The denounced

Front matter

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Chapter I

Oxp Irish people of the present day, who remember the things of their early youth, and can gossip intelligibly about them, wonder at nothing more than at the contrast between the mode of public travelling now, and what it used to be in Ireland some sixty or seventy years.ago. While tottering, supported by their sticks, along the suburb roads of their native towns, they may be seen to hurry up a convenient gteen-lane, or, if that is not at hand, place their shoulders against the hedge or wall of the highway, in order to allow deferential scope to the career of the stage or mail-coach heard afar off, but suspected to be close at their backs, in consequence. of confused misgivings respecting the state of their own sense of hearing. Insuch situations as the latter, we have observed many an ancient friend, and while the stage whisked by them at the rate of nine English miles an hour, (making no more ado of four insides and twelve outsides, than if the horses were blasts of whirlwind, and itself and its tenants light clouds involved in their motion,) we fancied that, in the up-turned eyes and dropped jaws of the old gentlemen might be perceived——mastering even their terror of being run over and ground into dust—an expression of awful amazement, as if the impetuous vehicle were some superhuman wonder, boding evil to mortals in its transit over the public roads of this earth.

And we have heard described by these grandsires of our minds, the more rational public conveyances which reflected credit on the different towns of their birth, when they (and who but they?) were of the young and adventurous of a growing world. “In them days,” it was thought no waste of time or a want of energy in passengers, proprietors, horses, or carriagemachinery, if the ponderous diligence accomplished a journey of sixty miles to or from the metropolis, in forty hours after its sedate departure from the starting-point. Nor did foolhardy men then commit themselves to its guidance, sure (though slow) as it was, with the indifference and the want of previcus arrangement for a long journey of sixty Jrish miles, which is observed in a traveller of the present day, who, at an hour’s notice, and having in charge only a small valise, or the paltry novelty called a bag, and contenting himself with nodding to his friends, and jokingly kissing his wife and children, consigns life and limb to the discretion of a slight stage-coach, an opposition coachman, and four incarnate devils of half-blood horses. No; in these good old times, weeks were allotted to due preparation for such a journey, even by the diligence. Apprehending a lack of accommodation in houses of entertainment themselves, the prudent man victuailed his capacious saddlebags with a week’s provisions, at the least, paid his debts, made his will, partook of religious comforts, and in various. other ways nerved his manly mind for his perilous adventure. Days before his departure, a tender gloom shaded his domestic circle; upon the doomed morning itself, not only all_the members of that circle, but a crowd of friends besides, escorted him to the side of the awful machine, and there tearful and boding embraces were interchanged. And, for present purposes it is convenient to add, upon the evening when he was expected—or rather hoped—back again, the same group proceeded miles outside the town, and took a position upon some convenient eminence, patiently watching for hours the approach of the moving house which contained among its inmates he who was most dear tothe. ‘“ Upon the evening when he was hoped back again,” has been said ; for certainty in the case, or even that maturity of hope which amounts to expectation, was affected by no one, not even by the local half-proprietor who kept the sign of ‘the Cross Keys,” or haply of ‘ the naked boy on the barrel,’? in the main street of the town. His helpers, indeed, waiters and ostlers, and stable-boys of humbler degree, sometimes pretended to speak of a particular day, while he clothed his words in mystery ; but from their anxiety, equal to that of the friends of the poor travellers, and often visible some evenings before the actual arrival of the public conveyance, it might be inferred that a laudable wish to support the credit of the mighty vehicle, rather than conscientious conviction, prompted their tongues to augur boldly.

In the reign of George the Second, upon a hill outside a town which boasted one of these public’ blessings, many persons were assembled as usual, hoping to catch along the distant road a sight of what was called, by excellence, the Fly Diligence. It was late of a summer’s evening, but sufficient light still remained for their purposes. ‘They had been assembled since before three o’clock, and had now strained their eyes abroad more than an hour, but without a promise of the expected object.

The group consisted of ostlers from ‘ The Cross Keys’’ in the town, as well as of expectant friends of passengers, supposed to be contained in the Diligence. The former had confidently assured the latter that the object of the interest of both would surely arrive that evening ; but, as often happened, these shuffling officials did not feel the certainty they fain would impart, and an observant eye might detect doubt, and perhaps uneasiness, under their assumed tranquillity, or through their occasional gibe and jeer, and loud laughing among each other. Jn truth, although, until now, they had prudently kept their mind to themselves, the familiars of the Fly Diligence had reckoned upon the appearance of their esteemed machine the evening before; and its absence at present, long past the hour when, if to come at all, it ought to have been visible, made them really begin to fear the occurrence of some embarrassing event.

