own? hasn't he rinted the land to himself? Its' no use palaverin' here any more; the divil himself wouldn't make him change his mind; and I tould ye that, boys, afore we come!" “So you did, Larry avic," said one of the peasants, soothingly. "But stop, asy a while. Here's Terence Carroll, as quiet a man as ever broke bread. Let him thry what he can do. Terence ahagur, spake up like a man! Spake for the women and the childher, God help them, the crathurs! going to be turned out upon the wide world widout a roof to shelther them!" "Misther Crofton, sir," began Terence, imploringly, "listen to us poor men wid the same pity Lord Arranmore himself used to do when he was to the fore-" "I'll hear no more of this!" interrupted the agent, imperiously. "All you could say till to-morrow morning wouldn't alter my intention of ejecting the whole pack of you from Glenmore!" This announcement was met by a wild cry of grief and indignation. May it never do you good—may the curse of those you make homeless cling to you for ever and ever, I pray God!" was the fervid ejaculation of the passionate men as they glared upon the agent with savage hate. "Papa, dear, is there no other place where you could build the mills?" asked Isabel, frightened by the fierce gestures and malignant countenances of the men, and sympathizing with them in their trouble. "Yes, there is, miss!" eagerly answered Terence Carroll, "a purty little dale wid a brook running through it, where no body lives. Sorra one to be upset by building them mills at all." "The water there is too shallow!" broke in Mr. Crofton, hastily. "Isabel, you must not interfere with things you do not understand," and his eye rested for the first time with an angry expression upon his daughter. "Dear papa, forgive me, but it does seem so hard to turn these people from their homes," she pleaded, with a wistful look, her bright eyes filling with tears. "Oh, it's nothing! such things must happen--the poor are used to such trials," he replied, carelessly. Then seeing the men still lingered-their hopes aroused by the young lady's interference on their behalf he added, with an air of haughty command: "Be off with you at once! You have got my answer, that must satisfy you!" 66 Satisfy them!" repeated Isabel, moodily. "Nothing will satisfy them but some act of revenge," and she shuddered as she watched the gleam of fury in the defiant look they gave Mr. Crofton before they turned away and walked down the little avenue, gesticulating violently as they talked among themselves. "Papa, was it wise to excite their hatred thus? Are you not afraid they will do you some harm?" Mr. Crofton laughed scornfully. "They dare not!" was his confident answer. "Dare not!" reiterated Isabel, somewhat derisively. "Such people dare do anything to gratify their revenge. Oh, papa, I shall not have an easy moment for the future since you have drawn upon yourself the bitter enmity of those men." "Nonsense, Isabel! It is not the first time I have served ejectments on the Arranmore tenantry. Would the estate be so flourishing to-day if I had yielded to the whims of the tenants and not considered the proprietor's interests?” "But this affair of the mills is your own concern," observed Isabel, boldly. She judged her father harshly, feeling that he was acting a selfish part. "Well, and if it is," he answered hotly; must I forego my own advantage and listen only to the pathetic appeals of these fellows ?" "It would be the wisest plan, papa; they threatened you and their threats mean something." "I tell you again I have nothing to fear," he answered impatiently. "I know what I am about, and must warn you, Isabel, against mixing yourself up in these affairs; I will brook no interference on your part-" “But, dear papa, it is my strong fears for your safety that induce me to say a word in the matter. I know well what lawless acts have been committed by ejected tenants. Have I not reason to be afraid?" "I tell you, no!- they will bluster and threaten, but dare not act. Curse them for a cowardly, cringing, deceitful set!" and Mr. Crofton, having vented his passion in these complimentary words, stalked away to the stables, with the intention of taking his accustomed evening ride, leaving his daughter meditating painfully on what had occurred. the magnificent scenery below, varied by hill and dale, mountain, glen, and lake. She looked very lovely as she sat there, all aglow in the brilliant sunlight, the golden rays glinting on her wavy hair, the colour on her rounded cheeks deepened by her late excitement, and so thinks that handsome pedestrian, who, emerging from a mountain gorge, is now rapidly making his way up the elm-walk leading to the house. The lithe, manly figure soon caught the eye of Isabel Crofton, and the vivid blush of pleasure crimsoned her face. "How becoming that clerical costume is!" she thought, as she watched his approach, "and how glad I am to see him! Just the one to confide this trouble to about papa." This was not the first visit the Rev. Maxwell Butler had made to Elm Lodge since the arrival of Isabel Crofton. The impression she had made upon him at Barrington House had been deepened by every suc This display of her father's real character pained her deeply. His indifference to the well-being of others, his want of consideration for their feelings, his selfish regard for his own interest, his passionate temper-ceeding interview, as he got a deeper insight flashed a startling revelation on the daughter's mind, making her feel how insecure were the hopes of happiness she had so fondly cherished. Of her father she had seen little since her childhood. After her mother's death she had been consigned to the care of an aunt who lived near Dublin, and the last six years had been spent at a fashionable boarding-school. Mr. Crofton, during his occasional visits to see his daughter, had taken care