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diff --git a/old/32342-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/32342-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cd9d98 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32342-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,20255 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Davenport Dunn, Vol. 2 by Charles Lever + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Davenport Dunn, Volume 2 (of 2), by Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Davenport Dunn, Volume 2 (of 2) + A Man Of Our Day + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32342] +Last Updated: February 27, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVENPORT DUNN, VOLUME 2 (OF 2) *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +DAVENPORT DUNN, +</h1> +<h2> +A MAN OF OUR TIMES +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +Volume Two of Two +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles Lever. +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (188K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (35K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>DAVENPORT DUNN: A MAN OF OUR DAY</b> +</a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> THE +TELEGRAPHIC DESPATCH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. +</a> "THE RUN FOR GOLD” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> +CHAPTER III. </a> A NOTE FROM DAVIS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> LAZARUS, STEIN, +GELDWECHSLER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> A +VILLAGE NEAR THE RHINE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. +</a> IMMINENT TIDINGS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> +CHAPTER VII. </a> A DISCURSIVE CONVERSATION <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> A FAMILY MEETING +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> A +SAUNTER BY MOONLIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> A +RIDE TO NEUWIED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> HOW +GROG DAVIS DISCOURSED, AND ANNESLEY BEECHER LISTENED <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> REFLECTIONS OF +ANNESLEY BEECHER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> A +DARK CONFIDENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> SOME +DAYS AT GLENGARIFF <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> A +BRIDLE-PATH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> THE +DISCOVERY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> THE +DOUBLE BLUNDER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> DOWNING +STREET <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE +COTTAGE NEAR SNOWDON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. +</a> A SUPPER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER +XXI. </a> A SHOCK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER +XXII. </a> A MASTER AND MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> +CHAPTER XXIII. </a> ANNESLEY BEECHER IN A NEW PART <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> A DEAD HEAT <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> STUNNING TIDINGS +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> UNPLEASANT +EXPLANATIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> OVERREACHINGS +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> AT +ROME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE +TWO VISCOUNTESSES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> MRS. +SEACOLE'S <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> THE +CONVENT OF ST. GEORGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. +</a> SHOWING “HOW WOUNDS ARE HEALED” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> "GROG” +IN COUNCIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> THE +TRAIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> THE +TRIAL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> THE +END OF ALL THINGS <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h1> +DAVENPORT DUNN: A MAN OF OUR DAY +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. THE TELEGRAPHIC DESPATCH +</h2> +<p> +When Mr. Davenport Dunn entered the drawing-room before dinner on that +day, his heart beat very quickly as he saw Lady Augusta Arden was there +alone. In what spirit she remembered the scene of the morning,—whether +she felt resentment towards him for his presumption, was disposed to scoff +down his pretensions, or to regard them, if not with favor, with at least +forgiveness, were the themes on which his mind was yet dwelling. The +affable smile with which she now met him did more to resolve these doubts +than all his casuistry. +</p> +<p> +“Was it not very thoughtful of me,” said she, “to release you this +morning, and suffer you to address yourself to the important things which +claimed your attention? I really am quite vain of my self-denial.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet, Lady Augusta,” said he, in a low tone, “I had felt more +flattered if you had been less mindful of the exigency, and been more +interested in what I then was speaking of.” +</p> +<p> +“What a selfish speech!” said she, laughing. “Now that my forbearance has +given you all the benefits it could confer, you turn round and say you are +not grateful for it. I suppose,” added she, half pettishly, “the despatch +was not very pressing after all, and that this was the cause of some +disappointment.” +</p> +<p> +“I am unable to say,” replied he, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? Surely, when you read it—” +</p> +<p> +“But I have not read it,—there it is still, just as you saw-it,” +said he, producing the packet with the seal unbroken. +</p> +<p> +“But really, Mr. Dunn,” said she, and her face flushed up as she spoke, +“this does not impress me with the wonderful aptitude for affairs men +ascribe to you. Is it usual to treat these messages so cavalierly?” +</p> +<p> +“It never happened with me till this morning, Lady Augusta,” said he, in +the same low tone. “Carried away by an impulse which I will not try to +account for, I had dared to speak to you of myself and of my future in a +way that showed how eventful to both might prove the manner in which you +heard me.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Dunn,” cried Lord Glengariff, entering, “I suppose you have made a +day of work of it; we have never seen you since breakfast.” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, my Lord,” replied he, in deep confusion, “I have taken +my idleness in the widest sense. Never wrote a line,—not looked into +a newspaper.” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn't even open a telegraphic message which came to his hands this +morning,” said Lady Augusta, with a malicious drollery in her glance +towards him. +</p> +<p> +“Incredible!” cried my Lord. +</p> +<p> +“Quite true, I assure your Lordship,” said Dunn, in deeper confusion, and +not knowing what turn to give his explanation. +</p> +<p> +“The fact is,” broke in Lady Augusta, hurriedly, “Mr. Dunn was so implicit +in his obedience to our prescription of perfect rest and repose, that he +made it a point of honor not even to read a telegram without permission.” +</p> +<p> +“I must say it is very flattering to us,” said Lord Glengariff; “but now +let us reward the loyalty, and let him see what his news is.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn looked at Lady Augusta, who, with the very slightest motion of her +head, gave consent, and he broke open the despatch. +</p> +<p> +Dunn crushed the paper angrily in his hand when he finished reading it, +and muttered some low words of angry meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing disagreeable, I trust?” asked his Lordship. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, something even worse than disagreeable,” said he; then +flattening out the crumpled paper, he held it to him to read. +</p> +<p> +Lord Glengariff, putting on his spectacles, perused the document slowly, +and then, turning towards Dunn, in a voice of deep agitation, said, “This +is very disastrous indeed; are you prepared for it?” +</p> +<p> +Without attending to the question, Dunn took the despatch from Lord +Glengariff, and handed it to Lady Augusta. +</p> +<p> +“A run for gold!” cried she, suddenly. “An attempt to break the Ossory +Bank! What does it all mean? Who are they that make this attack?” +</p> +<p> +“Opponents—some of them political, some commercial, a few, perhaps, +men personally unfriendly,—enemies of what they call my success!” +and he sighed heavily on the last word. “Let me see,” said he, slowly, +after a pause; “to-day is Thursday—to-morrow will be the 28th—heavy +payments are required for the Guatemala Trunk Line,—something more +than forty thousand pounds to be made up. The Parma Loan, second +instalment, comes on the 80th.” +</p> +<p> +“Dinner, my Lord,” said a servant, throwing open the door. +</p> +<p> +“A thousand pardons, Lady Augusta,” said Dunn, offering his arm. “I am +really shocked at obtruding these annoyances upon your notice. You see, my +Lord,” added he, gayly, “one of the penalties of admitting the +'working-men of life' into your society.” +</p> +<p> +It was only as they passed on towards the dinner-room that Lord Glengariff +noticed Miss Kellett's absence. +</p> +<p> +“She has a headache or a cold, I believe,” said Lady Augusta, carelessly; +and they sat down to dinner. +</p> +<p> +So long as the servants were present the conversation ranged over +commonplace events and topics, little indeed passing, since each seemed +too deeply impressed with grave forebodings for much inclination for mere +talking. Once alone—and Lord Glengariff took the earliest moment to +be so—they immediately resumed the subject of the ill-omened +despatch. +</p> +<p> +“You are, at all events, prepared, Dunn?” said the Earl; “this onslaught +does not take you by surprise?” +</p> +<p> +“I am ashamed to say it does, my Lord,” said he, with a painful smile. “I +was never less suspectful of any malicious design upon me. I was, for the +first time perhaps in all my life, beginning to feel strong in the +consciousness that I had faithfully performed my allotted part in the +world, advanced the great interests of my country and of humanity +generally. This blow has, therefore, shocked me deeply.” +</p> +<p> +“What a base ingratitude!” exclaimed Lady Augusta, indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“After all,” said Dunn, generously, “let us remember that I am not a fair +judge in my own cause. Others have taken, it may be, another reading of my +character; they may deem me narrow-minded, selfish, and ambitious. My very +success—I am not going to deny it has been great—may have +provoked its share of enmity. Why, the very vastness and extent of my +projects were a sort of standing reproach to petty speculators and small +scheme-mongers.” +</p> +<p> +“So that it has really come upon you unawares?” said the Earl, reverting +to his former remark. +</p> +<p> +“Completely so, my Lord. The tranquil ease and happiness I have enjoyed +under this roof—the first real holiday in a long life of toil—are +the best evidences I can offer how little I could have anticipated such a +stroke.” +</p> +<p> +“Still I fervently hope it will not prove more than inconvenience,” said +he, feelingly. +</p> +<p> +“Not even so much, my Lord, as regards money. I cannot believe that the +movement will be general. There is no panic in the country, rents are +paid, prices remunerating, markets better than we have seen them for +years; the sound sense and intelligence of the people will soon detect in +this attack the prompting of some personal malice. In all likelihood a few +thousands will meet the whole demand.” +</p> +<p> +“I am so glad to hear you say so!” said Lady Augusta, smiling. “Really, +when I think of all our persuasions to detain you here, I never could +acquit us of some sort of share in any disaster your delay might have +occasioned.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dunn would never connect his visit here with such consequences, I 'm +certain,” said the Earl. +</p> +<p> +“Assuredly not, my Lord,” said he; and as his eyes met those of Lady +Augusta, he grew red, and felt confused. +</p> +<p> +“Are your people—your agents and men of business, I mean,” said the +Earl—“equal to such an emergency as the present, or will they have +to look to <i>you</i> for guidance and direction?” +</p> +<p> +“Merely to meet the demand for gold is a simple matter, my Lord,” said +Dunn, “and does not require any effort of mind or forethought. To prevent +the back-water of this rushing flood submerging and engulfing other +banking-houses; to defend, in a word, the lines of our rivals and enemies; +to save from the consequences of their recklessness the very men who have +assailed us,—these are weighty cares!” +</p> +<p> +“And are you bound in honor to take this trouble in their behalf?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord, not in honor any more than in law, but bound by the debt we +owe to that commercial community by whose confidence we have acquired +fortune. My position at the head of the great industrial movement in this +country imposes upon me the great responsibility that 'no injury should +befall the republic' Against the insane attacks of party hate, factious +violence, or commercial knavery, I am expected to do my duty, nay, more, I +am expected to be provided with means to meet whatever emergency may +arise,—defeat this scheme, expose that, denounce the other. Am I +wrong in calling these weighty cares?” +</p> +<p> +Self-glorification was not usually one of Davenport Dunn's weaknesses,—indeed, +“self,” in any respect, was not a theme on which he was disposed to dwell,—and +yet now, for reasons which may better be suspected than alleged, he talked +in a spirit of even vain exultation of his plans, his station, and his +influence. If it was something to display before the peer claims to +national respect, which, if not so ancient, were scarcely less imposing +than his own, it was more pleasing still to dilate upon a theme to which +the peer's daughter listened so eagerly. It was, besides, a grand occasion +to exhibit the vast range of resources, the widespread influences, and +far-reaching sympathies of the great commercial man, to show him, not the +mere architect of his own fortune, but the founder of a nation's +prosperity. While he thus held forth, and in a strain to which fervor had +lent a sort of eloquence, a servant entered with another despatch. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I trust this brings you better news,” cried Lady Augusta, eagerly; +and, as he broke the envelope, he thanked her with a grateful look. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” interposed she, anxiously, as he gazed at the lines without +speaking,—“well?” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I said,” muttered Dunn, in a deep and suppressed voice,—“a +systematic plot, a deep-laid scheme against me.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it still about the Bank?” asked the Earl, whose interest had been +excited by the tenor of the recent conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord; they insist on making me out a bubble speculator, an +adventurer, a Heaven knows what of duplicity and intrigue. I would simply +ask them: 'Is the wealth with which this same Davenport Dunn has enriched +you real, solid, and tangible; are the guineas mint-stamped; are the +shares true representatives of value?' But why do I talk of these people? +If they render me no gratitude, they owe me none,—my aims were +higher and greater than ever <i>they</i> or <i>their</i> interests +comprehended.” From the haughty defiance of his tone, his voice fell +suddenly to a low and quick key, as he said: “This message informs me that +the demand upon the Ossory to-morrow will be a great concerted movement. +Barnard, the man I myself returned last election for the borough, is to +head it; he has canvassed the county for holders of our notes, and such is +the panic that the magistrates have sent for an increased force of police +and two additional companies of infantry. My man of business asks, 'What +is to be done?'” +</p> +<p> +“And what <i>is</i> to be done?” asked the Earl. +</p> +<p> +“Meet it, my Lord. Meet the demand as our duty requires us.” +</p> +<p> +There was a calm dignity in the manner Dunn spoke the words that had its +full effect upon the Earl and his daughter. They saw this “man of the +people” display, in a moment of immense peril, an amount of cool courage +that no dissimulation could have assumed. As they could, and did indeed +say afterwards, when relating the incident, “We were sitting at the +dessert, chatting away freely about one thing or another, when the +confirmed tidings arrived by telegraph that an organized attack was to be +made against his credit by a run for gold. You should really have seen +him,” said Lady Augusta, “to form any idea of the splendid composure he +manifested. The only thing like emotion he exhibited was a sort of haughty +disdain, a proud pity, for men who should have thus requited the great +services he had been rendering to the country.” +</p> +<p> +It is but just to own that he did perform his part well; he acted it, too, +as theatrical critics would say, “chastely;” that is, there was no rant, +no exaggeration,—not a trait too much, not a tint too strong. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I knew of any way to be of service to you in this emergency, +Dunn,” said the Earl, as they returned to the drawing-room; “I'm no +capitalist, nor have I a round sum at my command—” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Lord,” broke in Dunn, with much feeling, “of money I can command +whatever amount I want. Baring, Hope, Rothschild, any of them would assist +me with millions, if I needed them, to-morrow, which happily, however, I +do not. There is still a want which they cannot supply, but which, I am +proud to say, I have no longer to fear. The kind sympathy of your Lordship +and Lady Augusta has laid me under an obligation—” Here Mr. Dunn's +voice faltered; the Earl grasped his hand with a generous clasp, and Lady +Augusta carried her handkerchief to her eyes as she averted her head. +</p> +<p> +“What a pack of hypocrites!” cries our reader, in disgust. No, not so. +There was a dash of reality through all this deceit. They <i>were</i> +moved,—their own emotions, the tones of their own voices, the +workings of their own natures, <i>had</i> stirred some amount of honest +sentiment in their hearts; how far it was alloyed by less worthy feeling, +to what extent fraud and trickery mingled there, we are not going to tell +you,—perhaps we could not, if we would. +</p> +<p> +“You mean to go over to Kilkenny, then, to-morrow, Dunn?” asked his +Lordship, after a painful pause. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, my presence is indispensable.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you allow Lady Augusta and myself to accompany you? I believe and +trust that men like myself have not altogether lost the influence they +once used to wield in this country, and I am vain enough to imagine I may +be useful.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my Lord, this overwhelms me!” said Dunn, and covered his eyes with +his hand. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. “THE RUN FOR GOLD” +</h2> +<p> +The great Ossory Bank, with its million sterling of paid-up capital, its +royal charter, its titled directory, and its shares at a premium, stood at +the top of Patrick Street, Kilkenny, and looked, in the splendor of its +plate-glass windows and the security of its iron railings, the very type +of solvency and safety. The country squire ascended the hall-door steps +with a sort of feeling of acquaintanceship, for he had known the Viscount +who once lived there in days before the Union, and the farmer experienced +a sense of trustfulness in depositing his hard-earned gains in what he +regarded as a temple of Croesus. What an air of prosperity and business +did the interior present! The massive doors swung noiselessly at the +slightest touch, meet emblem of the secrecy that prevailed, and the +facility that pervaded all transactions, within. What alacrity, too, in +that numerous band of clerks who counted and cashed and checked +unceasingly! How calmly they passed from desk to desk, a word, a mere +whisper, serving for converse; and then what a grand and mysterious +solemnity about that back office with its double doors, within which some +venerable cashier, bald-headed and pursy, stole at intervals to consult +the oracle who dwelt within! In the spacious apartment devoted to cash +operations, nothing denoted the former destiny of the mansion but a large +fireplace, with a pretentious chimney-piece of black oak, over which a +bust of our gracious Queen now figured, an object of wonderment and +veneration to many a frieze-coated gazer. +</p> +<p> +On the morning of the 12th August, to which day we have brought our +present history, the street in front of the Bank presented a scene of no +ordinary interest. From an early hour people continued to pour in, till +the entire way was choked up with carriages and conveyances of every +description, from the well-equipped barouche of the country gentleman to +the humblest “shandradan” of the petty farmer. Sporting-looking fellows +upon high-conditioned thoroughbreds, ruddy old squires upon cobs, and +hard-featured country-folk upon shaggy ponies, were all jammed up together +amidst a dense crowd of foot passengers. A strong police-force was drawn +up in front of the Bank, although nothing in the appearance of the +assembled mass seemed to denote the necessity for their presence. A low +murmur of voices ran through the crowd as each talked to his neighbor, +consulting, guessing, and speculating, as temperament inclined: some were +showing placards and printed notices they had received through the post; +some pointed to newspaper paragraphs; others displayed great rolls of +notes; but all talked with a certain air of sadness that appeared to +presage coming misfortune. As ten o'clock drew nigh, the hour for opening +the Bank, the excitement rose to a painful pitch; every eye was directed +to the massive door, whose gorgeous brass knocker shone with a sort of +insolent brilliancy in the sun. At every moment watches were consulted, +and in muttered whispers men broke their fears to those beside them. Some +could descry the heads of people moving about in the cash-office, where a +considerable bustle appeared to prevail; and even this much of life seemed +to raise the spirits of the crowd, and the rumor ran quickly on every side +that the Bank was about to open. At last the deep bell of the town-hall +struck ten. At each fall of the hammer all expected to see the door move, +but it never stirred; and now the pent-up feeling of the multitude might +be marked in a sort of subdued growl,—a low, ill-boding sound, that +seemed ta come out of the very earth. As if to answer the unspoken anger +of the crowd,—a challenge accepted ere given,—a heavy crash +was heard, and the police proceeded to load with ball in the face of the +people,—a demonstration whose significance there was no mistaking. A +cry of angry defiance burst from the assembled mass at the sight, but as +suddenly was checked again as the massive door was seen to move, and then, +with a loud bang, fly wide open. The rush was now tremendous. With some +vague impression that everything depended upon being amongst the first, +the people poured in with all the force of a mighty torrent. Each, +fighting his way as if for life itself, regardless of the cries of +suffering about him, strove to get forward; nor could all the efforts of +the police avail to restrain them in the slightest. Bleeding, wounded, +half suffocated, with bruised faces and clothes torn to tatters, they +struggled on,—no deference to age, no respect to condition. It was a +fearful anarchy, where every thought of the past was lost in the present +emergency. On they poured, breathless and bloody, with gleaming eyes and +faces of demoniacal meaning; they pushed, they jostled, and they tore, +till the first line gained the counter, against which the force behind now +threatened to crush them to death. +</p> +<p> +What a marvellous contrast to the storm-tossed multitude, steaming and +disfigured, was the calm attitude of the clerks within the counter! Not +deigning, as it seemed, to bestow a glance upon the agitated scene before +them, they moved placidly about, pen behind the ear, in voices of ordinary +tone, asking what each wanted, and counting over the proffered notes with +all the impassiveness of every-day habit. “Gold for these, did you say?” +they repeated, as though any other demand met the ear! Why, the very air +rang with the sound, and the walls gave back the cry. From the wild voice +of half-maddened recklessness to the murmur that broke from fainting +exhaustion, there was but one word,—“Gold!” A drowning crew, as the +surging waves swept over them, never screamed for succor with wilder +eagerness than did that tangled mass shout, “Gold, gold!” +</p> +<p> +In their savage energy they could scarcely credit that their demands +should be so easily complied with; they were half stupefied at the calm +indifference that met their passionate appeal. They counted and recounted +the glittering pieces over and over, as though some trick were to be +apprehended, some deception to be detected. When drawn or pulled back from +the counter by others eager as themselves, they might be seen in corners, +counting over their money, and reckoning it once more. It was so hard to +believe that all their terrors were for nothing, their worst fears without +a pretext. Even yet they couldn't imagine but that the supply must soon +run short, and they kept asking those that came away whether they, too, +had got their gold. Hour after hour rolled on, and still the same demand, +and still the same unbroken flow of the yellow tide continued. Some very +large checks had been presented; but no sooner was their authenticity +acknowledged than they were paid. An agent from another bank arrived with +a formidable roll of “Ossory” notes, but was soon seen issuing forthwith +two bursting little bags of sovereigns. Notwithstanding all this, the +pressure never ceased for a moment; nay, as the day wore on, the crowds +seemed to have grown denser and more importunate; and when the +half-exhausted clerks claimed a few minutes' respite for a biscuit and a +glass of wine, a cry of impatience burst from the insatiable multitude. It +was three o'clock. In another hour the Bank would close, as many surmised, +never to open again. It was evident, from the still increasing crowd and +the excitement that prevailed, how little confidence the ready payments of +the Bank had diffused. They who came forth loaded with gold were regarded +as fortunate, while they who still waited for their turn were in all the +feverish torture of uncertainty. +</p> +<p> +A little after three the crowd was cleft open by the passage of a large +travelling-barouche, which, with four steaming posters, advanced slowly +through the dense mass. +</p> +<p> +“Who comes here with an earl's coronet?” said a gentleman to his neighbor, +as the carriage passed. “Lord Glengariff, and Davenport Dunn himself, by +George!” cried he suddenly. +</p> +<p> +The words were as quickly caught up by those at either side, and the news, +“Davenport Dunn has arrived,” ran through the immense multitude. If there +was an eager, almost intense anxiety to catch a glimpse of him, there was +still nothing that could indicate, in the slightest degree, the state of +popular feeling towards him. Slightly favorable it might possibly have +been, inasmuch as a faint effort at a cheer burst forth at the +announcement of his name; but it was repressed just as suddenly, and it +was in a silence almost awful that he descended from the carriage at the +private door of the Bank. +</p> +<p> +“Do, I beg of you, Mr. Dunn,” said Lady Augusta, as he stood to assist her +to alight; “let me entreat of you not to think of us. We can be most +comfortably accommodated at the hotel.” +</p> +<p> +“By all means, Dunn. I insist upon it,” broke in the Earl. +</p> +<p> +“In declining my poor hospitality, my Lord,” said Dunn, “you will grieve +me much, while you will also favor the impression that I am not in a +condition to offer it.