Lord Kilgobbin. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ passed into the little dark alcove, followed by Walpole, carrying any amount of guns and carbines under his arm.

      ‘These are loaded, I presume?’ said he.

      ‘All, and ready capped. The short carbine is charged with a sort of canister shot, and keep it for a short range – if they try to pass over the iron gate. Now mind me, and I will give you the directions I heard my father give on this spot once before. Don’t fire till they reach the foot of the stair.’

      ‘I cannot hear you,’ said he, for the din beneath, where they battered at the door, was now deafening.

      ‘They’ll be in in another moment – there, the lock has fallen off – the door has given way,’ whispered she; ‘be steady now, no hurry – steady and calm.’

      As she spoke, the heavy oak door fell to the ground, and a perfect silence succeeded to the late din. After an instant, muttering whispers could be heard, and it seemed as if they doubted how far it was safe to enter, for all was dark within. Something was said in a tone of command, and at the moment one of the party flung forward a bundle of lighted straw and tow, which fell at the foot of the stairs, and for a few seconds lit up the place with a red lurid gleam, showing the steep stair and the iron bars of the little gate that crossed it.

      ‘There’s the iron wicket they spoke of,’ cried one. ‘All right, come on!’ And the speaker led the way, cautiously, however, and slowly, the others after him.

      ‘No, not yet,’ whispered Kate, as she pressed her hand upon Walpole’s.

      ‘I hear voices up there,’ cried the leader from below. ‘We’ll make them leave that, anyhow.’ And he fired off his gun in the direction of the upper part of the stair; a quantity of plaster came clattering down as the ball struck the ceiling.

      ‘Now,’ said she. ‘Now, and fire low!’

      He discharged both barrels so rapidly that the two detonations blended into one, and the assailants replied by a volley, the echoing din almost sounding like artillery. Fast as Walpole could fire, the girl replaced the piece by another; when suddenly she cried, ‘There is a fellow at the gate – the carbine – the carbine now, and steady.’ A heavy crash and a cry followed his discharge, and snatching the weapon from him, she reloaded and handed it back with lightning speed. ‘There is another there,’ whispered she; and Walpole moved farther out, to take a steadier aim. All was still, not a sound to be heard for some seconds, when the hinges of the gate creaked and the bolt shook in the lock. Walpole fired again, but as he did so, the others poured in a rattling volley, one shot grazing his cheek, and another smashing both bones of his right arm, so that the carbine fell powerless from his hand. The intrepid girl sprang to his side at once, and then passing in front of him, she fired some shots from a revolver in quick succession. A low, confused sound of feet and a scuffling noise followed, when a rough, hoarse voice cried out, ‘Stop firing; we are wounded, and going away.’

      ‘Are you badly hurt?’ whispered Kate to Walpole.

      ‘Nothing serious: be still and listen!’

      ‘There, the carbine is ready again. Oh, you cannot hold it – leave it to me,’ said she.

      From the difficulty of removal, it seemed as though one of the party beneath was either killed or badly wounded, for it was several minutes before they could gain the outer door.

      ‘Are they really retiring?’ whispered Walpole.

      ‘Yes; they seem to have suffered heavily.’

      ‘Would you not give them one shot at parting – that carbine is charged?’ asked he anxiously.

      ‘Not for worlds,’ said she; ‘savage as they are, it would be ruin to break faith with them.’

      ‘Give me a pistol, my left hand is all right.’ Though he tried to speak with calmness, the agony of pain he was suffering so overcame him that he leaned his head down, and rested it on her shoulder.

      ‘My poor, poor fellow,’ said she tenderly, ‘I would not for the world that this had happened.’

      ‘They’re gone, Miss Kate, they’ve passed out at the big gate, and they’re off,’ whispered old Mathew, as he stood trembling behind her.

      ‘Here, call some one, and help this gentleman up the stairs, and get a mattress down on the floor at once; send off a messenger, Sally, for Doctor Tobin. He can take the car that came this evening, and let him make what haste he can.’

      ‘Is he wounded?’ said Nina, as they laid him down on the floor. Walpole tried to smile and say something, but no sound came forth.

      ‘My own dear, dear Cecil,’ whispered Nina, as she knelt and kissed his hand, ‘tell me it is not dangerous.’ He had fainted.

      CHAPTER XI

WHAT THE PAPERS SAID OF IT

      The wounded man had just fallen into a first sleep after his disaster, when the press of the capital was already proclaiming throughout the land the attack and search for arms at Kilgobbin Castle. In the National papers a very few lines were devoted to the event; indeed, their tone was one of party sneer at the importance given by their contemporaries to a very ordinary incident. ‘Is there,’ asked the Convicted Felon, ‘anything very strange or new in the fact that Irishmen have determined to be armed? Is English legislation in this country so marked by justice, clemency, and generosity that the people of Ireland prefer to submit their lives and fortunes to its sway, to trusting what brave men alone trust in – their fearlessness and their daring? What is there, then, so remarkable in the repairing to Mr. Kearney’s house for a loan of those weapons of which his family for several generations have forgotten the use?’ In the Government journals the story of the attack was headed, ‘Attack on Kilgobbin Castle. Heroic resistance by a young lady’; in which Kate Kearney’s conduct was described in colours of extravagant eulogy. She was alternately Joan of Arc and the Maid of Saragossa, and it was gravely discussed whether any and what honours of the Crown were at Her Majesty’s disposal to reward such brilliant heroism. In another print of the same stamp the narrative began: ‘The disastrous condition of our country is never displayed in darker colours than when the totally unprovoked character of some outrage has to be recorded by the press. It is our melancholy task to present such a case as this to our readers to-day. If it was our wish to exhibit to a stranger the picture of an Irish estate in which all the blessings of good management, intelligence, kindliness, and Christian charity were displayed; to show him a property where the wellbeing of landlord and tenant were inextricably united, where the condition of the people, their dress, their homes, their food, and their daily comforts, could stand comparison with the most favoured English county, we should point to the Kearney estate of Kilgobbin; and yet it is here, in the very house where his ancestors have resided for generations, that a most savage and dastardly attack is made; and if we feel a sense of shame in recording the outrage, we are recompensed by the proud elation with which we can recount the repulse – the noble and gallant achievement of an Irish girl. History has the record of more momentous feats, but we doubt that there is one in the annals of any land in which a higher heroism was displayed than in this splendid defence by Miss Kearney.’ Then followed the story; not one of the papers having any knowledge of Walpole’s presence on the occasion, or the slightest suspicion that she was aided in any way.

      Joe Atlee was busily engaged in conning over and comparing these somewhat contradictory reports, as he sat at his breakfast, his chum Kearney being still in bed and asleep after a late night at a ball. At last there came a telegraphic despatch for Kearney; armed with which, Joe entered the bedroom and woke him.

      ‘Here’s something СКАЧАТЬ