“The axle of her hind-wheels, poor crature, couldn’t give way again, Tim?" surmised one of the helpers, speaking in a whisper to his companions.

‘Or her fore-wheel be slipping off again, Ned 2?”’ said another ; “ but that’s the laste likely: Mat. Huck spent two good hours over it, after the last misfort’n, an’ | by his side. An’ never no one seen or hard him hammer away so since the day he was a smith.”

“Them late rains,’ resumed Ned, “ they’ll be softening the mud between nine-mile-house and Carra-gap afore this time, an’, maybe, she’s stuck in a convenient spot, boys.”

“Or, maybe, brown Sal stretched a leg in the middle o’

the long stage this side o’ Kilcullen, like her cousin, Pol Blackberry, afore her, where there ’s neither horse nor mare, for love or money, to harness in her stead,” remarked a third. “ Or, maybe,she put it in the head of herself and her other three brothers and sisters to run off wid the poor Dilly,”’ said another ; and, notwithstanding their uncomfortable misgivings, a hearty laugh from all attested the impossibility of Uns witty supposition,

«« And how down in the mouth the poor sowls that ’s waiting here along wid us, are biggennin’ to look !” resumed Tim, glancing towards the group who expected friends by the Diligence.

“© *Torney Doolly’s woman, above all,” concurred Ned; “but she needn’t; there ’’s men in the world that wather won * dround, nor fire burn, nor a tumble out of a worse Dilly toan the masther’s, burt or harum, in regard o’ the little han’ful 0” something that does be growin’ for ’em.”

“You may say that, Jad o? wax; but I wonder what brings ~ Misthress D’ Arcy here, the ’torney’s ould an’ early friend, when he was a bare-legged beepar’ s brat (an’ no Protestan’) in her house, an’ her husband’s ?—who in the world can she ’spect home by the poor Dilly, wid her son Dan by her side ?”

‘‘ By the powers o’ Moll Kelly, I dunna, Tim; no one belongen to them went from this in the Dilly anyhow ; maybe, it’s one o’ the daughter’s of her neighbour, ould Donaven, that she’s lookin’ for; an’ the comely colleen ’ud be coining from Dublin town, unknownst to us all, the way she went, maybe.” :

“ That can’t be, Ned; we’d hear of her settin’ out anyhow, an’ we never did.”

« An’ so we would, faix ; an’ yet, how arnest she is lookin’ over the road, and bould young Dan, too, by the elbow of her, doin’ the same.”

‘She ’s a grand kind of woman,”’ continued Ned; ‘ and had a right to be han’some in her day.”

“ An’ not a bad heart, or a hard heart in the body of her either,’ agreed Tim; “ for all she has that stand-off look, an’ that stately way wid her, an’ the black drop in her, into the bargain.” r

‘*¢ Marryin’ wid one o’ the good ould stock oiled the wheels of her heart, an’? made them turn so kind, lad; though I wonder Hugh D’Arcy, that gave her such a brave bit of a boy to brag of, never coaxed the Protestan’ out of her at that same time.”

« Mostha, so do J; only it’s jist as great a wonder that she doesn’t try to coax young Dan to the church-dour wid her, sayin’ nothing of the boy, oulder nor him by a year or two, that they sent to foreign parts, for the larnin’ he couldn’t get at home, an’ the riches, too, we hear ;—but, neighbours, give an eye tu the wile o’ the turncoat °torney !— See! there's the

* Attorney.

THE CONFORMISTS. Ts second time she thought to make up to Madam D’Arcy, an’ put the comether on her, wid her curtshee, an’ her *‘ God save ye kindly !’—an’ jist look how the widow o’ the ould *Roman grandec, (Protestan’ as she is her own sef,) sends her off wid one rise of her head, an’ one cast of her eye, to find Micky Doolins’s aq’ls among the people of all sorts that’s watchin’ the poor Fly along wid them.”’

