CHAPTER TWO.
Dermot promised Lady Sophy to read all the books she had given him.When they left his mother's hut he begged leave to accompany her andLady Nora, in order that he might see them across the downs. He haddiscovered during his visits to the castle that the young Lady Nora wasthe Earl of Kilfinnan's only daughter. He had a son also; a noblelittle boy he had heard. He was away at school in England; his fatherbeing fully conscious that an Irish castle in those days was not a placefavourable to education. The Earl had a great affection for his boy,the heir to his title and estates. The former, indeed, should the youngLord Fitz Barry die without male descendants, would pass away, thoughthe Lady Nora would inherit the chief part of his estate.
Lady Sophy was a relation of his late wife's, for he was a widower, andshe remained with him as a companion to his young daughter, thoughconsiderably older than she was. The rest of the persons seen at thecastle were guests, with the exception of a lady of middle age, a MrsRollings, who acted as governess and chaperone to the young ladies.
Dermot continued his visits to the castle. Sometimes the Earl saw him,and seemed amused at the interest taken in him by his young niece anddaughter. He observed also, that the boy was somewhat out of the commonway, and he suggested that after they had left the west of Ireland, heshould be sent to obtain instruction from a neighbouring clergyman, afriend of his, and the only person capable of imparting it.
At that time schools and missions were not known in the west of Ireland.The priests, almost as ignorant as their flocks, had unbounded swayamong the population. Often the Protestant clergyman was the onlyperson for miles round who possessed any education whatever. Thepeasantry were consequently ignorant and superstitious, and easilyimposed upon by any one who chose to go among them with that object.
Lady Sophy was delighted with the suggestion made by the Earl, andinsisted on at once carrying out the arrangement.
"Yes, indeed it is a pity that so intelligent a boy should be left inignorance," remarked the Earl. "Here is a five-pound note; do you takeit from me to Mr Jamieson, and beg that he will do his best to instilsome knowledge into the mind of the fisher-boy."
There was a dash of romance, it must be owned, in the Earl'scomposition, and he was besides a kind-hearted and liberal man. DermotO'Neil might well have considered himself fortunate in having fallenamong such friends.
Lady Sophy and Lady Nora instantly set off to call upon Mr Jamieson,whose vicarage was about three miles distant from the castle, thoughsomewhat nearer to Dermot's abode. The clergyman was rather amused atfirst with the account given him by the young ladies. He promised,however, to follow out the Earl's wishes, and begged that Dermot mightcome to him directly they left the country; "And I shall be ready toundertake his education at once, Lady Sophy," he said.
"No, no!" was the answer; "we cannot give him up yet; it is quite apleasure teaching him. He already reads English with tolerable fluency,though we have not attempted yet to teach him to write. We must leavethat to you."
Dermot, with a grief he had not expected to feel, saw the party taketheir departure from the castle. The young ladies kindly nodded to himas their carriage rolled past the spot where he stood.
"There's a bright light gone from amongst us," he said to himself. "DidI ever before dream that such creatures existed on earth."
He returned to his home in a mood totally strange to him. His mother,however, had reason to congratulate herself on the Earl's visit, for itenabled her, from the payment she received for her fish, to provide in away she had never before done for the coming winter. This made her themore willingly consent that Dermot should go over every day to obtaininstruction from Mr Jamieson, the good clergyman, who was so pleasedwith the fisher-boy, that he took particular pains in instructing him,and not only was Dermot in a short time able to read any book that wasput into his hands, but he also learned to write with considerable ease.His mind naturally expanded with the books given him to study, and ashe obtained information, he became greedy for more.
Although Mr Jamieson had at first only intended teaching him the simplerudiments of reading and writing, he became so interested in theprogress made by his pupil, that he felt desirous of imparting all theknowledge Dermot was capable of acquiring.
