Shamrock and Rose. A novel

Front matter

SHAMROCK AND ROSE. A NOVEL. IN ONE VOLUME. BY ERNTE ARIEL WOLFE. ILonoon: REMINGTON AND CO., 5, Abundei. Street, Strand, W.C. 1877. [all eights eeseeved.] CONTENTS. PAGE Chap. I. — " They were of the Conquering Race — she, but a Peasant Maid ... ... ... ... 1 Chap. II. — " Wrapt in Visions — Lost hi Dreaming " ... 12 Chap. III. — " The Place was Bright, with something of Celestial Light" — ... 24 Chap. IV. — " Be it never so Humble, there's no place like Home" 39 Chap. V. — " Awa to their Ain Countrie " ... ... 43 Chap. VI. — " Time brings many a Pleasant Change " ... 52 Chap. VII. — Thrown on the World again ... ... 58 Chap. VIII. — A Gleam of Hope and Sunshine ... ... 65 Chap. IX. — " At least, we'll Try Her " 72 Chap. X. — Fortune Smiles ... ... ... ... 77 Chap. XI. — Among Strangers ... ... ... ... 81 Ghap.

XII.—" All is New To-day " 85 Chap. XIII.— "A Dream of Pair Women" ... 92 Chap. XIV.— The New Home 99 Chap. XV.— A Flitting Shadow 108 Chap. XVI.— Happy Days 116 Chap. XVII.— A Dark Cloud 131 Chap. XVIII.— "Truth Beareth away the Victory" ... CONTENTS. II PAGE. Chap. XIX.— Blended Hues 157 Chap. XX. — Let us Crown Ourselves with Rosebuds before they Wither ... ... ... ... ■ ■ • 167 Chap. XXI. — "A Child was Playing in a Garden " ... 182 Chap. XXII.—" Jesus called a Little Child unto Him " 194 Chap. XXIII.— " Up Hills, that are Foreign Land " ... 199 Chap. XXIV. — " One Touch of Nature makes the whole World Kin" 208 Chap. XXV. — Crowned with Laurels dipped in Blood 222 Chap. XXVI. — If Winter comes, can Spring be far • behind? 237 Chap. XXVII. — " My True-love has my Heart, and I have his" 246 Chap. XXVIII.— Golden Days 254 Chap. XXIX. — " Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot ?

" 261 Chap. XXX.— " Pilgrims of Life, henceforth to Travel Together" 268 Chap. XXXI.— " The Day of Hopes Fulfilled" 278 Chap. XXXII. — "Mercifully grant that we may Grow Aged together " (Hebrew Marriage Prayer). . . . SHAMROCK AND EOSE.

Chapter I

" They were of the conquering race — she but a peasant maid." " I don't know how you may feel, Frank, but I'm pretty near done !" " I've about had enough of it, too, sir. Bad sport always takes it out of a man." " No doubt about it. And here we've been out since seven this morning, and only half-a dozen miserable little fish to show for it !" " Better luck next time, sir." " I hope so, or Thursday morning will find^me on my way back to England." " I thought you wished but yesterday, that you could stay here another three weeks ?" B " So I did, but then, you know, we had caught twenty good fish in three or four hours." The speakers were Captain Melville and Frank Ashton, his confidential servant — friend, I had almost written, nor would the term have been greatly misplaced, since the utmost confidence and a real attachment existed between master and man.

From their earliest childhood they had been companions, and intercourse with the world had hitherto failed to damp the affectionate interest each had in the other. Harry Melville was the heir of a wealthy English gentleman, Frank Ashton the only son of a steward, whose faithful services were highly valued by his employer, and until Harry had taken his place at Rugby, and Frank, through Mr. Melville's interest, been placed at a grammar school, the two boys had never been separated. During the holidays they had ever been inseparable com panions, Frank accompanying his young master on all his sporting excursions, and performing all manner of services, from the answering of a note to the adjustment of the young dandy's evenino- SHAMROCK AND EOSE. tie, or the oiling of a pair of shooting boots.