** Ay, an’ watchin’ it for no use or purpose, I’m afraid, at last, boys; an’ Madam D’Arcy seems of the same mind wid myself, an’ so does young Dan, I’m thinkin’—yes, by the wit ©’ man, an’ doesn’t take it as kind as his mother either.— Hould, boys! by the hokies, here they are on our backs, the two o’ them! an’ now keep your faces, every Christian o” ye, an’ the best we can, for the honour o’ the Dilly.”

Mrs. D'Arcy and her son approached the group of helpers.

The lady’s appearance justified among themselves the homely criticism of the lords of the inn-yard. She was tall; as stately as graceful in her mien and motions; and her face, although beautiful, even to a statue-like degree of beauty, showed little of the gracious play of feature “which wins. the hearts of the vulgar; yet it was very feminine, and, notwithstanding an expression of coldness to the general eye, very swect withal. While she slowly advanced, the flapping of her vast hat, which reached but half-way down her lofty system, and the rustling of her stiff silk gown, open at front, over a rich quilted petticoat, well furred, and projecting, at her sides, - only into an anticipated improvement of the emulative ‘+ bustle” of the present day, was awful in the eyes and ears of the conscious minions of the Fly Diligence.

** Bould young Dan,’’ as they had called her son, also seemed to have been passingly well sketched in these few quaint words. He had not completed the legal years of manhood ; was not taller than his mother, and therefore of rather low stature for his sex; but his breadth of shoulders and of breast, his muscular liinbs, his measured and heavy tread, and his contracted brow, which did injustice to a large blue eye of naturally amiable expression, bespoke a manly strength and maturity of frame, and a firm, perhaps, wayward character. It may farther be remarked that, although much elevated in exterior expression above vulgarity, he by no means gave as

- much of the notion of a gentleman as his mother did of that of a lady. In fact, there was a homely, unintellectual air

* Roman Catholic.

about him. And if some particular cause had not this evening warped his features, young Dan D’Arcy prefers little claim to be called a gentle youth, by those, at least, who casually regard him.

It was obvious that he prepared himself to address the children of the Fly Diligence, and in no very good humour cither ; but his mother checked him by a pressure of her arm, and spoke instead. The lady temperately, but somewhat threateningly, demanded to know whether or not the public vehicle would, in truth and reality, arrive that evening ?

The helpers had been innocently stretching their necks, and straining their eyes, in the direction of the Dublin road, and now seemed as if their attention was unexpectedly called home by the question. They answered, one and all, though in different phrases, that nothing in the world could be, to their minds, more certain than the desired event. They requested Mrs. D’ Arcy— long life to her!”’—to observe how very sure they must have been on the point, when, as she might easily perceive, Tim had brought out from the town a grease-horn for the wheels, in case of need,—the few last miles to the Cross Keys being none o’ the best, and an accident or two having previously bappened at the turn by ‘* Bergin’s corner ;” and when Ned had borrowed Mat. Huck’s hammer and a few nails; and Jem provided himself with the “biggest scrap” of a rope’s-end he could lay hands on, ‘* more betoken, plenty of a good suggaun ;”’* and thus they were eloquently proceeding, partly in an earnest hope of deprecating the lady’s wrath, partly, as they had agreed, “* for the honour of the poor Fly,” and yet with an inward chuckle at the thought of hoaxing Mrs. D’ Arcy, when she again interrupted them. All they had said, she observed, might well apply to their anticipations three hours ago; but now, that the winter’s evening was fast falling, and the time long elapsed at which, during the short evenings, it was customary for their Diligence to come up, the lady, once for all, desired them to answer, yes or no, to her last question —Whether they would take upon themselves to advise her, and were willing to abide by the recommendation of exhorting her, delicate in health as they knew her to be, to expose herself any longer to the unwholesome night-air, in expectation of an occurrence which—she believed in heart—could not now take place till the next evening ? ;

At this, the ingenious sycophants of the Fly Diligence looked

* Hay-rope, at each other, shrugged their shoulders, or touched their caps, muttered unintelligibly ; and, in fine, ventured to admit that, considering the uncertainty of human things, even when they seemed most likely of occurrence, it would be as well for Mrs. D'Arcy not to build much upon the appearance of ‘ the Dilly,” until, as she herself had hinted, the next evening ; and the men gave a good proof of their own dependence on the soundness of their minds in this matter, by scraping and bowing a good evening to her honour, God bless her! and to Mastlier Dan, and then proceeding to descend the post of vain observation.