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! quite true,—very justly observed. Dunn is perfectly right, +Augusta. We ought to stop here.” And he descended at once, and gave his +hand to his daughter. +</p> +<p> +Lady Augusta turned about ere she entered the house, and looked at the +immense crowd before her. There was something of almost resentfulness in +the haughty gaze she bestowed; but, let us own, the look, whatever it +implied, well became her proud features; and more than one was heard to +say, “What a handsome woman she is!” +</p> +<p> +This little incident in the day's proceedings gave rise to much +conjecture, some auguring that events must be grave and menacing when +Dunn's own presence was required, others inferring that he came to give +assurance and confidence to the Bank. Nor was the appearance of Lord +Glen-gariff less open to its share of surmise; and many were the inquiries +how far he was personally interested,—whether he was a large +stockholder of the concern, or deep in its books as debtor. Leaving the +speculative minds who discussed the subject without doors, let us follow +Mr. Dunn, as, with Lady Augusta on his arm, he led the way to the +drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +The rooms were handsomely furnished, that to the back opening upon a +conservatory filled with rich geraniums, and ornamented with a pretty +marble fountain, now in full play. Indeed, so well had Dunn's orders been +attended to, that the apartments which he scarcely occupied for above a +day or so in a twelvemonth had actually assumed the appearance of being in +constant use. Books, prints, and newspapers were scattered about, fresh +flowers stood in the vases, and recent periodicals lay on the tables. +</p> +<p> +“What a charming house!” exclaimed Lady Augusta; and, really, the +approbation was sincere, for the soft-cushioned sofas, the perfumed air, +the very quiet itself, were in delightful contrast to the heat and +discomfort of a journey by “rail.” +</p> +<p> +It was in vain Dunn entreated his noble guests to accept some luncheon; +they peremptorily refused, and, in fact, declared that they would only +remain there on the condition that he bestowed no further thought upon +them, addressing himself entirely to the weighty cares around him. +</p> +<p> +“Will you, at least, tell me at what hour you'd like dinner, my Lord? +Shall we say six?” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart. Only, once more, I beg, never think of us. We are most +comfortable here, and want for nothing.” +</p> +<p> +With a deep bow of obedience, Dunn moved towards the door, when suddenly +Lady Augusta whispered a few rapid words in her father's ear. +</p> +<p> +“Stop a moment, Dunn!” cried the Earl. “Augusta is quite right. The +observation is genuine woman's wit She says I ought to go down along with +you, to show myself in the Bank; that my presence there will have a +salutary effect. Eh, what d'ye think?” +</p> +<p> +“I am deeply indebted to Lady Augusta for the suggestion,” said Dunn, +coloring highly. “There cannot be a doubt that your Lordship's countenance +and support at such a moment are priceless.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm glad you think so, glad she thought of it,” muttered the Earl, as he +arranged his white locks before the glass, and made a sort of hasty toilet +for his approaching appearance in public. +</p> +<p> +To judge from the sensation produced by the noble Lord's appearance in the +Bank, Lady Augusta's suggestion was admirable. The arrival of a wagon-load +of bullion could scarcely have caused a more favorable impression. If Noah +had been an Englishman, the dove would have brought him not an +olive-branch but a lord. I say it in no spirit of sarcasm or sneer, for, +<i>coteris paribus</i>, lords are better company than commoners; I merely +record it passingly, as a strong trait of our people and our race. So was +it now, that from the landed gentleman to the humblest tenant-farmer, the +Earl's presence seemed a fresh guarantee of solvency. Many remarked that +Dunn looked pale,—some thought anxious; but all agreed that the +hearty-faced, white-haired old nobleman at his side was a perfect picture +of easy self-satisfaction. +</p> +<p> +They took their seats in the cash-office, within the counter, to be seen +by all, and see everything that went forward. If Davenport Dunn regarded +the scene with a calm and unmoved indifference, his attention being, in +fact, more engrossed by his newspaper than by what went on around, Lord +Glengariff's quick eye and ear were engaged incessantly. He scanned the +appearance of each new applicant as he came up to the table; he listened +to his demand, noted its amount, and watched with piercing glance what +effect it might produce on the cashier. Nor was he an unmoved spectator of +the scene; for while he simply contented himself with an angry stare at +the frieze-coated peasant, he actually scowled an insolent defiance when +any of higher rank or more pretentious exterior presented himself, +muttering in broken accents beneath his breath, “Too bad, too bad!” “Gross +ingratitude!” “A perfect disgrace!” and so on. +</p> +<p> +He was at the very climax of his indignation, when a voice from the crowd +addressed him with “How d' ye do, my Lord? I was not aware you were in +this part of the country.” +</p> +<p> +He put up his double eyeglass, and speedily recognized the Mr. Barnard +whom Dunn mentioned as so unworthily requiting all he had done for him. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” said the Earl, haughtily; “and just as little did I expect to +see you here on such an errand as this. In <i>my</i> day, country +gentlemen were the first to give the example of trust and confidence, and +not foremost in propagating unworthy apprehensions.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not a partner in the Bank, my Lord, and know nothing of its +solvency,” said the other, as he handed in two checks over the counter. +</p> +<p> +“Eight thousand six hundred and forty-eight. Three thousand, twelve, nine, +six,” said the clerk, mechanically. “How will you have it, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Bank of Ireland notes will do.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn lifted his eyes from the paper, and then, raising his hat, saluted +Mr. Barnard. +</p> +<p> +“I trust you left Mrs. Barnard well?” said he, in a calm voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, thank you—well—quite well,” said Barnard, in some +confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Will you remember to tell her that she shall have the acorns of the +Italian pines next week? I have heard of their arrival at the +Custom-house.” +</p> +<p> +While Barnard muttered a very confused expression of thanks, the old Earl +looked from one to the other of the speakers in a sort of bewilderment. +Where was the angry indignation he had looked for from Dunn,—where +the haughty denunciation of a black ingratitude? +</p> +<p> +“Why, Dunn, I say,” whispered he, “isn't this Barnard the fellow you spoke +of,—the man you returned to Parliament t' other day?” +</p> +<p> +“The same, my Lord,” replied Dunn, in a low, cautious voice. “He is here +exacting a right,—a just right,—and no more. It is not now, +nor in this place, that I would remind him how ungraciously he has treated +me. This day is <i>his</i>. <i>Mine</i> will come yet.” +</p> +<p> +Before Lord Glengariff could well recover from the astonishment of this +cold and calculating patience, Mr. Hankes pushed his way through the +crowd, with an open letter in his hand. +</p> +<p> +It was a telegram just received, with an account of an attack made by the +mob on Mr. Dunn's house in Dublin. Like all such communications, the +tidings were vague and unsatisfactory: “A terrific attack by mob on No. +18. Windows smashed, and front door broken, but not forced. Police +repulsed; military sent for.” +</p> +<p> +“So much for popular gratitude, my Lord,” said Dunn, as he handed the slip +of paper to the Earl. “Fortunately, it was never the prize on which I had +set my heart. Mr. Hankes,” said he, in a bland, calm voice, “the crowd +seems scarcely diminished outside. Will you kindly affix a notice on the +door, to state that, to convenience the public, the Bank will on this day +continue open till five o'clock?” +</p> +<p> +“By Heaven! they don't deserve such courtesy!” cried the old Lord, +passionately. “Be as just as you please, but show them no generosity. If +it be thus they treat the men who devote their best energies, their very +lives, to the country, I, for one, say it is not a land to live in, and I +spurn them as countrymen!” +</p> +<p> +“What would you have, my Lord? The best troops have turned and fled under +the influence of a panic; the magic words, 'We are mined!' once routed the +very column that had stormed a breach! You don't expect to find the +undisciplined masses of mankind more calmly courageous than the veterans +of a hundred fights.” +</p> +<p> +A wild hoarse cheer burst forth in the street at this moment, and drowned +all other sounds. +</p> +<p> +“What is it now? Are they going to attack us here?” cried the Earl. +</p> +<p> +The cry again arose, louder and wilder, and the shouts of “Dunn forever! +Dunn forever!” burst from a thousand voices. +</p> +<p> +“The placard has given great satisfaction, sir,” said Hankes, reappearing. +“Confidence is fully restored.” +</p> +<p> +And, truly, it was strange to see how quickly a popular sentiment spread +its influence; for they who now came forward to exchange their notes for +gold no longer wore the sturdy air of defiance of the earlier applicants, +but approached half reluctantly, and with an evident sense of shame, as +though yielding to an ignoble impulse of cowardice and fear. The old +Earl's haughty stare and insolent gaze were little calculated to rally the +diffident; for with his double eyeglass he scanned each new-comer with the +air of a man saying, “I mark, and I 'll not forget you!” +</p> +<p> +What a contrast was Dunn's expression,—that look so full of gentle +pity and forgiveness! Nothing of anger, no resentfulness, disfigured the +calm serenity of his pale features. He had a word of recognition—even +a smile and a kind inquiry—for some of those who now bashfully tried +to screen themselves from notice. The great rush was already over; a +visible change had come over that vast multitude who so lately clamored +aloud for gold. The very aspect of that calm, unmoved face was a terrible +rebuke to their unworthy terror. +</p> +<p> +“It's nigh over, sir,” whispered Hankes to his chief, as he stood with his +massive gold watch in the hollow of his hand. “Seven hundred only have +been paid out in the last twelve minutes. The battle is finished!” +</p> +<p> +The vociferous cheering without continued unceasingly, and yells for Dunn +to come forth and show himself filled the air. +</p> +<p> +“Do you hear them?” asked Lord Glengariff, looking eagerly at Dunn. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord. It is a very quick reaction. Popular opinion is generally +correct in the main; but it is rare to find it reversing its own judgments +so suddenly.” +</p> +<p> +“Very dispassionately spoken, sir,” said the old Lord, haughtily; “but +what if you had been unprepared for this onslaught to-day,—what if +they had succeeded in compelling you to suspend payments?” +</p> +<p> +“Had such been possible, my Lord, we would have richly deserved any +reverse that might have befallen us. What is it, Hankes?” cried he, as +that gentleman endeavored to get near him. +</p> +<p> +“You'll have to show yourself, sir; you must positively address them in a +few words from the balcony.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not think so, Hankes. This is a mere momentary burst of popular +feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all, sir. Listen to them now; they are shouting madly for you. To +decline the call will be taken as pride. I implore you to come out, if +only for a few minutes.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose he is right, Dunn,” said Lord Glengariff, half doggedly. “For +my own part, I have not the slightest pretension to say how popular +demonstrations—I believe that is the word for them—are to be +treated. Street gatherings, in my day, were called mobs, and dispersed by +horse police; our newer civilization parleys to them and flatters them. I +suppose you understand the requirements of the times we live in.” +</p> +<p> +The clamor outside was now deafening, and by its tone seemed, in some +sort, to justify what Hankes had said, that Dunn's indifference to their +demands would be construed into direct insult. +</p> +<p> +“Do it at once!” cried Hankes, eagerly, “or it will be too late. A few +words spoken now will save us thirty thousand pounds to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +This whisper in Dunn's ear decided the question, and, turning to the Earl, +he said, “I believe, my Lord, Mr. Hankes is right; I ought to show +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Come along, then,” said the old Lord, heartily; and he took his arm with +an air that said, “I 'll stand by you throughout.” +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had Dunn entered the drawing-room, than Lady Augusta met him, her +cheek flushed and her eyes flashing. “I am so glad,” cried she, “that you +are going to address them. It is a proud moment for you.” +</p> +<p> +When the window opened, and Davenport Dunn appeared on the balcony, the +wild roar of the multitude made the air tremble; for the cry was taken up +by others in remote streets, and came echoing back, again and again. I +have heard that consummate orators—men practised in all the arts of +public speaking—have acknowledged that there is no such severe test, +in the way of audience, as that mixed assemblage called a mob, wherein +every class has its representative, and every gradation its type. Now, +Dunn was not a great public speaker. The few sentences he was obliged to +utter on the occasions of his health being drunk cost him no uncommon +uneasiness; he spoke them, usually, with faltering accents and much +diffidence. It happens, however, that the world is often not displeased at +these small signs of confusion—these little defects in oratorical +readiness—in men of acknowledged ability, and even prefer them to +the rapid flow and voluble ease of more practised orators. There is, so to +say, a mock air of sincerity in the professions of a man whose feelings +seem fuller than his words,—something that implies the heart to be +in the right place, though the tongue be but a poor exponent of its +sentiments; and lastly, the world is always ready to accept the +embarrassment of the speaker as an evidence of the grateful emotions that +are swaying him. Hence the success of country gentlemen in the House; +hence the hearty cheers that follow the rambling discursiveness of bucolic +eloquence! +</p> +<p> +If Mr. Dunn was not an orator, he was a keen and shrewd observer, and one +fact he had noticed, which was that the shouts and cries of popular +assemblages are to an indifferent speaker pretty much what an +accompaniment is to a bad singer,—the aids by which he surmounts +difficult passages and conceals his false notes. Mr. Hankes, too, well +understood how to lead this orchestra, and had already taken his place on +the steps of the door beneath. +</p> +<p> +Dunn stood in front of the balcony, Lord Glengariff at his side and a +little behind him. With one hand pressed upon his heart, he bowed deeply +to the multitude. “My kind friends,” said he, in a low voice, but which +was audible to a great distance, “it has been my fortune to have received +at different times of my life gratifying assurances of sympathy and +respect, but never in the whole course of a very varied career do I +remember an occasion so deeply gratifying to my feelings as the present. +(Cheers, that lasted ten minutes and more.) It is not,” resumed he, with +more energy,—“it is not at a moment like this, surrounded by brave +and warm hearts, when the sentiments of affection that sway <i>you</i> are +mingled with the emotions of my own breast, that I would take a dark or +gloomy view of human nature, but truth compels me to say that the attack +made this day upon my credit—for <i>I</i> am the Ossory Bank—(loud +and wild cheering)—yes, I repeat it, for the stability of this +institution <i>I</i> am responsible by all I possess in this world. Every +share, every guinea, every acre I own are here! Far from me to impute +ungenerous or unworthy motives to any quarter; but, my worthy friends, +there has been foul play—(groans)—there has been treachery—(deeper +groans)—and my name is not Davenport Dunn but it shall be exposed +and punished. (Cries of “More power to ye,” and hearty cheers, greeted +this solemn assurance.) +</p> +<p> +“I am, as you are well aware, and I glory in declaring it, one of +yourselves. (Here the enthusiasm was tremendous.) By moderate abilities, +hard work, and unflinching honesty—for that is the great secret—I +have become that you see me to-day! (Loud cheering.) If there be amongst +you any who aspire to my position, I tell him that nothing is easier than +to attain it. I was a poor scholar—you know what a poor scholar is—when +the generous nobleman you see now at my side first noticed me. (Three +cheers for the Lord were proposed and given most heartily.) His generous +patronage gave me my first impulse in life. I soon learned how to do the +rest. (“That ye did;” “More power and success to ye,” here ran through the +mob.) Now, it was at the table of that noble Lord—enjoying the first +real holiday in thirty years of toil—that I received a telegraphic +despatch, informing me there would be a run for gold upon this Bank before +the week was over. I vow to you I did not believe it. I spurned the +tidings as a base calumny upon the people, and as I handed the despatch to +his Lordship to read, I said, 'If this be possible—and I doubt it +much—it is the treacherous intrigue of an enemy, not the spontaneous +movement of the public.' (Here Lord Glengariff bowed an acquiescence to +the statement, a condescension on his part that speedily called for three +vociferous cheers for “the Lord,” once more.) +</p> +<p> +“I am no lawyer,” resumed Dunn, with vigor,—“I am a plain man of the +people, whose head was never made for subtleties; but this I tell you, +that if it be competent for me to offer a reward for the discovery of +those who have hatched this conspiracy, my first care will be on my return +to Dublin to propose ten thousand pounds for such information as may +establish their guilt! (Cheering for a long time followed these words.) +They knew that they could not break the Bank,—in their hearts they +knew that our solvency was as complete as that of the Bank of England +itself,—but they thought that by a panic, and by exciting popular +feeling against me, I, in my pride of heart and my conscious honesty, +might be driven to some indignant reaction; that I might turn round and +say, Is this the country I have slaved for? Are these the people for whose +cause I have neglected personal advancement, and disregarded the +flatteries of the great? Are these the rewards of days of labor and nights +of anxiety and fatigue?” +</p> +<p> +They fancied, possibly, that, goaded by what I might have construed into +black ingratitude, I would say, like Coriolanus, 'I banish you!' But they +little knew either you or me, my warm-hearted friends! (Deafening cheers.) +They little knew that the well-grounded confidence of a nation cannot be +obliterated by the excitement of a moment. A panic in the commercial, like +a thunder-storm in the physical world, only leaves the atmosphere lighter, +and the air fresher than before; and so I say to you, we shall all breathe +more freely when we rise to-morrow,—no longer to see the dark clouds +overhead, nor hear the rumbling sounds that betoken coming storm. +</p> +<p> +“I have detained you too long. (“No, no!” vociferously broke forth.) I +have spoken also too much about myself. (“Not a bit; we could listen to ye +till mornin',” shouted a wild voice, that drew down hearty laughter.) But, +before I go, I wish to say, that, hard pressed as we are in the Bank—sorely +inconvenienced by the demands upon us—I am yet able to ask your +excellent Mayor to accept of five hundred pounds from me for the poor of +this city—(what a yell followed this announcement! plainly +indicating what a personal interest the tidings seemed to create )—and +to add—(loud cheers)—and to add—(more cheers)—and +to add,” cried he, in his deepest voice, “that the first toast I will +drink this day shall be, The Boys of Kilkenny!” +</p> +<p> +It is but justice to add that Mr. Dunn's speech was of that class of +oratory that “hears” better than it reads, while his audience was also +less critically disposed than may be our valued reader. At all events, it +achieved a great success; and within an hour after its delivery hawkers +cried through the streets of the city, “The Full and True Account of the +Run for Gold, with Mr. Dunn's Speech to the People;” and, sooth to say, +that though the paper was not “cream laid,” and though many of the letters +were upside down, the literature had its admirers, and was largely read. +Later on, the city was illuminated, two immense letters of D. D. figuring +in colored lamps in front of the town-hall, while copious libations of +whiskey-punch were poured forth in honor of the Man of the People. In +every rank and class, from the country gentleman who dined at the +club-house, to the smallest chop-house in John Street, there was but one +sentiment,—that Dunn was a fine fellow, and his enemies downright +scoundrels. If a few of nicer taste and more correct feeling were not +exactly pleased with his speech, they wisely kept their opinions to +themselves, and let “the Ayes have it,” who pronounced it to be manly, +above-board, modest, and so forth. +</p> +<p> +Throughout the entire evening Mr. Hankes was everywhere, personally or +through his agents; his care was to collect public sentiment, to ascertain +what popular opinion thought of the whole events of the morning, and to +promote, so far as he could with safety, the flattering estimate already +formed of his chief. Scarcely half an hour elapsed without Dunn's +receiving from his indefatigable lieutenant some small scrap of paper, +with a few words hastily scrawled in this fashion:— +</p> +<p> +“Rice and Walsh's, Nine o'clock.—Company in the coffee-room +enthusiastic; talk of a public dinner; some propose portrait in +town-hall.” +</p> +<p> +“A quarter to Ten, Judy's, Rose Inn Street.—Comic song, with a +chorus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'If for gold ye run, +Says the Shan van Voght; +If for gold ye run, +I'll send for Davy Dunn, +He's the boy to show ye fun, +Says the Shan van Voght!'” +</pre> +<p> +“Eleven o'clock, High Street.—Met the Dean, who says, 'D. D. is an +honor to us; we are all proud of him.' The county your own when you want +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Twelve o'clock.—If any one should venture to ask for gold +to-morrow, he will be torn to pieces by the mob.” +</p> +<p> +Assuredly it was a triumph; and every time that the wild cheers from the +crowds in the street broke in upon the converse in the drawing-room, Lady +Augusta's eyes would sparkle as she said, “I don't wonder at your feeling +proud of it all!” +</p> +<p> +And he <i>did</i> feel proud of it. Strange as it may seem, he was as +proud as though the popularity had been earned by the noblest actions and +the most generous devotion. We are not going to say why or wherefore this. +And now for a season we take our leave of him to follow the fortunes of +some others whose fate we seem to have forgotten. We have the less scruple +for deserting Davenport Dunn at this moment, that we leave him happy, +prospering, and in good company. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A NOTE FROM DAVIS +</h2> +<p> +Am I asking too much of my esteemed reader, if I beg of him to remember +where and how I last left the Honorable Annesley Beecher? for it is to +that hopeful individual and his fortunes I am now about to return. +</p> +<p> +If it be wearisome to the reader to have his attention suddenly drawn from +the topic before him, and his interest solicited for those he has +well-nigh forgotten, let me add that it is almost as bad for the writer, +who is obliged to hasten hither and thither, and, like a huntsman with a +straggling pack, to urge on the tardy, correct the loiterer, and repress +the eager. +</p> +<p> +When we parted with Annesley Beecher, he was in sore trouble and anxiety +of mind; a conviction was on him that he was “squared,” “nobbled,” +“crossed,” “potted,” or something to the like intent and with a like +euphonious designation. “The Count and Spicer were conspiring to put him +in a hole!” As if any “hole” could be as dark, as hopeless, and as deep as +the dreary pitfall of his own helpless nature! +</p> +<p> +His only resource seemed flight; to break cover at once and run for it, +appeared the solitary solution of the difficulty. There was many a spot in +the map of Europe which offered a sanctuary against Grog Davis. But what +if Grog were to set the law in motion, where should he seek refuge then? +Some one had once mentioned to him a country with which no treaty +connected us with regard to criminals. It began, if he remembered aright, +with an S; was it Sardinia or Sweden or Spain or Sicily or Switzerland? It +was surely one of them, but which? “What a mass of rubbish, to be sure,” +thought he, “they crammed me with at Rugby, but not one solitary particle +of what one could call useful learning! See now, for instance, what +benefit a bit of geography might be to me!” And he rambled on in his mind, +concocting an educational scheme which would really fit a man for the wear +and tear of life. +</p> +<p> +It was thus reflecting he entered the inn and mounted to his room; his +clothes lay scattered about, drawers were crammed with his wearables, and +the table covered with a toilet equipage, costly, and not yet paid for. +Who was to pack all these? Who was to make up that one portmanteau which +would suffice for flight, including all the indispensable and rejecting +the superfluous? There is a case recorded of a Frenchman who was diverted +from his resolve on suicide by discovering that his pistols were not +loaded, and, incredible as it may seem, Beecher was deterred from his +journey by the thought of how he was to pack his trunk; He had never done +so much for himself since he was born, and he did n't think he could do +it; at all events, he wasn't going to try. Certain superstitious people +are impressed with the notion that making a will is a sure prelude to +dying; so others there are who fancy that, by the least effort on their +own behalf, they are forecasting a state of poverty in which they must +actually work for subsistence. +</p> +<p> +How hopelessly, then, did he turn over costly waistcoats and embroidered +shirts, gaze on richly cut and crested essence-bottles and boot-boxes, +whose complexity resembled mathematical instruments! In what manner they +were ever conveyed so far he could not imagine. The room seemed actually +filled with them. It was Rivers had “put them up;” but Rivers could no +longer be trusted, for he was evidently in the “lay” against him. +</p> +<p> +He sighed heavily at this: it was a dreary, hopeless sigh over the +depravity of the world and mankind in general. “And what a paradise it +might be,” he thought, “if people would only let themselves be cheated +quietly and peaceably, neither threatening with their solicitors, nor +menacing with the police. Heaven knew how little he asked for: a safe +thing now and then on the Derby, a good book on the Oaks; he wanted no +more! He bore no malice nor ill-will to any man breathing; he never wished +to push any fellow to the wall. If ever there was a generous heart, it +beat in <i>his</i> bosom; and if the world only knew the provocation he +had received! No matter, he would never retaliate,—he 'd die game, +be a brick to the last;” and twenty other fine things of the same sort +that actually brought the tears to his own eyes over his own goodness. +</p> +<p> +Goodness, however, will not pack a trunk, nor will moral qualities, +however transcendent, fold cravats and dress-coats, and he looked very +despondently around him, and thought over what he half fancied was the +only thing he could n't do. So accustomed had he been of late to seek +Lizzy Davis's counsel in every moment of difficulty, that actually, +without knowing it, he descended now to the drawing-room, some vague, +undefined feeling impelling him to be near her. +</p> +<p> +She was singing at the piano, all alone, as he entered; the room, as +usual, brilliantly lighted up as if to receive company, rare flowers and +rich plants grouped tastefully about, and “Daisy”—for she looked +that name on this occasion—in one of those charming “toilettes” +whose consummate skill it is to make the most costly articles harmonize +into something that seems simplicity itself. She wore a fuchsia in her +hair, and another—only this last was of coral and gold elaborately +and beautifully designed—on the front of her dress, and, except +these, nothing more of ornament. +</p> +<p> +“Tutore mio,” said she, gayly, as he entered, “you have treated me +shamefully; for, first of all, you were engaged to drive with me to the +Kreutz Berg, and, secondly, to take me to the opera, and now, at half-past +nine, you make your appearance. How is this, Monsieur? <i>Expliquez-vous</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell the truth?” said he. +</p> +<p> +“By all means, if anything so strange should n't embarrass you.