy or interest, in order to give the invalid breathing time after her walk of about a dozen perches. But Mrs. Desmond was not always as weak and ill as she was to-day, for a more severe attack of the disease that was killing her left her unusually pros trate. However, she was not one to curb the pleasure of those around her by her own sufferings. Jealous that any one should render his mother the slightest assistance while he was present, Walter arranged the pillows for her in as comfortable a manner as possible, and having waited till the ladies resumed their places, he threw himself carelessly on the grass before them. " This is much more beneficial and plea sant than within doors," he said, following Ada's example in taking off his hat, but in nothing else, for he ran his fingers through the rich masses of his hair, and ruffled it up, in a manner that she would highly disapprove of for herself, although secretly admitting that his fine features would bear any freak of fashion, however absurd.

" Suppose you read to us." "From what?" " Byron." " No, Tennyson." a Oh, pray let it be Moore !" " Have mercy ladies. Where are the volumes to come from, if I am to satisfy you all ?" " You can run off to the library and fetch them." " Run off in that burning sun ; indeed, you are much too modest. No, no ; that would be taxing the politeness of a Chesterfield. Besides, reading poetry under such circum stances would be horribly romantic, and I am of a matter-of-fact turn of mind. Suppose we talk scandal ? " "Execrable!" " Oh, so shocking !" " Barbarous !" " Talking of poetry," broke in the gentle voice of Mrs. Desmond, "where are those verses you read to me last evening ?" " In Lynmore's pocket, I suppose, mother. He takes such an interest in the fair authoress, that I can assure you it was with the very greatest difficulty I got hhn to lend them at all.

However, as they are shortly to appear in a monthly magazine, every one will have an opportunity of admiring them as well as you." " And who might the fair authoress be ?" " Moila M'Dermott." " Impossible ! You cannot mean the farmer's daughter?" " Indeed I do, Miss Beresby." "Surely her education would not fit her for such an ordeal as to come before the critics of the present day?" " Her education is perfect, if that were necessary for a poet, which it is not, else Burns and many others whom I could name never would have become famous. Poetry, like refinement, is a gift of Nature, which education can improve, but never give." ' ' Then you mean to say that Nature has her pets, and that this low-born girl is one of them. Surely, Mr. Desmond, you cannot imagine that such common people as the M'Dermotts have one particle of refinement in them ?"

"Have you ever seen Moila or Dorina?" asked Lady Ada, quietly. "Never. Rustic beauties, I suppose, with an artificial show of English and music, which passes for the genuine article. And is this your poetess, Mrs. Desmond, a petty farmer's daughter ? " " A refined and intellectual girl," said the invalid. " One who would grace any station, and yet who is not one whit superior to her sister in mind, manner, or appearance." " Then the other one is clever also?" ' ' Yes ; much more so than Moila, though in a different way. But as Dorina is my favourite, I fear I am scarcely an impartial judge." Mrs. Desmond leaned back on her pillows as she thus spoke, and for the time took no further part in the conversation. " Moila is my favourite, then," said Lady Ada, warmly. " To my mind, she is worth a hundred Dorinas.

So talented, yet so unpretending ; so proud, yet so humble ; so lovely, yet so unconscious of it ; so lady like—" "Oh, in mercy spare us the catalogue of y our protegee's virtues ! " " She is no protegee of mine," Miss Beresby. " Indeed ? I thought she must be so, since you were so anxious to extol her. But as for being lady-like, come now, confess you went too far." " To say I did so, would be speaking falsely. The M'Dermotts are the most lady-like ghls I know." " Thankyou forthe compliment andthehint. Where are those paragons to be found ? " "At Rosmary Farm. About half a mile from this, or even less than that across the fields. But I scarcely think you would find them both at home now, for I met Dorina going to Clonshavale as I came here." "Clonshavale ? You do not mean to tell me that Miss Sarsfield would receive a farmer's daughter on any terms of intimacy?"

" Indeed I do. Sir Capel Sarsfield's niece and Dorina M'Dermott are the very best of friends, as much so as Moila and myself." " Do those girls go to your balls, your fetes, your dinners, or to any other of your fashionable gatherings?" " Well, no," admitted Ada, reluctantly. " I thought so. It is all very well to make free with those sort of people in secret ; you would do the same with your waiting-maid, though I should not say it before Mr. Des mond." " My mother has them frequently here," he remarked. "Here, at the Castle? I never. But it must be when you are quite alone ? " "No, indeed, when we have some of our oldest and most intimate friends staying with us." " Well, they might not mind it through friendship for your mother." "And they have always been charmed with the farmer's daughters."

