Three days afterwards O'Connell was able to dress and move about his room. He was weak from loss of blood and the confinement that an active man resents. But his brain was clear and vivid. They had been three wonderful days.
Angela had made them the most amazing in his life. The memory of those hours spent with her he would carry to his grave.
She read to him and talked to him and lectured him and comforted him. There were times when he thanked the Power that shapes our ends for having given him this one supreme experience. The cadences of her voice would haunt him through the years to come.
And in a little while he must leave it all. He must stand his trial under the "Crimes Act" for speaking at a "Proclaimed" meeting.
Well, whatever his torture he knew he would come out better equipped for the struggle. He had learned something of himself he had so far never dreamed of in his bitter struggle with the handicap of his life. He had something to live for now besides the call of his country—the call of the HEART—the cry of beauty and truth and reverence.
Angela inspired him with all these. In the three days she ministered to him she had opened up a vista he had hitherto never known. And now he had to leave it and face his accusers, and be hectored and jeered at in the mockery they called "trials." From the Court-House he would go to the prison and from thence he would be sent back into the world with the brand of the prison-cell upon him. As the thought of all this passed through his mind, he never wavered. He would face it as he had faced trouble all his life, with body knit for the struggle, and his heart strong for the battle.
And back of it all the yearning that at the end she would be waiting and watching for his return to the conflict for the great "Cause" to which he had dedicated his life.
On the morning of the third day Mr. Roche, the resident magistrate, was sent for by Nathaniel Kingsnorth. Mr. Roche found him firm and determined, his back to the fireplace, in which a bright fire was burning, although the month was July.
"Even the climate of Ireland rebels against the usual laws of nature!" thought Kingsnorth, as he shivered and glanced at the steady, drenching downpour that had lasted, practically, ever since he had set foot in the wretched country.
The magistrate came forward and greeted him respectfully.
"Good morning, Mr. Roche," said Nathaniel, motioning him to sit down by the fire.
"I've sent for you to remove this man O'Connell," added Nathaniel, after a pause.
"Certainly—if he is well enough to be moved."
"The doctor, I understand, says that he is."
"Very well. I'll drive him down to the Court-House. The Court is sitting now," said Roche, rising.
Kingsnorth stopped him with a gesture.
"I want you to understand it was against my express wishes that he was ever brought into this house."
"Miss Kingsnorth told me, when I had arrested him, that you would shelter him and go bail for him, if necessary," said Roche, in some surprise.
"My sister does things under impulse that she often regrets afterwards. This is one. I hope there is no, harm done?"
"None in the world," replied the magistrate. "On the contrary, the people seem to have a much higher opinion of you, Mr. Kingsnorth, since the occurrence," he added.
"Their opinion—good or bad—is a matter of complete indifference to me. I am only anxious that the representatives of the government do not suppose that, because, through mistaken ideas of charity, my sister brought this man to my house, I in any way sanction his attitude and his views!"
"I should not fear that, Mr. Kingsnorth. You have always been regarded as a most loyal subject, sir," answered Roche.
"I am glad. What sentence is he likely to get?"
"It depends largely on his previous record."
"Will it be settled to-day?"
"If the jury bring in a verdict. Sometimes they are out all night on these cases."
"A jury! Good God! A jury of Irishmen to try, an Irishman?"
"They're being trained gradually, sir."
"It should never be left to them in a country like this A judge should have the power of condemning such bare-faced criminals, without trial."
"He'll be condemned," said Roche confidently.
"What jury will convict him if they all sympathise with him? Answer me that?"
"That was one difficulty we had to face at first," Roche answered. "It was hard, indeed, as you say, to get an Irishman convicted by an Irish jury—especially the agitators. But we've changed that. We've made them see that loyalty to the Throne is better than loyalty to a Fenian."
"How have they done it?"
"A little persuasion and some slight coercion, sir."
"I am glad of it. It would be a crime against justice for a man who openly breaks the law not to be punished through being tried before a jury of sympathisers."
"Few of them escape, Mr. Kingsnorth. Dublin Castle found the way. One has to meet craft with craft and opposition with firmness. Under the present government we've succeeded wonderfully." Roche smiled pleasantly as he thought of the many convictions he had been instrumental in procuring himself.
Kingsnorth seemed delighted also.
"Good," he said. "The condition of things here is a disgrace—mind you, I'm not criticising the actions of the officials," he hastened to add.
The magistrate bowed.
Kingsnorth went on:
"But the attitude of the people, their views, their conduct, is deplorable—opeless. I came here to see what I could do for them. I even thought of spending a certain portion of each year here. But from what I've heard it would be a waste of time and money."
"It is discouraging, at first sight, but we'll have a better state of affairs presently. We must first stamp out the agitator. He is the most potent handicap. Next are the priests. They are nearest to the people. The real solution of the Irish difficulty would be to make the whole nation Protestants."
"Could it be done?"
"It would take time—every big movement takes time." Roche paused, looked shrewdly, at Kingsnorth and asked him:
"What do you intend doing with this estate?"
