A SIXTEENTH CENTURY HEROINE

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 3, 17 January 1907, Page 3

A SIXTEENTH CENTURY HEROINE

It was an old escritoire,- black with age, the four corners brass-tipped,- and the top transparent "with many polishings/lt had spidery legs arid feet that sprawled amid the oases of \the time-worn carpet like some grotesque insect. When it- was opened,- a 'delicious odQr oE pot-pourri tilled tha roQin; and also revealefd numberless little drawers with *mother-o!-pearl knobs that were reflected in the blackness~oi the wooti like so many miniature ghosts. ■~ " The house to which- this treasure belonged betfe a certain resemblance to the' escritoire, inasmuch as it prese.ved the same -dignihed- front to the inroads of :time. It "was old and gray, but its walls were stout, and had stood many a blockade wlieh the bullets whistled round, it like hail, and the clang of arms resounded as Irish pike crossed English steel in fierce encounter.- .And, as if -to . hide its wound®, a glory of ivy -clothed it in a robe of russet brown, wherein the birds nestled and - sang, and a 'broad- green meadow fronted it, sloping down to the river, and in. the meadow there was a^ faftry ring where the little folks came . out o' nights in the moonlight and danced a fairy measure -to the sound of weird music. To the lonely child lying amid . the" long- , grasses at the river brink, - the old bouse was a • veritable palace of dreams. - Sometimes the sun kissed it, and the diamond-paned windows flamed with lights which were reflected "in the river, and 1 to the watcher came visions of ladies in farthingales, and , braveJ.'fcnigpjs in armor and battles fought and won, until fier little brain, tired with thinking, would wander from her' enchanted garden. into the dream-land of sleep. It*, was in this ancient house _ that I, Kit-line, daughter of- the O'More, one of the gallant eleven who held 'the bridge at Athlone, "first saw the light. After that desperate fight we fled to France. My mother had the spirit of a hero, and rejoiced rather ihan grieyed- that'^my father had died in such a'glorious cause.,' " -.-■.- " ,;. ' _ After the*. signing of the Treaty of Limerick wereturned to ' the old home, where we MiY-ed in the strictest retirement. In those" days my education would have- been sadly neglected had it not been for my mother.- and Peggie; our ancient serving-woman, for the Penal Laws were still in force, though ' not so severe, and unless one conformed to -the so-called -, established religion 't was next to impossible to acquire an education. Peggie ' jabbered^to me. in French, having learned the language during, our sojourn at St. " Cloud. I called her ma bonne ; indeed, with her" huge white crimped cap, underneath which her face shone ' like a rosy pippin, she looked/ not unlike a French nurse. What was more useful,- she taught me the mystery- of pot-hooks. Many an hour I spent at the old escritoire trying to form letters, my fingers smudged with ink, a quill pen in mjr hand, and my forehead puckered with the effort, Peggie standing over me in despair. From mother I learned the harpsichord, and 'how. to dance a minuet. I could flirt my fan and twist my small person in ludicrous imitation of the court beauties, much to the delight of 'Peggie, who' never tired watching, me. Mother also taught me to embroider. I soon became proficient in the art, and my first attempt was an. emerald green silken banner, on which shamrocks and the Fleur de Lis of France were entwined. To Peggie, in a great secret, I confided , that I- in-tended sending it to Sarsfield, who. was in France fighting the enemies of ■ Ireland. -Next to my father he was my: greatest, hero. These accomplishments 1, greatly liked, but abhorred my pot-hook lesson. To escape it, I -would quietly hie " me to the river where my curragh was always at hand, and. my wolf-hound Finn lay basking in the slin awaiting my ~ appearance.: With Finn 'seated at - its prow 1 would row -to my favorite haunts. . Ah! those were the golden .hours as We glided past the emerald-" tinted . banks with round towers and castles standing like", gray— sentinels, ...past the fields 'of r yellow corn waving in the breeze, past the wood of young larches where the- sun filtered through in. a fairy network of light,, past the great black thicket where the ogre lurked waiting to devour " "perverse young maids who would not hearken to their mother's advice. I always trembjed when I passed that wood, knowing well that I came under that category. Finn would glance at me with a look almost humaß- in his soft

