Then beckoning to the lad in rags still standing on the steps of the French Church, he said, "Lord St. Amande, come hither and prove to this perjured villain that thou art no more dead than he who would have had thee so."
Slowly, therefore, I descended-for I who write these lines was that most unhappy child, Lord St. Amande, as perhaps you who read them may have guessed-and slowly in my tatters I went down and stood by him who had succoured me, and fixed my eyes on that most dreadful villain, Wolfe Considine.
Now, the effect upon him was wonderful to witness, for verily I thought he would have had a fit and fallen from his horse. His eyes seemed to be starting forth from his head, his cadaverous face became empurpled, his hands twitched, and all the while he muttered, "Alive! Alive! yet O'Rourke swore that he was safe at the bottom of the Liffey-the traitor! Alive!"
He spoke so low and muttered so hoarsely to himself that I have ever doubted if any other but I and Oliver Quin, the butcher, heard his self-condemnatory words-by which he most plainly acknowledged his guilt and the part he had played in endeavouring to get me made away with. But, ere he could say more, he received support from the woman, Baüer, or "Madam," as she was generally called, who, descending now from her hackney carriage, thrust aside the beggars around it and advanced towards me.
That she was a woman of courage need not be doubted, for, although these miserable gutter-birds had hitherto been jeering at her to even such an extent as remarking on the redness of her face and the probable cause thereof, she at this time awed them by her manner. Her eyes flaming, her great white teeth gleaming like those of a hunted wolf as it turns to tear its pursuers, she thrust them all aside (she being big and of masculine proportions) and exclaiming, "Out you wretches, away you kennel dogs, stand back, I say, you Irish curs," made her way to me.
"Let me see," she said, seizing me roughly by the collar, "the brat who is to be palmed upon us as the dead child. Let me see him." And then, as she gazed in my face, she burst into a loud, strident laugh, while in her harsh voice and her German accent (which she had always) she exclaimed, "So this is the beggar's brat who is to be thrust in before us as a son of this dead lord," pointing to my father's coffin-"this thing of rags and filth. Man," she said, turning suddenly upon Quin, "man, know you the punishment awarded those who falsely endeavour for their own evil ends to deprive rightful inheritors of what is theirs? You shall so suffer for this vile imposture that you had better have been slain at Oudenarde-of which you boast so freely-than ever have lived to see to-day."
"With the respect due to such as you, Madam Baüer-"
"Fellow, I am the Viscountess St. Amande."
"Nay. Nay! Even though you be Robert St. Amande's wife-as most people doubt" – she struck at him with her hand as he said this, which blow he avoided easily, so that she over-reached herself and nearly fell, at which the crowd jeered-"even then you are not Lady St. Amande. There is but one, this poor lad's mother, now sick in England but safe from your evil attempts. And, Madam Baüer, it is more meet that I should ask if you know what is the punishment of such malefactors as those who endeavour for their own evil ends to deprive rightful inheritors of what is theirs?"
"The imposition shall not go unpunished, this boy shall indeed be sent to the plantations and, with him, you, you ruffian. I will myself seek out the King sooner than he shall escape."
But here there stepped forth one of the collegians who had been near me all through this most strange scene, a grave and pious youth of twenty years of age-'twas his coat I was wearing-who said:
"By your favour, madam, it is impossible that the boy should be punished. I am from New Ross in the County of Wexford myself," – both she and Considine started at this-"where his father dwelt much. I have known the lad from his birth, as a child myself I took part in the festivities-alas! terrible debaucheries and drinkings! – which this poor dead lord caused to be made in honour of his birth. I have known him all his life, and that he is the present Lord St. Amande none can doubt. Added to which, madam, there must be fully five hundred people in Ireland, including his pastors and teachers, to say nothing of those in England, who can equally speak for him."
"It is a lie," Considine shouted, having now regained something of his courage, "It is a lie. I, too, knew the lad who was son to Lord St. Amande, and he is dead and this brat is not he."
"Mr. Considine," said the young student, his pale face reddening, "I am intended for the Ministry, but being not yet ordained no man may insult me with impunity, nor doubt my word. Much less such a foul braggart as you, therefore, unless you ask my pardon on the moment I will pull you down from off that horse and force you to beg it of me in the mud at my feet." And he advanced towards Considine with his arm outstretched to carry out his threat.
But that person being never disposed to fight with anyone, instantly taking off his hat said:
"Sir, my words were ill chosen. I ask your pardon for them. I should have said that I feared, as I still do, that you are grievously mistaken."
CHAPTER III
A BEGGAR AND AN OUTCAST
And thus, in such a dreadful way and amidst such surroundings-with brawling in the streets and insults hurled over his body from one to another-was my father buried. Alas! unhappily such scenes and terrifying episodes were but a fitting prologue to the stormy life that was henceforth before me for many years; I say a fitting prologue to the future.
When the craven Considine had made, or rather been compelled to make, his amends to Mr. Jonathan Kinchella, the young student, my protector, Quin, announced that, since he had produced the rightful Lord St. Amande and exhibited him to the public at so fitting a moment as his father's funeral procession (so that, henceforth, there were in existence witnesses who could testify to the assertion of my claim), he had no more to say, except that he hoped that the spirit of the dead peer would forgive the interruption in consequence of the good which he wished to do to his son. And he also announced with great cheerfulness the pleasure which he had experienced in being able to tell Mr. Wolfe Considine to his face his appreciation of his character.
"So that," he said to that person, as once more the procession set out, "if, henceforth, any one in Dublin shall be so demented as to deem you an honest man and to be deceived by you, they owe thanks to none but themselves."
"Ay, ruffian!" said Considine, brazening it out, however, "thou art the cock o' the walk for the moment, yet think not to escape punishment. Thou hast to-day threatened and reviled a gentleman of birth and consideration, for which thou shalt clearly suffer; thou hast insulted, slandered and abused a peer and a peeress of His Majesty's realm, for which thou shalt lie in the bilboes and gemmaces. Thou hast also endeavoured to usurp my lord's rightful rank and degree by passing off a base counterfeit of his brother's dead child, for which the punishment is death, or, at least, branding in the hand and being sold to slavery in the plantations, all of which thou and thy accomplice shall most surely receive ere many days are sped."
Then, turning to the driver of the bier, he ordered him to proceed.
"Tut, tut, tut," exclaimed Oliver. "Thou art but an empty windbag, tho' 'tis well that thou hast an accurate knowledge of the law-yet, I misdoubt if it will save thee when thy time comes. But, as thou sayest, let the funeral proceed, and, for further assurance of thy position, young sir," he said to me, "we will accompany it on foot. Let us see who will prevent us."
Then, seizing me by the hand, we set out to follow my father's body.
And now you, my children, for whom I write this narrative (and your children who in the fulness of time shall come after you), have seen in how wretched a manner I, who should have been cradled in luxury, began my existence at my father's death. Had that father been as he should have been, or had even my uncle, Robert, been an honest man, or had the