Thus the winter passed away. Dermot, in spite of wind and rain, orsleet or cold, persevered in his visits to the vicarage. He gained alsoan acquaintance with religious truth, of which before he had beenprofoundly ignorant. It was not very perfect, perhaps, but Mr Jamiesonput the Bible into his hands, and he thus obtained a knowledge of itscontents possessed by few of those around. Had the neighbouring parishpriest, Father O'Rourke, discovered whither he was going, and the changethat was constantly taking place in him, he would probably haveendeavoured to interfere, and prevent him from paying his visits to theProtestant clergyman. Although he might not have hindered Dermot fromdoing as he chose, he probably would have alarmed his mother, who,though tolerably intelligent, was too completely under the influence ofsuperstition to have understood clearly the cause of the priest'sinterference. In a certain sense, to Dermot's mind, the advantage hepossessed was not so great as at first sight might appear. As headvanced in knowledge he became less and less contented with his lot inlife, or rather the wish increased that he might be able to raisehimself above it. By what means, however, was this to be accomplished?He had no claim upon the Earl, who, although wishing that he might betaught reading and writing, had not the slightest intention of raisinghim above his present occupation. Mr Jamieson gave him noencouragement; although perhaps, the idea had occurred to the worthyminister, that the boy was fitted for something above the mere life ofan ordinary fisherman. Still the matter had not as yet troubledDermot's mind. It probably only occasionally passed through histhoughts, that there was an existence, even in this world, somethingabove that to which it appeared he was doomed. Mr Jamieson had nowresided for a considerable number of years at the vicarage. He camethere with high anticipations of the amount of good he was likely toeffect in that neighbourhood. By degrees, however, he found that hisefforts to raise the people out of the state of ignorance in which theyhad been brought up were likely to prove abortive. The parish priestdid not indeed offer him any open opposition, but he set an undercurrent to work, which silently, though effectually nullified all thevicar's efforts. Not one proselyte had he made, and at length heabandoned his previous intentions in despair of success, and consoledhimself with the thought that at least he would perform thoroughly allthe duties of his station. To such a conclusion many persons in hisposition have arrived, whether rightly or wrongly it need not here besaid. Mr Jamieson had an only niece, who had of late years come toreside with him. She was no longer very young, but was a gentle, quietwoman, whose great desire was to do any good to her fellow-creatureswhich lay in her power.
Miss O'Reilly had been for some time aware that a severe affliction wasabout to overtake her. When she first arrived at the vicarage, she usedto go among the neighbouring peasantry, carrying a basket to relieve thesick or starving, or to administer such comfort as she was able. Sheenjoyed the beautiful scenery by which she was surrounded. Now,however, she found that when she took a book the letters were dim andindistinct, while all distant scenes were shut out from her view, as ifa thick mist hung over them. Blindness she felt was coming on. Ajourney to Dublin was in those days a long and tedious, if not somewhatdangerous undertaking. Still, at her uncle's desire, accompanied byhim, she performed it. But no hope was given by the oculist whom sheconsulted, and she returned home with the knowledge that in a short timeshe would require some one to lead her by the hand whenever she mightwish to move from the immediate neighbourhood of the house.
Dermot had made frequent visits to the vicarage before Miss O'Reilly wasaware who he was. One day he met her while she was trying to find herway a short distance from the house. He had seen her and knew who shewas. Seeing her in doubt as to the path she was to take, he, with thenative gallantry o
f the Irish, sprang forward and begged that he mightbe allowed to lead her.
"And who are you, boy?" she asked. "What brings you to the vicarage?"
Dermot told her his short history.
"You are then a pupil of my uncle's?"
"Yes, his reverence has been teaching me, and I love to learn from him,"answered Dermot.
This led to further conversation, and Dermot told her of his mother, wholived down in the little cottage in Blackwater cove.
"And have you any brothers, sisters, or relations?" she asked.
"Except Uncle Shane, none that I know of," said Dermot.
"Your mother, then, lives all alone."
"Yes, since my father's death, twelve years ago, she has lived byherself, with me alone to take care of, in her little hut."
"And you never wish to leave your home, and go and see the great world?"asked Miss O'Reilly. Why she put the question it was difficult to say.It might not have been a very judicious one, as far as the boy wasconcerned, and yet it was but natural to suppose that a boy of Dermot'scharacter would wish to go forth into the great world, that he mightinspect its wonders.
"It may be, lady; I may have wished to go and see the world, though notto leave my mother; for who would care for her if I was gone? UncleShane would, but he is old and couldn't protect her for long. Besidesyou know that not a year passes but that some of the men on our coastlose their lives."
"And does your mother know the truth? Can she read the Bible, boy?"asked Miss O'Reilly.
"No, she cannot read the Bible, but the priest takes care that sheshould know what he believes to be the truth, I am sure."