Mrs. Desmond leaned forward now, and asked, — " Is there not as much difference in the grades of human nature as there is in the grades of position ? Surely refinement is innate — is born as often with the peasant as with the king. Ah ! I have seen the highest stoop to deeds with which the lowest would scorn to meddle, and vice versd. No, no ; it is not because we are placed in a sphere above the M'Dermotts that we are morally their superiors. Their father spared no expense on their education, but they possessed the groundwork already. The gifts with wliich they were endowed were not made, but were beautified and perfected by right teaching." " One, to hear you talk, would scarcely believe that you were a descendant from a long line of noble ancestors," replied Miss Beresby, with a mocking laugh.

" But positively you make me quite curious to see these girls. Are you not afraid though that your sons may imbibe your own views, Mrs. Desmond ? Of course, I do not mean Erroll, who, every one knows, is deeply smitten with Miss Sarsfield." The words were lightly spoken, but they affected the invalid more than the occasion seemed to warrant. She fell back on her pillows with her eyes rivetted on the speaker's face, and her trembling lips moving with the two words — "Miss Sarsfield?" " I hope I have not said anything amiss ? " said the surprised Miss Beresby. " Certainly not, my dear; let it j)ass and be forgotten. The day, I think, is not quite so hot now. What do you all say to an excursion?" " Oh, how delightful," chorused the young voices, as, acting on the suggestion, the girls were on theh* feet in a moment, Ada ex cepted.

She had contrived to whisper a petition to stay behind ; but, ever unselfish, the invalid would not allow it. " I suppose we could all fit in two car riages ; that is, if Erroll or Lynmore do not join us ? " said Walter. " But where shall we go to ? Doonass, Clare Glen, or — " ' ' No, no ; pray let our excursion be to the farm. I forget its name." " Rosmary." " Yes. Let us go to Rosmary Farm, and see those wonderful girls. Do not get car riages, for we can walk, if it be only the distance Lady Ada says. Or, what do you say if we go on horseback ? Would it not be an imposing sight for the farmer's daughters ? Lady Ada is demurring because she has not her habit, but we shall find one for her. Shall it be so ? " "Yes; agreed, agreed." This chorus was quite as loud as the former one, but not one of those gay creatures stirred until Mrs. Desmond was nearly at the Castle steps; then they followed — some discussing the subject of Moila's poem, and others wondering what made the invalid look so strange when Miss Beresby spoke of Miss Sarsfield as being the loadstar of Erroll's heart.

" I have always noticed that she shrinks from the mention of Mildred's name in con nexion with one of her children," said one confidential friend to another. "It is, indeed, queer, such a nice girl as Miss Sarsfield is. And now that you put me in mind of it, I remember a little incident which occurred the other day. I did not think much of it then, but now I see it in a different light. However, first tell me which of Mrs. Desmond's sons you most prefer — -Walter, Erroll, or Lynmore ?" " Erroll, of course." "So do I. But is it not a pity that he is only the second son ? " "Yes; if he were the heir, we all should like him better. He is the handsomest young man I ever saw." " A perfect Adonis." "And so dreadfully fascinating." "Yes. Ah, me! But go on about the incident." " Well, Mrs. Desmond and I were walking in the garden, -when who should we see but Mildred Sarsfield and Erroll Desmond in a little arbour, having a very quiet tete-d-tete."

" And what harm was that ? " "None, I thought; but the young gentle man's mother did not seem to agree with my private opinion ; for she caught my arm as if in a vice, and trembled so that I could scarcely support her, on seeing those two together." " Now, if it had been one of those farming girls, I would not wonder ; but Mildred is unexceptionable. Was he making love to her?" "I suspect as much, for he was bending very earnestly towards her until we came up ; then he became a little confused, and tried to carry it off with a high hand. From many trifling things I have lately observed, I have come to the conclusion that Mrs. Desmond, although one of the best of women, is capable of a very bitter hatred towards Milly Sars field. But let us hasten on, for Mr. Desmond has gone round to the stables to order the horses."

"Yes, I shall hurry, for I was never so anxious to see any sight as I am now to see those farming girls. Vulgar, purse-proud creatures we are sure to find them, particularly this poetess. What is her name, do they say ? " " Moila ; the other is Dorina." " Pretty names. Which is the elder ? " " Dorina." " Wliich the more clever ? " "Dorina." " Wliich the more beautiful ? " " Dorina. In fact, if you ask thus for com parisons between the two sisters, I could but answer until morning — Dorina."