At the same moment, Mrs. D’Arcy and her son moved homeward ; the latter growling angrily at the disappointment caused to their betters by the proprietors of such trumpery Diligences ; and the crying necessity there appeared to make the cheating knaves pay dearly for their imposition on the public. A Fly, forsooth !—* Yes,’”? Daniel D’A rey continued, uttering bitterly an old jest—*a fly moving over a plate of treacle.” During his tirade, his mother spoke no word, either to soothe or inflame his mood; she sighed, however, often, although faintly, as she leaned on his arm down the side of the steep eminence, and Dan soon grew as silent as she was; until, after a long pause, he asked, sighing abruptly and fervently in his turn—* but for all this, mother, will not Helen make Dora come down-stairs to us the night ?”

Mrs. D’Arcy replied mildly that she believed so; and they hastened over the road to their house, which was but a few miles from the hill they had just left.

Chapter II

THE next evening was very rainy and tempestuous, and Daniel D’ Arcy came alone, in consequence of the inclemency of the weather, once more to lie in wait for the arrival of the Diligence. But upon this occasion, neither he nor any of the other persons expecting friends from Dublin in it had courage to brave the elements upon the hill outside the town, but rather

fepaired to the Cross Keys inn, and were accommodated according to their social rank, or other considerations, with

Waiting-room in the private sitting apartment, in the kitchen, Vout. N.—2 or traveller’s apartment, or else in the porch before the entrance door of the caravansary: from each of which positions they could reconnoitre the street.

Mrs. Doolly, the wife of Attorney Doolly, was one of the favoured few who, at the smiling invitation of Mr. Hutchinson, the landlord, had a place in the apartment of honour. Her husband, as has been hinted by the dependants upon the Fly Diligence, had conformed, many years before, to the superior ritual of which the innkeeper had always been a zealous observer; had attained, in consequence, to bis profession as an attorney, and afterward to much wealth and consideration in his native town; was a chief supporter of a convivial club which, twice a-week, did good to Mr. Hutchinson’s establishment; and, for all these reasons, Mrs. Doolly had a right to a place in the best waiting-room in the house.

The ancient (though not present) family importance of Daniel D’Arcy, the fact of his mother being a Cromwellian, and, above all, young Dan’s sway in the town upon fair-days, induced the landlord to ask bim also, ‘reputed Papist’’ as he was, to participate in the indulgence accorded to the attorney’s wife. And, as a mere matter of course, to which he felt himself entitled, the young man silently followed Mr. Hutchinson to the parlour-door, and was about to enter, when, seeing Mrs. Doolly seated there before him, and about to salute him graciously, he drew back with undisguised repugnance, and a hauteur rather clumsily expressed, and muttering—tt What! by the side of Micky Doolly’s wife!’ stamped back to the porch before the door, and leaning bis shoulder against its extreine projection into the street, where the rain splashed him, there awaited, along with some of the humblest of his townneighbours—(the wives the daughters, the brothers, or the fathers of small shopkeepers)—the long hoped-for appearance of the vehicle which was deemed freighted with so much of interest and value to all assembled.

“Pon my word!” said Mrs. Doolly, in ejaculation—* set us up, indeed!’? looking to Mr. Hutchinson for encouragement in her expressions of ironical surprise, at the high airs of the younger son of a family, which was known to have lately suffered much amid the clash of politics.

* Mrs. Doolly,?? answered her friend’s husband, seating himself by her side, while he drew in and firmly closed his lips, gravely knitting his brow, and bent his eyes on the floor— “you just see a sample of what the ould grandees used to be over us, and what they would be again, if they dared—if they were let to go riding rough-shod through the country, with swords by their sides, and pistols in their belts, and to the mass every Sunday and Saint’s-day, and to the school-house to get their pride puffed up with the larning and the Latin they used to throw at us, in the ould times.’’

“Aud so Micky says; an’ it’s I that b’heve you, Misther Hutchinson, honey; avoch, yes! there’s that very boy, now— “sure no one could stand him, at all at all, if the schoolmasther was just let to turn bis head entirely, along wid the poor family pride that’s in it, of its own accord, an’ the scornful snout that’s on the face of him—helatchy!* * Micky Doolly, says he? an’ so, that’s the way they still think to spake of a gentleman attorney, an’ a man of substance in the place ?--my heavy hatred on ’em, an’ all their likes!--if they go by the ould saying——‘ ’tisn’t what youw ere, but what are you ?—’ who’d come off worse, I wonder 2?”

