The Parnell I knew--and I may claim to have known him more intimately than anyone else on earth, both in {94} public and private life--was incapable of such motiveless brusqueries. That Parnell could crush utterly and without remorse I know; that he could deal harshly, even brutally, with anyone or anything that stood against him in the path he meant to tread, I admit; but that he would ever go out of his way to say a grossly rude thing or make an unprovoked attack, whether upon the personal appearance, morals, or character of another man, I absolutely deny. Parnell was ruthless in all his dealings with those who thwarted his will, but--he was never petty. Parnell had a most beautiful and harmonious voice when speaking in public. Very clear it was, even in moments of passion against his own and his country's foes--passion modulated and suppressed until I have seen, from the Ladies' Gallery, his hand clenched until the "Orders of the Day" which he held were crushed into pulp, and only that prevented his nails piercing his hand. Often I have taken the "Orders" out of his pocket, twisted into shreds--a fate that also overtook the slips of notes and the occasional quotations he had got me to look out for him. Sometimes when he was going to speak I could not leave my aunt long enough to be sure of getting to the Ladies' Gallery in time to hear him; or we might think it inexpedient that I should be seen to arrive so soon after him at the House. On these occasions, when I was able, I would arrive perhaps in the middle of his speech and look down upon him, saying in my heart, "I have come!"; and invariably I would see the answering signal--the lift of the head and lingering touch of the white rose in his coat, which told me, "I know, my Queen!" This telepathy of the soul, intuition, or what you will, was so strong between us that, whatever the business {95} before the House, whether Parnell was speaking or not, in spite of the absolute impossibility of distinguishing any face or form behind the grille of the Ladies' Gallery, Parnell was aware of my presence, even though often he did not expect me, as soon as I came in, and answered my wordless message by the signal that I knew. Sometimes he would wish to speak to me before I went home, and would signal by certain manipulations of his handkerchief to me to go and await him at Charing Cross, or another of our meeting-places, and there he would come to me to tell me how things were going, or to chat for a few minutes, or get from me the replies to messages sent through me to Mr. Gladstone. * * * * * * DOVER, _Wednesday, February_ 23, 1881. MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Am just starting for Calais. Kindly send on my portmanteau with my letters and other things in my room or in the wardrobe to me at Hotel Brighton, Rue de Rivoli, Paris.--Yours always, C. S. P. _February_ 25, 1881.