only to exhibit the bright side of his character. The late outburst of ill-temper had taken her by surprise, shewn her what she had in future to expect, and cast a shadow across her young life. Her fears for her father's safety, too, filled her mind, and, in spite of his assertion that he had nothing to dread, she gave way to the gloomiest forebodings. Whilst Isabel was lost in this painful reverie, the sun had descended in the western sky, and was now resting his crimson disk upon the glittering quartz peak of Muilrea-the highest mountain in Connaught-as if taking a view of into the generous and noble nature of the girl whose grace and beauty had first attracted him. Very often about this time he had been in the habit of coming to spend an hour at the Lodge before returning home from his round of parochial visits. It was now some weeks since his acquaintance with Isabel commenced. No words of love had yet passed his lips, but the language of the eye, though mute, is eloquent, and Isabel learned to know the cause of his frequent visits, and to look forward to them with eager anticipation. As Mr. Crofton was usually absent at this time enjoying his daily ride, he seldom met the clergyman at his house, but he was aware of his attentions to his daughter and did not discourage them, and his absence was never regretted by the young people, who could enjoy their pleasant tête-à-tête and talk sentiment, unrestrained by his presence. On this evening, however, their conversation was on a graver subject. "I am so glad you have come. I wanted so much to tell you something that has just happened," Isabel said in her impulsive way, looking up into his face with an expression of grave anxiety clouding her brow. Max took the white, shapely hand she offered him, and tenderly clasped it in both his, then relinquishing it reluctantly, he seated himself on the marble door-step beside her, and eagerly inquired what she had to communicate. "Oh, something dreadful!" she answered piteously. "I never felt so frightened in my life." "What has occurred to disturb you?" Max inquired in tones of tenderest sympathy. "Papa is going to evict some of the Arranmore tenantry, and they have uttered threats of vengeance." His face clouded as he listened, and Isabel saw he shared her alarm, still he spoke encouragingly. "You must not fancy the worst. What does Mr. Crofton think about it?" he asked. "Oh! he only laughs at my fears; says the fellows dare not carry out their threats, but I think differently; and so would you, if you saw them glare on him with such bitter hate. I shudder when I think of it. You know what lawless acts have been committed in a case like this." "Who are the men? Where do they live?" "In Glenmore. One of them is called Larry Flannagan, a desperate-looking man he is, who seems capable of committing any outrage. Papa is mad to arouse the enmity of such a fellow," observed Isabel gloomily. "Why does he evict these men ? Are they in arrears of rent ?" der how he can be so hard-hearted!" exclaimed Isabel, in tones half sorrowful, halfindignant. "It is hard on the poor men to be evicted from their homes for no fault of theirs, but we must hope they will not be induced to commit any outrage on that account. Some of them belong to my flock; I will see them and preach patience and submission under these trying circumstances." "But isn't it very cruel of papa to act so? You cannot think how it grieves me,” and Isabel's eyes filled with tears. "He will be sorry for it some day when they burn the house over our heads," she added, with a choking sob. They will do nothing of the kind," said Max, cheeringly. "You must not give way to such gloomy apprehensions. Put away these thoughts from you, and do not allow your mind to dwell on this painful subject.” But although he spoke encouragingly he felt there was just cause to dread some terrible act of revenge if Mr. Crofton persevered in his intentions of rendering the tenants of Glenmore homeless to enrich himself, and he returned home that evening thoughtful and depressed, having, however, in some measure, quieted the fears of Isabel Crofton. TH CHAPTER XI. NEW CHARACTERS. HE coast of Connemara is indented with picturesque inlets from the Atlantic, which add to the wild grandeur of the scenery. About a mile from Elm Lodge, near one of these inlets, in a secluded hollow, stood a fisherman's cabin. At the door "Oh no! but he wants their land to erect of this humble dwelling, about a fortnight mills on, which, he says, will vastly increase after the stormy interview between Mr. his income." Crofton and the tenants of Glenmore, a "Then it is to benefit himself he does pretty peasant girl might be seen one eventhis ?" ing as the glorious sun was again sinking "Yes; isn't it cruel and unjust? I won- behind Muilrea, steeping its gigantic peaks. in crimson and golden light. She was busily employed mending nets for her brother, the young fisherman, for whose return she now watched impatiently, throwing her eyes frequently along the road leading to Carraghmore, whither he had gone in the morning to sell fish. "What can be keeping Dermot so long, grandmother?" she asked, addressing an old woman who sat knitting inside the cabin door. "It's more nor I can tell, Rose; but no doubt he'll soon be here." However, sunset faded from the mountain peaks and twilight shadows were gathering in the glens and vales before Rose Kavanagh descried her brother's stalwart figure coming along the road. Just at this moment a column of red light shot up into the darkening sky. "Holy Biddy! what blaze is that?" exclaimed the old woman, as she came eagerly forward to watch the bright glare. "Faith, I dunno but it's likely Dermot will be able to tell us," was her granddaughter's reply. A few minutes elapsed and then Dermot came rapidly up the boreen or by-path leading to the cabin from the public road. his