My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'Begorra! such a friend,' growled Curran, 'as I'd help out of mee
cabin with mee boot! But never mind us. We're talking of this lad.
Who's his enemy--who is it that's playing devil's capers among honest
men? We know that they're not all saints who use holy water!'
Lord Clare was still looking away into the darkness, while Phil
followed the direction of his glance, and said nothing.
'Don't press him,' Terence said, with coldness as chilling as the
chancellor's. 'If he chooses to make confession for conscience' sake,
so be it---I will be under no personal obligation to his clemency.'
'Silly boy! I want to save you, and, like the other asses, you pose
and mouth heroics!' Clare said impatiently. 'Your name was on the list
of those scatter-brains who were caged to-day, but I struck it through
with my own pen. Yet I tell you fairly that if you commit yourself
beyond a certain point, I shall be powerless to protect you. I should
bring more odium than I dare upon the Government, if I were
instrumental in stringing up a lot who deserve the rope, and saving
the worst of all because he happened to be my old friend's son. I
can't do more than I am doing. Even Mr. Curran here should tell you
that. I tell you that you have an enemy who would gladly destroy you.
You must guess who it is. Who is there whom you have injured? I tell
you further that Lord Camden has signed a warrant for your arrest,
which I believe is in his bureau. He deplores with me that one of the
aristocracy should be a cause of scandal. But he may be called upon to
permit execution of that warrant, and, acting as you do, I don't see
how he can refuse to let justice take its course. Had you no enemy it
might probably lie snug enough. But that enemy will ferret it out ere
long, I fear. My boy, I earnestly implore you to leave the country.
Every port shall be left open. Go to Paris--Vienna--Rome--anywhere. If
you are short of funds I will provide them--come! I would so gladly
see you gone,' he concluded after a pause, during which Terence's
heart was touched, and Curran stared at this new aspect of the lord
chancellor. 'For if I mistake not, such events will happen here ere
long as will cause the best-balanced mind to quake.'
What a pity that he uttered those last few words! Curran beheld again
the well-known Lord Clare. Terence became hot with resentment.
'If you are preparing a St. Bartholomew,' he said, 'why should I be
specially favoured? Murderer!'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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