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, I forgot all about both the drive and the opera. It's all +very well to laugh,” said he, in a tone of half pique; “young ladies, with +no weightier cares on their hearts than whether they ought to wear lilac +or green, have very little notion of a man's anxieties. They fancy that +life is a thing of white and red roses, soft music and bouquets; but it +ain't.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! are you quite sure?” asked she, with an air of extreme innocence. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect I am,” said he, confidently; “and there's not many a man about +town knows more of it than I do.” +</p> +<p> +“And now, what may be the cares, or, rather, for I don't want to be +curious, what sort of cares are they that oppress that dear brain? Have +you got any wonderful scheme for the amelioration of mankind to which you +see obstacles? Are your views in politics obstructed by ignorance or +prejudice? Have you grand notions about art for which the age is not ripe; +or are you actually the author of a wonderful poem that nobody has had +taste enough to appreciate?” +</p> +<p> +“And these are your ideas of mighty anxieties, Miss Lizzy?” said he, in a +tone of compassionate pity. “By Jove! how I'd like to have nothing heavier +on my heart than the whole load of them.” +</p> +<p> +“I think you have already told me you never were crossed in love?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, nothing serious, you know. A scratch or so, as one may say, getting +through the bushes, but never a cropper,—nothing like a regular +smash.” +</p> +<p> +“It would seem to me, then, that you have enjoyed a singularly fortunate +existence, and been just as lucky in life as myself.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher started at the words. What a strange chaos did they create within +him! There is no tracing the thoughts that came and went, and lost +themselves in that poor bewildered head. The nearest to anything like, +consistency was the astonishment he felt that she—Grog Davis's +daughter—should ever imagine she had drawn a prize in the world's +lottery. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Beecher,” said she, with the ready tact with which she often +read his thoughts and answered them, “even so. I do think myself very, +very fortunate! And why should I not? I have excellent health, capital +spirits, fair abilities, and, bating an occasional outbreak of anger, a +reasonably good temper. As regards personal traits, Mr. Annesley Beecher +once called me beautiful; Count Lienstahl would say something twice as +rapturous; at all events, quite good-looking enough not to raise +antipathies against me at first sight; and lastly, but worth all the rest, +I have an intense enjoyment in mere existence; the words 'I live' are to +me, 'I am happy.' The alternations of life, its little incidents and +adventures, its passing difficulties, are, like the changeful aspects of +the seasons, full of interest, full of suggestiveness, calling out +qualities of mind and resources of temperament that in the cloudless skies +of unbroken prosperity might have lain unused and unknown. And now, sir, +no more sneers at my fancied good fortune; for, whatever <i>you</i> may +say, I feel it to be real.” +</p> +<p> +There was that in her manner—a blended energy and grace—which +went far deeper into Beecher's heart than her mere words, and he gazed at +her slightly flushed cheek and flashing eyes with something very nearly +rapture; and he muttered to himself, “There she is, a half-bred 'un, and +no training, and able to beat them all!” +</p> +<p> +This time, at all events, she did not read his thoughts; as little, +perhaps, did she care to speculate about them. “By the by,” said she, +suddenly approaching the chimney and taking up a letter, “this has arrived +here, by private hand, since you went out, and it has a half-look of +papa's writing, and is addressed to you.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher took it eagerly. With a glance he recognized it as from Grog, when +that gentleman desired to disguise his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Am I correct?” asked she,—“am I correct in my guess?” +</p> +<p> +He was too deep in the letter to make her any reply. Its contents were as +follows:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear B.,—They 've kicked up such a row about that affair +at Brussels that I have been obliged to lie dark for the +last fortnight, and in a confoundedly stupid hole on the +right bank of the Rhine. I sent over Spicer to meet the +Baron, and take Klepper over to Nimroeguen and Magdeburg, +and some other small places in Prussia. They can pick up in +this way a few thousand florins, and keep the mill going. I +gave him strict orders not to see my daughter, who must know +nothing whatever of these or any like doings. The Baron she +might see, for he knows life thoroughly, and if he is not a +man of high honor, he can assume the part so well that it +comes pretty much to the same thing. As to yourself, you +will, on receipt of this, call on a certain Lazarus Stein, +Juden Gasse, Nov 41 or 42, and give him your acceptance for +two thousand gulden, with which settle your hotel bill, and +come on to Bonn, where, at the post-office, you will find a +note, with my address. Tramp, you see, has won the +Cotteswold, as I prophesied, and 'Leo the Tenth' nowhere. +Cranberry must have got his soup pretty hot, for he has come +abroad, and his wife and the children gone down to Scotland. +As to your own affairs, Ford says you are better out of the +way; and if anything is to be done in the way of +compromise, it must be while you are abroad. He does not +think Strich can get the rule, and you must n't distress +yourself for an extra outlawry or two. There will be some +trouble about the jewels, but I think even that matter may +be arranged also. I hope you keep from the tables, and I +look for a strict reckoning as to your expenses, and a +stricter book up as regards your care of my daughter. 'All +square' is the word between pal and pal, and there never +was born the man did n't find that to be his best policy +when he dealt with + +“Your friend, + +“Christopher Davis. + +“To while away the time in this dreary dog-hole, I have been +sketching out a little plan of a martingale for the +roulette-table. There's only one zero at Homburg, and we can +try it there as we go up. There's a flaw in it after the +twelfth 'pass,' but I don't despair of getting over the +difficulty. Old Stein, the money-changer, was upwards of +thirty years croupier at the Cursaal, and get him to tell +you the average runs, black and red, at rouge-et-noir, and +what are the signs of an intermitting game; and also the +six longest runs he has ever known. He is a shrewd fellow, +and seeing that you come from me will be confidential. + +“There has been another fight in the Crimea, and somebody +well licked. I had nothing on the match, and don't care a +brass farthing who claimed the stakes. + +“Tell Lizey that I 'm longing to see her, and if I didn't +write it is because I 'm keeping everything to tell her when +we meet. If it was n't for her picture, I don't know what +would have become of me since last Tuesday, when the rain +set in.” +</pre> +<p> +Beecher re-read the letter from the beginning; nor was it an easy matter +for him to master at once all the topics it included. Of himself and his +own affairs the information was vague and unsatisfactory; but Grog knew +how to keep him always in suspense,—to make him ever feel that he +was swimming for his life, and he himself the only “spar” he could catch +at. +</p> +<p> +“Bring me to book about my care of his daughter!” muttered he, over and +over, “just as if she was n't the girl to take care of herself. Egad! he +seems to know precious little about her. I 'd give a 'nap' to show her +this letter, and just hear what she 'd say of it all. I suppose she 'd +split on me. She 'd go and tell Davis, 'Beecher has put me up to the whole +“rig;”' and if she did—What would happen then?” asked he, replying +to the low, plaintive whistle which concluded his meditation. “Eh—what! +did I say anything?” cried he, in terror. +</p> +<p> +“Not a syllable. But I could see that you had conjured up some difficulty +which you were utterly unable to deal with.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, here it is,” said he, boldly. “This letter is from your father. +It's all full of private details, of which you know nothing, nor would you +care to hear; but there is one passage—just one—that I'd +greatly like to have your opinion upon. At the same time I tell you, +frankly, I have no warranty from your father to let you see it; nay, the +odds are he 'd pull me up pretty sharp for doing so without his +authority.” +</p> +<p> +“That's quite enough, Mr. Beecher, about <i>your</i> scruples. Now, <i>mine</i> +go a little further still; for they would make me refuse to learn anything +which my father's reserve had kept from me. It is a very easy rule of +conscience, and neither hard to remember nor to follow.” +</p> +<p> +“At all events, he meant this for your own eye,” said Beecher, showing her +the last few lines of the letter. +</p> +<p> +She read them calmly over; a slight trembling of the lip—so slight +that it seemed rather like a play of light over her face—was the +only sign of emotion visible, and then, carefully folding the letter, she +gave it back, saying, “Yes, I had a right to see these lines.” +</p> +<p> +“He <i>is</i> fond of you, and proud of you, too,” said Beecher. A very +slight nod of her head gave an assent to his remark, and she was silent. +“We are to leave this at once,” continued he, “and move on to Bonn, where +we shall find a letter with your father's address, somewhere, I take it, +in that neighborhood.” He waited, hoping she would say something, but she +did not speak. And then he went on: +</p> +<p> +“And then you will be once more at home,—emancipated from this +tiresome guardianship of mine.” +</p> +<p> +“Why tiresome?” asked she, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by Jove! I know I' m very slow sort of fellow as a ladies' man; have +none of the small talents of those foreigners; couldn't tell Mozart from +Verdi; nor, though I can see when a woman is well togged, could I tell you +the exact name of any one part of her dress.” +</p> +<p> +“If you really did know all these, and talked of them, I might have found +you very tiresome,” said she, in that half-careless voice she used when +seeming to think aloud. “And you,” asked she, suddenly, as she turned her +eyes fully upon him,—“and you, are you to be emancipated then,—are +you going to leave us?” +</p> +<p> +“As to that,” replied he, in deep embarrassment, “there 'a a sort of hitch +in it I ought, if I did the right thing, to be on my way to Italy now, to +see Lackington,—my brother, I mean. I came abroad for that; but Gr—your +father, I should say—induced me to join <i>him</i>, and so, with one +thing and the other, here I am, and that's really all I know about it.” +</p> +<p> +“What a droll way to go through life!” said she, with one of her low, soft +laughs. +</p> +<p> +“If you mean that I have n't a will of my own, you 're all wrong,” said +he, in some irritation. “Put me straight at my fence, and see if I won't +take it. Just say, 'A. B., there's the winning-post,' and mark whether I +won't get my speed up.” +</p> +<p> +What a strange glance was that which answered this speech! It implied no +assent; as little did it mean the reverse. It was rather the look of one +who, out of a maze of tangled fancies, suddenly felt recalled to life and +its real interests. To poor Beecher's apprehension it simply seemed a sort +of half-compassionate pity, and it made his cheek tingle with wounded +pride. +</p> +<p> +“I know,” muttered he to himself, “that she thinks me a confounded fool; +but I ain't. Many a fellow in the ring made that mistake, and burned his +fingers for it after.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said she, after a moment or so of thought, “I am ready; at least, +I shall be ready very soon. I 'll tell Annette to pack up and prepare for +the road.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I could get you to have some better opinion of me, Miss Lizzy,” +said he, seriously. “I'd give more than I 'd like to say, that you 'd—you +'d—” +</p> +<p> +“That I'd what?” asked she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“That you 'd not set me down as a regular flat,” said he, with energy. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not very certain that I know what that means; but I will tell you +that I think you very good tempered, very gentle-natured, and very +tolerant of fifty-and-one caprices which must be all the more wearisome +because unintelligible. And then, you are a very fine gentleman, and—the +Honor-Able Annesley Beecher.” And holding out her dress in minuet fashion, +she courtesied deeply, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“I wish any one would tell me whether I stand to win or not by that book,” +exclaimed Beecher, as he stood there alone, nonplussed and confounded. +“Would n't she make a stunning actress! By Jove! Webster would give her a +hundred a week, and a free benefit!” And with this he went off into a +little mental arithmetic, at the end of which he muttered to himself, “And +that does not include starring it in the provinces!” +</p> +<p> +With the air of a man whose worldly affairs went well, he arranged his +hair before the glass, put on his hat, gave himself a familiar nod, and +went out. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. LAZARUS, STEIN, GELDWECHSLER +</h2> +<p> +The Juden Gasse, in which Beecher was to find out the residence of Lazarus +Stein, was a long, straggling street, beginning in the town and ending in +the suburb, where it seemed as it were to lose itself. It was not till +after a long and patient search that Beecher discovered a small door in an +old ivy-covered wall, on which, in irregular letters, faint and almost +illegible, stood the words, “Stein, Geldwechsler.” +</p> +<p> +As he rang stoutly at the bell, the door opened, apparently of itself, and +admitted him into a large and handsome garden. The walks were flanked by +fruit-trees in espalier, with broad borders of rich flowers at either +side; and although the centre spaces were given up to the uses of a +kitchen garden, the larger beds, rich in all the colors of the tulip and +ranunculus, showed how predominant was the taste for flowers over mere +utility. Up one alley, and down another, did Beecher saunter without +meeting any one, or seeing what might mean a habitation; when, at length, +in a little copse of palm-trees, he caught sight of a smalt diamond-paned +window, approaching which, he found himself in front of a cottage whose +diminutive size he had never seen equalled, save on the stage. Indeed, in +its wooden framework, gaudily painted, its quaint carvings, and its bamboo +roof, it was the very type of what one sees in a comic opera. One sash of +the little window lay open, and showed Beecher the figure of a very small +old man, who, in a long dressing-gown of red-brown stuff, and a fez cap, +was seated at a table, writing. A wooden tray in front of him was filled +with dollars and gold pieces in long stately columns, and a heap of +bank-notes lay pressed under a heavy leaden slab at his side. No sooner +had Beecher's figure darkened the window than the old man looked up and +came out to meet him, and, taking off his cap with a deep reverence, +invited him to enter. If the size of the chamber, and its curious walls +covered over with cabinet pictures, might have attracted Beecher's +attention at another moment, all his wonderment, now, was for the little +man himself, whose piercing black eyes, long beard, and hooked nose gave +him an air of almost unearthly meaning. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I have the honor to speak to Mr. Stein?” said he, in English, +“and that he can understand me in my own tongue?” +</p> +<p> +“Yaas,—go on,” said the old man. +</p> +<p> +“I was told to call upon you by Captain Davis; he gave me your address.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, der Davis—der Davis—a vaary goot man—my vaary dear +friend. You are der rich Englander that do travel wit him,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I am travelling with him just now,” said Beecher, laughing slightly; “but +as to being rich,—why, we 'll not dispute about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yaas, here is his letter. He says, Milord will call on you hisself, and +so I hold myself—how you say 'bereit?'—ready—hold myself +ready to see you. I have de honor to make you very mush welcome to my poor +house.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher thanked him courteously, and, producing Davis's letter, mentioned +the amount for which he desired to draw. +</p> +<p> +The old man examined the writing, the signature, and then the seal, +handing the document back when he had finished, muttering to himself, “Ah, +der Davis—der Davis!” +</p> +<p> +“You know my friend very intimately, I believe?” asked Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“I belief I do,—I belief I do,” said he, with a low chuckle to +himself. +</p> +<p> +“So he mentioned to me and added one or two little matters on which I was +to ask you for some information. But first this bill,—you can let me +have these two thousand florins?” +</p> +<p> +“And what do he do now, der Davis?” asked the Jew, not heeding the +question. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I suppose he rubs on pretty much the same as ever,” said Beecher, +in some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Yaas—yaas—he rub on—and he rub off, too, sometimes—ha! +ha! ha!” laughed out the old man, with a fiendish cackle. “Ach, der +Davis!” +</p> +<p> +Without knowing in what sense to take the words, Beecher did not exactly +like them; and as little was he pleased with that singular recurrence to +“der Davis,” and the little sigh that followed. He was growing impatient, +besides, to get his money, and again reverted to the question. +</p> +<p> +“He look well? I hope he have de goot gesundheit—what you call it?” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure he does; nothing ever ails him. I never heard him complain of +as much as a headache. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, der Davis, der Davis!” said the old man, shaking his head. +</p> +<p> +Seeing no chance of success by his direct advances, Beecher thought he 'd +try a little flank attack by inducing a short conversation, and so he +said, “I am on my way to Davis, now, with his daughter, whom he left in my +charge.” +</p> +<p> +“Whose daughter?” asked the Jew. +</p> +<p> +“Davis's,—a young lady that was educated at Brussels.” +</p> +<p> +“He have no daughter. Der Davis have no daughter.” +</p> +<p> +“Has n't he, though? Just come over to the 'Four Nations,' and I 'll show +her to you. And such a stunning girl too!” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, I never belief it—never; he did never speak to me of a +daughter.” +</p> +<p> +“Whether he did or not—there she is, that's all I know.” +</p> +<p> +The Jew shook his head, and sought refuge in his former muttering of “Ach, +der Davis!” +</p> +<p> +“As far as not telling you about his daughter, I can say he never told me, +and I fancy we were about as intimate as most people; but the fact is as I +tell you.” +</p> +<p> +Another sigh was all his answer, and Beecher was fast reaching the limit +of his patience. +</p> +<p> +“Daughter, or no daughter, I want a matter of a couple of thousand +florins,—no objection to a trifle more, of course,—and wish to +know how you can let me have them.” +</p> +<p> +“The Margraf was here two week ago, and he say to me, 'Lazarus,' say he,—'Lazarus, +where is your goot friend Davis?' 'Highness,' say I, 'dat I know not.' Den +he say, 'I will find him, if I go to Jerusalem;' and I say, 'Go to +Jerusalem.'” +</p> +<p> +“What did he want with him?” +</p> +<p> +“What he want?—what every one want, and what nobody get, except how +he no like—ha! ha! ha! Ach, der Davis!” +</p> +<p> +Beecher rose from his seat, uncertain how to take this continued +inattention to his demand. He stood for a moment in hesitation, his eyes +wandering over the walls where the pictures were hanging. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! if you do care for art, now you suit yourself, and all for a noting! +I sell all dese,—dat Gerard Dow, dese two Potters, de leetle Cuyp,—a +veritable treasure, and de Mieris,—de best he ever painted, and de +rest, wit de land-schaft of Both, for eighty tousand seven hundred +florins. It is a schenk—a gift away—noting else.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget, my excellent friend Stein,” said Beecher, with more assurance +than he had yet assumed, “that it was to receive and not spend money I +came here this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“You do a leetle of all de two—a leetle of both, so to say,” replied +the Jew. “What moneys you want?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, this is speaking reasonably. Davis's letter mentions a couple of +thousand florins; but if you are inclined to stretch the amount to five, +or even four thousand, we 'll not fall out about the terms.” +</p> +<p> +“How you mean—no fall out about de terms?” said the other, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“I meant that for a stray figure or so, in the way of discount, we should +n't disagree. You may, in fact, make your own bargain.” +</p> +<p> +“Make my own bargain, and pay myself too,” muttered the Jew. “Ach, der +Davis, how he would laugh!—ha! ha! ha!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don't see much to laugh at, old gent, except it be at my own +folly, to stand here so long chaffering about these paltry two thousand +florins. And now I say, 'Yea or nay, will you book up, or not?'” +</p> +<p> +“Will you buy de Cuyp and de Wouvermans and de Ostade?—dat is the +question.” +</p> +<p> +“Egad, if you furnish the ready, I 'll buy the Cathedral and the Cursaal. +I 'm not particular as to the investment when the cash is easily come at.” +</p> +<p> +“De cash is very easy to come at,” said the Jew, with a strange grin. +</p> +<p> +“You 're a trump, Lazarus!” cried Beecher, in ecstasy at his good fortune. +“If I had known you some ten years ago, I 'd have been another man to-day. +I was always looking out for one really fair, honester-hearted fellow to +deal with, but I never met with him till now.” +</p> +<p> +“How you have it,—gold or notes?” said Lazarus. +</p> +<p> +“Well, a little of both, I think,” said Beecher, his eyes greedily +devouring the glittering little columns of gold before him. +</p> +<p> +“How your title?—how your name?” asked Stein, taking up a pen. +</p> +<p> +“My name is Annesley Beecher. You may write me the 'Honorable Annesley +Beecher.'” +</p> +<p> +“Lord of—” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not Lord of anything. I'm next in succession to a peerage, that's +all.” +</p> +<p> +“He call you de Viscount—I forget de name.” +</p> +<p> +“Lackington, perhaps?” +</p> +<p> +“Yaas, dat is de name; and say, give him de moneys for his bill. Now, here +is de acceptance, and here you put your sign, across dis.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll write Annesley Beecher, with all my heart; but I 'll not write +myself Lackington.” +</p> +<p> +“Den you no have de moneys, nor de Cuyp, nor de Ostade,” said the Jew, +replacing the pen in the ink-bottle. +</p> +<p> +“Just let me ask you, old boy, how would it benefit you that I should +commit a forgery? Is that the way you like to do business?” +</p> +<p> +“I do know myself how I like my business to do, and no man teach me.” +</p> +<p> +“What the devil did Davis mean, then, by sending me on this fool's errand? +He gave me a distinct intimation that you 'd cash my acceptance—” +</p> +<p> +“Am I not ready? You never go and say to der Davis dat I refuse it! Ah, +der Davis!” and he sighed as if from the very bottom of his heart. +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell him, frankly, that you made it a condition I was to sign a name +that does not belong to me,—<i>that</i> I 'll tell him.” +</p> +<p> +“What care he for dat? Der Davis write his own name on it and pay it +hisself.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! and Davis was also to indorse this bill, was he?” asked Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“I should tink he do; oderwise I scarce give you de moneys.” +</p> +<p> +“That, indeed, makes some difference. Not, in reality, that it would n't +be just as much a forgery; but if the bill come back to Grog's own hands—” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, der Grog,—ha! ha! ha! 'Tis so long dat I no hear de name,—Grog +Davis!” and the Jew laughed till his eyes ran over. +</p> +<p> +“If there's no other way of getting at this money—” +</p> +<p> +“Dere is no oder way,” said Lazarus, in a tone of firmness.. +</p> +<p> +“Then good-morning, friend Lazarus, for you 'll not catch me spoiling a +stamp at that price. No, no, old fellow. I 'm up to a thing or two, though +you don't suspect it. I only rise to the natural fly, and no mistake.” +</p> +<p> +“I make no mistake; I take vaary goot care of dat,” said Lazarus, rising, +and taking off his fez, to say adieu. “I wish you de vaary goot day.