Wilberforce Kingsnorth left three children: Nathaniel—whose acquaintance we have already made, and who in a large measure inherited much of his father's dominant will and hardheadedness—Monica, the elder daughter, and Angela the younger.
Nathaniel was the old man's favourite.
While still a youth he inculcated into the boy all the tenets of business, morality and politics that had made Wilberforce prosperous.
Pride in his name: a sturdy grasp of life: an unbending attitude toward those beneath him, and an abiding reverence for law and order and fealty to the throne—these were the foundations on which the father built Nathaniel's character.
Next in point of regard came the elder daughter Monica. Patrician of feature, haughty in manner, exclusive by nature she had the true Kingsnorth air. She had no disturbing "ideas": no yearning for things not of her station. She was contented with the world as it had been made for her and seemed duly proud and grateful to have been born a Kingsnorth.
She was an excellent musician: rode fairly to hounds: bestowed prizes at the local charities with grace and distinction—as became a Kingsnorth—and looked coldly out at the world from behind the impenetrable barriers of an old name.
When she married Frederick Chichester, the rising barrister, connected with six county families, it was a proud day for old Kingsnorth.
His family had originally made their money in trade. The Chichesters had accumulated a fortune by professions. The distinction in England is marked.
One hesitates to acknowledge the salutation of the man who provides one with the necessities of life: a hearty handshake is occasionally extended to those who minister to one's luxuries.
In England the law is one of the most expensive of luxuries and its devotees command the highest regard.
Frederick Chichester came of a long line of illustrious lawyers—one had even reached the distinction of being made a judge. He belonged to an honourable profession.
Chichesters had made the laws of the country in the House of Commons as well as administered them in the Courts.
The old man was overjoyed.
He made a handsome settlement on his eldest daughter on her marriage and felt he had done well by her, even as she had by him.
His son and elder daughter were distinctly a credit to him.
Five years after Monica's birth Angela unexpectedly was born to the Kingsnorths.
A delicate, sickly infant, it seemed as if the splendid blood of the family had expended its vigour on the elder children.
Angela needed constant attention to keep her alive. From tremulous infancy she grew into delicate youth. None of the strict standards Kingsnorth had used so effectually with his other children applied to her. She seemed a child apart.
Not needing her, Kingsnorth did not love her. He gave her a form of tolerant affection. Too fragile to mix with others, she was brought up at home. Tutors furnished her education. The winters she passed abroad with her mother. When her mother died she spent them with relations or friends. The grim dampness of the English climate was too rigorous for a life that needed sunshine.
Angela had nothing in common with either her brother or her sister. She avoided them and they her. They did not understand her: she understood them only too well!
A nature that craved for sympathy and affection—as the frail so often do—was repulsed by those to whom affection was but a form, and sympathy a term of reproach.
She loved all that was beautiful, and, as so frequently happens in such natures as Angela's, she had an overwhelming pity for all that were unhappy. To her God made the world beautiful: man was responsible for its hideousness. From her heart she pitied mankind for abusing the gifts God had showered on them.
It was on her first home-coming since her mother's death that her attention was really drawn to her father's Irish possessions.
By a curious coincidence she returned home the clay following Wilberforce Kingsnorth's electrical speech, invoking Providence to interpose in the settlement of the Irish difficulty. It was the one topic of conversation throughout dinner. And it was during that dinner that Angela for the first time really angered her father and raised a barrier between them that lasted until the day of his death.
The old man had laughed coarsely at the remembrance of his speech on the previous night, and licked his lips at the thought of it.
Monica, who was visiting her father for a few days smiled in agreeable sympathy.
Nathaniel nodded cheerfully.
From her father's side Angela asked quietly:
"Have you ever been in Ireland, father?"
"No, I have not," answered the old man sharply: "And, what is more, I never intend to go there."
"Do you know anything about, the Irish?" persisted Angela.
"Do I? More than the English government does. Don't I own land there?"
"I mean do you know anything about the people?" insisted Angela.
"I know them to be a lot of thieving, rascally scoundrels, too lazy to work, and too dishonest to pay their way, even when they have the money."
"Is that all you know?"
"All!" He stopped eating to look angrily at his daughter. The cross-examination was not to his liking.
Angela went on
"Yes, father; is that all you know about the Irish?"
"Isn't it enough?" His voice rose shrilly. It was the first time for years anyone had dared use those two hated words "Ireland" and "Irish" at his table. Angela must be checked and at once.
Before he could begin to check her, however, Angela answered his question:
"It wouldn't be enough for me if I had the responsibilities and duties of a landlord. To be the owner of an estate should be to act as the people's friend, their father, their adviser in times of plenty and their comrade in times of sorrow."
"Indeed? And pray where did you learn all that, Miss?" asked the astonished parent.
Without noticing the interruption or the question, Angela went on:
"Why deny a country its own government when England is practically governed by its countrymen? Is there any position of prominence today in England that isn't filled by Irishmen? Think. Our Commander-in-Chief is Irish: our Lord High Admiral is Irish: there are the defences of the English in the hands of two Irishmen and yet you call them thieving and rascally scoundrels."
Kingsnorth tried to speak; Angela raised her voice:
"Turn to your judges—the Lord Chief is an Irishman. Look at the House of Commons. Our laws are passed or defeated by the Irish vote, and yet so blindly ignorant and obstinate is our insular prejudice that we refuse them the favours they do us—governing THEMSELVES as well as England."
