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REDPATH’S WEEKLY.
PICTURES OF IRELAND: KANTURK CASTLE, COUNTY CORK.
THE LORD OF DUNDALLON.
AN IRISH STORY OF TO-DAY.
BY THOMAS SHERLOCK.
XI.
IN A SHRUBBERY,
Pex DALTON was snatched from the jaws of death al-
most by a miracle. The surgeons themselves wondered
why he had not died, and declared that his constitution was
one in ten millions. He recovered very slowly, ic is true; but
he did recover, and after a few months he was on his feet
again, But his hunting and fighting days were over. The
Zula weapon had torn away portion of the joint of the shoul-
der-blade, and the hunter’s right arm hung ‘almost useless b
his side. The lion and the rbinoceros might roam at wil
through their native forests, and go down at night to the river-
side to drink; Fravk Dalton would never again look for a
wild beast to kill. The meanest of dusky Africans at war with
the British might pass within twenty yards of him without
fear of his deadly rifle bullet. One well-aimed assegai had
cut him off for ever from the desperate resources with which
he maintained his long struggle against remorse.
All the while he lay on his bed of pain the tortures of bis
mind were greater than those of his mangled body. With a
the demon of jealousy entered his soul, and he grew into a
villain, He became a traitor to the cousin who trusted him
so fully; he cheated him at cards—he, Frank Dalton, who
but a few months previously, if he had known another to
have cheated in like manner, would not have breathed the air
@ same room with him, Ab! how the wretched man
in him. He ha
wife also; but in that diabolical plot he had miserably failed.
Yet, though his vile design had miscarried, he knew, from his
last interview with Helen Dalton, that he wrecked the happi-
ness of two young lives, had planted with thorns the path-
ways of two people who had once been dear to him, and from
whom he had never received aught but kindness.
Talk of bodily-torture! Why, if this man were slowly roast-
ing alive on a gridiron no such keen sensations of agony could
have been conveyed to his mind as those all too vivid recollec-
tions carried with them. He longed for death; but it would
not come. If in the first pangs of remorse a pistol had lain
near the hand he could still use, then, without doubt, he
would have died. ron, when he had power to move
about, and had only to lift a weapon to secure the end, he
shrank from the dastardly thought. He had acted a cowardly,
because @ treacherous, part-to Garratt Dalton; but he could
not quite sink to the cowardliness of becoming his own exe-
cutioner. Later still, a healthier frame of mind came to him ;
remorse gave way to contrition; and he suddenly resolved on
returning to his native land, perchance with the opportuvity
bad so cruelly injured. It was likely enough indeed that hot-
blooded Garratt Dalton would kill him on sight; but, even
80, what did it matter? Life had grown intolerable to the
crippled hunter, and death at the hands of the man whom he
had so deeply wronged would be but a fitting conclusion to
the whole vile story.
Rapt in moody thoughts like these he abruptly quitted the
camp one morning, without awaking a single regret in the bo-
som of any he left behind him, All were heartily tired of him
and his unsociable ways, and hoped they had seen their last of
Daniel Black.
He rode fast and far each day ; and as the distance between
him and Capetown rapidly lessened the pall-like gloom of his
countenance seemed gradually to lift, When he stood on the
deck of an ocean steamer bound for home, and gazed cn the
receding bulk of Table Mountain, his features almost wore
an air of resigned content.
Just as Autumn was merging into Winter he suddenly ap-
peared in the chambers of W. and X. Y. Purpety, startling
Macintaggart, senior, into a momentary forgetfulness of the
luty of preserving an unalterable gravity of demeanour.
There he learned how the lord of Dundalton and his wife had
su
prising manner; and how there was to be a great entertain-
ment to the tenautry—a kind of housewarming—very soon.
All of which having heard, he departed as unceremoniously
he had come.
‘* Saundy,” quoth Macintaggart, senior, to his hopeful heir,
*‘ that’s the verra Frank Dalton that put atween Garratt Dal-
ton an’ his leddy. He's lookin’ the waur o’ the wear like the
ither. Hech, mon!” continued the father, anxious to im-
prove the occasion after his wont, ‘‘ these gentry bodies have
nae sic guid times ofther a; an’ I’m speerin’ that its just as
weel ye're nae gangin’ to be a launded proprietor, Saundy.”
To which sage speech Sandy judiciously made no reply,
pretending to be deeply absorbed in his work; for he feare
that the next remark of his sire would have reference to the
eternal patience, perseverence and punctuality,
Frank Dalton’s resolutions did not waver. He would go
down to Dundalton, and, at any risk, beg for pardon. He
could not rest until he had done that. The train left him at
the station of Ballymacevoy about four in the afternoon.
