And now they are all gone, George--gone where you and I must meet them some day--not a far-off one, maybe.'

'O'Sullivan was here to-day, sire, to wish your Majesty long life and happiness; and the old fellow looked as hearty and high-spirited as ever. I saw him as he pa.s.sed out of the courtyard, and you 'd have guessed, by his air and step, that he was a man of forty.'

'He's nigh to eighty-five, then, or I mistake me.' 'Life's strong in an Irishman--there's no doubt of it,' cried Kelly enthusiastically; 'there's no man takes more out of prosperity, nor gives way less to bad fortune.' 'What's that song of yours, George, about Paddy O'Flynn--isn't that the name?' said the Prince, laughing. 'Let 's have it, man.'

'You mean Terry O'Flynn, sire,' said Kelly; 'and, faith, 'twould puzzle me to call to mind one verse of the same song.'

'Do you even remember the night you made it, George, in the little wayside shrine, eight miles from Avignon? I'll never forget the astonished faces of the two friars that peeped in and saw you, gla.s.s in hand, before the fire, chanting that pleasant melody.'

'The Lord forgive you! 'tis many a bad thing you led me into,' said Kelly with affected sorrow, as he arose and walked to the window.

Meanwhile the Prince, in a low kind of murmuring voice, tried to recall some words of the song. 'Talking of friars,' said Kelly, 'there's a thumping big one outside, with his great face shining like the dial of a clock. I 'm much mistaken if he's not a countryman of my own!'

'Can he sing, George? Has he the gift of minstrelsy, man?'

'If your Royal Highness would like to hear the canticles, I'm sure he'd oblige you. Faith, I was right; it's poor Luke MacMa.n.u.s--a simple, kind-hearted creature as ever lived. I remember now that he asked me when it was possible to see your Royal Highness; and I told him that he must put down into writing whatever he wanted to say, and come here with it on the 20th; and sure enough, there he is now.'

'And why did you tell him any such thing, sir?' said the Prince angrily.

'What are these pet.i.tions but demands for aid that we have not to bestow--entreaties we cannot satisfy? Are we not pensioners ourselves?

ay, by the Lord Harry, are we, and beggarly enough in our treatment too.

None knows this better than yourself, Master Kelly. It is not ten days since you p.a.w.ned my George. Ay, and, by the way, you never brought me the money. What do you say to that?'

'I received twenty-four thousand francs, sire,' said Kelly calmly; 'eighteen of which I paid, by your Royal Highness's order, to the Countess.'

'I never gave such an order--where is it?'

'Spoken, sire, in the words of a prince; and heard by one who never betrayed him,' said the friar quickly--'the Countess herself----'

'No more of this, sir. We are not before a court of justice. And now let me tell you, Kelly, that the town is full of the malversation of this household; and that however proverbial Irish economy and good management be in its own country, climate and change of air would seem to have impaired its excellence. My brother tells me that our waste and extravagance are public town talk.'

'So much the better, sire--so much the better!'

'What do you mean by that, sirrah?' cried the Prince angrily.

'Your Royal Highness has heard of Alcibiades, and why he cut the tail off his dog! Well, isn't it a comfort to think that they never say worse of us here than that we spend freely what's given grudgingly; and that the penury of others never contaminated the spirit of your Royal Highness?'

'Have a care, sir,' said the Prince, with more dignity than he had shown before: 'there will come a day, perhaps, when we may grow weary of this buffoonery.'

'I'm sorry for it, then,' replied Kelly unabashed; 'for when it does, your Royal Highness will just be as little pleased with wisdom.'

It was thus alternately flattering and outraging Charles Edward--now insinuating the existence of qualities that he had not;--now disparaging gifts which he really possessed--that this man maintained an influence which others in vain tried to obtain over the Prince. It was a relief, too, to find one whose pliancy suited all his humours, and whose character had none of that high-souled independence which animated his Scottish followers. Lastly, Kelly never asked favours for himself or for others. Enough for him the privilege of the intimacy he enjoyed.

He neither sought nor cared for more. Perhaps, of all his traits, none weighed more heavily in his favour than this one. It was, then, in a kind of acknowledgment of this single-mindedness that the Prince, after a pause, said:

'Let your countryman come up here, George. I see he 's the only courtier that remains to us.'

Kelly rose without a word, and left the room to obey the command.

Little as those in waiting on the Prince were ever disposed to resist Kelly in any proceeding, they were carried very nearly to insubordination, as they saw him conducting through the long line of salons the humbly-clad, barefooted friar, who, with his arms reverently crossed on his breast, threw stealthy glances, as he pa.s.sed, at the unwonted splendour around him.

'I hope, sir,' said Fra Luke respectfully, 'that your kindness to a poor countryman won't harm yourself; but if ever you were to run the risk, 'tis an occasion like this might excuse it.'

'What do you mean?' said Kelly hastily, and staring him full in the face.

'Why, that the pet.i.tion I hold here is about one that has the best blood of Ireland in his veins; but maybe, for all that, if you knew what was in it, you mightn't like to give it.'

Kelly paused for a few seconds, and then, as if having formed his resolution, said:

'If that be the case, Luke, it is better that I should not see it.