Education (as Frank was won't to say) although it had knocked " a sight of nonsense" out of him, had certainly never made him proud, and when the time came for young Melville to accept one of her Majesty's Commissions, this misguided companion of his boyhood elected to follow his fortunes. In vain his patron and parents represented the disadvantages of such an arrangement. In vain they appealed to his self interest by naming the many lucrative situations a youth of his abilities might hold. Nothing could turn him from his purpose — nothing should separate him from his young master. Harry Melville, although deeply gratified by this display of affection, and fully realising the immense amount of comfort Frank's services would ensure to himself, felt some compunction at accepting what seemed a blind sacrifice of prospects, and even attempted remonstrances.

Frank, however, would hear no reason, and finally carried the day. " It is rather a disappointment to you, Ashton, I'm afraid," said Mr. Melville senior, to his old servant," when the matter was definitely settled. " He might have done much better." " I don't know about that, sir. No doubt he might have made more money in other ways, but, take it on the whole, I don't know as I wish for anything more than to see my son faithfully serv ing yours. And he will serve him faithfully, too, sir, although 'tis his father as says so." ." No doubt of that, Ashton ; no doubt of that. My son is undoubtedly the gainer, and we will take care that your lad is not greatly the loser. His choice speaks well for his heart, if not for his head." " Aye, aye, sir ! I can answer for his heart being in the right place, though, may be, he's a bit addle-pated at times."

So the young men had gone to Aldershot together, and although three years had passed since that time, neither master nor man had grown weary of the tie that bound them to each other. Captain Melville, after valiantly endeavouring to reconcile a strict attention to his duties, and the social calls of the London season, succeeded in knocking himself up, and, on his doctor in sisting on rest and change of scene, had decided on a desultory tour in Ireland, as the best means of recruiting his shattered forces. Thus is ex plained the fact of his being found, accompanied only by his man, in the wilds of Killarney, instead of rejoicing the hearts of his affectionate relations in Pomfret Castle. "'Twas a lucky stroke coming against the Douglases," remarked Melville, after a few minutes' silence. "Yes, it was, sir. Who would have thought of your coming across any of your friends here?"

"Not I, assuredly. Is it far to the house, Frank ?" " Oh, no, sir. Just round the corner. We'll be there in five minutes." " Halloa ! What's up here ?" "A bit of a row, by the look of it, sir. Got hold of somebody whose's offended them, I >> suppose. "By, Jove, yes! And it's a girl they're teazing, too ! Come along, Frank ; we must put a stop to this." So saying, Captain Melville quickened his pace, and soon reached the group of excited peasants. It was, for the most part, composed of dirty, humorous, half-easy-going, half-savage ruffians, such as are to be met with in " auld Ireland," with a sprinkling of still dirtier, but pretty women, who threw special malice into the jeers and taunts with which they assailed their victim. She was, as Captain Melville had surmised, a girl, and a very young one, too (not more than fifteen or sixteen years of age); whose dress at once proclaimed her to be of the saitfe grade of life as her tormentors.

The abuse heaped upon her had roused her to fury, and, like a tigress at bay, she stood facing her assailants. Her tangled hair streamed wildly over her shoulders ; one hand was raised as though to give force to the torrent of indignant words that flowed from her lips ; the other tightly grasped a covered basket, the contents of which it seemed were in danger. Forcing himself into the centre, Melville loudly demanded the cause of the outrage. There was a sudden lull in the storm ; no one seemed anxious to afford an explanation. The girl, however, darted forward, all her vehement courage deserting her at the sight of a protector, and, seizing his hand, wildly implored him to help her. What with terror, sobs, and rage, it was some few minutes before she could speak intelligibly. Meanwhile several of the peasants had sneaked off, for Melville was known and liked among them, and none coveted his dis pleasure.