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher turned away, with a stiff salutation, into the garden. He was +angry with Davis, with himself, and with the whole world. It was a rare +event in his life to see gold so much within his reach and yet not +available, just for a scruple—a mere scruple—for, after all, +what was it else? Writing “Lackington” meant nothing, if Lack-ington were +never to see, much less to pay the bill. Once “taken up,” as it was sure +to be by Grog, what signified it if the words across the acceptance were +Lackington or Annesley Beecher? And yet, what could Davis mean by passing +him off as the Viscount? Surely, for such a paltry sum as a couple of +thousand florins, it was not necessary to assume his brother's name and +title. It was some “dodge,” perhaps, to acquire consequence in the eyes of +his friend Lazarus that he was the travelling-companion of an English +peer; and yet, if so, it was the very first time Beecher had known him +yield to such a weakness. He <i>had</i> a meaning in it, that much was +certain, for Grog made no move in the game of life without a plan! “It +can't be,” muttered Beecher to himself,—“it can't be for the sake of +any menace over me for the forgery, because he has already in his hands +quite enough to push me to the wall on that score, as he takes care to +remind me he might any fine morning have me 'up' on that charge.” The more +Beecher ruminated over what possible intention Davis might have in view, +the more did he grow terrified, lest, by any short-comings on his own +part, he might thwart the great plans of his deep colleague. +</p> +<p> +“I never met his equal yet to put a fellow in a cleft stick,” muttered +Beecher, as he walked to and fro in intense agitation, “and he's just the +man also, whenever anything goes wrong, not to listen to a word of +explanation. 'Why didn't you do as I bade you?' or, 'As I ordered you?' +for that's his phrase generally. 'Who told <i>you</i> that you had any +option in the matter? Did <i>I</i> take you into consultation? Play up to +<i>my</i> hand!' that's his cry. 'Play up to <i>my</i> hand, and never +mind your own!' Well, I have been doing so some ten or twelve years back, +and a nice game I've made of it! Break with him!—of course I'd break +with him, if any one would tell me how! Egad, sometimes I begin to think +that transportation and the rest of it would not be a bit harder to bear +than old Grog's tyranny! It wears one out,—it positively drains a +man's nature dry!” There are volcanic throes, that, however they may work +and struggle, throw up no lava; so with Beecher. All his passionate +indignation could not rouse him to action, although his actual suffering +might have prompted energy to any amount. He took out Davis's letter and +re-read it. One line which had escaped his attention before, now caught +his eye on the blank leaf. It ran thus: “Take care that you do not delay +at Aix after receipt of this. Benson's fellows are after you.” A cold +shudder came over Beecher as he perused the line. Benson's fellows meant +bailiffs, detectives, or something of the like. Benson was a money-lender +of the most inveterate villany,—a fellow who had pursued more men of +station and condition than any one living. He was the terror of the +“swells.” To be in Benson's hands meant ruin in its most irretrievable +shape; and at the very moment he stood there his minions were on his +track! +</p> +<p> +Ere he was well aware of it, he was back at the little window of the +cottage. +</p> +<p> +“I must have this money on your own terms, Stein,” said he. “I find that +Davis has some urgent need of my presence. I can't delay here another +day.” +</p> +<p> +“How many tousend gulden, milord?” asked the Jew respectfully, as he +dipped his pen in the ink-bottle. +</p> +<p> +“Davis says two—I should like to say four, or even five.” +</p> +<p> +“Five if you wish it, milord; to me is it all as one—five, fifteen, +or fifty; whatever sum you want.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher put his hand on the other's wrist to detain him while he took a +moment's counsel with himself. Never had such a golden opportunity as this +presented itself. Never before had he seen the man who so generously +proffered his services. It was ask and have. Was he to reject such good +fortune?—was he to turn his back on the very first piece of luck +that had ever befallen him? What heartburnings might he be storing up for +future years when he looked back to the time that, with a word, he might +have made his fortune! +</p> +<p> +“But are you quite sure, friend Lazarus, that if I say eight or ten +thousand,—for I don't want more,—Davis will be as willing to +back the bill?” +</p> +<p> +“I am quite sure.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, now, I am not so very certain of that; and as it is Davis will have +to book up, it might be safer, perhaps, that I did n't go beyond the +amount he mentions,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“As you will,—as you please yourself. I only say, dere is der Herr +Davis's name; he send it to me and say, 'Milord will do de rest.'” +</p> +<p> +“So that he sent you a blank acceptance?” cried Beecher, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Yaas, Just as you see,—'Christopher Davis,' and de flourish as +usual. Ach, der Davis!” and he sighed once more. +</p> +<p> +The man who held Grog's signature on a blank stamp assumed no common shape +in Annesley Beecher's eyes, and he continued to gaze on the old man with a +strange sense of awe and astonishment. If he had not the document there +before him on the table, he would not have believed it. The trustful +courage of Van Amburgh, who used to place his head in the lion's mouth, +seemed poor in comparison with such heroic boldness as this; and he gazed +at the writing in a sort of fascination. +</p> +<p> +“And Grog actually sent you that over by letter?” asked he again. +</p> +<p> +“Yaas, as you see,” was the calm answer. +</p> +<p> +“Well, here goes then, Abraham—Lazarus, I mean; make it out for a +matter of—five—no, eight—hang it, let as say ten +thousand florins when we are about it! Ten thousand, at six months,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Better at tree months,—we can always renew,” said Stein, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course; and by that time we may want a little more liquor in the +decanter,—eh! old boy?” said Beecher, laughing joyfully. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, vaary mush more liquor as you want it.” +</p> +<p> +“What a brick!” said Beecher, clapping him on the shoulder in all the +ecstasy of delight. +</p> +<p> +“Dere!” said the Jew, as he finished writing, “all is done; only to say +where it be paid,—what bank at London.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that is a bit of a puzzle, I must own!” said Beecher, rubbing his +chin with an air of doubt and hesitation. +</p> +<p> +“Where do de Lord Lackington keep his account?” asked the Jew; and the +question was so artfully posed that Beecher Answered promptly,— +</p> +<p> +“Harmer and Gore's, Lombard Street, or Pall Mall, whichever you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Hanper and Gore. I know dem vaary well,—that will do; you do sign +your name dere.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I could persuade you that Annesley Beecher would be enough,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“You write de name as der Davis say, and no oder!” +</p> +<p> +“Here goes, then! 'In for a penny,' as the proverb says,” muttered he; and +in a bold, dashing hand, wrote “Lackington” across the bill. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20058.jpg" width="100%" alt="058 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Ah!” said the Jew, as he examined it with his glass, and scanned every +letter over and over; “and now, vat you say for de Cuyp, and de Mieris, +and de Ostade,—vill you take 'era all, as I say?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll think over it,—I 'll reflect a bit first, Master Stein. As +for pictures, they 're rather an encumbrance when a man has n't a house to +hang them in.” +</p> +<p> +“You have de vaary fine house in town, and an oder vaary fine house in de +country, beside a what you call box—shoot-box—” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, Lazarus. I haven't a thing as big as the crib we are +standing in. Your mind is always running upon my brother; but there's a +wide difference between our fortunes, I assure you. He drew the first +ticket in the lottery of life; and, by the way, that reminds me of +something in Grog's letter that I was to ask you.” And Beecher took the +epistle from his pocket and ran his eye over it. “Ah! here it is! 'Ask +Stein what are the average runs at rouge-et-noir, what are the signs of an +intermitting game, and what are the longest runs he remembers on one +color?' Can you answer me these?” +</p> +<p> +“Some of dem I have here,” said Stein, taking down from a shelf a small +vellum-bound volume, fastened with a padlock and chain, the key of which +he wore attached to his watch. “Here is de grand 'arcanum,'” said he, +laughing; “here are de calculs made in de experience of forty-one year! +Where is de man in Europe can say as mush as dat? In dis book is recounted +de great game of de Duc de Brancas, where he broke de bank every night of +de week till Saturday,—two million tree hundred tousand francs! +Caumartin, the first croupier, shot hisself, and Nogeot go mad. He reckon +de moneys in de casette, for when he say on Friday night, 'Monseigneur,' +say he, 'we have not de full sum here,—there's one hundred and +seventy tousand francs too little,' de Duc reply, 'Never mind, mon cher +Monsieur Nogeot, I am noways pressed,—don't distress yourself,—only +let it be pay before I go home to bed.' Nogeot lose his reason when he +hear it. Ah! here is de whole 'Greschichte,' and here de table of +chances.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher gazed on the precious volume as Aladdin might have done on the +lamp. It was the mystic key to untold riches. With that marvellous book a +man needed no more in life; there lay all the “cabals,” all the +“martingales,” that years of intense toil and deep study had discovered. +To win that knowledge, too, what hearts had been broken, what desolation, +what death! It was a record of martyrs in his eyes, and he really regarded +it with a sort of rapturous veneration. +</p> +<p> +Old Lazarus did not fail to detect the expression of wonderment and +admiration. He saw depicted there the glowing ecstasy that all the +triumphs of high art could not call up. The vigorous energy of Wouvermans, +the glowing coloring of Cuyp, the mellow richness of Mieris, had not +touched that nature which now vibrated in every chord to the appeal of +Fortune. It was the submissive worship of a devotee before some sacred +relic! Stein read that gaze, and tracked its every motive; and with a +solemn gesture he clasped the volume and locked it. +</p> +<p> +“But you are surely going to show me—I mean, you are about to tell +me the answer to these questions?” +</p> +<p> +Stein shook his head dubiously, as he said: “Dat is my Kleinod, my idol,—in +dat book lie de secret of secrets, and I say to myself, 'Lazarus, be poor, +be destitute, be houseless to-morrow, and you know how to get rich if you +will.' De great law of Chances—de rule dat guide what we call 'Luck'—dere +it is written! I have but to say I will have, and I have! When I die, I +will burn it, or have it lay wit me in my grave.” +</p> +<p> +“It's not possible you could do this!” cried Beecher, in horror: far less +of indignation had it cost him to hear that any one should carry out of +the world with him the cure of cancer, of cholera, or some such dread +scourge of poor humanity. The black-hearted selfishness of such a crime +seemed without a parallel, and for a second or two, as he looked at the +decrepid object before him, and saw the lonely spot, the isolation, and +the propitious moment, a strange wild thought flashed across his mind that +it might be not only pardonable, but praiseworthy, to seize upon and carry +it off by force. +</p> +<p> +Whether the old man read what was passing within him is hard to say, but +he returned the other's look as steadily and as fiercely, and Beecher felt +abashed and cowed. +</p> +<p> +“I' ll tell you what, Stein,” said he, after a pause, “I 'll buy that same +old volume of yours, just for the curiosity of the thing, and I 'll make +you a sporting offer,—I 'll give you ten thousand francs for it!” +</p> +<p> +A low wailing whistle of utter contempt was all the Jew replied. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's a splendid bid, if you come to think of it; for, just suppose +it be everything you say—and I own I can't believe it is,—but +suppose it were, who is to guarantee the continuance of these great public +play-tables? All the Governments of Europe are setting their faces against +them,—not a year passes without one or two being closed. This very +spring there was a talk of suppressing play at Baden. Who can tell what +the first outbreak of fanatic zeal may effect?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no. So long as men live, dey will do tree tings,—make love, +make war, and gamble. When dey give up dese, de world shut up.” +</p> +<p> +There was a truthful force about this Beecher felt could not be gainsaid, +and he stood silent and confuted. There was another appeal that he had not +tried, and he resolved to neglect nothing that gave even the faintest +chance of success. He addressed himself to the Jew's goodness of heart,—to +the benevolence that he knew must have its home in his nature. To what +end, therefore, should he carry to the grave, or destroy, a secret that +might be a blessing to thousands? He depicted, not without knowledge, some +of the miseries of the man “forgotten of Fortune,”—the days of +fevered anxiety,—the nights of agonizing torture, as, half maddened +by his losses, he played wildly, recklessly on,—suicide in all its +darkest forms ever present to his aching faculties, while all this time +one glance within that little book would save him. And he wound up all by +a burst of enthusiastic praise of a man who could thus transmit happiness +to generations unborn. +</p> +<p> +“I never wish to sell dat book. I mean it alway to die wit myself! but if +you will give me one tousand pounds, it is yours. If you delay, I will say +two tousands.” +</p> +<p> +“Done—I take it. Of course a bill will do—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Yaas, I will take a bill,—a bill at tree months. When it is yours, +I will tell you dat you are de luckiest man in all Europe. You have dere, +in dat leetle volume, all man strive for, fight for, cheat for, die for!” +</p> +<p> +As he said this, he sat down again at his desk to write the acceptance +Beecher was to sign; while the other, withdrawing into the window recess, +peered eagerly into the pages of the precious book. +</p> +<p> +“Mind,” said the Jew, “you no let any one see de 'Cabal.' If it be once +get abroad, de bank will change de play. You just carry in your head de +combinations, and you, go in, and win de millions dat you want at de +time.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Beecher, in ecstasy, the very thought of the golden +cataract sending a thrill of rapture through him. “I suppose, however, I +may show it to Davis?” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, der Davis, yaas,—der Davis can see it,” said the Jew, with a +laugh whose significance it were very hard to interpret. “Dere now,” said +Stein, handing him the pen, “write de name dere as on de oder.” +</p> +<p> +“Still Lackington, I suppose—eh?” asked Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Yaas,—just de same,” said Stein, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“'Just as good for a sheep as a lamb,' as the proverb says,” muttered +Beecher. And he dashed off the name with a reckless flourish. “I 'll tell +you one thing, Master Stein,” said he, as he buttoned up the magic volume +in the breast of his coat, “if this turn out the good dodge you say it is, +I 'll behave handsomely to you. I pledge you my word of honor, I'll stand +to you for double—treble the sum you have got written there. <i>You</i> +don't know the fellow you're dealing with,—very few know him, for +the matter of that,—but though he has got a smart lesson or two in +life, he has good stuff in him still; and <i>if</i>—I say <i>if</i>, +because, of course, all depends on <i>that</i>—<i>if</i> I can give +the bank at Hamburg a spring in the air with the aid of this, I 'll not +forget <i>you</i>, old boy.” +</p> +<p> +“You make dem all spring in de air!—Ems, Wiesbaden, Baden—all +go up togeder!” And the Jew laughed with the glee of a demon. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I want to hurt any one,—not that I 'd like to squeeze a +fellow too hard,” broke in Beecher, suddenly, for a quick thrill of +superstitious fear—the gambler's innate conscience—shot +through him, and made him tremble to think that by a chance word or +thought he might disgust the Fortune he would propitiate. “No, no; my +motto is, 'Live and let live!' There's room for us all!” And with the +utterance of a sentiment he believed so truly generous, he took leave of +the Jew, and departed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. A VILLAGE NEAR THE RHINE +</h2> +<p> +It was at a little village called Holbach, about fifteen miles from the +right bank of the Rhine, Grog Davis had taken up his quarters while +awaiting the arrival of his daughter. Near as it was to that great +high-road of Europe, scarcely out of earshot of whizzing steamers and +screaming trains, the spot was wonderfully secluded and unvisited. A +little trout-stream, known to a few, who treasured the secret like +fishermen, made the inn resorted to in the months of May and June; but for +the rest of the year the “Golden Hook” had few customers, and the landlord +almost abdicated his functions till spring came round again. The house, +originally intended for a mill, was built over the river itself, so that +the indolent angler might actually have fished from the very window. The +pine-clad mountains of Nassau enclosed the narrow glen, which straggled +irregularly along for miles, now narrowing to a mere strip, now expanding +into little plains of fertile meadow-land, with neat cottages and speckled +cattle scattered around them. A narrow belt of garden flanked the river, +on whose edge a walk of trellised vines was fashioned,—a charming +spot in the sultry heat of summer, with its luxuriant shade above and the +rippling stream below. Davis had seen the place years before in some +hurried Journey; but his retentive mind carried a full memory of the spot, +and he soon found that it comprised all he was in search of,—it was +easy of access, secret, and cheap. +</p> +<p> +Only too well pleased to meet with a guest at this dead season of the +year, they gave up to him the choicest apartment, and treated him with +every solicitude and attention. +</p> +<p> +His table was supplied well, almost luxuriously; the good wine of +Ettleberg given in liberal profusion; the vine alley converted into a +pistol gallery for his use; and all for such a sum <i>per diem</i> as +would not have satisfied a waiter at the Clarendon. But it was the calm +seclusion, the perfect isolation that gratified him most. Let him stroll +which way he would, he never chanced upon a traveller. It was marvellous, +indeed, how such a place could have escaped that prying tribe of ramblers +which England each year sends forth to wrangle, dispute, and disparage +everything over Europe; and yet here were precisely the very objects they +usually sought after,—beautiful scenery, a picturesque peasantry, +and a land romantic in all its traits and traditions. +</p> +<p> +Not that Grog cared for these: rocks, waterfalls, ruins, leafy groves, or +limpid streams made no appeal to <i>him</i>, He lived for the life of men, +their passions and their ambitions. He knew some people admired this kind +of thing, and there were some who were fond of literature; others liked +pictures; others, again, fancied old coins. He had no objection. They +were, if not very profitable, at least, harmless tastes. All he asked was, +not to be the companion of such dreamers. “Give me the fellow that knows +life,” would he say; and I am afraid that the definition of that same +“life” would have included some things scarcely laudable. +</p> +<p> +If the spot were one to encourage indolence and ease, Davis did not yield +to this indulgence. He arose early; walked for health; shot with the +pistol for practice; studied his martingale for the play-table; took an +hour with the small-sword with an old maître d'armes whom he found in the +village; and, without actually devoting himself to it as a task, practised +himself in German by means of conversation; and, lastly, he thought deeply +and intently over the future. For speculations of this kind he had no mean +capacity. If he knew little of the human heart in its higher moods, he +understood it well in its shortcomings and its weaknesses; to what +temptations a man might yield, when to offer them, and how, were mysteries +he had often brooded over. In forecastings of this order, therefore, Davis +exercised himself. Strange eventualities, “cases of conscience,” that I +would fain believe never occurred to you, dear reader, nor to me, arose +before him, and he met them manfully. +</p> +<p> +The world is generous in its admiration of the hard-worked minister, +toiling night-long at his desk, receiving and answering his twenty +despatches daily, and rising in the House to explain this, refute that, +confirm the other, with all the clearness of an orator and all the +calmness of a clerk; but, after all, he is but a fly-wheel in that machine +of government of which there are some hundred other component parts, all +well fitting and proportioned. <i>Précis</i> writers and private +secretaries cram, colleagues advise him. The routine of official life +hedges him in his proper groove; and if not overcome by indolence or +affected by zeal, he can scarcely blunder. Not so your man of straits and +emergency, your fellow living by his wits, and wresting from the world, +that fancies it does not want him, reward and recognition. It is no marvel +if a proud three-decker sail round the globe; but very different is our +astonishment if a cockboat come safely from the China Seas, or brave the +stormy passage round the Cape. Such a craft as this was Grog, his own +captain: himself the crew, he had neither owner nor underwriter; and yet, +amidst the assembled navies of the world, he would have shown his bunting! +</p> +<p> +The unbroken calm of his present existence was most favorable to these +musings, and left him to plan his campaign in perfect quiet Whether the +people of the inn regarded him as a great minister in disgrace come, by +hard study, to retrieve a lost position, a man of science deeply immersed +in some abstruse problem, or a distinguished author seeking isolation for +the free exercise of his imagination, they treated him not only with great +respect, but a sort of deference was shown in their studious effort to +maintain the silence and stillness around. When he was supposed to be at +his studies, not a voice was heard, not a footfall on the stairs. There is +no such flattery to your man of scapes and accidents, your thorough +adventurer, as that respectful observance that implies he is a person of +condition. It is like giving of free will to the highwayman the purse he +expected to have a fight for. Davis delighted in these marks of deference, +and day by day grew more eager in exacting them. +</p> +<p> +“I heard some noise outside there this morning, Carl,” said he to the +waiter; “what was the meaning of it?” For a moment or two the waiter +hesitated to explain; but after a little went on to speak of a stranger +who had been a resident of the inn for some months back without ever +paying his bill; the law, singularly enough, not giving the landlord the +power of turning him adrift, but simply of ceasing to afford him +sustenance, and waiting for some opportunity of his leaving the house to +forbid his re-entering it. Davis was much amused at this curious piece of +legislation, by which a moneyless guest could be starved out but not +expelled, and put many questions as to the stranger, his age, appearance, +and nation. All the waiter knew was that he was a venerable-looking man, +portly, advanced in life, with specious manners, a soft voice, and a +benevolent smile; as to his country, he could n't guess. He spoke several +languages, and his German was, though peculiar, good enough to be a +native's. +</p> +<p> +“But how does he live?” said Davis; “he must eat.” +</p> +<p> +“There's the puzzle of it!” exclaimed Carl; “for a while he used to watch +while I was serving a breakfast or a dinner, and sallying out of his room, +which is at the end of the corridor, he 'd make off, sometimes with a +cutlet,—perhaps a chicken,—now a plate of spinach, now an +omelette, till, at last, I never ventured upstairs with the tray without +some one to protect it. Not that even this always sufficed, for he was +occasionally desperate, and actually seized a dish by force.” +</p> +<p> +“Even these chances, taken at the best, would scarcely keep a man alive,” +said Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Nor would they; but we suspect he must have means of getting out at night +and making a 'raid' over the country. We constantly hear of fowls carried +off; cheese and fruit stolen. There he is now, creeping along the gallery. +Listen! I have left some apples outside.” +</p> +<p> +With a gesture to enforce caution, Davis arose, and placed a +percussion-cap on a pistol, a motion of his hand sufficing to show that +the weapon was not loaded. +</p> +<p> +“Open the door gently,” said he; and the waiter, stealing over +noiselessly, turned the handle. Scarcely had the door been drawn back, +when Grog saw the figure of a man, and snapped off the pistol. At the same +moment he sprang from the spot, and rushed out to the corridor. The +stranger, to all seeming, was not even startled by the report, but was +gravely occupied in examining his sleeve to see if he had been struck. He +lifted up his head, and Davis, with a start, cried out,— +</p> +<p> +“What, Paul!—Paul Classon! Is this possible!” +</p> +<p> +“Davis—old fellow!—do I see you here?” exclaimed the other, in +a deep and mellow voice, utterly devoid of irritation or even excitement. +</p> +<p> +“Come in,—come in here, Paul,” said Davis, taking him by the arm; +and he led him within the room. “Little I suspected on whom I was playing +this scurvy trick.” +</p> +<p> +“It was not loaded,” said the other, coolly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not” +</p> +<p> +“I thought so,” said he, with an easy smile; “they 've had so many devices +to frighten me.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Paul, old fellow, pour yourself out a tumbler of that red wine, +while I cut you some of this ham; we 'll have plenty of time for talk +afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +The stranger accepted the invitation, but without the slightest show of +eagerness or haste. Nay, he unfolded his napkin leisurely, and fastened a +corner in one buttonhole, as some old-fashioned epicures have a trick of +doing. He held his glass, too, up to the light, to enjoy the rich color of +the wine, and smacked his lips, as he tasted it, with the air of a +connoisseur. +</p> +<p> +“A Burgundy, Davis, eh?” asked he, sipping again. +</p> +<p> +“I believe so. In truth, I know little about these wines.