There's no knowing when my favour here may come to an end. There's not a morning breaks, nor an evening closes, that I don't expect to hear I'm discarded, thrown off, abandoned. Maybe it would bring me luck if I was to do one, just _one_, good action, by way of a change, before I go.'

'I hope you've done many such afore now,' said Luke piously.

Kelly did not reply, but a sudden change in his features told how acutely the words sank into his heart.

'Wait for me here a minute,' said he; and motioning to Luke to be seated, he pa.s.sed noiselessly into the chamber of the Prince.

CHAPTER IV. THE PRINCE'S CHAMBER

Brief as Kelly's absence had been, it was enough to have obliterated from the Prince's mind all the reasons for his going. No sooner was he alone than he drank away, muttering to himself, as he filled his gla.s.s, s.n.a.t.c.hes of old Jacobite songs--words of hope and encouragement; or at times, with sad and broken utterance, phrases of the very deepest despondency.

It was in this half-dreamy state that Kelly found him as he entered.

Scotland--Rome--the court of France--the chateau at St. Germains--the sh.e.l.ling where he sought refuge in Skye--the deck of the French privateer that landed him at Brest--were, by turns, the scenes of his imagination; and it was easy to mark how, through all the windings of his fancy, an overweening sense of his own adventurous character upheld and sustained him. If he called up at times traits of generous devotion and loyalty--glorious instances wherein his followers rose to the height of heroes--by some artful self-complacency he was ever sure to ascribe these to the great cause they fought for; or, oftener still, to his own commanding influence and the fascination of his presence. In the midst of all, however, would break forth some traits that bespoke a n.o.bler nature. In one of these was it that he alluded to the proposition of Cardinal Tencin, to make the cession of Ireland the price of the French adhesion to his cause. 'No, no, Monsieur le Cardinal,' cried he several times energetically; '_tout ou rien!_ _tout ou rien!_... Must not my cause have been a poor one, when he dared to make me such an offer? Ay, Kelly, and I swear to you he did so!'

These last words were the first that showed a consciousness of the other's presence.

'The Dutchman was better than that, George, eh?--a part.i.tion of the kingdom!--never, never. Ireland, too! The very men who stood truest to me--the very men who never counselled retreat. Think of Lovatt, George.

If you had but seen him that day! He could not bide the time I took to eat a morsel of breakfast, so eager was he to be rid of me. I laughed outright at his impatience, and said that he remembered but the worst half of the old Highland adage which tells you "to speed the parting guest." He never offered me a change of linen, George, and I had worn the same clothes from the day before Culloden. "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"'

'It's a proud thing for me to hear how you speak of my countrymen, sire,' said Kelly.

'Glorious fellows they were, every man of them!' cried the Prince with enthusiasm. 'Light-hearted and buoyant, when all others looked sad and downcast; always counselling the bold course, and readier to do than say it! I never met--if I ever heard of--but one Irishman who was not a man of honour. _He_ was enough, perhaps, to leaven a whole nation--a low, mean sycophant, cowardly, false, and foul-tongued; a fellow to belie you and betray you--to track you into evil that others might stare at you there. I never thought ill of mankind till I knew him. Do you know whom I mean--eh, George?'

'Faith, if the portrait be not intended for myself, I am at a loss to guess,' said Kelly good-humouredly.

'So it is, you arch-scoundrel; and, shameless though you be, does it never occur to you how you will go down to posterity? The corrupter of a Prince; the fellow who debauched and degraded him!'

'Isn't it something that posterity will ever hear of me at all?' said Kelly. 'Is it not fame, at any rate? If there should be any records of our life together, who knows but a clever commentator will find out that but for me and my influence the Prince of Wales would have been a downright beast?--"that Kelly humanised your Royal Highness, kept you from all the contamination of cardinals and scheming Monsignori, rallied your low spirits, comforted your dark hours, and enjoyed your bright ones."'

'For what--for what? what was his price?' cried Charles eagerly.

'Because he felt in his heart that, sooner or later, you 'd be back, King of England and Ireland, and George Kelly wouldn't be forgotten. No, faith; Archbishop of Westminster; and devil a less I'd be--that's the price, if you wish to hear it!'

The Prince laughed heartily, as he ever did when the friar gave way to his impertinent humour, and then, sitting up in his bed, told Kelly to order coffee. To his last hour, coffee seemed to exercise the most powerful effect on him, clearing his faculties after hours of debauch, and enabling him to apply himself to business when he appeared to be utterly exhausted. Kelly, who well knew how to adapt himself to each pa.s.sing shade of temperament, followed the Prince into a small dressing-room in silence, and remained standing at a short distance behind his chair.

'Tell Conway,' said he, pointing to a ma.s.s of papers on the table, 'that these must wait. I 'll go down to Albano tomorrow or next day for a change of air. I 'll not hear of anything till I return. Cardinal Altieri knows better than I do what Sir Horace Mann writes home to England. This court is in perfect understanding with St. James's. As to the Countess, Kelly, let it not be spoken of again; you hear me? What paper is that in your hand?'

'A pet.i.tion, I believe, sire; at least, the quarter it comes from would so bespeak it.'