It appeared that the girl was desirous of quickly returning to a sick mother, and that she had been prevented in the manner before described. The young English officer expressed his opinion of such conduct with considerable candour. "Sure yer honour," said one lazy-looking fellow, " 'twas but for the sport. We had no thought to hurt her." " Sure your honour," thundered Frank, " you shall have as good a licking as I can give you, if you don't move off." The man replied by aiming a blow at the speaker's head. Adroitly evading it, Frank dealt his assailant a buffet, which sent him reeling into a neighbouring ditch. For a moment things looked threatening. Then the Irish sense of humour overcame their natural love of a row, and joking their comrade on the ill success of his attempt, the whole party moved off in his com pany — leaving our heroes in possession of the field.

Melville, true to his character as knight errant, applied himself to the consolation of the dis tressed damsel. Her tears and sobs had ceased, but her whole body quivered with excitement, and she panted for breath like a hunted creature. "Where do you live, my girl?" " Two miles on, your honour." " Up this way ?" "Yes, sir." " All right then, we'll see you safe out of the village, and you can tell me how you got into this trouble, as we go along." The girl smiled, reassured by the kind tone of the English stranger (of whom she had heard much, but never seen), and laid her case before him with a child-like naivete, which was very engaging. " So it was on account of your religion they bullied you, hey ?" " Yes, your honour, and for naught besides. 'Tis only that mother won't hear their priest, because she's a Protestant."

" Quite enough to set your neighbours against you, no doubt. We're Protestants, too, so you see it was quite right we should help you. What's that peeping out of your basket ? A real knitted stocking, I declare ! Got any more of them ?" " Oh, yes, plenty," and the girl eagerly dis played her goods. "Capital, arn't they, Frank? Just what one wants for shooting, and the season's coming on. Here, my girl, I'll buy four pairs, and here's a shilling into the bargain." She thanked him, her lustrous eyes dancing with delight — they were the first she had sold that day, and there was none save her to earn bread. " Here, stuff them in this fishing basket. That will do nicely. Now I think you'll be quite safe, so good bye." " Good bye, and thank you kindly, sir," said the girl with overflowing gratitude as she tripped away, her fright all but forgotten in her unlooked for good fortune.

Surprised at her soft manners, Captain Melville gazed after her. " A nice little girl," he presently remarked to Frank. "Just about, sir. 'Twas lucky we came by when we did, or they would have used her roughly enough." " It was indeed ! How like a hunted hare she looked among all those brutes ! Upon my soul, Frank, I thought we should have had a row when you knocked that fellow down !" " 'Twas a near shave of one, sir, but they thought better of it." " 1 wonder who that girl is ? There seemed something out of the common about her, for although one could see she was the poorest of the poor, she spoke nicely, and I noticed that she said ' sir ' once or twice." " I don't know at all who she is. I never saw her about here before, sir." " Perhaps Mrs. Douglas can tell us. Come, we must be off home. I'm wet through about the legs."

Chapter II

" Wrapt in visions — lost in dreaming." The Irish girl pursued her way, at first, briskly, then, with a languid step, that betokened a pre occupied mind. That afternoon had been one of the most adventurous of her life, and again and again there came before her mind's eye the scowling countenances of her persecutors, and the fair open faces of her English protectors. She forgot her eagerness to reach home, forgot the invalid, who awaited her coming, and sank wearily down on the grass to rest. Carefully she recalled each word they had spoken to her, eagerly she looked at the silver coins the kind gentleman had paid her. How pleased her mother would be ! She had never earned so much in one day before. How nice it must be to be always rich ! What a glorious evening it was ! Could any place be so fair as that on which her eyes were feasting?

Many questions such as these she put to herself. How beautiful it all was " Sure an' I must be movin ' " she at length exclaimed, and with a regretful sigh she raised her basket on her arm, and pursued her homeward route. Not for long, however. A turn in the path disclosed a scene even more tempting than that which she had left so lingeringly, and with a half smile at her own want of resolution, she again set down her burden, and relapsed into reverie. Well might she shrink from leaving so fair a spot ! Before her lay the world-famed lakes of Killarney, pre senting a combination of beautiful scenery rarely equalled, and, in its own style, never surpassed. On the side where the girl was standing the ground sloped gently down to the water's edge — smooth as a lawn, and carpeted with grass of the brightest green, but, on the opposite shore, the stately hills rose in proud succession — their rocky sides clothed with majestic trees.