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, a 'Pomard,' and very good of its kind. Too loaded, of course, +for the time of year, except for such palates as England rears.” +</p> +<p> +Davis had now covered his friend's plate with ham and capon, and, at last, +was pleased to see him begin his breakfast. +</p> +<p> +We are not about to impose upon our reader the burden of knowing more of +Mr. Classon than is requisite for the interests of our story; but while he +eats the first regular meal he has tasted for two months and more, let us +say a word or so about him. He was a clergyman, whose life had been one +continued history of mischances. Occasionally the sun of prosperity would +seem disposed to shine genially on his head; but for the most part his lot +was to walk with dark and lowering skies above him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20068.jpg" width="100%" alt="068 " /> +</div> +<p> +If he held any preferment, it was to quarrel with his rector, his dean, or +his bishop; to be cited before commissions, tried by surrogates, +pronounced contumacious, suspended, and Heaven knows what else. He was +everlastingly in litigation with churchwardens and parish authorities, +discovering rights of which he was defrauded, and privileges of which he +was deprived. None like him to ferret out Acts of Edward or Henry, and +obsolete bequests of long-buried founders of this, that, or t'other, of +which the present guardians were little better than pickpockets. Adverse +decisions and penalties pressing on him, he grew libellous, he spoke, +wrote, and published all manner of defamatory things, accused every one of +peculation, fraud, and falsehood, and, as the spirit of attack +strengthened in him by exercise, menaced this man with prosecution, and +that with open exposure. Trials by law, and costs accumulated against him, +and he was only out of jail here, to enter it again there. From the Courts +“above” he soon descended to those “below;” he became dissipated and +dissolute, his hireling pen scrupled at nothing, and he assailed anything +or any one, to order. Magistrates “had him up” as the author of +threatening letters or begging epistles. To-day he was the mock secretary +of an imaginary charity; tomorrow he 'd appear as a distressed missionary +going out to some island in the Pacific. He was eternally before the +world, until the paragraph that spoke of him grew to be headed by the +words, “The Reverend Paul Classon again!” or, more briefly, “Paul +Classon's last!” His pen, all this while, was his sole subsistence; and +what a bold sweep it took!—impeachment of Ministers, accusation of +theft, forgery, intimation of even worse crimes against the highest names +in the realm, startling announcements of statesmen bribed, ambassadors +corrupted, pasquinades against bishops and judges, libellous stories of +people in private life, prize fights, prophetic almanacs, mock missionary +journals, stanzas to celebrate quack remedies,—even street ballads +were amongst his literary efforts; while, personally, he presided at low +singing-establishments, and was the president of innumerable societies in +localities only known to the police. It was difficult to take up a +newspaper without finding him either reported drunk and disorderly in the +police-sheet, obstructing the thoroughfare by a crowd assembled to hear +him, having refused to pay for his dinner or his bed, assaulted the +landlady, or, crime of crimes, used intemperate language to “G 493.” At +last they got actually tired of trying him for begging, and imprisoning +him for battery; the law was wearied out; but the world also had its +patience exhausted, and Paul saw that he must conquer a new hemisphere. He +came abroad. +</p> +<p> +What a changeful life was it now that he led,—at one time a tutor, +at another a commissionaire for an hotel, a railway porter, a travelling +servant, a police spy, the doorkeeper of a circus company, editor of an +English journal, veterinary, language master, agent for patent medicines, +picture-dealer, and companion to a nervous invalid, which, as Paul said, +meant a furious maniac. There is no telling what he went through of debt +and difficulty, till the police actually preferred passing him quietly +over the frontier to following up with penalty so incurable an offender. +In this way had he wandered about Europe for years, the terror of +legations, the pestilence of charitable committees. Contributions to +enable the Rev. Paul Classon to redeem his clothes, his watch, his +divinity library, to send him to England, to the Andes, to Africa, figured +everywhere. I dare not say how often he had been rescued out of the lowest +pit of despondency, or snatched like a brand from the burning; in fact, he +lived in a pit, and was always on fire. +</p> +<p> +“I am delighted,” said Davis, as he replenished his friend's plate,—“I +am delighted to see that you have the same good, hearty appetite as of +old, Paul.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Kit,” said he, with a gentle sigh, “the appetite has been more +faithful than the dinner; on the same principle, perhaps, that the last +people who desert us are our creditors!” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect you 've had rather a hard time of it,” said Davis, +compassionately. +</p> +<p> +“Well, not much to complain of,—not anything that one would call +hardships,” said Classon, as he pushed his plate from him and proceeded to +light a cigar; “we 're all stragglers, Kit, that's the fact of it.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it is; but it ain't very disagreeable to be a straggler with +ten thousand a year.” +</p> +<p> +“If the having and enjoying were always centred in the same individual,” +said Classon, slowly, “what you say would be unanswerable; but it's not +so, Kit. No, no; the fellows who really enjoy life never have anything. +They are, so to say, guests on a visit to this earth, come to pass a few +months pleasantly, to put up anywhere, and be content with everything.” +Grog shook his head dissentingly, and the other went on, “Who knows the +truth of what I am saying better than either of us? How many broad acres +did your father or mine bequeath us? What debentures, railroad shares, +mining scrip, or mortgages? And yet, Kit, if we come to make up the score +of pleasant days and glorious nights, do you fancy that any noble lord of +them all would dispute the palm with us? Oh,” said he, rapturously, “give +<i>me</i> the unearned enjoyments of life,—pleasures that have never +cost me a thought to provide, nor a sixpence to pay for! Pass the wine, +Kit,—that bottle is better than the other;” and be smacked his lips, +while his eyes closed in a sort of dreamy rapture. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to hear something of your life, Paul,” said Davis. “I often saw +your name in the 'Times' and the 'Post,' but I 'd like to have your own +account of it.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Kit, I 've had fifty lives. It's the man you should understand,—the +fellow that is here;” and he slapped his broad chest as he spoke. “As for +mere adventures, what are they? Squalls that never interfere with the +voyage,—not even worth entering in the ship's log.” +</p> +<p> +“Where's your wife, Paul?” asked Davis, abruptly, for he was half +impatient under the aphorizing tone of his companion. +</p> +<p> +“When last I heard of her,” said Classon, slowly, as he eyed his glass to +the light, “she was at Chicago,—if that be the right prosody of it,—lecturing +on 'Woman's Rights.' Nobody knew the subject better than Fanny.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard she was a very clever woman,” said Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Very clever,” said Classon; “discursive; not always what the French call +'consequent,' but, certainly, clever, and a sweet poetess.” There was a +racy twinkle in that reverend eye as he said the last words, so full of +malicious drollery that Davis could not help remarking it; but all Classon +gave for explanation was, “This to her health and happiness!” and he +drained off a bumper. “And yours, Kit,—what of her?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Dead these many years. Do you remember her?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I do. I wrote the article on her first appearance at the +Surrey. What a handsome creature she was then! It was I predicted her +great success; it was I that saved her from light comedy parts, and told +her to play Lady Teazle!” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll show you her born image to-morrow,—her daughter,” said Davis, +with a strange choking sensation that made him cough; “she's taller than +her mother,—more style also.” +</p> +<p> +“Very difficult, that,—very difficult, indeed,” said Classon, +gravely. “There was a native elegance about her I never saw equalled; and +then her walk, the carriage of the head, the least gesture, had all a +certain grace that was fascination.” +</p> +<p> +“Wait till you see Lizzy,” said Davis, proudly; “you 'll see these all +revived.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you destine her for the boards, Kit?” asked Classon, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“For the stage? No, of course not,” replied Davis, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“And yet these are exactly the requirements would fetch a high price just +now. Beauty is not a rare gift in England; nor are form and symmetry; but, +except in the highly born, there is a lamentable deficiency in that easy +gracefulness of manner, that blended dignity and softness, that form the +chief charm of woman. If she be what you say, Kit,—if she be, in +short, her mother's daughter,—it is a downright insanity not to +bring her out.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll not hear of it! That girl has cost me very little short of ten +thousand pounds,—ay, ten thousand pounds,—schooling, masters, +and the rest of it. She 's no fool, so I take it; it ain't thrown away! As +regards beauty, I'll stake fifteen to ten, in hundreds, that, taking your +stand at the foot of St. James's Street on a drawing-room day, you don't +see her equal. I'm ready to put down the money to-morrow, and that's +giving three to two against the field! And is that the girl I 'm to throw +away on the Haymarket? She's a Derby filly, I tell you, Paul, and will be +first favorite one of these days.” +</p> +<p> +“Faustum sit augurium!” said Classon, as he raised his glass in a +theatrical manner, and then drained it off. “Still, if I be rightly +informed, the stage is often the antechamber to the peerage. The +attractions that dazzle thousands form the centre of fascination for some +one.” +</p> +<p> +“She may find her way to a coronet without that,” said Davis, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” said Paul, with a slight elevation of the eyebrow; but +though his tone invited a confidence, the other made no further advance's. +</p> +<p> +“And now for yourself, Classon, what have you been at lately?” said Davis, +wishing to change the subject. +</p> +<p> +“Literature and the arts. I have been contributing to a London weekly, as +Crimean correspondent, with occasional letters from the gold diggings. I +have been painting portraits for a florin the head, till I have exhausted +all the celebrities of the three villages near us. My editor has, I +believe, run away, however, and supplies have ceased for some time back.” +</p> +<p> +“And what are your plans now?” +</p> +<p> +“I have some thoughts of going back to divinity. These newly invented +water-cure establishments are daily developing grander proportions; some +have got German bands, some donkeys, some pleasure-boats, others rely upon +lending libraries and laboratories; but the latest dodge is a chaplain.” +</p> +<p> +“But won't they know you, Paul? Have not the newspapers 'blown you'?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Davis, my dear friend,” said he, with a benevolent smile, “it's far +easier to live down a bad reputation than to live up to a good one. I 'd +only ask a week—one week's domestication with the company of these +places—to show I was a martyred saint. I have, so to say, a +perennial fount of goodness in my nature that has never failed me.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember it at school,” said Davis, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> took the clever line, Kit, 'suum cuique;' it would never have +suited <i>me</i>. <i>You</i> were born to thrive upon men's weaknesses, +mine the part to have a vested interest in their virtues.” +</p> +<p> +“If you depend upon their virtues for a subsistence, I 'm not surprised to +see you out at elbows,” said Davis, roughly. +</p> +<p> +“Not so, Kit,—not so,” said the other, blandly, in rebuke. “There 's +a great deal of weak good-nature always floating about life. The world is +full of fellows with 'Pray take me in' written upon them.” +</p> +<p> +“I can only vouch for it very few have come in my way,” said Davis, with a +harsh laugh. +</p> +<p> +“So much the better for <i>them</i>,” said Paul, gravely. +</p> +<p> +A pause of considerable duration now ensued between them, broken, at last, +by Davis abruptly saying, “Is it not a strange thing, it was only last +night I was saying to myself, 'What the deuce has become of Holy Paul?—the +newspapers have seemingly forgotten him. It can't be that he is dead.'” +</p> +<p> +“Lazarus only sleepeth,” said Classon; “and, indeed, my last eleven weeks +here seem little other than a disturbed sleep.” +</p> +<p> +Continuing his own train of thought, Davis went on, “If I could chance +upon him now, he's just the fellow I want, or, rather, that I may want.” +</p> +<p> +“If it is a lampoon or a satire you 're thinking of, Kit, I 've given them +up; I make no more blistering ointments, but turn all my skill to balsams. +They give no trouble in compounding, and pay even better. Ah, Davis, my +worthy friend, what a mistake it is to suppose that a man must live by his +talents, while his real resource is his temperament. For a life of easy +enjoyment, that blessed indolence that never knew a care, it is heart, not +head, is needed.” +</p> +<p> +“All I can say is, that with the fellows I 've been most with, heart had +very little to do with them, and the best head was the one that least +trusted his neighbors.” +</p> +<p> +“A narrow view, my dear friend,—a narrow view, take my word for it; +as one goes on in life he thinks better of it.” +</p> +<p> +A malicious grin was all the answer Davis made to this remark. At last he +turned his eyes full upon the other, and in a low but distinct voice said: +“Let us have no more of this, Paul. If we are to play, let us play, as the +Yankees say, without the 'items,'—no cheating on either side. Don't +try the Grand Benevolence dodge with me,—don't. When I said awhile +ago, I might want you, it was no more than I meant. You <i>may</i> be able +to render me a service,—a great service.” +</p> +<p> +“Say how,” said Classon, drawing his chair nearer to him,—“say how, +Kit, and you'll not find the terms exorbitant.” +</p> +<p> +“It's time enough to talk about the stakes when we are sure the match will +come off,” said Davis, cautiously. “All I 'll say for the present is, I +may want you.” +</p> +<p> +Classon took out a small and very greasy-looking notebook from his +waistcoat-pocket, and with his pencil in hand, said, “About what time are +you likely to need me? Don't be particular as to a day or a week, but just +in a rough-guessing sort of way say when.” +</p> +<p> +“I should say in less than a month from this time,—perhaps within a +fortnight.” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said Classon, closing his book, after making a brief note. +“You smile,” said he, blandly, “at my methodical habits, but I have been a +red-tapist all my life, Kit I don't suppose you 'll find any man's papers, +letters, documents, and so forth, in such trim order as mine,—all +labelled, dated, and indexed. Ah! there is a great philosophy in this +practical equanimity; take my word for it, there is.” +</p> +<p> +“How far are we from Neuwied here?” asked Davis, half pettishly; for every +pretension of his reverend friend seemed to jar upon his nerves. +</p> +<p> +“About sixteen or eighteen miles, I should say?” +</p> +<p> +“I must go or send over there to-morrow,” continued Davis. “The postmaster +sends me word that several letters have arrived,—some to my address, +some to my care. Could you manage to drive across?” +</p> +<p> +“Willingly; only remember that once I leave this blessed sanctuary I may +find the door closed against my return. They 've a strange legislation +here—” +</p> +<p> +“I know—I 've heard of it,” broke in Davis. “I 'll guarantee +everything, so that you need have no fears on that score. Start at +daybreak, and fetch back all letters you find there for me or for the +Honorable Annesley Beecher.” +</p> +<p> +“The Honorable Annesley Beecher!” said Classon, as he wrote the name in +his note-book. “Dear me! the last time I heard that name was—let me +see—fully twelve years ago. It was after that affair at Brighton. I +wrote an article for the 'Heart of Oak,' on the 'Morality of our +Aristocracy.' How I lashed their vices! how I stigmatized their lives of +profligacy and crime!” +</p> +<p> +“You infernal old hypocrite!” cried Davis, with a half-angry laugh. +</p> +<p> +“There was no hypocrisy in that, Kit. If I tell you that a statue is bad +in drawing, or incorrect in anatomy, I never assert thereby that I myself +have the torso of Hercules or the limbs of Antinous.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave people's vices alone, then; they 're the same as their debts; if +you're not going to pay them, you 've no right to talk about them.” +</p> +<p> +“Only on public grounds, Kit Our duty to society, my dear friend, has its +own requirements!” +</p> +<p> +“Fiddlestick!” said Davis, angrily, as he pushed his glass from before +him; then, after a moment, went on: “Do you start early, so as to be back +here before evening,—my mind is running on it. There's three naps,” +said he, placing the gold pieces on the table. “You'll not want more.” +</p> +<p> +“Strange magnetism is the touch of gold to one's palm,” said Classon, as +he surveyed the money in the hollow of his hand. “How marvellous that +these bits of stamped metal should appeal so forcibly to my inner +consciousness!” +</p> +<p> +“Don't get drunk with them, that's all,” said Davis, with a stern savagery +of manner, as he arose from his seat. “There's my passport,—you may +have to show it at the office. And now, good-bye, for I have a long letter +to write to my daughter.” +</p> +<p> +Classon poured the last of the Burgundy into a tumbler, and drank it off, +and hiccuping out, “I'll haste me to the Capitol!” left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. IMMINENT TIDINGS +</h2> +<p> +It was a very wearisome day to Davis as he waited for the return of Paul +Classon. Grog's was not a mind made for small suspicions or petty +distrusts,—he was a wholesale dealer in iniquity, and despised +minute rogueries; yet he was not altogether devoid of anxiety as hour, by +hour went over, and no sign of Classon. He tried to pass the time in his +usual mode. He shot with the pistol, he fenced, he whipped the +trout-stream, he went over his “martingale” with the cards, but somehow +everything went amiss with him. He only hit the bull's-eye once in three +shots; he fenced wide; a pike carried off his tackle; and, worst of all, +he detected a flaw in the great “Cabal,” that, if not remediable, must +render it valueless. +</p> +<p> +“A genuine Friday, this!” muttered he, as he sauntered up a little +eminence, from which a view might be had of the road for above a mile. +“And what nonsense it is people saying they 're not superstitions! I +suppose I have as little of that kind of humbug about me as my neighbors; +yet I would n't play half-crowns at blind-hookey today. I'd not take the +favorite even against a chance horse. I'd not back myself to leap that +drain yonder; and why? Just because I 'm in what the French call <i>guignon</i>. +There's no other word for it that ever I heard. These are the days Fortune +says to a man, 'Shut up, and don't book a bet!' It's a wise fellow takes +the warning. I know it so well that I always prepare for a run against me, +and as sure as I am here, I feel that something or other is going wrong +elsewhere. Not a sign of him,—not a sign!” said he, with a heavy +sigh, as he gazed long and earnestly along the line of road. “He has n't +bolted, that I'm sure of; he'd not 'try that on' with <i>me</i>. He +remembers to this very hour a licking I gave him at school. I know what it +is, he's snug in a wine 'Schenke.' He's in for a big drink, the old beast, +as if he could n't get blind drunk when he came home. I think I see him +holding forth to the boors, and telling them what an honor it is to them +to sit in his company; that he took a high class at Oxford, and was all +but Bishop of—Eh, is that he? No, it 's going t' other way. +Confounded fool!—but worse fool myself for trusting him. That's +exactly what people would say: 'He gave Holy Paul three naps, and expected +to see him come back sober!' Well, so I did; and just answer me this: Is +not all the work of this world done by rogues and vagabonds? It suits them +to be honest for a while; they ride to order so long as they like the +stable. Not a sign of him!” And with a comfortless sigh he turned back to +the house. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I knew how Lizzy was to-night!” muttered he, as he rested his head +on his hand, and sat gazing at her picture. “Ay, that is your own saucy +smile, but the world will take that out of you, and put a puckered-up +mouth and hard lines in its place, that it will, confound it! And those +eyes will have another kind of brightness in them, too, when they begin to +read life glibly. My poor darling, I wish you could stay as you are. Where +are you now, I wonder? Not thinking of old Kit, I 'm certain! And yet, +maybe, I wrong her,—maybe she is just dwelling on long—long +ago—home, and the rest of it. Ay, darling, that's what the lucky +ones have in life, and never so much as know their luck in having it. By +Jove! she is handsome!” cried he, as he held up the miniature in ecstasy +before him. “'If she's so beautiful, Mr. Ross, why don't she come to the +Drawing-room?' say the Court people. Ay, you'll see her there yet, or I'm +not Kit Davis! Don't be impatient, ladies; make your running while the +course is your own, for there's a clipper coming. I'd like to see where +they'll be when Lizzy takes the field.” +</p> +<p> +And now, in his pride, he walked the room, with head erect and arms +folded. It was only for a very short space, however, that these illusions +withdrew him from his gloomier reveries; for, with a start, he suddenly +recurred to all the anxieties of the morning, and once more issued forth +upon the high-road to look out for Classon. The setting sun sent a long +golden stream of light down the road, on which not a living thing was to +be seen. Muttering what were scarcely blessings on the head of his +messenger, he strolled listlessly along. Few men could calculate the +eventualities of life better or quicker than Davis. Give him the man and +the opportunities, and he would speedily tell you what would be the +upshot. He knew thoroughly well how far experience and temperament mould +the daring spirit, and how the caution that comes of education tames down +the wild influences suggested by temptation. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said he to himself, “though he had my passport and three Napoleons +besides, he has not levanted. He is far too deep a fellow for that.” +</p> +<p> +At last a low rumbling sound came up from the distance; he stopped and +listened. It came and went at intervals, till, at last, he could +distinctly mark the noise of wheels, and the voice of a man urging on his +horse. Davis quickened his pace, till, in the gray half-light, he descried +a little one-horse carriage slowly advancing towards him. He could only +see one man in it; but as it came nearer, he saw a heap of clothes, +surmounted by what indicated the presence of another in the bottom of the +conveyance, and Grog quickly read the incident by the aid of his own +anticipation. There, indeed, lay Paul Classon, forgetful of the world and +all its cares, his outstretched arm almost touching the wheel, and the +heavy wooden shoe of the peasant grazing his face. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20080.jpg" width="100%" alt=" 080 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Has he got the letters? Where are they?” cried Davis, eagerly, to the +driver. +</p> +<p> +“They're in his hat” +</p> +<p> +Grog snatched it rudely from his head, and found several letters of +various sizes and shapes, and with what, even in that dim light, seemed a +variety of addresses and superscriptions. +</p> +<p> +“Are you certain none have fallen out or been lost on the road?” said +Davis, as he reckoned them over. +</p> +<p> +“That I am,” said the man; “for at every jolt of the wagon he used to grip +his hat and hold it fast, as if it was for very life, till we came to the +last village. It was there he finished off with a flask of Laubthaler that +completely overcame him.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then, he was sober on leaving Neuwied?” +</p> +<p> +“He was in the so-called 'bemuzzed' state!” said the man, with a +half-apologetic air. +</p> +<p> +“Take him down to the inn; throw him into the hay-yard—or the river, +if you like,” said Davis, contemptuously, and turned away. +</p> +<p> +Once in his own room, the candles lighted, the door locked, Davis sat down +to the table on which the letters were thrown. Leisurely he took them up +one by one and examined their superscriptions. +</p> +<p> +“Little news in these,” said he, throwing three or four to one side; “the +old story,—money-seeking.” And he mumbled out, “'Your acceptance +being duly presented this day at Messrs. Haggitts and Drudge's, and no +provision being made for payment of the same—' It's like the burden +of an old song in one's ears. Who is this from? Oh, Billy Peach, with some +Doncaster news. I do wonder will the day ever come that will bring me good +tidings by the post; I 've paid many a pound in my life for letters, and I +never yet chanced upon one that told me my uncle Peter had just died, +leaving me all his estates in Jamaica, or that my aunt Susan bequeathed to +me all her Mexican stock and the shares in four tin-mines. This is also +from Peach, and marked 'Immediate;'” and he broke it open. It contained +only these lines: “Dark is the word for a week or two still. On Tuesday +your name will appear amongst the passengers for New York by the 'Persia.' +Saucy Sal is a dead break-down, and we net seven hundred safe; Pot did it +with a knitting-needle while they were plaiting her. What am I to do about +the jewels?” +</p> +<p> +Davis's brow darkened as he crushed the paper in his hand, while he +muttered, “I wish these infernal fools had not been taught to write! He +ought to know that addressing me Captain Christopher never deceived a +'Detective' yet. And this is for the Honorable Annesley Beecher,” said he, +reading aloud the address, “'care of Captain Christopher, Coblentz—try +Bingen—try Neuwied.' A responsible-looking document this; it looks +like a despatch, with its blue-post paper and massive seal; and what is +the name here, in the corner? 