* Young Dan was ever an’ always a hard-grained boy——that is, since he began to think himself a bit of a manneen,{ but I never saw him so glum as he is this evening,’ remarked Mr. Hutchinson.

“ An’? what’s the matter wid ’em all now, I wonder ?”’ asked Mrs. Doolly-—“ maybe they ’re found out, agin, in some rebellus practices, in the teeth ’o the law o’ the land, sich as buyin’ new grounds, or takin’ new lases, under-hand, or coshering{ priests, or schoolmasthers, or ishers ?~-ay, faix, Mr. Hutchisson!”’ she continued, becoming much interested, and looking important-—* an’, for all we know, ’torney Doolly’s journey to Dublin town, that he didn’t give even my own sef the sacret of, was to tell on ’em, an’ get the fine-money, an’ maybe young Dan has the wind o’ the business, an’ is here on the look-out to cross Micky’s palm, an’ give him the hoosh (bush) ?””

* Little likelihood a’ that, Misthress Doolly; your husband showed no ill-will to the family of late, you know; he’s a forgiving man, and doesn’t keep up ould grudges; moreover, I don’t think that if the boy abroad wanted to make friends wid your husband this evening, he’d be after doing as he done a minute agone to your husband’s wife, Mrs. Doolly.”

‘An’ it’s true for you, neighbour honey,” assented Mrs. Doolly, with an air of reflection—*‘ but who in the world does he ’spect by the Dilly, then 2?”

* An ejaculation. + Little man—would-be man. + Entertaining, or exchanging confidence with :—a statute word.

‘“* Perhaps there may be a foreign friar or Jesuit in disguise, coming to them, by the Fly Diligence,” answered the landlord, laying some emphasis upon the last words which described the important vehicle, of which he was part proprietor, better than Mrs. Doolly’s familiar abbreviation bad done.

‘** Maybe so,” assented the attorney’s lady ; and a second time she seemed mentally occupied.

‘** The which, Heaven forbid!’ resumed the innkeeper.

** An’ why so, Misther Hutchisson ?—that is, 1 mane, God forbid! as yourself says—’’ Mrs. Doolly seemed rather confused, and after a pause added, as if unconsciously—* though, what harum could one poor pil-garlic of a priest do among us, I wonder ?”

‘¢ Whist! the Fly Diligence is coming in !”’ cried the Jandlord, rising, as a faint cheer of boys’ voices, mingled with the barking of curs, and a reinocte, vague rumble, which might be taken for the incipient mutters of an earthquake, seemed to justify his bold assertion. Mrs. Doolly jumped up also, witha shnill cry of joy and expectation, and saying, “ Micky! Micky, machree:”’ \eft the parlour: and her friend, Misther Hutchinson thus thought his mind upon the momentary confusion we have just remarked in the attorney’s wife— Ay; I always said it—Micky may be in earnest in his conforming—but there’s a good lump o’ the Pope in you, along with your good dinner, this evening, Mrs. Doolly, my dear.”

Meantime, the person he apostrophized, along with all the other persons waiting for the public conveyance, became aroused into great interest and commotion. he rain and tempest had almost subsided, and many darted forth into the street, while the rest crowded together in the porch. Among the former was Dan D’Arcy, whose late gloom, and apathy gave way to an almost brilliant expression of face, and briskness of manner, as, bestriding the mid stones of the rugged street, he strained his eyes, unconsciously smiling, in the direc-. tion of the coming tumult; and among the latter was Mrs. Doolly, whose lively solicitude for ** Micky machree” did not prompt her to brave the few last drops of the subsiding rain, that she might prematurely come in contact with her husband.