To the left lay the lovely isle of Innisfallen, once described as — " An emerald in a crystal lake, With a sapphire sky above it." It was the sunset hour, and slanting beams fell now on the crumbling walls of some quaint old ruin, now on the graceful foliage of the ash and willow trees, which here and there laved their branches in the cool waters. In all this wild romantic loveliness there was a deep charm, and, heedless of time's flight, the girl gazed on — her soul stirred with feelings she could neither describe nor understand — her whole being re sponding to some unknown but deeply touching call from Nature. Outwardly, as well as in wardly, she and the glorious scene around her were in harmony, and, as she leaned on her folded arms, her hair gleaming in the mellow light, her dark blue skirt, brown boddice, and scarlet kerchief standing out in warm relief against the cold grey of the rock, it seemed that without the one solitary figure, all would have been less fair.

Motionless it stood while the shadows of evening lengthened and deepened, and rich hues grew vivid and faded in the western sky. " Kathleen ! How wrong to loiter !" With a start the dreamer turned to answer the new comer — a tall, middle aged lady, with a fair pleasant face. " I'm very sorry, ma'am. I stopped but to rest, and then forgot !" The lady smiled gravely, but not unkindly. " You had much to tempt you, certainly, but even this enchanting sight should not have let you forget your poor mother. I have just been to see her, and, Kathleen, she is very, very ill." In the speaker's word was an implied reproach, which touched the warm hearted Irish girl to the quick, and made her forget to relate even her adventure in the village. " Sure, an I gae this blessed minit ! I was wrong to linger."

And with a pleasant " good night" she took up her basket, and hurried off. " She is a nice girl," mused Mrs. Douglas, as she watched the rapidly retreating figure. " Her faults are chiefly those of her class, and she is highly superior to the generality of the peasants. Where many would have taken offence, how frankly she owned herself in the wrong, and at once set about repairing the mischief. Running fast, I declare ! She would make a nice servant, and I have always thought I should like to help her on in the world. Poor child! Hers will, probably, be a stormy, changeful life. Her mother cannot live many weeks." And, though it was growing late, the lady slackened her pace, and thought over many benevolent plans to be carried out when Kathleen should be left alone in the world. She was presently roused from her meditation by the cheery voice of Harry Melville.

" Good evening, Mrs. Douglas." "What, back already, Harry ! I thought we were not to expect you until quite late ?" " No, but we had such bad sport, that I changed my mind. Only a few beggarly little fish, and a good drenching into the bargain." " Very unfortunate. You have changed your things, I hope ?" " I have, most careful hostess ; and, hearing that you had walked in this direction, came out to meet you." " Thank you for the kind thought. I shall be glad of a companion. I am afraid you must find your life here very dull." "Not at all. On the contrary, the quiet is most refreshing to a jaded man, like myself. Variety is always charming, you know. Besides, this afternoon I had the most interesting little adventure." " An adventure ! What could it have been ?" Captain Melville gave a full account of his timely arrival, and the rescue he had effected.

"Aud what was the girl's name?" enquired Mrs. Douglas eagerly, when he came to the end of his story. " lhat's exactly what I do not know, and wish c to find out. She went up this lane, so I should think you must have met her." " Why, it must have been Kathleen Beryl. Poor child ! And I half scolded her for being so late." " That was rather hard lines, considering all she had gone through. Did she not tell you about it?" "No, not a word. Certainly, she had no chance of so doing, as I sent her home at once to her mother. I am very much interested in them." " And I, too, just at present. The said Kathleen is a taking little girl. Tell me all about them." Meanwhile, at a pace, which strong and lissome as they were, tried her young limbs to the uttermost, our heroine continued her route. In less than twenty minutes the lake was left far behind, and she had reached a small cabin, less dirty and smoky than such dwellings usually are.

