,

Your devoted friend and servant,

C. L.

THE FORTUNES OF GLENCORE

CHAPTER I. A LONELY LANDSCAPE

Where that singularly beautiful inlet of the sea known in the west of
Ireland as the Killeries, after narrowing to a mere strait, expands into
a bay, stands the ruin of the ancient Castle of Glencore. With the bold
steep sides of Ben Creggan behind, and the broad blue Atlantic in front,
the proud keep would seem to have occupied a spot that might have
bid defiance to the boldest assailant. The estuary itself here seems
entirely landlocked, and resembles, in the wild, fantastic outline of
the mountains around, a Norwegian fiord, rather than a scene in our
own tamer landscape. The small village of Leenane, which stands on
the Galway shore, opposite to Glencore, presents the only trace of
habitation in this wild and desolate district, for the country around
is poor, and its soil offers little to repay the task of the husbandman.
Fishing is then the chief, if not the sole, resource of those who pass
their lives in this solitary region; and thus in every little creek or
inlet of the shore may be seen the stout craft of some hardy venturer,
and nets, and tackle, and such-like gear, lie drying on every rocky
eminence. We have said that Glencore was a ruin; but still its vast
proportions, yet traceable in massive fragments of masonry, displayed
specimens of various eras of architecture, from the rudest tower of
the twelfth century to the more ornate style of a later period; while
artificial embankments and sloped sides of grass showed the remains of
what once had been terrace and "parterre," the successors, it might be
presumed, of fosse and parapet. Many a tale of cruelty and oppression,
many a story of suffering and sorrow, clung to those old walls, for they
had formed the home of a haughty and a cruel race, the last descendant
of which died at the close of the past century. The Castle of Glencore,
with the title, had now descended to a distant relation of the house,
who had repaired and so far restored the old residence as to make it
habitable,--that is to say, four bleak and lofty chambers were
rudely furnished, and about as many smaller ones fitted for servant
accommodation; but no effort at embellishment, not even the commonest
attempt at neatness, was bestowed on the grounds or the garden; and in
this state it remained for some five-and-twenty or thirty years, when
the tidings reached the little village of L