'Davenport Dunn,' sure enough,—'Davenport +Dunn.' And with your leave, sir, we 'll see what you have to say,” +muttered he, as he broke the seal of the packet. A very brief note first +met his eyes; it ran thus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Sir,—While I was just reading a very alarming account +of Lord Lackington's illness in a communication from Messrs. +Harmer and Gore, the post brought me the enclosed letter for +yourself, which I perceive to be in her Ladyship's hand; I +forward it at once to Brussels, in the hope that it may +reach you there. Should her Ladyship's tidings be better +than I can fain persuade myself to hope, may I presume to +suggest that you should lose no time in repairing to Italy. +I cannot exaggerate the peril of his Lordship's state; in +fact, I am hourly expecting news of his death; and, the +<i>peculiar circumstances</i> of the case considered, it is +highly important you should possess yourself of every +information the exigencies of the event may require. I beg +to enclose you a bank post-bill for two-hundred pounds, +payable at any banker's on your signature, and have the +honor to be, with sincere respect, + +“Your humble Servant, + +“Davenport Dunn. + +“P. S.—I have reason to know that certain claims are now +under consideration, and will be preferred erelong, if +suitable measures be not adopted to restrain them.” +</pre> +<p> +“From which side do you hold your brief, Master Davenport Dunn? I should +like to know <i>that!</i>” said Davis, as he twice over read aloud this +postscript. He looked at Lady Lackington's letter, turned it over, +examined the seal and the postmark, and seemed to hesitate about breaking +it open. Was it that some scruple of conscience arrested his hand, and +some mysterious feeling that it was a sisterly confidence he was about to +violate? Who knows! At all events, if there was a struggle it was a brief +one, for he now smashed the seal and spread the open letter before him. +</p> +<p> +With a muttered expression of impatience did he glance over the four +closely written pages indited in the very minutest of hands and the +faintest possible ink. Like one addressing himself, however, to a severe +task, he set steadily to work, and for nigh an hour never rose from the +table. We have no right, as little have we the wish, to inflict upon our +reader any portion of the labor this process of deciphering cost Davis, so +that we will briefly state what formed the substance of the epistle. The +letter was evidently begun before Lord Lackington had been taken ill, for +it opened with an account of Como and the company at the Villa d'Este, +where they had gone to resume the water-cure. Her Ladyship's strictures +upon the visitors, their morals, and their manners, were pleasantly and +flippantly thrown off. She possessed what would really seem an especial +gift of her class,—the most marvellous use of the perceptive +faculties,—and could read not alone rank and condition, but +character and individuality, by traits of breeding and manner that would +have escaped the notice of hundreds of those the world calls shrewd +observers. This fragment, for it was such, was followed, after a +fortnight, by a hastily written passage, announcing that Lord Lackington +had been seized with an attack resembling apoplexy, and for several hours +remained in great danger. She had detained the letter to give the latest +tidings before the post closed, and ultimately decided on not despatching +it till the next day. The following morning's communication was a minute +account of medical treatment, the bleedings, the blisterings, the +watchings, and the anxieties of a sick-bed, with all the vacillating +changes that mark the course of malady, concluding with these words: “The +doctors are not without hopes, but confess that their confidence is rather +based on the great strength and energy of his constitution than upon any +success that has attended their treatment, from which I may say that up to +this no benefit has accrued. So well as I can interpret his utterance, he +seems very anxious to see you, and made an effort to write something to +you, which, of course, he could not accomplish. Come out here, therefore, +as quickly as possible; the route by Lucerne is, they tell me, the +shortest and speediest. If I were to give my own opinion, it would be that +he is better and stronger than yesterday; but I do not perceive the +doctors disposed to take this view.” After this came a lengthened +statement of medical hopes and fears, balanced with all the subtle +minuteness known to “the Faculty.” They explained to a nicety how if that +poor watch were to stop it could not possibly be from any fault of theirs, +but either from some vice in its original construction, or some organic +change occasioned by time. They demonstrated, in fact, that great as was +their art, it was occasionally baffled; but pointed with a proud humility +to the onward progress of science, in the calm assurance that, doubtless, +we should one day know all these things, and treat them as successfully as +we now do—I am afraid to say what. One thing, however, was +sufficiently clear,—Lord Lackington's case was as bad as possible, +his recovery almost hopeless. On the turn-down of the last page was the +following, written in evident haste, if not agitation: “In opening the +letters which have arrived since his illness, I am astonished to find many +referring to some suit, either meditated or actually instituted, against +our right to the title. Surely some deep game of treachery is at work +here. He never once alluded to such a possibility to myself, nor had I the +slightest suspicion that any pretended claim existed. One of these letters +is from Mr. Davenport Dunn, who has, I can see from the tone in which he +writes, been long conversant with the transaction, and as evidently +inclines to give it a real or feigned importance. Indeed, he refers to a +'compromise' of some sort or other, and strongly impresses the necessity +of not letting the affair proceed further. I am actually distracted by +such news coming at such a moment. Surely Lackington could never have been +weak enough to yield to mere menace, and have thus encouraged the insolent +pretensions of this claim? As you pass through London, call at Fordyce's, +somewhere in Furnival's Inn, and, just in course of conversation, showing +your acquaintance with the subject, learn all you can on the matter. +Fordyce has all our papers, and must necessarily know what weight is due +to these pretensions. Above all, however, hasten out here; there is no +saying what any day—any hour—may produce. I have no one here +to give me a word of advice, or even consolation; for, though Lady Grace +is with us, she is so wrapped up in her new theological studies—coquetting +with Rome as she has been all the summer—that she is perfectly +useless. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any idea who is Terence Driscoll? Some extraordinary notes +bearing this signature, ill-written and ill-spelt, have fallen into my +hands as I rummaged amongst the papers, and they are all full of this +claim. It is but too plain Lackington suffered these people to terrify +him, and this Driscoll's tone is a mixture of the meanest subserviency and +outrageous impertinence. It is not unlikely Fordyce may know him. Of +course, I need not add one word of caution against your mention of this +affair, even to those of your friends with whom you are in closest +intimacy. It is really essential not a hint of it should get abroad. +</p> +<p> +“I have little doubt, now, looking back on the past, that anxiety and care +about this matter have had a large share in bringing on Lackington's +attack. He had been sleepless and uneasy for some time back, showing an +eagerness, too, about his letters, and the greatest impatience if any +accident delayed the post Although all my maturer thoughts—indeed, +my convictions—reject attaching any importance to this claim, I will +not attempt to conceal from you how unhappy it has made me, nor how +severely it has affected my nerves.” +</p> +<p> +With one more urgent appeal to lose not an hour in hastening over the +Alps, the letter concluded; the single word “weaker,” apparently written +after the letter was sealed, giving a deep meaning to the whole. +</p> +<p> +Davis was not satisfied with one perusal of the latter portion of this +letter, but read it over carefully a second time; after which, taking a +sheet of paper, he wrote down the names of Fordyce and Terence Driscoll. +He then opened a Directory, and running his eye down a column, came to +“Fordyce and Fraude, 7 Furnivats Inn, solicitors.” Of Terence Driscolls +there were seventeen, but all in trade,—tanners, tinmen, +last-makers, wharfingers, and so on; not one upon whom Davis could fix the +likelihood of the correspondence with the Viscount. He then walked the +room, cigar in mouth, for about an hour, after which he sat down and wrote +the note to Beecher which we have given in a former chapter, with +directions to call upon Stein, the moneylender, and then hasten away from +Aix as speedily as possible. This finished, he addressed another and +somewhat longer epistle to Lazarus Stein himself, of which latter document +this true history has no record. +</p> +<p> +We, perhaps, owe an apology to our reader for inverting in our narrative +the actual order of these events. It might possibly have been more natural +to have preceded the account of Beecher's reception of the letter by the +circumstances we have just detailed. We selected the present course, +however, to avoid the necessity of that continual change of scene, alike +wearisome to him who reads as to him who writes; and as we are about to +sojourn in Mr. Davis's company for some time to come, we have deferred the +explanation to a time when it should form part of a regular series of +events. Nor are we sorry at the opportunity of asking the reader to turn +once again to that brief note, and mark its contents. Though Davis was +fully impressed with the conviction that Lord Lackington's days were +numbered; though he felt that, at any moment, some chance rumor, some +flying report might inform Beecher what great change was about to come +over his fortunes,—yet this note is written in all the seeming +carelessness of a gossiping humor: he gives the latest news of the turf, +he alludes to Beecher's new entanglements at home, to, his own newly +discovered martingale for the play-table, trusting to the one line about +“Benson's people” to make Beecher hasten away from Aix, and from the +chance of hearing that his brother was hopelessly ill. While Grog penned +these lines, he would have given—if he had it—ten thousand +pounds that Beecher was beside him. Ay, willingly had he given it, and +more, too, that Beecher might be where no voice could whisper to him the +marvellous change that any moment might cause in his destiny. Oh, ye +naturalists, who grow poetical over the grub and the butterfly, what is +there, I ask ye, in the transformation at all comparable with that when +the younger brother, the man of strait and small fortune, springs into the +peer, exchanging a life of daily vicissitudes, cheap dinners and duns, +dubious companionships and high discounts, for the assured existence, the +stately banquets, the proud friendships, the pomp and circumstance of a +lord? In a moment he soars out of the troubled atmosphere of debts and +disabilities, and floats into the balmy region whose very sorrows never +wear an unbecoming mourning. +</p> +<p> +Grog's note was thus a small specimen of what the great Talleyrand used to +call the perfection of despatch writing, “not the best thing that could be +said on the subject, but simply that which would produce the effect you +desired.” Having sent off this to Beecher, he then telegraphed to his man +of business, Mr. Peach, to ascertain at Fordyce's the latest accounts of +Lord Lackington's health, and answer “by wire.” +</p> +<p> +It was far into the night when Davis betook himself to bed, but not to +sleep. The complications of the great game he was playing had for him all +the interest of the play-table. The kind of excitement he gloried in was +to find himself pitted against others,—wily, subtle, and +deep-scheming as himself,—to see some great stake on the board, and +to feel that it must be the prize of the best player. With the gambler's +superstition, he kept constantly combining events with dates and eras, +recalling what of good or ill-luck had marked certain periods of his life. +He asked himself if September had usually been a fortunate month; did the +20th imply anything; what influence might Holy Paul exert over his +destiny; was he merely unlucky himself, or did he bring evil fortune upon +others? If he suffered himself to dwell upon such “vain auguries” as +these, they still exerted little other sway over his mind than to nerve it +to greater efforts; in fact, he consulted these signs as a physician might +investigate certain symptoms which, if not of moment enough to call for +special treatment, were yet indicative of hidden mischief. +</p> +<p> +His gambling experiences had given him the ready tact, by a mere glance +around the table, to recognize those with whom the real struggle should be +waged; to detect, in a second, the deep head, the crafty intelligence, +that marvellous blending of caution with rashness that make the gamester; +and in the same spirit be now turned over in thought each of those with +whom he was now about to contend, and muttered the name of Davenport Dunn +over and over. “Could we only 'hit it off' together, what a game might we +not play!” was his last reflection ere he fell off to sleep. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. A DISCURSIVE CONVERSATION +</h2> +<p> +Davis was surprised, and something more, as he entered the breakfast-room +the next morning to find the Rev. Paul Classon already seated at the +table, calmly arranging certain little parallelograms of bread-and-butter +and sardines. No signs of discomfiture or shame showed themselves in that +calmly benevolent countenance. Indeed, as he arose and extended his hand +there was an air of bland protection in the gesture perfectly soothing. +</p> +<p> +“You came back in a pretty state last night,” said Davis, roughly. +</p> +<p> +“Overtaken, Kit,—overtaken. It was a piece of good news rather than +the grape juice did the mischief. As the poet says,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Good tidings flowed upon his heart +Like a sea o'er a barren shore, +And the pleasant waves refreshed the spot +So parched and bleak before.' +</pre> +<p> +“The fact is, Kit, you brought me luck. Just as I reached the Post-Office, +I saw a letter addressed to the Rev. Paul Classon, announcing that I had +been accepted as Chaplain to the great Hydropathic Institution at Como! +and, to commemorate the event, I celebrated in wine the triumphs of water! +You got the letters all safely?” +</p> +<p> +“Little thanks to you if I did; nor am I yet certain how many may have +dropped out on the road.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay,—I have a memorandum here,” said Paul, opening his little +note-book. “Four, with London post-marks, to Captain Christopher; two from +Brussels for the same; a large packet for the Hon. Annesley Beecher. +That's the whole list.” +</p> +<p> +“I got these!” said Grog, gruffly; “but why, might I ask, could you not +have kept sober till you got back here?” +</p> +<p> +“He who dashes his enthusiasm with caution, waters the liquor of life. How +do we soar above the common ills of existence save by yielding to those +glorious impulses of the heart, which say, 'Be happy!'” +</p> +<p> +“Keep the sermon for the cripples at the water-cure,” said Davis, +savagely. “When are you to be there?” +</p> +<p> +“By the end of the month. I mentioned the time myself. It would be as +soon, I thought, as I could manage to have my divinity library out from +England.” +</p> +<p> +The sly drollery of his eye, as he spoke, almost extorted a half-smile +from Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Let me see,” muttered Grog, as he arose and lighted his cigar, “we are, +to-day, the 21st, I believe. No, you can't be there so early. I shall need +you somewhere about the first week in October; it might chance to be +earlier. You mustn't remain here, however, in the interval. You'll have to +find some place in the neighborhood, about fifteen or twenty miles off.” +</p> +<p> +“There's Höchst, on the Lahn, a pleasant spot, eighteen miles from this.” +</p> +<p> +“Höchst be it; but, mark me, no more of last night's doings.” +</p> +<p> +“I pledge my word,” said Paul, solemnly. “Need I say, it is as good as my +bond?” +</p> +<p> +“About the same, I suspect; but I 'll give you <i>mine</i> too,” said +Davis, with a fierce energy. “If by any low dissipation or indiscretion of +yours you thwart the plans I am engaged in, I 'll leave you to starve out +the rest of your life here.” +</p> +<p> +“'So swear we all as liegemen true, So swear to live and die!'” cried out +Paul, with a most theatrical air in voice and gesture. +</p> +<p> +“You know a little of everything, I fancy,” said Davis, in a more +good-humored tone. “What do you know of law?” +</p> +<p> +“Of law?” said Paul, as he helped himself to a dish of smoking cutlets,—“if +it be the law of debtor and creditor, false arrest, forcible possession, +battery, or fraudulent bankruptcy, I am indifferently well skilled. Nor am +I ignorant in divorce cases, separate maintenance, and right of +guardianship. Equity, I should say, is my weak point.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you,” said Davis, with a grin, for he but imperfectly +understood the speech. “But it is of another kind of law I 'm speaking. +What do you know about disputed title to a peerage? Have you any +experience in such cases?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I have ransacked registries, rummaged out gravestones in my time. I +very nearly burned my fingers, too, with a baptismal certificate that +turned out to be—what shall I call it?—unauthentic!” +</p> +<p> +“You forged it!” said Grog, gruffly. +</p> +<p> +“They disputed its correctness, and, possibly, with some grounds for their +opinion. Indeed,” added he, carelessly, “it was the first thing of the +kind I had ever done, and it was slovenly—slovenly.” +</p> +<p> +“It would have been transportation!” said Davis, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“With hard labor,” added Classon, sipping his tea. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, you understand something of these sort of cases?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I have been concerned, one way or another, with five. They are +interesting when you take to them; there are so many, so to say, +surprises; always something turning up you never looked for,—somebody's +father that never had a child, somebody's mother that never was married. +Then people die,—say a hundred and fifty years ago,—and no +proof of the death can be made out; or you build wonderfully upon an act +of Parliament, and only find out at the last hour that it has been +repealed. These traits give a great deal of excitement to the suit. I used +to enjoy them much when I was younger.” And Mr. Classon sighed as if he +had been calling up memories of cricket-matches, steeple-chases, or the +polka,—pleasures that advancing years had rudely robbed him of. +</p> +<p> +Davis sat deep in thought for some time. Either he had not fully made up +his mind to open an unreserved confidence with his reverend friend, or +which is perhaps as likely, he was not in possession of such knowledge as +might enable him to state his case. +</p> +<p> +“These suits, or actions, or whatever you call them,” said he, at length, +“always drag on for years,—don't they?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course they do; the lawyers take care of that. There are trials at +bar, commissions, special examinations before the Masters, arguments +before the peers, appeals against decisions; in fact, it is a question of +the purse of the litigants. Like everything else, however, in this world, +they 've got economy-struck. I remember the time—it was the Bancroft +case—they gave me five guineas a day and travelling expenses to go +out to Ravenna and take the deposition of an old Marchess, half-sister of +the Dowager, and now, I suppose, they 'd say the service was well paid +with one half. Indeed, I may say I had as good as accepted a sort of +engagement to go out to the Crimea and examine a young fellow whom they +fancy has a claim to a peerage, and for a mere trifle,—fifteen +shillings a day and expenses. But they had got my passport stopped here, +and I could n't get away.” +</p> +<p> +“What was the name of the claimant?” +</p> +<p> +“Here it is,” said he, opening his note-book. “Charles Conway, formerly in +the 11th Hussars, supposed to be serving as orderly on the staff of +General La Marmora. I have a long letter of instructions Froode forwarded +me, and I suspect it is a strong case got up to intimidate.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the peerage sought for?” asked Davis, with an assumed +indifference. +</p> +<p> +“I can tell you in five minutes if you have any curiosity on the subject,” +said Paul, rising. “The papers are all in my writing-desk.” +</p> +<p> +“Fetch them,” said Davis, as he walked to the window and looked out. +</p> +<p> +Classon soon re-entered the room with a large open letter in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“There's the map of the country!” said he, throwing it down on the table. +“What would you call the fair odds in such a case, Kit,—a private +soldier's chance of a peerage that has been undisturbed since Edward the +Third?” +</p> +<p> +“About ten thousand to one, I 'd call it.” +</p> +<p> +“I agree with you, particularly since Froode is in it. He only takes up +these cases to make a compromise. They 're always 'settled.' He's a +wonderful fellow to sink the chambers and charge the mine, but he never +explodes,—never!” +</p> +<p> +“So that Froode can always be squared, eh?” asked Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Always.” Classon now ran his eyes over the letter, and, mumbling the +lines half aloud, said, “In which case the Conways of Abergeldy, deriving +from the second son, would take precedence of the Beecher branch.' The +case is this,” added he, aloud: “Viscompt Lackington's peerage was united +to the estates by an act of Edward; a motion for a repeal of this was made +in Elizabeth's time, and lost—some aver the reverse; now the +claimant, Conway, relies upon the original act, since in pursuit of the +estates he invalidates the title. It's a case to extort money, and a good +round sum too. I 'd say Lord Lack-ington might give twenty thousand to +have all papers and documents of the claim surrendered into his hands.” +</p> +<p> +“A heavy sum, twenty thousand,” muttered Davis, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“So it is, Kit; but when you come to tot up suits at Nisi Prius, suits in +Equity, searches at the Herald's office, and hearings before the Lords, +you 'll see it is a downright saving.” +</p> +<p> +“But could Lackington afford this? What is he worth?” +</p> +<p> +“They call the English property twelve thousand a year, and he has a small +estate in Ireland besides. In fact, it is out of that part of the property +the mischief has come. This Conway's claim was discovered in some old +country-house there, and Froode is only partially instructed in it.” +</p> +<p> +“And now, Paul,” said Davis, slowly, “if you got a commission to square +this here affair and make all comfortable, how would you go about it?” +</p> +<p> +“Acting for which party, do you mean?” asked Paul. +</p> +<p> +“I mean for the Lackingtons.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there are two ways. I 'd send for Froode, and say, 'What's the +lowest figure for the whole?' or I'd despatch a trusty fellow to the +Crimea to watch Conway, and see what approaches they are making to him. Of +course they'll send a man out there, and it ought n't to be hard to get +hold of him, or, if not himself, of all his papers and instructions.” +</p> +<p> +“That looks business-like,” said Grog, encouragingly. +</p> +<p> +“After all, Kit, these things, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, +are only snaps of the percussion-cap. There 's scarcely a peerage in +England is not menaced with an attempt of the kind; but such is the +intermarriage—such the close tie of affinity between them—they +stand manfully to the fellow in possession. They know in their hearts, if +once they let the world begin to pick out a stone here or there, the whole +wall may come tumbling down, and so they say, 'Here 's one of us since +Henry II.'s time going to be displaced for some upstart fellow none of us +ever heard of.' What signifies legitimacy that dates seven centuries back, +in favor of one probably a shoemaker or a house-painter? They won't stand +that, Kit, and reasonably enough, too. I suppose you've heard all about +this case from Beecher?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I <i>have</i> heard something about it,” said Grog, in confusion, +for the suddenness of the question disconcerted him; “but <i>he</i> don't +care about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Very likely not. If Lackington were to have a son, it would n't concern +him much.” +</p> +<p> +“Not alone that, but he does n't attach any importance to the claim; he +says it's all got up to extort money.” +</p> +<p> +“What of that? When a highwayman stops you with the same errand, does n't +the refusal occasionally provoke him to use force? I know very few things +so hard to deal with as menaces to extort money. Life is, after all, very +like the game the Americans call 'Poker,' where the grand secret is, never +to 'brag' too far on a bad hand. What was <i>your</i> part in this +business, Kit?” asked he, after a brief silence. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean by <i>my</i> part?” rejoined Davis, gruffly. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, how were you interested? Do you hold any of Lackington's paper?—have +you got any claims on the reversion?—in a word, does it in any way +concern you which king reigns in Israel?” +</p> +<p> +“It might, or it might not,” said Grog, dryly. “Now for a question to <i>you</i>. +Could you manage to get employed in the affair,—to be sent out after +this Conway,—or is it too late?” +</p> +<p> +“It might, or it might not,” said Classon, with a significant imitation of +the other's tone and manner. Davis understood the sarcasm in a moment, and +in a voice of some irritation said,— +</p> +<p> +“Don't you try to come the whip-hand over me, Holy Paul. If there be +anything to do in this matter, it is I, and not <i>you</i>, will be +paymaster; so much for this, so much for that,—there's the terms!” +</p> +<p> +“It is such dealings I like best,” said Classon, blandly “Men would have +benefited largely in this world had probity been parcelled out as +task-work instead of being made daily labor.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect that neither you nor I would have had much employment either +way,” said Davis, with a bitter laugh. “But come, you must be stirring. +You 'll have to be off out of this before the afternoon. The Rhine steamer +touches at Neuwied at three, and I expect my daughter by this boat. I +don't want her to see you just yet awhile, Paul. You 'll start for Höchst, +put up at the inn there, and communicate with me at once, so that I may be +able to reckon upon you when needed. It were as well, too, that you'd +write a line to Froode, and say that on second thoughts that expedition to +the Crimea might suit; explore the way, in fact, and let me know the +tidings. As to terms,” said Grog,—for the other's blank look +expressed hesitation,—“if <i>I</i> say, 'Go,' <i>you</i> shall say +'For what?'” +</p> +<p> +“I do love these frank and open dealings,” said Paul, warmly. +</p> +<p> +“Look here!” said Davis, as the other was about to leave the room; “old +Joe Morris, of Mincing Lane, made his fortune by buying up all the forged +bills of exchange he could lay hands on, well knowing that the fellows he +could hang or transport any day would be trusty allies. Now, I have all my +life committed every critical thing to somebody or other that no other +living man would trust with a sixpence. They stood to <i>me</i> as I stood +to <i>them</i>, and they knew why. Need I tell you that why?” +</p> +<p> +“No necessity in the world to do so,” said Paul, blandly. +</p> +<p> +“That 's enough,” said Davis. “Come to me when you're ready, and I'll have +some cash for you.