"I am in a quandary. I'm almost determined to put it in the market. Sell it. Be rid of it. It has always been a source of annoyance to our family. However, I'll settle nothing until I return to London. I'll go in a few days—much sooner than I intended. This man being brought into my house has annoyed and upset me."
"I'm sorry," said the magistrate. "Miss Kingsnorth was so insistent and the fellow seemed in a bad way, otherwise I would never have allowed it."
A servant came in response to Kingsnorth's ring and was sent with a message to have the man O'Connell ready to accompany the magistrate as quickly as possible. Over a glass of sherry and a cigar the two men resumed their discussion.
"I wouldn't decide too hastily about disposing of the land. Although there's always a good deal of discontent there is really very little trouble here. In fact, until agitators like O'Connell came amongst us we had everything pretty peaceful. We'll dispose of him in short order."
"Do. Do. Make an example of him."
"Trust us to do that," said Roche. After a moment he added: "To refer again to selling the estate you would get very little for it. It can't depreciate much more, and there is always the chance it may improve. Some of the people are quite willing to work—"
"ARE they? They've not shown any willingness to me."
"Oh, no. They wouldn't."
"What? Not to their landlord?"
"You'd be the LAST they'd show it to. They're strange people in many ways until you get to know them. Now there are many natural resources that might be developed if some capital were put into them."
"My new steward discouraged me about doing that. He said it might be ten years before I got a penny out."
"Your NEW steward?"
"Andrew McPherson."
"The lawyer?"
"Yes"
"He's a hard man, sir."
"The estate needs one."
"Burke understands the people."
"He sympathises with them. I don't want a man like that working for me. I want loyalty to my interests The makeshift policy of Burke during my father's lifetime helped to bring about this pretty state of things. We'll see what firmness will do. New broom. Sweep the place clean. Rid it of slovenly, ungrateful tenants. Clear away the tap-room orators. I have a definite plan in my mind. If I decide NOT to sell I'll perfect my plan in London and begin operations as soon as I'm satisfied it is feasible and can be put upon a proper business basis. There's too much sentiment in Ireland. That's been their ruin. I am going to bring a little common sense into play." Kingsnorth walked restlessly around the room as he spoke. He stopped by the windows and beckoned the magistrate.
"There's your man on the drive. See?" and he pointed to where O'Connell, with a soldier each side of him, was slowly moving down the long avenue.
The door of the room opened and Angela came in hurriedly and went straight to where the two men stood. There was the catch of a sob in her voice as she spoke to the magistrate.
"Are you taking that poor wounded man to prison?"
"The doctor says he is well enough to be moved," replied Roche.
"You've not seen the doctor. I've just questioned him. He told me you had not asked his opinion and that if you move him it will be without his sanction."
Kingsnorth interrupted angrily: "Please don't interfere."
Angela turned on him: "So, it's YOU who are sending him to prison?"
"I am."
Angela appealed to the magistrate.
"Don't do this, I entreat you—don't do it."
"But I have no choice, Miss Kingsnorth."
"The man can scarcely walk," she pleaded.
"He will receive every attention, believe me, Miss Kingsnorth," Roche replied.
Angela faced her brother again.
"If you let that wounded man go from this house to-day you will regret it to the end of your life." Her face was dead-white; her breath was coming thickly; her eyes were fastened in hatred on her brother's face.
"Kindly try and control yourself, Angela," Kingsnorth said sternly. "You should consider my position a little more—"
"YOUR position? And what is HIS? You with EVERYTHING you want in life—that man with NOTHING. He is being hounded to prison for what? Pleading for his country! Is that a crime? He was shot down by soldiers—for what? For showing something we English are always boasting of feeling OURSELVES and resent any other nation feeling it—patriotism!"
"Stop!" commanded Kingsnorth.
"If you take that sick, wretched man out of this house it will be a crime—" began Angela.
Kingsnorth stopped her; he turned to the magistrate: "Kindly take the man away."
Roche moved to the window.
Angela's heart sank. All her pleading was in vain. Her voice faltered and broke:
"Very well. Then take him. Sentence him for doing something his own countrymen will one day build a monument to him for doing. The moment the prison-door closes behind him a thousand voices will cry 'Shame' on you and your government, and a thousand new patriots will be enrolled. And when he comes out from his torture he'll carry on the work of hatred and vengeance against his tyrants. He will fight you to the last ditch. You may torture his BODY, but you cannot break his HEART or wither his spirit. They're beyond you. They're—they're—," she stopped suddenly, as her voice rose to the breaking-point, and left the room.
The magistrate went down the drive. In a few moments O'Connell was on his way to the Court-House, a closely guarded prisoner.
Angela, from her window, watched the men disappear. She buried her face in her hands and moaned as she had not done since her mother left her just a few years before. The girlhood in her was dead. She was a woman. The one great note had come to her, transforming her whole nature—love.
And the man she loved was being carried away to the misery and degradation of a convict.
Gradually the moans died away. The convulsive heaving of her breast subsided. A little later, when her sister Monica came in search of her, she found Angela in a dead faint.
By night she was in a fever.
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