Pausing a moment to recover breath she lifted the latch and entered. A glance sufficed to show that her mother was asleep, and setting quickly and quietly to work, she was able to redeem much of her lost time, and make the needful preparation for their humble meal before the invalid awoke, restless, fretful, and impatient for some refreshment. The girl took a packet of tea (a rare luxury provided by Mrs. Douglas), and making a strong cup, gave it, with a boiled potatoe, to the sick woman, Listening, without any attempt to excuse herself, to the reproaches made her for her long absence. It was no slight scolding she received, but, at length, by many little unobtrusive attentions, she managed to remove the impression produced by her previous neglect. Mrs. Beryl was pacified, and settling herself more comfortably on the miserable pallet, which did duty for a bed, bade Kathleen relate all she had been doing that afternoon.

Taking a piece of rough knitting to employ her fingers, she seated herself by her mother, and cheerfully complied. The story of her walk and adventure was told with minuteness of detail, which, wearisome as it might have been to one in rude health, was amusing to the poor listener, who for weeks had not looked upon the face of Nature, except through the doorway of her cabin ; nor seen a living creature, save her child and Mrs. Douglas. This kind lady had, during her two years residence in Killarney, been untiring in her efforts to relieve the extreme poverty of some poor families in the neighbourhood. Among those who claimed her care she found none so interesting as Mrs. Beryl and her daughter, the former on account of her sufferings, the latter for her pleasing manners and grateful willingness to be taught.

Nor did any more so stand in need of assistance, both from their extreme poverty, and isolated position in life. Their cabin was two miles from the nearest village, and was very rarely visited by a neighbour. About three years previous to the time of which we speak, during a former illness of Mrs. Beryl's, the parish priest had once or twice been to see her, and was civilly received, but on his attempting to sound her on the subject of religion, the sick woman gave him his conge with more warmth than courtesy. This conduct gave rise to a great prejudice against mother and daughter, and they were universally shunned. Meanwhile, Mrs. Beryl became a confirmed invalid, and when Mrs. Douglas found her out, was in a truly wretched state of want and suffering. Softened by misfortune, she graciously received all advances, and when, in the course of conversation, it was found that the Scotch lady was a native of Perthshire (in which county many years of her own life had been spent), her gratitude and mere liking for her benefactress, gave place to the most unbounded confidence.

True, the poor woman was Irish by birth, but, while still a child, she had married and gone to Scotland, where she lived as the wife of a sergeant in a garrison town. United to a Protestant, it was scarcely surprising that she adopted the reformed teDets, and so attached was she, for this and other reasons, to the land of her adoption, that, only grief for the loss of her husband, induced her to return to her native island, where, as we have already seen, she had but few friends. Rough, ignorant, and super stitious, she was yet warm-hearted and sincere. Her gratitude to Mrs. Douglas and her husband, a clergyman in delicate health, was very deep, even more on her child's account than her own, for, finding Kathleen in a state of utter igno rance, they had taught her to read and write a little, and to do several things to make her wretched home more comfortable.

At the time of which we speak she could sew neatly, and with a little difficulty read a chaper to her mother. It was a hard life for one so young — nursing a fretful sufferer, working hard to earn the little money they ever had, broken rest, scant thanks, and often blame — and at times youthful impatience and love of ease (as she understood it) got the upper hand. Not for long, however, for Kathleen was neither selfish nor heartless, and at any time a kind word would recall her to a sense of duty. From time to time Mrs. Douglas gave the sympathy and encouragement so needful to the young who are struggling with a burden almost too heavy to be borne by untried shoulders, and the kind, cheerful voice fell on the girl's heart like rain on a drooping flower. A few gentle words, and she would toil on patiently and uncomplainingly.

Chapter III

" The place was bright, With something of celestial light." A week went by, and Kathleen's adventure, which at first, proved a fertile topic of conver sation between her and her mother, was almost forgotten. Life, in that lowly cabin was very monotonous, and there were no holidays or pleasures of an exciting kind to mark the flight of time. A visit from Mrs, Douglas was the only event to be expected. The frugal meals were prepared, the stockings knitted, the sick woman tended, and then the duties of* the day were over. Of an evening, a solitary stroll some times refreshed the girl's wearied spirit, and sent her home fresh and bright to devote any spare time she might have to the tasks Mrs. Douglas was wont to set her for preparation between each visit. She was anxious to learn, and, having some quiet hours, worked hard, and, considering her disadvantages, made considerable progress.