own heart. And it's all to better himself he done it," Dermot continued passionately; "to make himself rich at the expinse of others. Sure it isn't for the benefit of the landlord he's doing it at all." "How will Misther Crofton be the betther for it?" inquired Rose. "Bekase he is going to build mills and make a facthory in the place; but let him take care, he'll find his match among thim he grinds so hard!" and an angry light flashed over Dermot's sunburnt face. "They have vowed vingeance agin him?" said the old woman, interrogatively. "Aye, have they! he'll get what he doesn't bargain for afore his death" and Dermot laughed unpleasantly. The ring of that laugh grated on the ear of his grandmother. "I hope you'll have no part in their revinge, Dermot," she said with grave rebuke. "I'm afear'd you mix yourself up too often with such things. "Ach, granny! what makes ye think that?" he answered evasively. "What have I to do in this business at all? only that it rouses the sperit of a man to see his friends thrated so." "Why did they wait till night to set the "Do you see the fire beyant there?" he cabins on fire? was it to make a brighter asked with angry excitement. bonfire," asked Rose, with a sarcastic "Sure we're not blind," responded Rose, smile. curtly. "The agint and his bailiff couldn't get "Where is it, ahagur?" inquired the old the crathurs to lave the cabins all day, till woman. at last the peelers come, and then they had to march quick enough, I tell ye ! Bad luck to the whole set of them!" Dermot added stamping his foot in fury. "Where would it be, but in Glenmore," was the vehement reply. "It's the cabins in the vale set on fire by the peelers, afther the misfortunate crathurs was forced to quit," Dermot added, a gleam of fierce indignation in his dark blue eye. "And that's what kept you so long, I after a moment's thought, "Celia Carroll's suppose?" "What else? and the heart-breaking sight it was to see the dacent people dhruv from their own door! and that villyn of an agent standin' by wid a face as stony as "Why, where's the harm it done you that you take on so?" asked Rose in surprise. "Oh! now I undherstand," she added, father is one of the men turned out of their little homes in Glenmore-poor Celia! and the mother so sickly herself! and the childher just out of the faver! Where will they get a roof to shelther them? Why didn't ye bring some of them along wid ye, "She is so mighty purty, too, and kindDermot ?" hearted. I saw her yestherday, when I went to the Lodge to sell crabs. It's the good price she gave me, never haggling about it as her father does, rich as he is.” "Well, the weather isn't cowld anyhow," remarked the grandmother, "and they'll have to find a home somewhere else. But sure it's hard to have to quit the one they have lived in so long, and their fathers afore them; but what help is there for it? They'll have to bear it patient like every other throuble." "They'll not bear it patient," said Dermot, fiercely. "They'll have their revinge some day, and why not?" he added, with a defiant look at the old woman. "Is that what the priest taches you from the althar every Sunday?" she asked reproachfully. "Doesn't he tell ye to submit yerselves to the law, and to live like quiet, dacent people." "That's what the priest and the parson both prache, sure enough; but for all that there's some among us will take their own coorse, and revinge their wrongs by their sthrong right arm." Dermot spoke with subdued vehemence, but there was an evil gleam in his eye as it boldly met his grandmother's. "She is like her own mother for that," interrupted granny eagerly. "It's Mrs. Crofton was the good frind to the poor, and its many a blessing followed her to the grave. And a hard life she had herself wid that husband of hers! All the good she done was by stealth, bekase of him not caring to help any one. Och, he is the hard man, no doubt! But come in and ate your supper, Dermot, dear, it's the long fast ye had, and it's waiting for ye this long while." Are you going out to-night, Dermot, bekase the nets is all mended and the wind is fair?" asked Rose as they entered the cabin." 66 "Yes, I'm thinking of it, I got a good price for the fish to-day at Carraghmore, and can sell as much more to-morrow, for the town is full of people come to the election. There is quality from Dublin, too, at Barrington House. There is going to be a grand ball there, they say, and grand doings "You'll come to no good ind, I'm afeard," while they remain. The young heiress will she said sorrowfully. be getting married one of these days. "Ach, granny, don't say that!" broke from Rose, half indignantly. "Dermot doesn't mane to do any thing wrong; but sure he can't help feeling for them that's in such disthress this blessed night, and Celia Carroll herself among them." "If Lord Arranmore was to the fore this would never have happened, for a betther landlord couldn't be found than his own father," observed the old woman. "To her cousin, Sir Gerard?" observed Rose, interrogatively. "No, he'll marry Parson Butler's cousin, I am thinking, if all I hear is thrue. She is mighty purty intirely, no doubt." "She'll be a happy girl to get him," observed Rose; "but what'll Miss Barrington say to that. People thought he'd marry her, you know. "Well, and if he chooses to change his "Yes, but the young lord isn't like him, mind he has a right to plaze himself," was granny, he is a great one for spinding Dermot's cool rejoinder, as he seated himmoney in every counthry but his own, never self at the humble board where his supper caring where it comes from so he gets it, was laid out, doing full justice to it, as his and laving his poor tenanthry to be thram-long fast had sharpened his appetite. pled upon by an agint that has a heart as hard as Ould Nick himself. It's a pitty he has such a nice daughter," remarked Rose.. |