brown eyes, and growl ominously. - He, too, understood. Of late those . excursions were forbidden, , for the . troopers were about, and it was not seemly that a -daughter of " the ,O'More be out alone. Our household was small, and Peggie could ill be spared to ac- x company me. One day we were seated at the great south win- ■ dow which overlooked the river. Peggie was teaching me my sampler stitch, and mother was sitting at the harpsichord playing her favorite air, •' The Coulin,' Her face looked^ sad, and as. the plaintive melody floated through the room she ' broke down utterly and wept. . In a second 1 'had my arms around her and was trying in my childish ways to soothe her. ' Eithne,, child, I had bad news this .morning. Your Uncle John is on his way from Spain and may arrive when we least expect/ •Ma mere,' I cried, ~4~ 4 but that is good news !' I clapped my hands delightedly. _ „ Peggie looked grim. Was it possible that hrcr lip" was quivering and that there was—a suspicious moisture in her eyes. 1 stared from one to the other, not understanding,. Uncle John was' my favorite ■ relative. He was a Jesuit, and had spent half of his life abroad. It was a red letter time when he visited us in Paris. He had promised 'to come' to Irelan. to prepare me for my first Communion* Now, instead of my mother and Peggie being overpowered with' joy, it was as though a bombshell had- dropped in our midst. 1 Eithne, darling,' said my mother,^ ' Uncle John would be in great danger were he to visit us now. I am only afraid that 'he \i«ill be arrested on his way to Limeiick. He surely 'does not know that' he 'is, rushing into the lion's mouth.' Then she explained to me that with the coming of Anne to the throne, the Penal Laws were again in full force, that it were treason to harbor v a priest, and if the priest were caught it meant death "or transportation. . , . It -was now my turn to cry, and I sobbed as if my heart would break. It. was my first glimpse ot ~ sorrow, for, shielded by mother and Peggie, my life had been all sunshine, and I knew naught of . the storm of persecution which was even, then breaking . over the land. - ' All that day we suffered agonies of suspense. Mother had dispatched a trusty messenger to Limerick '" on the chance of intercepting my uncle, and the west room was put in order, for it was a secret hidingplace. Mother showed it to me for :the first ' time. Pushing aside some tapestry, . she pressed a secret panel, which immediately slid open, revealing a "flight of stone steps which led to an underground passage to the river. In the passage a small room had 'been furnished with a" chair, a table, .and a bed. Everything was neatly arranged, as if. some one were ex^pected. 'Mother,' I cried reproachfully, 'why did. you not tell me of this delightful hiding-place ? Uncle John will be quite safe. No one would ever dream of searching here.' ' God grant it,' she uttered fervently, ' but~l need not tell you, child, to be discreet.' 'Ma* mere,' I. answered with dignity; ' I was eleven years old last birthday.' ' Just about dusk a fisherman with some fine salmon in his net 'came to the door, it was Uncle < John. So perfect was his disguise that I did not know him, and felt afraid urflil he spoke and blessed me. The day&» that followed- were the most exciting of my life. From morning until night I was in- -a"" tremor of fear lest the soldiers should discover my uncle's hiding-place. No one in the house knew of hisarrival save Peggie, mother, and myself. -He lived in ' the west room so that In case of danger he could easily escape. After a time r there being no hue and cry, , and lulled by his apparent security,, we resumed our usual occupations. One of the tasks I loved was polishing the old escritoire. I would rub the brass tips until they shone like gold, -and gaze into the shining wood at my distorted face, that grotesque view giving me more pleasure than the finest mirror. One day on coming into th*e room in anticipation of having a glorious time pulling out the contents- of the little drawers and revelling in the Old World treasures _of ribbons and ancient miniatures, I saw my another bending over . the escritoire. Silently . 1 " stood watching her, intending to make my presence known by a sudden embrace— a favorite practice, one which my mother loved, although she pretended not to. i Suddenly something caught my attention; It was a ' man's face peering in at the window. . He was watch-