But even the less calculating expectants in the street saw, as yet, nothing to repay them for their earnestness. True, the shouting of boys, the barking of curs, and the almost appalling rumble, still continued to be heard, and coming still nearer too, but that was all. At length, however, appeared an avantcourer, in the person of the town-fool, a half-clad poor creature who had been born silly; and he, running and jumping towards the Cross Keys, and flourishing a stick over his head, kept crying out, ‘* We have her at home at last! here she is! our own darling of a Dilly !’’? He was quickly followed by ragged urchins, who had met the great vehicle in the suburbs, and who, sharing in all the poor simpleton’s pride of having such a wonder and blessing appended to the place of Abeir birth, loudly echoed his triumphant ejaculations. Presently, round the abrupt turn of the street, some score mongrels came in view, prancing backward, and half squatting at every prance, without any fear of being run over, while their barking grew shriller, and what had before been a dismal rumble, now changed into a stunning, crashing noise ; and, finally, the windows dancing, and the very foundations of the houses of the street quailing as it passed, the ponderous F'ly Diligence filled the eyes of its admirers. Two of the helpers whom we have previously met on the hill, trotted on, bareheaded, before the horses. These horses were in number four ; their genus expressed by the word garron, their coats as rough as a bear’s, their ribs as visible as the untiled or unslated rafters of an old deserted house, and along with their other appellations, answering individually to the epithets of the lame, the blind, the aged, and the infirm. Ropes of hemp or of hay, indifferently, with a small remnant of leathern harness, attached them to each other, and to the ark-like building they barely moved along ; for, in truth, their jaded and nerveless

-trot could be rated at no more than between three and four miles an hour, notwithstanding that the self-praising smiles of the postbey, who sat on the bare back of one of the leaders, and of the supreme driver who was enthroned in the huge boxseat, told how much they were satisfied with the unusual spirit ofthis approach to the Cross Keys, effected by many a lash at the poor beasts, and by a still greater abundance of crack, erack, round their heads; while a second swarm of curs assisted their endeavours by worrying the animals’ fetlocks ; and a second detachment of ostlers and stable-boys attended near the fore-whee!s in the same view, applying goads whenever a sly opportunity presented itself, ‘‘ for the honour of the Dilly.”

Every human thing must have an end, and the Fly Diligence stopped at the Cross Keys, amid the renewed cheers and barkings of the brats and curs, and the unlimited ecstasies

of the town-fool. Before even the inside passengers could

descend, it was necessary that the driver, or conducteur, should Q* i = clamber to the ground, to unlock the doors of the vehicle, of which the key was in his pocket, and that other attendants should procure a ladder. The expectant towns-people gathered around him, vociferously demanding to know if their friends were inside, or else under the awning on the top, made of sacks spread over hoops ; and to all such inquiries the imperturbable man would only smilingly answer, ‘* Ye’ll see, ye’ll see,” as he proceeded in his duties. Mrs. Doolly, close. at his side, changed some of her interest from repeated inquiries about her husband, to a contemplation of the highly ornamented side of the Diligence, on which were depicted the Cross Keys to the life, and under them the names of the public vehicle and of its proprietors, together with ‘ Latin itself” in yellow letters on a waving blue ribbon, to this effect, ‘« Paratus ad arma.” And, * Ay, indeed ?” remarked Mrs. Doolly —‘+ P-a-r-a-t-us a-t A-r-m-a-(h)? Musha, what great news the Dilly brings us ? Why wouldn’t the praties be there as well as here, or any where else ?”’

While the travellers under the awning upon the roof now crept down, to be embraced and welcomed home by their Joyous friends, the driver and Mr. Hutchinson simultaneously opened the two doors which gave egress to whoever might be inside. And at this moment, Mrs. Doolly stood at one door and young Dan D’Arcy at the other; only two passengers appeared in the recesses of the interior of the machine. ‘The attorney’s wife immediately recognised her husband in the person of one of them, and shrieking her delight, held out her stout arms as he prepared to descend. Daniel D’Arcy looked hard at the second passenger, his limbs slightly trembling, and his colour coming and going. This person was closely wrapped in an ample foreign cloak, which intruded on his face, so that the young man could not at once see any features. As attorney Doolly moved to meet his wife, Daniel was farther put out, by observing that the object of his curiosity, turning still more away from him, shook hands with his fellow-traveller at parting. ‘+ It can’t be he,” thought Dan, ** he would never do that; but ll soon know, now he comes out.”” Another interruption took place, however. The stranger’s light sword became entangled with the lawyer’s legs, just as he was about to leave the Diligence, and both gentlemen laughed good-humouredly while the accident was remedied.— ‘No, no,’”’ continued Daniel, ‘* Marks it can never be! The sword and all tells against it. My brother is wrecked crossing the sea! or they have stopped him on his way to us since he made the land.”