Chapter II. The Faem

No monarch standing on the highest pinnacle of pomp and power could have felt a prouder man than Farmer M'Dermott, as he stood on an old harrow to contemplate the ripe grain of harvest spreading broadly over his farm. He was a hearty, hale old man, with an honest weather-beaten face ; but it was a face you could trust in spite of wind or weather : and looking at him thus, with his grey locks caressed by the smoke wliich issued from an old clay-pipe he held in his mouth, he was the very picture of contentment. Ireland had this year been prosperous in her crops ; and Mr. M'Dermott, looking upon his corn-fields with the eye of a connoisseur, calculated to a nicety the number of sackfulls that soon would be gathered to his granary ; and not being a poet, although having the good taste to admire the prospect before him, he felt a keener enjoyment in its worth than in its beauty.

Having finished his smoke, and being fully satisfied with the inspection of his property, M'Dermott clasped his hands behind his back, and walked leisurely into the house, where we shall not follow him just now, as there is more to be seen outside. The mellow plumes of wheat, waving to and fro, caught the rare breeze, and fan-like wafted it over the cheeks of a young ghl, who leant against a haystack in apparent contenqDlation of theh graceful motion. Beau tiful Dorina M'Dermott looked on her father's fields with eyes that saw them not ; yet she was not blind — far from it: those glorious orbs, so deep in their azure light, sparkled with too keen a vivacity for that. But her thoughts were not with the rural scene ; they were so deeply entangled in the mazes of a day-dream, that she was unconscious of all beside.

She did not look her best at this moment, therefore it is scarcely fair to introduce her. However, admiration for her beauty might well tempt the most fastidious observer to vol. i. c glance tenderly over the cloud that now mars its brightness. A gipsy hat, gaily decorated with wheat ears and cornflowers, lay at her feet, while she leant against the hay like a beautiful but naughty child. Even the thoughts which darkened her fan* brow could not much im pair the loveliness of that youthful face, with its dark eyes and rosy mouth, its quick ex pression, and pouting pertness. Dorina was beautiful despite the passionate compression of her lips, or the haughty gesture which sent the blood flushing over her features, to leave them as pale as a marble statue's when it receded. Beautiful she was, but there was nothing soft or tender about her, as thus she stood in the brilliant noon-day sun, regardless of the hot rays that fell on her uncovered head, and caught the rich tints which sparkled like bur nished gold through the rippling masses of her hair.

No, nothing soft or tender, for anger and discontent were the two feelings which distorted the sweet charms of womanhood, and made her beauty almost repellent for the time. Such, however, was not her general demeanour; her manner could be either as artless as a child's or as dignified as a queen's, according as the humour suited her. But in every mood she was as warm-hearted and true as she was fascinating and coquettish. For miles round Rosmary Farm she was known as " The Red Rose of the Vale," while her sister Moila was equally popular as " The Sweet Rose of the Vale." The simple differ ence of the one word was a sure index, not only to the character of both, but to the estimation in which they were held. The elder and more brilliant Dorina was admired where the softer and more amiable Moila was beloved.

A peal of merry laughter roused Dorina at last from her reverie ; and as it echoed near her from the fields beyond, she flushed with a deeper anger, and shivered as with cold in the hot sunshine. Yet all unconscious of its tones being unwelcome, the fresh young voice rang out in its glee, filling the air with music, and making the eyes of old Farmer M'Der mott dance between his grey locks with a wonderful appreciation of its infectious glad ness. Not many perches from Dorina, a man, crouching in the corn, watched her with the eye of a lynx, as she stood shuddering at the innocent gaiety of her sister. Nearer, and still nearer, came the laughter, until a sight burst upon her wliich she seemed unable to bear, for she walked quickly away as it advanced. Yet the vision was not one to flee from ; it was a simple ghl, in the first bloom of woman hood, endeavouring, with all her might, to free herself from a ribbon that was fastened round the neck of a young goat.

But the pet, being obstreperous, ran round her feet, and entangled her more and more, as it seemed, for the purpose of enjoying the very merriment wliich was repugnant to her sister. The man who was hid in the corn watched Dorina until she entered the house ; then he rose, and, shaking himself like a great mastiff, stood out in the sun laughing, as the goat pulled the maiden close beside him. It would be difficult to tell what manner of man was this. At one time he seemed old and worn out ; at another, a youth full of fire and energy; but at all seasons he was un sightly and mysterious, sullen of temper, and silent and cunning by nature. No one seemed to care for Toby Downs but one, and that one was his friend, his benefactress, his guardian angel and ruler, simple Moila M'Dermott. For Moila, the poor foundling, would lay down his almost worthless life, if in the slightest it could serve her.

