My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Her father read, then handed the note to Terence gloomily. The maid
had her gladness to herself. It was not a wise letter; one written
evidently by an enthusiastic but rash, person, who, having been absent
during the Hurry, could put faith still in the mirage of Irish
freedom; who had not laid to heart the awful lesson of the year that
was expiring. He spoke with indignation of the way he was duped in
London; of the impossibility of getting at his Majesty, who was as
inaccessible to him as any potentate of Old Japan. For months he was
kept dallying in ante-chambers, he complained. His funds would have
failed but for good Lord Moira. But now he was coming back to receive
the mantle of Theobald, which intuition told him was to fit his
shoulders; to bid farewell to brother Tom ere he departed; then to
study the ground with a fresh eye.
Her father looked at Sara, as he pushed the blonde cocoons from off
her bright young forehead. Blind girl to be so glad; she who before
was more wisely jubilant in that her lover should be removed from
danger. Her delight, indeed, was infantine and unalloyed; for all day
long the patriots were declaring that everything was lost, that all
was over. There was no reason, then, why she should look forward to
future complications.
'Use all the power you have, my Primrose,' he adjured his daughter,
with sad earnestness, 'to keep him away yet awhile. The mantle of
Theobald, forsooth! We know that it is red and clammy. The shamrock
must be transplanted to another soil. Tell him not to come, I say. So
soon as the ship sails for Fort George, you and I will go and meet him
in London.'
Sara seemed bewildered, as the smile faded from her face. What could
her parent mean? Sure, it was but natural to come and take a last look
at a beloved brother ere he went away? Whatever Robert's intentions
were, she knew that they were good and noble. The mantle of Theobald
meant love of motherland--no more. Everybody was painfully convinced
that the time for armed resistance was gone and past; that England
held the reins well in hand, and meant to hold them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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