"Your mother loves you?"
"Oh! indeed she does," answered Dermot; "she would spill her heart'sblood for my sake, though she often sits melancholy and sad when alone,yet the moment I return, her eye brightens, and she opens her arms toreceive me. Yes, lady, my mother does love me, that I know."
"I should like to come and talk to your mother," said the blind lady."Will you lead me to her some day? I should not be afraid to descendthe cliff with so strong an arm as yours to rest on."
A few days after this, Dermot having finished his lesson with the vicar,met Miss O'Reilly close to the house, and expressed his readiness totake her to his mother's cottage, the sea at the time happening to befar too rough to allow their boat to go forth to fish.
"I am ready to go with you," said the blind lady; "but remember you mustlead me all the way back, Dermot."
"That will just double the honour, lady," was the young Irishman'sreply. Dermot talked much of his mother to the blind lady, as he ledher down to the cottage.
The widow's voice pleased Miss O'Reilly, and all she said increased theinterest she was inclined to take in her. Perhaps more than all, wasthat deep love which she felt for her only boy, and which had become, asit were, part of her being.
Dermot carefully conducted Miss O'Reilly back to the vicarage, and thiswas the first of many visits which she afterwards paid to the fishwife'shut.
Dermot was never idle. He had no associates; indeed from his earliestdays he had kept aloof from boys of his own age. It was not that he wasmorose, or proud or ill-tempered, but he appeared to have no sympathywith them, and thus, though possessed of many qualities which would havewon him friends, he had not a single friend of his own rank or age inthe neighbourhood. Whenever he was not out fishing, he was engaged withhis book, either at the vicarage or at home.
He was thus employed one afternoon in his mother's hut, when FatherO'Rourke, the parish priest, made his appearance at the door.
"Come in, your reverence," said the widow, placing a stool for him nearthe hearth; "it is a long day since your reverence has been seen downthe cove."
"May be you haven't seen me often enough," said Father O'Rourke, a stoutbroad-faced man, with a countenance of the ordinary low Irish type."How is it that Dermot there has so many books? Ah! I have heard abouthis doings; he often goes up, I am told, to the Protestant minister's.What good can he get by going there?"
"Much good, your reverence," observed Dermot; "I have been learning toread and write, and gain other knowledge such as I had no other means ofobtaining."
"Such knowledge may be bad for one like you," said Father O'Rourke;"there is no good can come from the place where you go to get it."
"Pardon me, Father O'Rourke," said Dermot, with spirit; "the knowledge Iget there is good, and the gentleman who gives it is kind and good too.I will not hear him spoken against."
"What, lad! do you dare to speak to me in that way?" exclaimed thepriest. "You will be going over to the Protestants, and then the curseof Saint Patrick and all the holy saints will rest upon you,--you too,who are born to be a priest of the holy faith. Look; you were markedbefore you came into the world with the emblem of our faith, and if yourmother had followed the wishes of her true friends, you would even nowbe training for the priesthood, instead of being a poor fisher-boy, asyou now must be for ever, and nothing more." The priest as he spokeseized Dermot's hand, and bared his arm to the shoulder. There,curiously enough, above the elbow, was a red mark which might easilyhave been defined as a cross.
The boy drew away his hand indignantly: "I tell you, Father O'Rourke, Iam as true a son of the Holy Church as ever I was. Mr Jamieson is nobigot; he gives me instruction, but does not ask me to turn to hisfaith, and yet, Father O'Rourke, I tell you, to my mind it is a pure andholy faith, whatever you may say to the contrary."
The boy spoke boldly and proudly, as he again drew down the sleeve ofhis shirt.
Many years before, when the red mark on Dermot's arm had first been seenby the neighbours, it was suggested that it was evidently placed thereas a sign from heaven that he should become a priest, and that in allprobability he would rise to be a bishop, if not a cardinal. When,however, Dermot grew a little older, and the idea was suggested to him,he indignantly refused to accept the offers made him. In the firstplace, nothing would induce him to leave his mother, and in the second,he had no ambition to become like Father O'Rourke, for whom it must beconfessed, that at a very early age the boy had entertained aconsiderable antipathy. Even with the widow, though she was ignorantand superstitious, Father O'Rourke had never been a favourite; stillwhen she could get so far as the chapel, she went to hear mass, andattended confession, as did her neighbours. The feeling which governedher was fear, rather than love for the parish priest. Father O'Rourkewas excessively indignant at being thus addressed by the youngfisher-boy. He turned from him, however, to his mother, and began topour out his abuse on her head. He had not proceeded far, however, whenDermot again sprang to his feet.