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. A FAMILY MEETING. +</h2> +<p> +Along a road pleasantly shaded by linden-trees, Davis strolled leisurely +that afternoon to meet his daughter. It was a mellow autumnal day,—calm, +silent, and half sombre,—one of those days in which the tranquil +aspect of nature has an influence of sad but soothing import, and even the +least meditative minds are led to reflection. Down the deep valley, where +the clear trout-stream eddied along, while the leafy chestnut-trees threw +their shadows over the water; over the rich pasture-lands, where the +spotted cattle roamed; high up the blue mountains, whose snowy summits +mingled with the clouds,—Davis wandered with his eyes, and felt, he +knew not why or how, a something of calming, subduing effect upon a brain +racked with many a scheme, wearied with many a plot. +</p> +<p> +As he gazed down upon that fair scene where form and color and odor were +blended into one beauteous whole, a struggling effort of fancy sent +through his mind the question, “Is this, after all, the real prize of +life? Is this peaceful existence worth all the triumphs that we strive and +fight for?” And then came the thought, “Could this be lasting, what would +a nature like mine become, thus left in rust and disuse? Could I live? or +should I enjoy life without that eternal hand-to-hand conflict with my +fellow-men, on which skill and ready wit are exercised?” He pondered long +over this notion, nor could he satisfy himself with any conclusion. +</p> +<p> +He thought he could remember a time when he would thoroughly have liked +all this,—when he could have taken leave of the busy world without +one regret, and made the great race of life a mere “walk over;” but now +that he had tasted the poisonous fascination of that combat, where man is +pitted against man, and where even the lust of gain is less stimulating +than a deadly sense of jealous rivalry, it was too late—too late! +How strange, too, did it seem to him, as he looked back upon his wild and +stormy life, with all its perils and all its vicissitudes, to think that +an existence so calm, so uneventful, and so safe, could yet be had,—that +a region existed where craft could find no exercise, where subtlety might +be in disuse! It was to him like a haven that he was rejoiced to know,—a +harbor whose refuge, some one day or other, he would search out; but there +was yet one voyage to make,—one grand venture,—which, if +successful, would be the crowning fortune of his life! +</p> +<p> +The sharp crack, crack of a postilion's whip started him from his musings, +and, looking up, he saw a post-carriage approaching at full speed. He +waved his hat as the carriage came near for the men to draw up, and the +next moment Lizzy Davis was in her father's arms. He kissed her twice, and +then, holding her back, gazed with proud delight at her beautiful +features, never more striking than in that moment of joyful meeting. +</p> +<p> +“How well you are looking, Lizzy!” said he, with a thick utterance. +</p> +<p> +“And you too, dear papa,” said she, caressingly. “This quiet rural life +seems to have agreed wonderfully with you. I declare you look five years +younger for it, does he not, Mr. Beecher?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Beecher, how are you?” cried Davis, warmly shaking the other's hand. +“This <i>is</i> jolly, to be all together again,” said he, as, drawing his +daughter's arm within his own, and taking Beecher on the other side, he +told the postilions to move forward, while they would find their way on +foot. +</p> +<p> +“How did you ever hit upon this spot?” asked Beecher; “we could n't find +it on the map.” +</p> +<p> +“I came through here some four-and-twenty years ago, and I never forget a +place nor a countenance. I thought at the time it might suit me, some one +day or other, to remember, and you see I was right. You are grown fatter, +Lizzy; at least I fancy so. But come, tell me about your life at Aix,—was +it pleasant? was the place gay?” +</p> +<p> +“It was charming, papa!” cried she, in ecstasy; “had you only been with +us, I could not have come away. Such delightful rides and drives, +beautiful environs, and then the Cursaal of an evening, with all its odd +people,—not that my guardian, here, fancied so much my laughing at +them.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you did n't place much restraint upon yourself, I must say.” +</p> +<p> +“I was reserved even to prudery; I was the caricature of Anglo-Saxon +propriety,” said she, with affected austerity. +</p> +<p> +“And what did they think of you, eh?” asked Davis trying to subdue the +pride that would, in spite of him, twinkle in his eye. +</p> +<p> +“I was the belle of the season. I assure you it is perfectly true!” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Lizzy—” +</p> +<p> +“Well, ask Mr. Beecher. Be honest now, and confess frankly, were you not +sulky at driving out with me the way the people stared? Didn't you +complain that you never expected to come home from the play without a duel +or something of the kind on your hands? Did you not induce me to ruin my +toilette just to escape what you so delicately called 'our notoriety'? Oh, +wretched man! what triumphs did I not relinquish out of compliance to your +taste for obscurity!” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! we divided public attention with Ferouk Khan and his wives. I +don't see that my taste for obscurity obtained any brilliant success.” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard of such black ingratitude!” cried she, in mock indignation. +“I assure you, pa, I was a martyr to his English notions, which, to me, +seem to have had their origin in Constantinople.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Beecher!” said Davis, laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Beecher, no, but happy Beecher, envied by thousands. Not indeed,” +added she, with a smile, “that his appearance at this moment suggests any +triumphant satisfaction. Oh, papa, you should have seen him when the +Russian Prince Ezerboffsky asked me to dance, or when the Archduke +Albrecht offered me his horses; or, better still, the evening the Margrave +lighted up his conservatory just to let me see it.” +</p> +<p> +“Your guardianship had its anxieties, I perceive,” said Davis, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“I think it had,” said Beecher, sighing. “There were times I 'd have given +five thousand, if I had it, that she had been safe under your own charge.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear fellow, I'd have given fifty,” said Davis, “if I did n't know she +was just in as good hands as my own.” There was a racy heartiness in this +speech that thrilled through Beecher's heart, and he could scarcely credit +his ears that it was Grog spoke it. “Ay, Beecher,” added he, as he drew +the other's arm closer to his side, “there was just one man—one +single man in Europe—I 'd have trusted with the charge.” +</p> +<p> +“Really, gentlemen,” said Lizzy, with a malicious sparkle of the eye, “I +am lost in my conjectures whether I am to regard myself as a sort of human +Koh-i-noor—a priceless treasure—or something so very difficult +to guard, so perilous to protect, as can scarcely be accounted a flattery. +Say, I entreat of you, to which category do I belong?” +</p> +<p> +“A little to each, I should say,—eh, Beecher?” cried Grog, +laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don't appeal to <i>him</i>, papa. <i>He</i> only wants to vaunt his +heroism the higher, because the fortress he guarded was so easy of +assault!” +</p> +<p> +Beecher was ill-fitted to engage in such an encounter, and stammered out +some commonplace apology for his own seeming want of gallantry. +</p> +<p> +“She's too much for us, Beecher,—too much for us. It's a pace we +can't keep up,” muttered Grog in the other's ear. And Beecher nodded a +ready assent to the speech. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Lizzy, gayly, “now that your anxieties are well over, I do +entreat of you to unbend a little, and let us see the lively, +light-hearted Mr. Annesley Beecher, of whose pleasant ways I have heard so +much.” +</p> +<p> +“I used to be light-hearted enough once, eh, Davis?” said Beecher, with a +sigh. “When you saw me first at the Derby—of, let me see, I don't +remember the year, but it was when Danby's mare Petrilla won,—with +eighteen to one 'given and taken' against her, the day of the race,—Brown +Davy, the favorite, coming in a bad third,—he died the same night.” +</p> +<p> +“Was he 'nobbled'?” asked Lizzy, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” cried Grog, gruffly. “Where did you learn that word?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I'm quite strong in your choice vocabulary,” said she, laughingly; +“and you are not to fancy that in the dissipations of Aix I have forgotten +the cares of my education. My guardian there set me a task every morning,—a +page of Burke's Peerage and a column of the 'Racing Calendar;' and for the +ninth Baron of Fitzfoodle, or the fifteenth winner of the Diddlesworth, +you may call on me at a moment.” +</p> +<p> +The angry shadow on Davis's brow gradually faded away, and he laughed a +real, honest, and good-humored laugh. +</p> +<p> +“What do you say to the Count, Lizzy?” asked he next. “There was a fine +gentleman, wasn't he?” +</p> +<p> +“There was the ease and the self-possession of good breeding without the +manners. He was amusing from his own self-content, and a sort of latent +impression that he was taking you in, and when one got tired of that, he +became downright stupid.” +</p> +<p> +“True as a book, every word of it!” cried Beecher, in hearty gratitude, +for he detested the man, and was envious of his small accomplishments. +</p> +<p> +“His little caressing ways, too, ceased to be flatteries, when you saw +that, like the cheap bonbons scattered at a carnival, they were made for +the million.” +</p> +<p> +“Hit him again, he has n't got no friends!” said Beecher, with an assumed +slang in his tone. +</p> +<p> +“But worst of all was that mockery of good nature,—a false air of +kindliness about him. It was a spurious coinage, so cleverly devised that +you looked at every good guinea afterwards with distrust.” +</p> +<p> +“How she knows him,—how she reads him!” cried Davis, in delight. +</p> +<p> +“He was very large print, papa,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Confound me!” cried Beecher, “if I didn't think you liked him, you used +to receive him so graciously; and I'll wager he thinks himself a prime +favorite with you.” +</p> +<p> +“So he may, if it give him any pleasure,” said she, with a careless laugh. +</p> +<p> +Davis marked the expression of Beecher's face as she said these words; he +saw how that distrustful nature was alarmed, and he hastened to repair the +mischief. +</p> +<p> +“I am sure you never affected to feel any regard for him, Lizzy?” said +Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Regard for him!” said she, haughtily; “I should think not! Such people as +he are like the hired horses that every one uses, and only asks that they +should serve for the day they have taken them.” +</p> +<p> +“There, Beecher,” said Davis, with a laugh. “I sincerely hope she's not +going to discuss <i>your</i> character or <i>mine</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! I hope not.” And in the tone in which Beecher uttered this there +was an earnestness that made the other laugh heartily. +</p> +<p> +“Well, here we are. This is your home for the present,” said Davis, as he +welcomed them to the little inn, whose household were all marshalled to +receive them with fitting deference. +</p> +<p> +The arrangements within doors were even better than the picturesque +exterior promised; and when Lizzy came down to dinner, she was in raptures +about her room, its neatness even to elegance, and the glorious views that +opened before the windows. +</p> +<p> +“I'm splendidly lodged too,” said Beecher; “and they have given me a +dressing-room, with a little winding-stair to the river, and a bath in the +natural rock. It is downright luxury, all this.” +</p> +<p> +Davis smiled contentedly as he listened. For days past had he been busied +with these preparations, determined to make the spot appear in all its +most favorable colors. Let us do him justice to own that his cares met a +full success. Flowers abounded in all the rooms; and the perfumed air, +made to seem tremulous by the sounds of falling water, was inexpressibly +calming after the journey. The dinner, too, would have done honor to a +more pretentious “hostel;” and the Steinberger, a cabinet wine, that the +host would not part with except for “love as well as money,” was +perfection. Better than all these,—better than the fresh trout with +its gold and azure speckles,—better than the delicate Rehbraten with +its luscious sauce,—better than the red partridges in their bed of +truffles, and a dessert whose grapes rivalled those of Fontainebleau,—better, +I say, than all, was the happy temper of the hour! Never were three people +more disposed for enjoyment. To Lizzy, it was the oft dreamed-of home, the +quiet repose of a spot surrounded with all the charm of scenery, coming, +too, just as the dissipations of gayety had begun to weary and pall upon +her. To Beeeher, it was the first moment of all his life in which he +tasted peace. Here were neither duns nor bailiffs. It was a Paradise where +no writ had ever wandered, nor the word “outlawry” had ever been uttered. +As for Davis, if he had not actually won his game, he held in his hand the +trump card that he knew must gain it. What signified, now, a day or even a +week more or less; the labor of his long ambition was all but completed, +and he saw the goal reached that he had striven for years to attain. +</p> +<p> +Nor were they less pleased with each other. Never had Lizzy seemed to +Beecher's eyes more fascinating than now. In all the blaze of full dress +she never looked more beautiful than in that simple muslin, with the +sky-blue ribbon in her glossy hair, and the boquet of moss roses +coquettishly placed above her ear, for—I mention it out of accuracy—she +wore her hair drawn back, as was the mode about a century ago, and was +somewhat ingenious in her imitation of that mock-shepherdess <i>coiffure</i> +so popular with fine ladies of that time. She would have ventured on a +“patch” if it were not out of fear for her father; not, indeed, that the +delicate fairness of her skin, or the dazzling brilliancy of her eyes, +needed the slightest aid from art. Was it with some eye to keeping a +toilette that she wore a profusion of rings, many of great price and +beauty? I know not her secret; if I did, I should assuredly tell it, for I +suspect none of her coquetries were without their significance. To +complete Beecher's satisfaction, Davis was in a mood of good humor, such +as he had never seen before. +</p> +<p> +Not a word of contradiction, not one syllable of disparagement fell from +his lips, that Beecher usually watched with an utmost childish terror, +dreading reproof at every moment, and not being over certain when his +opinions would pass without a censure. Instead of this, Grog was +conciliating even to gentleness, constantly referred to Beecher what he +thought of this or that, and even deferred to his better judgment on +points whereon he might have been supposed to be more conversant. Much +valued reader, has it ever been your fortune in life to have had your +opinions on law blandly approved of by an ex-Chancellor, your notions of +medicine courteously confirmed by a great physician, or your naval tactics +endorsed by an admiral of the fleet? If so, you can fully appreciate the +ecstasy of Annesley Beecher as he found all his experiences of the +sporting world corroborated by the “Court above.” This was the gold medal +he had set his heart on for years,—this the great prize of all his +life; and now he had won it, and he was really a “sharp fellow.” There is +an intense delight in the thought of having realized a dream of ambition, +of which, while our own hearts gave us the assurance of success, the world +at large only scoffed at our attempting. To be able to say, “Yes, here I +am, despite all your forebodings and all your predictions,—I knew it +was 'in me'!” is a very proud thing, and such a moment of vaingloriousness +is pardonable enough. +</p> +<p> +How enjoyable at such a moment of triumph was it to hear Lizzy sing and +play, making that miserable old piano discourse in a guise it had never +dreamed of! She was in one of those moods wherein she blended the wildest +flights of fancy with dashes of quaint humor, now breathing forth a melody +of Spohr's in accents of thrilling pathos, now hitting off in improvised +doggerel a description of Aix and its company, with mimicries of their +voice and manner irresistibly droll. In these imitations the Count, and +even Beecher himself, figured, till Grog, fairly worn out with laughter, +had to entreat her to desist. +</p> +<p> +As for Beecher, he was a good-tempered fellow, and the little raillery at +himself took nothing from the pleasure of the description, and he laughed +in ready acknowledgment of many a little trait of his own manner that he +never suspected could have been detected by another. +</p> +<p> +“Ain't she wonderful,—ain't she wonderful?” exclaimed Grog, as she +strolled out into the garden, and left them alone together. +</p> +<p> +“What I can't make out is, she has no blank days,” said Beecher. “She was +just as you saw her there, the whole time we were at Aix; and while she's +rattling away at the piano, and going on with all manner of fun, just ask +her a serious question,—I don't care about what,——and +she'll answer you as if she had been thinking of nothing else for the +whole day before.” +</p> +<p> +“Had she been born in <i>your</i> rank of life, Beecher, where would she +be be now,—tell me that?” said Davis; and there was an almost fierce +energy in the words as he spoke them. +</p> +<p> +“I can tell you one thing,” cried Beecher, in a transport of delight,—“there's +no rank too high for her this minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Well said, boy,—well said,” exclaimed Davis, warmly; “and here's to +her health.” +</p> +<p> +“That generous toast and cheer must have been in honor of myself,” said +Lizzy, peeping in at the window, “and in acknowledgment I beg to invite +you both to tea.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. A SAUNTER BY MOONLIGHT. +</h2> +<p> +Lizzy Davis had retired to her room somewhat weary after the day's +journey, not altogether unexcited by her meeting with her father. How was +it that there was a gentleness, almost a tenderness, in his manner she had +never known before? The short, stern address, the abrupt question, the +stare piercing and defiant of one who seemed ever to distrust what he +heard, were all replaced by a tone of quiet and easy confidence, and a +look that bespoke perfect trustfulness. +</p> +<p> +“Have I only seen him hitherto in moments of trial and excitement; are +these the real traits of his nature; is it the hard conflict of life calls +forth the sterner features of his character; and might he, in happier +circumstances, be ever kind and confiding, as I see him now?” What a +thrill of ecstasy did the thought impart! What a realization of the home +she had often dreamed of! “He mistakes me, too,” said she, aloud, “if he +fancies that my heart is set upon some high ambition. A life of quiet +obscurity, in some spot peaceful and unknown as this, would suffice for +all my wishes. I want no triumphs,—I covet no rivalries.” A glance +at herself in the glass at this moment sent the deep color to her cheek, +and she blushed deeply. Was it that those bright, flashing eyes, that fair +and haughty brow, and those lips tremulous with proud significance gave a +denial to these words? Indeed, it seemed as much, for she quickly added, +“Not that I would fly the field, or ingloriously escape the struggle—Who's +there?” cried she, quickly, as a low tap came to the door. +</p> +<p> +“It is I, Lizzy. I heard you still moving about, and I thought I 'd +propose half an hour's stroll in the moonlight before bed. What do you say +to it?” +</p> +<p> +“I should like it of all things, papa,” cried she, opening the door at +once. +</p> +<p> +“Throw a shawl across your shoulders, child,” said he; “the air is not +always free from moisture. We 'll go along by the river-side.” +</p> +<p> +A bright moon in a sky without a cloud lit up the landscape, and by the +strongly marked contrast of light and shadow imparted a most striking +effect to a scene wild, broken, and irregular. Fantastically shaped rocks +broke the current of the stream; at every moment gnarled and twisted roots +straggled along the shelving banks, and in the uncertain light assumed +goblin shapes and forms, the plashing stream, as it rushed by, appearing +to give motion to the objects around. Nor was the semblance all unreal, +for here and there a pliant branch rose and fell on the surging water like +the arm of some drowning swimmer. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20108.jpg" width="100%" alt="108 " /> +</div> +<p> +The father and daughter walked along for some time in utter silence, and +the thoughts of each filled with the scene before them. Lizzy fancied it +was a conflict of river gods,—some great Titanic war, where angry +giants were the combatants; or again, as fairer forms succeeded, they +seemed a group of nymphs bathing in the soft moonlight. As for Grog, it +reminded him of a row at Ascot, where the swell-mob smashed the police; +and so strikingly did it call up the memory of the event that he laughed +aloud and heartily. +</p> +<p> +“Do tell me what you are laughing at, papa,” said she, entreatingly. +</p> +<p> +“It was something that I saw long ago,—something I was reminded of +by those trees yonder, bobbing up and down with the current.” +</p> +<p> +“But what was it?” asked she, more eagerly; for even yet the memory kept +him laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing that could interest you, girl,” said he, bluntly; and then, as if +ashamed of the rudeness of his speech, he added, “Though I have seen a +good deal of life, Lizzy, there's but little of it I could recall for +either your benefit or instruction.” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy was silent; she wished him to speak on, but did not choose to +question him. Strangely enough, too, though be shunned the theme, he had +been glad if she had led him on to talk of it. +</p> +<p> +After a long pause he sighed heavily, and said: “I suppose every one, if +truth were told, would have rather a sad tale to tell of the world when he +comes to my age. It don't improve upon acquaintance, I promise you. Not +that I want to discourage <i>you</i> about it, my girl. You 'll come to my +way of thinking one of these days, and it will be quite soon enough.” +</p> +<p> +“And have you really found men so false and worthless as you say?” +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you in one word the whole story, Lizzy. The fellows that are +born to a good station and good property are all fair and honest, if they +like it; the rest of the world must be rogues, whether they like it or +not.” +</p> +<p> +“This is a very disenchanting picture you put before me.” “Here 's how it +is, girl,” said he, warming with his subject. “Every man in the world is a +gambler; let him rail against dice, racing, cards, or billiards, he has a +game of his own in his heart, and he's playing for a seat in the Cabinet, +a place in the colonies, a bishopric, or the command of a regiment. The +difference is, merely, that your regular play-man admits chance into his +calculations, the other fellows don't; they pit pure skill against the +table, and trust to their knowledge of the game.” +</p> +<p> +She sighed deeply, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“And the women are the same,” resumed he: “some scheming to get their +husbands high office, some intriguing for honors or Court favor; all of +them ready to do a sharp thing,—to make a hit on the Stock +Exchange.” +</p> +<p> +“And are there none above these mean and petty subterfuges?” cried she, +indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; the few I have told you,—they who come into the world to claim +the stakes. They can afford to be high-minded, and generous, and +noble-hearted, as much as they please. They are booked 'all right,' and +need never trouble their heads about the race; and that is the real +reason, girl, why these men have an ascendancy over all others. They are +not driven to scramble for a place; they have no struggles to encounter; +the crowd makes way for them as they want to pass; and if they have +anything good, ay, or even good-looking, about them, what credit don't +they get for it!” +</p> +<p> +“But surely there must be many a lowly walk where a man with contentment +can maintain himself honorably and even proudly?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't know of them, if there be,” said Davis, sulkily. “Lawyers, +parsons, merchants, are all, I fancy, pretty much alike,—all on 'the +dodge.'” +</p> +<p> +“And Beecher,—poor Beecher?” broke in Lizzy. And there was a blended +pity and tenderness in the tone that made it very difficult to say what +her question really implied. