Dark Rosaleen by Marjorie Bowen Page B

Mr. Wolfe Tone, whose life had been all action and whose indomitable purpose had surmounted almost inconceivable difficulties without means or influence. Scarcely speaking the French language, he had come from America, where he had left a wife and small family, the pleasant life of a farmer and complete security, to endeavour to rouse the French in the cause of Irish independence, and he had so far accomplished his purpose that he was in touch with every man of influence in Paris.
    He was a slender young man with an aquiline nose and smiling eyes, extremely well-dressed in the Republican fashion with a little air of honest coxcombry that he laughed at himself as an admitted weakness. He said at once, with the utmost frankness:
    ‘I hope, sir, that you have considered what it means, making the acquaintance of men like myself?’
    Fitzgerald smiled at this warning which came oddly from the boldest of the supporters of the French Revolution. But Tom Reynolds seemed displeased.
    ‘You were the last man to be so prudent, I thought, Mr. Tone,’ he exclaimed, on a note of reproach. ‘Lord Edward can be of the greatest assistance to your schemes.’
    ‘And may do himself the greatest amount of damage,’ replied Mr. Tone. ‘Are you, my Lord, sincere, or merely excited by youthful ardour?’
    ‘I am sincere in my good wishes,’ replied Fitzgerald. ‘I have not thought yet how far I should go in action.’
    ‘You wear the uniform of King George,’ said Tone, without the least malice or reproach. ‘You are highly connected in England. I should be sorry if any of my intrigues should hurt your future, sir.’
    ‘But what of yourself, Mr. Tone?’
    ‘I never had very much to lose, sir, and now have nothing at all. My old father is provided for and my brothers are wild, adventuring fellows like myself. As for my charming wife and dear children, I must trust them to Providence.’
    Lord Edward was infinitely touched by these words from the man he had always heard referred to as a dangerous fanatic and an unprincipled agitator. He held out his hand and the young man clasped it warmly. Mr. Tone’s mention of his family gave Fitzgerald the first hesitation in his half-formed projects. Was it not his duty to be careful when he was to attach his fortunes to those of Pamela? Had not Madame de Sillery herself warned him? No politics, no brawls, no intrigues…
    Mr. Tone instantly noted the cloud on the ingenuous face smiling at him.
    ‘We cannot expect to involve men like you,’ he said, regardless of the glances and frowns of Thomas Reynolds. ‘You have too much to lose. It were better, sir, if you kept away from us and knew nothing of our schemes.’
    Uneasy at his own hesitation, Fitzgerald replied bluntly:
    ‘I don’t hold with a French invasion of Ireland, even if they had the men and money, which I doubt.’
    ‘I did not hold with it myself, sir, some time ago,’ replied Mr. Tone, in no way rebuked or discomposed, ‘but now there are many of us come to change our way of thinking. Not only myself, sir, who am of but small account, but many others, not fanatics willing to do anything for bread or plunder, nor unprincipled agitators, but gentlemen of good education and intelligence, and of peaceful tastes too, sir,’ added Mr. Tone, rather wistfully, ‘who would sooner handle a plough than a sword.’
    ‘You do not think the affairs of Ireland,’ interrupted Fitzgerald, ‘would be better left to men like Grattan, Stewart, Fitzgibbon?’
    Mr. Tone shook his head. Slight derision flashed in his large eyes.
    ‘I trust none of them.’
    ‘They are moderate men and the policy of the English government is moderate.’
    ‘Do you think so, sir?’
    Again Mr. Tone regarded him with kindly mockery. ‘Perhaps there is a good deal that you, moving in viceregal circles in Dublin, so much out of the country, far in America (as I hear you have been) have not heard. You must meet Mr. Thomas Addis Emmett, a learned gentleman, sir,