"Father O'Rourke!" he exclaimed; "you may say what you like to me; youmay curse me, and if you like you may threaten me with excommunicationeven, but do not lift up your tongue against my poor old mother. Thereare things a man can bear and some he ought not to bear, and I tell you,boy as I am, I will not have her spoken against. Your words mayfrighten her, and she may fancy that your curses may fall upon her head,but I tell you when uttered against a poor helpless widow, they willfall back on him who dares to speak them. There, Father O'Rourke, Ihave had my say, and I defy you."
The priest had never before been spoken to in this manner by one of hisflock, and he found no words to reply. At first he felt inclined toanathematise both the widow and her son, but doubts as to the effects itmight produce upon Dermot restrained him, or perhaps a better feelingcame into his heart.
"Very well, boy, remember I have warned you," he exclaimed, "I have toldyou that by going to that Protestant minister, you may be led to turnheretic, and forsake our holy faith, and if you should, do not forgetthe heavy curses that will follow you. I do not wish you ill, nor do Iwish your mother ill, but I cannot stand by and see one of my flockcarried the downward way to destruction."
Having thus delivered himself, Father O'Rourke left the hut and took thepath up the steep glen, which led inland from the sea.
Often Dermot's mind reverte
d to the days when the castle was inhabited,and he thought of the beautiful and kind ladies he had seen there, andof the fair little girl who had smiled so sweetly when she spoke to him.He felt the immeasurable distance between them and him, and yet helonged for their return, that he might gaze on them at a distance, andagain hear their voices. He was generally too much occupied to go tothe castle to inquire when the Earl was likely to return, because whennot engaged in fishing, he was constantly at the house of Mr Jamieson.More than once he had ventured to ask him whether he thought the Earlwas likely to come back again, but the minister replied that he wasignorant of the Earl's movements, and had not heard that any orders hadbeen received at the castle to make preparations for the reception ofthe family. The time was approaching when they had come on the previousyear, and Dermot, though he scarcely acknowledged his feelings tohimself, became more and more anxious for their arrival. After leavingMr Jamieson, though the round was a long one, and he had to prepare hisnets for the day's fishing, he could not resist the temptation of goingto the castle before he returned home. From his frequent visits duringthe previous summer, he was not a stranger there, and the housekeeper,pleased with his good looks and his unaffected manner, was not sorry tosee him.
"Wait a bit, boy, wait a bit, and I think I can tell you when the ladieswill come back and make another likeness of you," she said, putting herhand on his head. "Ah! they will spoil you if we don't take care, butdo not be led away by them, boy. They look upon you, likely enough, asthey do upon a pet dog, or any other animal, and when they are away, itis little they trouble their heads about you."
These remarks were made in kindness by good Mrs Rafferty. She hadheard all about the boy, and knew very well that if it became the customto have him up at the castle, and to make much of him, as she thoughtwas likely to be the case, he would inevitably be spoiled.
"When you come we will buy your fish, no fear of that, and take myadvice, get a supply of the finest you can by to-morrow or the dayafter, and may be when you come there will be mouths enough at thecastle to eat them."
"What! are the family coming so soon then?" exclaimed Dermot, and athrill of pleasure ran through his frame; "and the beautiful lady whodraws so well, and all the others! I will go and catch the fish, neverfear, Mrs Rafferty, and it will not be my fault if I don't bring abasket of as fine as ever were caught up to the castle to-morrow."
"I did not say `to-morrow,' boy; I said the day after, and that will betime enough."
Mrs Rafferty, to prove her kind feelings, took the boy into her ownroom, and placed before him several articles of food and delicacies,such as had never before passed his lips. She watched him while he ate.
"It is strange if there's not gentle blood in that boy," she remarked toherself, "I have heard what the young ladies think about it, and by theway he sits at table and eats, I would never believe that he is a merefisher-boy."
Dermot did not hear her remarks. Having finished his repast, he roseand wishing her good-bye, hastened home with the good news to hismother.