Kingsnorth looked at his daughter aghast. Treason in his own house! His child speaking the two most hated of all words at his own dinner table and in laudatory terms. He could scarcely believe it. He looked at her a moment and then thundered:
"How dare you! How dare you!"
Angela smiled a little amusedly-tolerant smile as she looked frankly at her father and answered:
"This is exactly the old-fashioned tone we English take to anything we don't understand. And that is why other countries are leaving us in the race. There is a nation living within a few hours' journey from our doors, yet millions of English people are as ignorant of them as if they lived in Senegambia." She paused, looked once more straight into her father's eyes and said: "And you, father, seem to be as ignorant as the worst of them!"
"Angela!" cried her sister in horror.
Nathaniel laughed good-naturedly, leaned across to Angela and said:
"I see our little sister has been reading the sensational magazines. Yes?"
"I've done more than that," replied Angela. "In Nice a month ago were two English members of Parliament who had taken the trouble to visit the country they were supposed to assist in governing. They told me that a condition of misery existed throughout the whole of Ireland that was incredible under a civilised government."
"Radicals, eh?" snapped her father.
"No. Conservatives. One of them had once held the office of Chief Secretary for Ireland and was Ireland's most bitter persecutor, until he visited the country. When he saw the wretchedness of her people he stopped his stringent methods and began casting about for some ways of lessening the poor people's torment."
"The more shame to him to talk like that to a girl. And what's more you had no right to listen to him. A Conservative indeed! A fine one he must be!"
"He is. I don't see why the Liberal party should have all the enlightenment and the Conservative party all the bigotry."
"Don't anger your father," pleaded Monica.
"Why, little Angela has come back to us quite a revolutionary," said Nathaniel.
"Leave the table," shouted her father.
Without a word Angela got up quietly and left the room. Her manner was entirely unmoved. She had spoken from her inmost convictions. The fact that they were opposed to her father was immaterial. She loathed tyranny and his method of shutting the mouths of those who disagreed with him was particularly obnoxious to her. It was also most ineffectual with her. From childhood she had always spoken as she felt. No discipline checked her. Freedom of speech as well as freedom of thought were as natural and essential to her as breathing was.
From that time she saw but little of her father. When he died he left her to her brother's care. Kingsnorth made no absolute provision for her. She was to be dependent on Nathaniel. When the time came that she seemed to wish to marry, if her brother approved of the match, he should make a handsome settlement on her.
In response to her request Nathaniel allowed her to go with him to Ireland on his tour of inspection.
Mr. Chichester was actively engaged at the Old Bailey on an important criminal case, so Monica also joined them.
Everything Angela saw in Ireland appealed to her quick sympathy and gentle heart. It was just as she had thought and read and listened to. On every side she saw a kindly people borne down by the weight of poverty. Lives ruined by sickness and the lack of nourishment. A splendid race perishing through misgovernment and intolerant ignorance.
Angela went about amongst the people and made friends with them. They were chary at first of taking her to their hearts. She was of the hated Saxon race. What was she doing there, she, the sister of their, till now, absentee landlord? She soon won them over by her appealing voice and kindly interest.
All this Angela did in direct opposition to her brother's wishes and her sister's exhortations.
The morning of the meeting she had ridden some mile to visit a poor. family. Out of five three were in bed with low fever. She got a doctor for them, gave them money to buy necessities and, with a promise to return the next day, she rode away. When within some little distance of her brother's house she saw a steady, irregular stream of people climbing a great hill. She rode toward it, and, screened by a clump of trees, saw and heard the meeting.
When O'Connell first spoke his voice thrilled her. Gradually the excitement of the people under the mastery of his power, communicated itself to her. It pulsed in her blood, and throbbed in her brain. For the first time she realised what a marvellous force was the Call of the Patriot. To listen and watch a man risking life and liberty in the cause of his country. Her heart, and her mind and her soul went out to him.
When the soldiers marched on to the scene she was paralysed with fear. When the order to fire was gives she wanted to ride into their midst and cry out to them to stop. But she was unable to move hand or foot.
When the smoke had thinned and she saw the bodies lying motionless on the ground of men who a moment before had been full of life and strength: when was added to that the horror of the wounded crying out with pain, her first impulse was to fly from the sight of the carnage.
She mastered that moment of fear and plunged forward, calling to the groom to follow her.
What immediately followed has already been told.
The long, slow, tortuous journey home: the men slowly following with the ghastly mute-body on the rude litter, became a living memory to her for all the remainder of her life.
She glanced down every little while at the stone-white face and shuddered as she found herself wondering if eke would ever hear his voice again or see those great blue-grey eyes flash with his fierce courage and devotion.
Once only did the lips of the wounded man move. In a moment Angela had dismounted and halted the soldiers. As she bent down over him O'Connell swooned again from pain.
The procession went on.
As they neared her brother's house, stragglers began to follow curiously. Sad looking men and weary women joined the procession wonderingly. All guessed it was some fresh outrage of the soldiers.
Little, ragged, old-young children peered down at the body on the litter and either ran away crying or joined in listlessly with the others.
It was an old story carrying back mutilated men to the village. None was surprised. It seemed to Angela that an infinity of time had passed before they entered the grounds attached to the Kingsnorth house.
She sent a man on ahead to order a room to be prepared and a doctor sent for.
As she saw her brother coming forward to meet her with knit brows and stern eyes she nerved herself to greet him.
"What is this, Angela?" he asked, looking in amazement at the strange procession.
"Another martyr to our ignorant government, Nathaniel," and she pressed on through the drive to the house.
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