Knowing every foot of the way, he determined to walk to
Dundalton; for be wished to reach the mansion only when,
the day’s various occupations over, the family would be as-
sembled in the fall enjoyment of the domestic’ bliss of which
he had been the unhappy means of depriving them. With
each step which brought him nearer to the scene of his pro-
posed humiliation his heart grew lighter; and as he neared
the gate lodge his stride was as long and buoyant as Garratt
Dalton’s own,
The place of lodge-keeper had not yet been filled, so Frank
Dalton opened the gate for himself without let or question.
e moved briskly up the long avenue which led windingly to
the brow of the hill on which the mansion of the Dalton’s
stood. There was no moon; but the myriad stars overhead
shone brightly through the frost, and giving just light
enough to disclose the denss {gloom in which the tangled,
long neglected shrubbery on either side was wrapt. How we
he remembered every curve of the once familiar avenue, with
its gentle rise which enabled one to mount the hill almost
to
ase with a heart that knew no
burden of sin. Ab! if those blissful.days could but re-
t
arn !
He made the turning to the left which brought him into the
open space and into full view of the mansion of Dundalton.
Lights were in the drawingroom. There, of course, were
gathered together in happiness Garratt Dalton, his wife, and
their child. For an instant—a single instant—the repentant
door. Peace could never be his until he had confessed his
crimes and sued for pardon.
‘¢ was all unconscious that a pair of keen eyes were fixed
on him from that part of the shrubbery which directly faced
the house. They belonged toa man—who had been lying
[December 14, 1882.
concealed therein since the previous night, and who had been
watching the great front door since the earliest dawn with a
vigilance that never relaxed.
Frank Dalton strode on to the flight of stone steps which
led up to the door, and mounted them with firm step. He
knocked loudly. A second later a shot rang.out from the
sheubbery clear and sharp on the still night air.
Those within heard that ominous sound, and with one ac-
cord rushed to the door. There they found a man fallen in a
heap by the threshold, and little streams of blood ‘trickling
out from under him.
Garratt Dalton knelt to feel the man’s pulse. While he felt
he peered into his face. Snddenly he flung away the wrist
he was holding, as though his touch were death, and leaped
to his feet.
**’Tis the thrice accursed villian Frank Dalton,” he hoarsely
whispered to his wife. ‘‘ I have avowed to kill him when we
met, but now is not the time to keep that pledge.”
‘* Let him be carried in,” she said.
With all his old impulsiveness he caught her by the shoul-
der and roughly drew her into the hall, where the eyes of the
gathered group of wondering servants would not be upon
them.
‘““That viper!” he said, in fierce but subdued tones—
‘carry him across my threshold into the home he would
have dishonored!”
** Yes, my husband,” she replied in those soft rich notes of
hers which’ went straight to every heart—‘ so shall we add
to the honor of our home, for we shall have forgiven our
enemy, and imitated the good Samaritan.”
A mighty struggle went on in Garyat’ Dalton’s soul. His
good impulses contended wich his bad. Victory was inclining
to the latter when the sweet voice which had such charms for
him gently uttered the words:
“ enerous, Garratt, and forgive! We have much to
be thankful for, and, alas! to be forgiven ”
“Be it so,” he stoutly returued. ‘You have conquered,
Helen. Often and often bave I called you my angel: but
uever were you more truly my angel than now.”
So Frank Dalton was bornéacross the threshold of the man-
sion; and when several months later he left it, a decrepid and
broken-down man, to join & community of ‘Trappists, it was
in fall and complete reconciliation with the husband and wife
whose happiness be had so terribly marred.
XIIL.
IN THE DUNDALTON MANSION.
The year had been a terrible ove for the agricultural popu-
lation. All the summer and autumn the sun had sulked, and
0 one connected with him
These doings blotted
sued by him. Still he was not quite satisfled. H te
the frieudliest possible feelings to subsist between himecit aed
his tenantry; and for this reason he had planned to give them
a banquet at which he might address them in the mass. The
fect rest and quiet. The entertainment, therefore, was i
7 the
end fixed for the Christmas holidays. 2 ” Stephon’
Day ivduly cong ott ‘YS; and on St. Stephen's
It was a great affair. The 5: acious ball
siou had been turned for the nonce into a diuing rosea
versed by several rows of tables and seats, At the hea
the central table sat Garratt Dalton, his wife on his tight, bie
daughter on his left. Next Norah Dalton sat Charley Gerty,
and on Charley's left hand might be desoried the firid fog
and bare crown of Patrick O'Hara, the worthy secretary of
the Coombe and Coast District Building Society, Opposite
this pair were seated the two McIntaggarts, the élder, even in
this exhilarating hour, preserving his wonted gravit
° of mi i
of intensity of enjoyment than at the banyan of theme
there was “s Hittle of real disorder,
en, at the proper mome:
head of bis table a hush in whieh thence mtn
e heard, came immediately on the as
he spoke was lost on anyone in
Charley Gerty had literally report
matter of fact, he did not—the
jetin
ly friends —for I think I may now call
there was bad blood between ug last year (Volees oss No, no;”
and a Voice—‘‘ There won't be any more”); but it was tn
own fault; and I think I can Promise, as my friend in the
4 1e,
corner has just said, that there won't be any more (loud
you so (cheers)—