To her he was humble and submissive as a slave, although fierce and defiant to every one else on the farm, even to Mr. M'Dermott, who had taken him through charity when a child, and de tained him through charity as a man, and a very useless member of society. Moila's goat grew quiet at last, and rubbed its head against the white folds of her dress, as if seeking forgiveness, until she caressed it. It was a wise little animal, and some thing in its eyes attracted her so much that she was seldom weary of gazing into them. Toby looked now upon the girl as thus she fondled her favourite, and thought that nothing so sweetly beautiful had ever filled his sight before ; yet he was accustomed to see her thus ; but at that moment a tender ness filled his breast, which deprived him of all self-control; for, with an impulse he coidd not conquer, and of which he was scarcely conscious, he flung himself beside the goat, and caught the little hand that lay upon its back.

" Aroon ! " he cried. "Miss Moila, aroon ! Pray heaven that you may be like this always." She was startled, and drew back ; but he retained her hand, and bent over it until she felt his tears upon it. " What is the matter now, Toby ? Who has hurt or vexed you ?" She touched the bristly unkempt head with the other hand as she asked the questions. "None, Miss Moila. 'Taint o' myself I think; but just a dhrame I had last night about you ; an' 'tis a hauntin' o' me still, and troublin' me entirely." She withdrew her hands impatiently. " Did I not often tell you that this kind of thing is superstition ? — and now I forbid you to speak about your dreams or any such nonsense again." " But this was a queer dhrame, Miss, with such queer people in it, all a wantin' to do you some hurt. Even Mr. Lynmore Des mond thried his best agin you."

A quick upward glance from under his dark lashes flashed on Moila's crimson face, but, apparently unconscious, he went on, — " And oh, machree ! the dread lies on my heart for you ; and niver a minnet passes but I look for the evil that may change you from what you are, that may bring a sorrow to your life, and a death-shroud to them as loves you." " Banish this folly at once and for ever. Do you remember that the time is fast approaching for the harvest-home, Toby?" " Yes, miss, I remember the harvest-home. Curse it ! " "Toby!" Moila uttered the one word and he was rebuked in an instant. Then the goat, evidently understanding that its mistress was not pleased, ran round her feet, and tore at her dress, until she was so entangled in the ribbons again, that Toby had to come to the rescue ; then she bounded away with her dumb companion, as gaily as the bird which thought not of the morrow.

The man gazed after her until she vanished as she had appeared, the sweetest thing that he had ever looked upon; then he passed his hands lightly over the corn, muttering, — " 'Tis deeper the danger gets, but Toby Downs is watching ; and Miss Dorina, she 's the worst to manage, for she 's so proud and hard to speak to. The harvest-home — curse it ! Why should I not curse it ? I will, and do curse it ! " DORINA. 25

Chapter III. Dorina

To escape the joyous tones of her sister's voice, Dorina sought her own apartment, and drew the bolt of its door, as though to shut out the unwelcome sounds ; yet she hated herself for hating that innocent gaiety, and did fierce battle with her heart for its obduracy. Why should Moila not be happy, and why should Dorina not be happy likewise ? Each had theh several advantages, and there was no difference in the parental treatment of either to cause that jealousy which too often spreads the chasm between the parent and the child. The M'Dermotts were what might safely be termed a small family, being only four in number, that is, independently of the numerous cousins, aunts, uncles, &c, which clus tered in groups, or spread here and there and everywhere over Irish soil, from county to county, until the race could be traced back to Brian Borhoime, or, in fact, to Noah before the Flood.

However, as the M'Dermott greatness has only to show itself in those four, we have nothing whatever to do with the dead ancestors — so let them rest m peace. Those four are respectable, well-educated people, although not belonging to what is called the farming gentry : they were humble folk, scarcely even of the middle class ; but a true type of their style. Surely the blunt good-nature of the old farmer, and the true but vulgar kindness of the wife, were counter balanced by the beauty and refinement of theh* children, who were living proofs that high birth is not always essential for the modelling of Nature's nobility. Dorina bolted her door and flung her hat upon the bed with a violence that might have impaired the elegance of even a Dolly Varden, had not the elegance of that sublime fashion been proof against rebuffs of every kind.

However, she flung her hat on the DORINA. 27 bed, and seated herself at the window, to gaze upon the bounteous gifts which were showered upon ungrateful humanity ; not that she thought much about those gifts just then, for she sat there watching the goat drag Moila along, and listening to her laughter, with an angry frown ; she saw Toby bend over her sister's hand and smiled bitterly, while the patting of her pretty foot bespoke impatience, — she saw the yellow corn, the verdant hills of Clare, the broad breast of the Shannon, and yet she turned from all to gaze upon the chimney-tops of Clonshavale, that reared themselves far out in the distance against the azure calm of the summer sky. " Shall I go to Sh Capel and tell him the whole truth ?" she murmured, with her eyes fixed longingly in the direction of the old manor.