the words "rel

ing every movement of my mother, who, all • unconscious- of observation, touched' a' little panel __ which flew open, revealing an aperture, from which she took a large book witn * a. cross bt -gold, on its cover. J. recognised it at once as' a Uatnolic manual, one that 1 had never seen her read save in one privacy _. of hen room. 1 realised the consequence were such ' a „ boo'<" found* in our,, possession, for outwardly- we were of no sect, and were we known' to be Catholic, our lands and homes would be confiscated. Fascinated,' 1 watched unseen every glance of the -hawk-like eyes, too terrified to cry out. in. that brief second his * countenance was printed indelibly on my memory, A . pale oblong • face with steely -gray eyes,- a tiqoKe.d nose wide thin lips through whicli his teeth gleamed wolfishUy. Hei "wore a cavalier hat wjith a sweeping plume, and his jerlAn was" of -some dark brown stuu. My heart beat like a sledge, hammer. InstinctiveLy 1 '- knew the man" was a spy. xlf he informed on us, Uncle John would be in danger. 1 dared not dwell on that. s ,I clenched my tcetu in . agony, and prayed inwardly for help. The answer came in a "Hash. I ielt that if- the spy saw that his- presence, were known he would immediately denounce us. Dancing lightly into, the room, 1 stooped and kissed mother. ' 1 Eithne, thou art early at thy pranks, ' 'she mur-mured-fondly. 'But what makes t-hee so pale ? .Has "" ouigiht disturbed thee ?'•'•' ' ■ " . " I tried to tell her, but *my tongue clave, to- my palate, and I could only point dumbly "toward the window. „ She followed _my glance, but' the man "was gone. - C At that moment Peggie came hurriedly into' the room. The ruddy color had left her face, she looked w.hite and scared, ' Madam/ she cried, ' the soldiers! They are almost at the door.' * Mother, with, great presence of mind, quietly replaced the manual. Again- I tried to warn her, .L.. the words "refused- to come. " - , ' " " ~ ' Thou hast naught to fear, my Eithne. Be brave. Remember thy father. I N must away to. warn thy', uncle. ' Before 1 could regain my courage she „ "was gone. - - My head swam, there was- a buzzing 'in my- ears when I found myself alone. I was nigh to swooning. Suddenly 'jiw mother's words came -to ■my mind. -' Remember thy^ father/ Was it thus that, he would have me act '.' At once my courages-came back, and ", with it a -certain quick-wittedness which told -me how But. alas.' I could not find the secret springy A\ placed my fingers over each separate panel, but to no purpose. 1 could hear . the tramp of . marching feet- coming nearer and nearer. I had almost' given '.'up hope when, oh, joy! my fingers touched ' it, "and -lo ! I'he book lay in my hands. To conceal it ->a-b- - out. my person, was the^ work-- of a second. • I put my book of Esop's Fables in its ' place, and ran ' downstairs .humming an air,. -so great was my relief. . - ■ The soldiers were in the hall, and" Peggie was parleying with the commanding officer, a goodly-look-* ing man with a kind ' face. Despite her brave front I knew she was scared. " ' I'rithee, be not afraid, pretty one,' he said> on catching sight of me. -. _ ' 1 am the O'Morc's daughter,' I answered proudly, giving lTimi a sweeping curtsy. ' Dost wish to see my mother ?" 'Bravely said, little -maid. - In good sootii, thy father has left a fair substitute. He was a fighter, none better. His record will 'live in Athlone. Though well nigh a dozen years have passed they speak of ' him to this day.' The red flamed to my cheeks, and the sudden tears to my eyes at this most unexpected - tribute to my father's prowess. And . to think that but a short time since 1, his daughter, felt sick with fear ! I turned my head away lest he .should see- the moisture. • . ' What means - this unseemly intrusion ? ' It - was the voice of my mother, clear and bell-like. Her face was pale, but there - was no sign of fear in her calm, steadfast eyes as she met the commanding officer. ' We come in search of one John O'More, a Jesuitpriest, who, cbntrary to the law, has returned to Ireland.' He bowed courteously. My mother answered wi'tn a ' faint inclination of her head. _.* These : are troublesome times, madam, and the best of us ate under suspicion. It is our unpleasant duty to search" the house ; also it' hath come under our notice *hat certain Popish_ works forbidden by the State are concealed. We must make, a thorough search.' . 'Do 'thy duty,' said my moi'her "quietly. 'It .would ill become me to hinder thee.' / "Lead the way, Larinour',l- he "said, turning to a man who had hithferto escaped my notice. ' I immediately recognised him as the • same who had so terrified me at the window. I stooped down to pat Finn's great head to hide the impish 'glee in my

eyes. The hound growled and made a spring at the spy. .Only" that I held him in leash, he would have caught him by the throat,. We followed the soldiers upstairs into each room. „ As we entered the -south chamher, the wretch made straight, for the escritoire. 'You- will find proof enough" hero without going further. There is a Popish Mass book - concealed -here. He ran his fingers along; the wood until they touched the secret spring. The aperture slid open and' the book lay. revealed. My . mother's - face blanched, and she turned away her head as' h© handed it to the comnfanding ollicef; 'My book !' I screamed, darting forward. 'That is my. .book,. Give it to me ! ' - ' 1 am sorry, pretty one,' said the officer as he took the book from the spy, 'to deny thy request, but -the book — ' he stopped suddenly, and an expression of" amazement— and was it relief ?— crossed his face. •' This is not a Popish Mass book, but a copy of Esop's Fables. What do you mean, sir,' he' said to the wretch, who stood the picture of foiled villainy, 'by leading us on this"" wild goose -chase ?' A burst of laughter from the men was the only response. The spy had fled through the half open window, but unfortunately for his escape, his., doublet had caught in a great hook hidden amid the ivy, and he hung twixt heaven and earth, a' sorry siglit. When he .was cut down, amid the jeers and laughter of the soldiers, his doublet was in shreds, and the look on his face pitiable to see. Finn had found his hat, and was slowly crunching it between his strong white teeth. The plume was already in- fragments. ' Madam,' said Hie commanding officer courteously to my mother, 'if the rest of our search bears as much fruit, 1 shall have to ask pardon for our unseemly intrusion.' My another bowed a mute assent. She was simply incapable of speech. After a few moments' search, they left., the clank of their sabres echoing through the house. The reaction was too much for mother. She Tell in a dead faint and we had 'great work 'to ".bring her to. When she. recovered, I danced round the room like a wild thing. ' Look, look ! ' I cried, holding the manual aloft. Then 1 told my story. My mother's answer was to enfold me in her arms. ' Thy father's daughter,' she murmured softly. And Finn, not to be outdone, rested his great h(jad in my lap. ' Deo gratias ! ' c-ied Peggie. • All is well that ends well.' — ' Benziger's Magazine.'