On this particular morning she had risen an hour earlier than she was wont, to write some copies with which she was somewhat behind hand. She wrote industrously for some time — then, looking up, she saw her mother was awake and watching her. Laying down her pen, she went and stood by the bed. The invalid's eyes were sparkling, her cheeks glowing as they had not done for months, and, to the eyes of the inexperienced, a change for the better seemed to have taken place. " Sure, mother, ye look quite aisy this mornin'?" " Aisy, colleen, there's nae aisy for me in this world, but 'twill soon be over now. 'Tis early yet, run to Mrs. Douglas' quick, and ask for the drop o' wine she said she would gie me. I'm all faintin' like !" " Shan't I make you a cup o' tea first, mother ?" " No, child, gae an, gae an at once !"

Kathleen snatched up her kerchief, and sped on her way. She had seen her mother weak and craving for support too often during this long illness to attach any great importance to it, yet this morning something told her that she should use all possible despatch in the execution of her errand. This time there was no loitering to admire the hills, robed and garlanded with clouds of silvery haze, though they were — no day dreaming beside the rippling lake — but steady, rapid walking. The early breeze blew fresh and sweet, the dew ladened flowers bent beneath her tread, the wild song birds carolled from every tree as thou°-h tempting this child of nature to join their joyous orizons, but she heeded them not. One picture occupied her mind — a sick woman, tossing from side to side, faint, weary, and alone.

She came within half a mile of Mrs. Douglas' house without encountering a single creature then Frank Ashton crossed her path. She would have passed with only a hasty curtsy, but he, willing to renew the acquaintance, called her, and jokingly enquired the cause of her haste. " Anybody been chasing you again ?" " Oh, no, sir ! Only mother is worse, and I'm runnin' to ask the lady for a drop o' wine !" " Is she very bad?" " I can't tell, sir. I only know she's lonely like when I'm away, and there's not another soul but me to hand so" much as a cup o' water. Good bye — I can't wait, sir." Frank's manner changed. He had a natural sympathy with sorrow, the sight of it called forth all the nobler and tenderer feelings of his nature, and he was as ready to help this peasant maiden in her distress, as though she had been a princess.

" Look here, my girl, I can run three times as fast as you can, and the Captain won't want me for a bit. Give me your bottle, and go back to your mother. I'll fetch the wine, and bring it to you in no time." Kathleen looked bewildered — such condescen sion was incomprehensible. She did not under stand the chivalrous highbreeding which springs from the heart of an honest, brave, gentle Christian man, like streamlets from the bosom of the earth. " I mean it. Now be off home as quickly as you can !" So saying, he set off towards the village, and Kathleen pleased, vaguely comforted, and alto gether puzzled, returned to her mother. The poor woman was asleep, and as the girl watched her, a shadow, as of coming evil, fell upon her, and, although the worn, pinched, suffering face, the wasted form, the white emaciated hands were familiar sights, something whispered to her that her mother was indeed worse — worse than she had ever been before.

She was frightened. An undefinable dread took possession of her. She started at the sound of her own footstep, and was afraid almost to draw her breath — lest she should rouse the sufferer from her fitful slumber. Seating herself in the door way, so as to com mand a view of the path, she longed, oh, how earnestly, for her kind messenger's return. True, he was a stranger, and far, far removed from her, yet in her loneliness she felt a sense of protection in his presence, and looked for the genial smile and cheery voice, that should dispel her fears. Sooner than even her impatience had permitted her to deem possible, Ashton placed the flask of wine in her hand. She thanked him with child like simplicity and warmth, which fully repaid the trouble he had so willingly taken. As he stood, flushed and breathless, looking down on her from his stately height — he seemed a very grand far away denizen of a sphere high above her — a superior being to whom she could never speak, nor even think of without admiring reverence, not unmingled with " a pleasing fear," yet there was in his manner a caressing gentle ness as of the strong to the weak, which, in spite of her awe, made her long to ask him to remain until her mother should be better.