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you call him poor Beecher?” asked he, quickly. “He ain't so poor +in one sense of the word.” +</p> +<p> +“It was in no allusion to his fortune I spoke. I was thinking of him +solely with reference to his character.” +</p> +<p> +“And he is poor Beecher, is he, then?” asked Davis, half sternly. +</p> +<p> +If she did not reply, it was rather in the fear of offending her father, +whose manner, so suddenly changing, apprised her of an interest in the +subject she had never suspected. +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Lizzy,” said he, drawing her arm more closely to his side, +while he bespoke her attention; “men born in Beecher's class don't need to +be clever; they have no necessity for the wiles and schemes and subtleties +that—that fellows like myself, in short, must practise. What they +want is good address, pleasing manners,—all the better if they be +good-looking. It don't require genius to write a check on one's banker; +there is no great talent needed to say 'Yes,' or 'No,' in the House of +Lords. The world—I mean their own world—likes them all the +more if they have n't got great abilities. Now Beecher is just the fellow +to suit them.” +</p> +<p> +“He is not a peer, surely?” asked she, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“No, he ain't yet, but he may be one any day. He is as sure of the peerage +as—I am not! and then, poor Beecher—as you called him awhile +ago—becomes the Lord Viscount Lackington, with twelve or fourteen +thousand a year! I tell you, girl, that of all the trades men follow, the +very best, to enjoy life, is to be an English lord with a good fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it true, as I have read,” asked Lizzy, “that this high station, so +fenced around by privileges, is a prize open to all who have talent or +ability to deserve it,—that men of humble origin, if they be gifted +with high qualities, and devote them ardently to their country's service, +are adopted, from time to time, into that noble brotherhood?” +</p> +<p> +“All rubbish; don't believe a word of it. It's a flam and a humbug,—a +fiction like the old story about an Englishman's house being his castle, +or that balderdash, 'No man need criminate himself.' They 're always +inventing 'wise saws' like these in England, and they get abroad, and are +believed, at last, just by dint of repeating. Here 's the true state of +the case,” said he, coming suddenly to a halt, and speaking with greater +emphasis. “Here I stand, Christopher Davis, with as much wit under the +crown of my hat as any noble lord on the woolsack, and I might just as +well try to turn myself into a horse and be first favorite for the Oaks, +as attempt to become a peer of Great Britain. It ain't to be done, girl,—it +ain't to be done!” +</p> +<p> +“But, surely, I have heard of men suddenly raised to rank and title for +the services—” +</p> +<p> +“So you do. They want a clever lawyer, now and then, to help them on with +a peerage case; or, if the country grows forgetful of them, they attract +some notice by asking a lucky general to join them; and even then they do +it the way a set of old ladies would offer a seat in the coach to a +stout-looking fellow on a road beset with robbers,—they hope he 'll +fight for 'em; but, after all, it takes about three generations before one +of these new hands gets regularly recognized by the rest.” +</p> +<p> +“What haughty pride!” exclaimed she; but nothing in her tone implied +reprobation. +</p> +<p> +“Ain't it haughty pride?” cried he; “but if you only knew how it is +nurtured in them, how they are worshipped! They walk down St. James's +Street, and the policeman elbows me out of the way to make room for them; +they stroll into Tattersall's, and the very horses cock their tails and +step higher as they trot past; they go into church, and the parson clears +his throat and speaks up in a fine round voice for them. It's only because +the blessed sun is not an English institution, or he 'd keep all his +warmth and light for the peerage!” +</p> +<p> +“And have they, who render all this homage, no shame for their +self-abasement?” +</p> +<p> +“Shame! why, the very approach to them is an honor. When a lord in the +ring at Newmarket nods his head to me and says, 'How d' ye do, Davis?' my +pals—my acquaintances, I mean—are twice as respectful to me +for the rest of the day. Not that <i>I</i> care for that,” added he, +sternly; “I know <i>them</i> a deuced sight better than they fancy!—far +better than <i>they</i> know <i>me!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy fell into a revery; her thoughts went back to a conversation she had +once held with Beecher about the habits of the great world, and all the +difficulties to its approach. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I could dare to put a question to you, papa,” said she, at last. +</p> +<p> +“Do so, girl. I 'll do my best to answer it” +</p> +<p> +“And not be angry at my presumption,—not be offended with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit. Be frank with me, and you 'll find me just as candid.” +</p> +<p> +“What I would ask, then, is this,—and mind, papa, it is in no mere +curiosity, no idle indulgence of a passing whim I would ask it, but for +sake of self-guidance and direction,—who are we?—what are we?” +</p> +<p> +The blood rose to Davis's face and temples till he became crimson; his +nostrils dilated, and his eyes flashed with a wild lustre. Had the +bitterest insult of an enemy been hurled at his face before the open +world, his countenance could not have betrayed an expression of more +intense passion. +</p> +<p> +“By heaven!” said he, with a long-drawn breath, “I did n't think there was +one in Europe would have asked me that much to my face. There's no denying +it, girl, you have my own pluck in you.” +</p> +<p> +“If I ever thought it would have moved you so—” +</p> +<p> +“Only to make me love you the more, girl,—to make me know you for my +own child in heart and soul,” cried he, pressing her warmly to him. +</p> +<p> +“But I would not have cost you this emotion, dearest pa—” +</p> +<p> +“It's over now; I am as cool as yourself. There 's my hand,—there 's +not much show of nervousness there. 'Who are we?'” exclaimed he, fiercely, +echoing her question. “I 'd like to know how many of that eight-and-twenty +millions they say we are in England could answer such a question? There's +a short thick book or two tells about the peerage and baronetage, and says +who are they; but as for the rest of us—” A wave of the hand +finished the sentence. “My own answer would be that of many another: I 'm +the son of a man who bore the same name, and who, if alive, would tell the +same story. As to what we are, that's another question,” added he, +shrewdly; “though, to be sure, English life and habits have established a +very easy way of treating the matter. Everybody with no visible means of +support, and who does nothing for his own subsistence, is either a +gentleman or a vagrant. If he be positively and utterly unable to do +anything for himself, he 's a gentleman; if he can do a stroke of work in +some line or other, he 's only a vagrant.” +</p> +<p> +“And you, papa?” asked she, with an accent as calm and unconcerned as +might be. +</p> +<p> +“I?—I am a little of both, perhaps,” said he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +A silence ensued, long enough to be painful to each; Lizzy did not dare to +repeat her question, although it still remained unanswered, and Davis knew +well that he had not met it frankly, as he promised. What a severe +struggle was that his mind now endured! The hoarded secret of his whole +life,—the great mystery to which he had sacrificed all the happiness +of a home, for which he had consented to estrange himself from his child, +training her up amidst associations and habits every one of which +increased the distance between them,—there it was now on his lip; a +word might reveal it, and by its utterance might be blasted all the +fondest hopes his heart had ever cherished. To make Lizzy a lady, to +surround her not only with all the wants and requirements of station, but +to imbue her mind with sentiments and modes of thought such as befit that +condition, had been the devoted labor of his life. For this he had toiled +and struggled, contrived, plotted, and schemed for years long. What +terrible scenes had he not encountered, with what desperate characters not +associated! In the fearful commerce of the play-table there was not a dark +passion of the human heart he had not explored,—to know men in their +worst aspects, in their insolence of triumph, the meanness of their +defeat, in their moments of avarice, in their waste; to read their natures +so that every start or sigh, a motion of the finger, a quivering of the +lip should have its significance; to perceive, as by an instinct, wherein +the craft or subtlety of each lay, and by the same rapid intuition to know +his weak point also! Men have won high collegiate honors with less +intensity of study than he gave to this dark pursuit; men have come out of +battle with less peril to life than he faced every day of his existence, +and all for one object,—all that his daughter might breathe an +atmosphere from which he must live excluded, and know a world whose +threshold he should never pass. Such was the terrible conflict that now +raged within him as he reviewed the past, and saw to what a narrow issue +he had reduced his one chance of happiness. “There she stands now,” +thought he, “all that my fondest hopes had ever fashioned her; and who is +to say what one word—one single word uttered by my lips—may +not make of that noble nature, pure and spotless as it is? How will she +bear to hear that her station is a deception, her whole life a lie,—that +she is the daughter of Grog Davis, the leg?” Heaven knows with what +dexterous artifices he had often met this difficulty as it used to present +itself to his mind, how he had seen in what way he could extricate +himself, how reconcile his own shortcomings with her high-soaring tastes +and habits! Whatever such devices he had ever conceived, none came to his +aid now; not one offered him the slightest assistance. +</p> +<p> +Then came another thought,—“How long is this deception to be carried +on? Am I to wait?” said he, “and if so, for what? Ay, there's the +question, for what? Is it that some other may break the news to her, and +tell her whose daughter she is?” In that world he knew best he could well +imagine with what especial malice such a tale would be revealed. Not that +slander need call imagination to its aid. Alas! his life had incidents +enough for malignity to gloat over! +</p> +<p> +His stout arm shook, and his strong frame trembled with a sort of +convulsive shudder as these thoughts flashed across his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Are you cold, dearest pa? Are you ill?” asked she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No. Why do you ask?” said he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“You trembled all over; I was afraid you were not well.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm never ill,” said he, in the same tone. “There 's a bullet in me +somewhere about the hip—they can't make out exactly where—gives +me a twinge of pain now and then. Except that, I never knew what ailment +means.” +</p> +<p> +“In what battle?” +</p> +<p> +“It was n't a battle,” broke he in; “it was a duel. It's an old story now, +and not worth remembering. There, you need not shudder, girl; the fellow +who shot me is alive, though, I must say, he has n't a very graceful way +of walking. Do you ever read the newspapers,—did they allow you ever +to read them at school?” +</p> +<p> +“No; but occasionally I used to catchy a glance at them in the +drawing-room. It was a kind of reading fascinated me intensely, it was so +real. But why do you ask me?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't know why I asked the question,” muttered he, half moodily, and +hung his head down. “Yes, I do,” cried he, after a pause. “I wanted to +know if you ever saw <i>my</i> name—our name—in the public +prints.” +</p> +<p> +“Once,—only once, and very long ago, I did, and I asked the +governess if the name were common in England, and she said, 'Yes.' I +remember the paragraph that attracted me to this very hour. It was the +case of a young man—I forget the name—who shot himself in +despair, after some losses at play, and the narrative was headed, 'More of +Grog Davis!'” +</p> +<p> +Davis started back, and, in a voice thick and hoarse with passion, cried +out,— +</p> +<p> +“And then? What next?” The words were uttered in a voice so fearfully wild +that Lizzy stood in a sort of stupefied terror, and unable to reply. +“Don't you hear me, girl?” cried he. “I asked you what came next.” +</p> +<p> +“There was an account of an inquest,—some investigation as to how +the poor fellow had met his death. I remember little about that. I was +only curious to learn who this Grog Davis might be—” +</p> +<p> +“And they could n't tell you, it seems!” +</p> +<p> +“No; they had never heard of him.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I 'll tell you, girl. Here he stands before you.” +</p> +<p> +“You! papa—you—dearest pa! Oh, no, no!” cried she, +imploringly, as she threw herself on his neck and sobbed bitterly,—“oh +no! I 'll not believe it.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not believe it? What was there in that same story that should +prejudice <i>me</i>? There, there, girl, if you give way thus, it will +offend me,—ay, Lizzy, offend me.” +</p> +<p> +She raised her head from his shoulder, dried her eyes, and stood calm and +unmoved before him. Her pale face, paler in the bright moonlight, now +showed not a trace of passion or emotion. +</p> +<p> +Davis would have given his right hand at that moment that she had been led +into some burst of excitement, some outbreak of passionate feeling, which, +in rebuking, might have carried him away from all thoughts about himself; +but she was cold and still and silent, like one who has heard some +terrible tidings, but yet has summoned up courage for the trial. There was +that in her calm, impassive stare that cut him to the very heart; nor +could any words have reproached him so bitterly as that steadfast look. +</p> +<p> +“If you don't know who we are, you know what we are, girl. Is that not +so?” cried he, in a thick and passionate tone. “I meant to have told it +you fifty times. There was n't a week in the last two years that I did +n't, at least, begin a letter to you about it I did more: I cut all the +things out of the newspapers and made a collection of them, and intended, +some day or other, you should read them. Indeed, it was only because you +seemed so happy there that, I spared you. I felt the day must come, +though. Know it you must, sooner or later, and better from me than another +I mean better for the other; for, by heaven! I 'd have shot him who told +you. Why don't you speak to me, girl? What's passing in your mind?” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely know,” said she, in a hollow voice. “I don't quite feel sure I +am awake!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes!” cried he, with a terrible oath, “you <i>are</i> awake; it was the +past was the dream! When you were the Princess, and every post brought you +some fresh means of extravagance,—<i>that</i> was the dream! The +world went well with myself in those days. Luck stood to me in whatever I +touched. In all I ventured I was sure to come right, as if I had made my +bargain with Fortune. But the jade threw me over at last, that she did. +From the hour I went in against Hope's stables at Rickworth,—that's +two years and eleven days to-day,—I never won a bet! The greenest +youngsters from Oxford beat me at my own weapons. I went on selling,—now +a farm, now a house, now a brood mare. I sent the money all to you, girl, +every guinea of it. What I did myself I did on tick till the September +settling at Cottiswoode, and then it was all up. I was ruined!” +</p> +<p> +“Ruined!” echoed she, while she grasped his arm and drew him closer to her +side; “you surely had made friends—” +</p> +<p> +“Friends are capital things when the world goes well with you, but friends +are fond of a good cook and iced champagne, and they don't fancy broken +boots and a bad hat. Besides, what credit is to the merchant, luck is to +one of us. Let the word get abroad luck is against you; let them begin to +say, 'There 's that poor devil Davis in for it again; he's so unlucky!'—once +they say that, you are shunned like a fellow with the plague; none will +associate with you, none give you a helping hand or a word of counsel. +Why, the grooms wouldn't gallop if I was on the ground, for fear my bad +luck might strain a sinew and slip a ligament! And they were right too! +Smile if you like, girl,—I am not a very superstitious fellow,—but +nobody shall persuade me there ain't such a thing as luck. Be that as it +may, <i>mine</i> turned,—I was ruined!” +</p> +<p> +“And were there none to come to your aid? You must surely have lent a +helping hand to many—” +</p> +<p> +“Look here, girl,” said he; “now that we are on this subject, you may as +well understand it aright. If a gentleman born—a fellow like +Beecher, there—comes to grief, there's always plenty of others ready +to serve him; some for the sake of his family, some for his name, some +because there's always the chance that he may pay one day or other. Snobs, +too, would help him, because he 's the Honorable Annesley Beecher; but +it's vastly different when it's Grog Davis is in case. Every one rejoices +when a leg breaks down.” +</p> +<p> +“A leg is the slang for—for—” +</p> +<p> +“For a betting man,” interposed Davis. “When a fellow takes up the turf as +a profession, they call him 'a leg,'—not that they 'd exactly say it +to his face!” added he, with a smile of intense sarcasm. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said she, faintly, after a slight pause. +</p> +<p> +“Go on with what?” cried he, rudely. “I've told you everything. You wanted +to know what I was, and how I made my living. Well, you know it all now. +To be sure, the newspapers, if you read them, could give you more precise +details; but there's one thing, girl, they could n't blink,—there's +not one of them could say that what my head planned overnight my hand was +not ready to defend in the morning! I can't always throw a main, but I 'll +hit my man,—and at five-and-thirty paces, if he don't like to stand +closer.” +</p> +<p> +“And what led you to this life, papa? Was it choice?” +</p> +<p> +“I have told you enough already; too much, mayhap,” said he, doggedly. +“Question me no more!” +</p> +<p> +Had Davis but seen the face of her at his side, what a terrible shock it +would have given him, hard and stern as he was! She was pale as marble,—even +the lips were colorless; while along her cheeks a heavy tear stole slowly +along. It was the only one she shed, but it cost an agony. +</p> +<p> +“And this is the awaking from that glorious dream I have long been lost +in?—this the explanation of that life of costly extravagance, where +every wish was answered, every taste pampered. This is the reverse of that +medal which represented me as noble by birth and high in station!” If +these were the first bitter thoughts that crossed her mind, her next were +to ask herself why it was that the tidings had not humiliated her more +deeply. “How is it that while I see and hear all this,” cried she, “I +listen in a spirit of defiance, not defeat? Is it that in my heart I dare +to arraign the decrees the world has adopted for its guidance? Do I +presume to believe that I can play the rebel successfully against the +haughtiest aristocracy of Europe?—There is yet one question, papa,” +said she, slowly and deliberately, “that I would wish to ask you. It is +the last I will ever put, leaving to your own discretion to answer it or +not. Why was it—I mean, with what object did you place me where by +habit and education I should contract ideas of life so widely different +from those I was born to?” +</p> +<p> +“Can't you guess?” said he, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“Mayhap I do guess the reason,” said she, in a low but unbroken voice. “I +remember your saying one night to Mr. Beecher, 'When a colt has a turn of +speed, he 's always worth the training.'” +</p> +<p> +Davis grew crimson; his very ears tingled as the blood mounted to his +head. Was it shame, was it anger, was it a strange pride to see the traits +of his own heart thus reflected on his child, or was it a blending of all +three together? At all events, he never uttered a word, but walked slowly +along at her side. +</p> +<p> +A low faint sigh from Lizzy suddenly aroused him, and he said, “Are you +ill,—are you tired, girl?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to go back to the house,” said she, calmly but weakly. He +turned without a word, and they walked on towards the inn. +</p> +<p> +“When I proposed this walk, Lizzy, I never meant it to have been so sad a +one.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor yours the fault if it is so,” said she, drearily. +</p> +<p> +“I could, it is true, have kept you longer in the dark. I might have +maintained this deception a week or two longer.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that were useless; the mistake was in not—No matter—it +was never a question wherein I could have a voice. Has n't the night grown +colder?” +</p> +<p> +“No; it's just what it was when we came out,” said he, gruffly. “Now that +you know all this affair,” resumed he, after a lapse of some minutes, +“there 's another matter I 'd like to talk over; it touches yourself, too, +and we may as well have it now as later. What about Beecher; he has been +paying you attentions, hasn't he?” +</p> +<p> +“None beyond what I may reasonably expect from one in his position towards +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but he has, though. I sent over Lienstahl to report to me, and he +says that Beecher's manner implied attachment, and yours showed no +repugnance to him. Is this true?” +</p> +<p> +“It may be, for aught I know,” said she, indifferently. “Mr. Beecher +probably knows what he meant. I certainly can answer for myself, and will +say that whatever my manner might imply, my heart—if that be the +name for it—gave no concurrence to what the Count attributed to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you dislike him?” +</p> +<p> +“Dislike? No; certainly not; he is too gentle, too obliging, too +conciliating in manner, too well bred to create dislike. He is not very +brilliant—” +</p> +<p> +“He 'll be a peer,” broke in Davis. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect that all his views of life are deeply tinged with prejudice?” +</p> +<p> +“He'll be a peer,” continued Davis. +</p> +<p> +“He has been utterly neglected in education.” +</p> +<p> +“He don't want it.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean that to suit the station he fills—” +</p> +<p> +“He has got the station; he's sure of it; he can't be stripped of it. In +one word, girl, he has, by right and birth, rank and fortune, such as ten +generations of men like myself, laboring hard every hour of their lives, +could never win. He 'll be a peer of England, and I know of no title means +so much.” +</p> +<p> +“But of all his failings,” said Lizzy, who seemed to take little heed of +her father's interruptions, while steadily following out her own thoughts,—“of +all his failings, he has none greater or more pernicious than the belief +that it is a mark of intelligence to outwit one's neighbor; that cunning +is a high quality, and craft means genius.” +</p> +<p> +“These might be poor qualities to gain a living with,” said Davis, “but I +tell you, once for all, he does n't need to be brilliant, or witty, or any +other nonsense of that kind. He 'll have the right to go where all the +cleverness of the world couldn't place him, to live in a set where, if he +could Write plays like Shakspeare, build bridges like Brunel, or train a +horse like John Scott, it would n't avail him a brass farthing; and if you +only knew, child, what these people think of each other, and what the +world thinks of <i>them</i>, you 'd see it's the best stake ever was run +for.” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy never replied a word; every syllable of her father's speech was, as +it were, “filtering down” into her mind, and she brooded long over the +thoughts thus suggested. Thus, walking along in silence, side by side, +they drew nigh the house. They had now gained the little garden before the +door, and were standing in the broad full moonlight, face to face, Davis +saw that her eyes were red and her cheeks marked by tears; but an +impassive calm, and a demeanor subdued even to coldness, seemed to have +succeeded to this emotion. “Oh, my poor girl,” broke he out, in a voice of +deepest feeling, “if I did n't know the world so well,—if I did n't +know how little one gains by indulging affection,—if I did n't know, +besides, how you yourself will think of all this some ten or twelve years +hence, I could n't have the heart for it.” +</p> +<p> +“And—must—it—be?” faltered she out, in a broken accent. +</p> +<p> +Davis threw his arm around her, and, pressing her to him, sobbed bitterly. +“There, there,” cried he, “go in,—go in, child; go to bed, and get +some sleep.” And with this he turned quickly away and left her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. A RIDE TO NEUWIED +</h2> +<p> +Long before Lizzy had composed herself to sleep—for her heart was +torn by a first sorrow, and she lay restless and fevered—her father, +mounted on a post-horse, was riding away towards the Rhine. He had desired +that the reply to his telegraphic message should be addressed to him at +the post-office of Neuwied, and thither he was now bent. It is a strange +thing, that when the affections of men of this stamp are deeply moved,—when +their sensibilities, long dulled and hardened by the rubs of life, are +once evoked,—the feelings excited are less those of gentleness and +tenderness than an almost savage desire for some personal conflict. Urging +his horse to full speed, Davis spared neither whip nor spur. Alone upon +that solitary road, he asked himself aloud if he were less alone in the +broad, bleak world? “Is not the 'field' against me wherever I go? I never +heard of the fellow that had not some 'moorings'—some anchorage—except +myself.” But a brief hour ago and there was one who loved him with all her +heart,—who saw, or fancied she saw, a rich mine of generous +qualities in his rough manners and blunt address,—who pictured to +her mind what such a nature might have been under happier circumstances +and with better culture. “And now,” cried he, aloud,—“now she knows +me for what I am, how will she bear this? Will she sink under it, will it +crush her, or has she enough of my own blood in her veins to meet it +courageously? Oh! if she only knew the world as I do,—what a mean +coward it is, how it bullies the weak and truckles to the strong, how it +frowns down the timid and simpers to the sturdy! Every man—ay, and +every woman—can sell his life dearly; and strange it is, one only +learns the value of this secret too late. Let a fellow start with it, and +see what it does for him. <i>I</i> went at them single-handed; <i>I</i> +went down all alone into the ring, and have they beaten <i>me?</i> I had +no honorable or right honorable friends to pick <i>me</i> out of a scrape. +It would be hard to find three men, with good hats on them, would bail me +to the amount of ten pounds; and here I am to-day just as ready to face +them all as ever.” +</p> +<p> +What canting nonsense do we occasionally read in certain quarters to +disparage mere personal courage,—“mere personal courage”! We are +reminded that the ignoble quality is held in common with the bull-dog, and +that in this essential he is our master; we are reminded that it is a low +and vulgar attribute that neither elevates nor enlightens, that the +meanest creatures are often gifted with it, and the noblest natures void +of it. To all this we give a loud and firm denial; and we affirm as +steadfastly, that without it there is neither truth nor manliness. The +self-reliance that makes a man maintain his word, be faithful to his +friendships, and honorable in his dealings, has no root in a heart that +shakes with craven fear. The life of a coward is the voyage of a ship with +a leak,—eternal contrivance, never-ceasing emergency. All thoughts +dashed with a perpetual fear of death, what room is there for one generous +emotion, one great or high-hearted ambition? +</p> +<p> +What a quality must that be, I would ask, that gives even to such a nature +as this man's a sort of rugged dignity? Yes, with all his failings and +short-comings, and I am not going to hide one of them, his personal +courage lifted him out of that category of contempt to which his life +assigned him. How well the world understands such men to be the <i>feræ +naturæ</i> of humanity! It may shun, deprecate, disparage, but it never +despises them. If then of such value be a gift that makes even the bad +appear tolerable, there is this evil in the quality, that it disposes men +like Davis to be ever on the attack. Their whole policy of life is +aggressive. +</p> +<p> +It was about eight o'clock, on a mellow autumnal morning, as Grog reached +Neuwied, and rode down the main street, already becoming thronged with the +peasantry for the market: Guiding his horse carefully through the booths +of flaunting wares, gay stalls of rural finery, and stands of fruit, he +reached the little inn where he meant to breakfast. +</p> +<p> +The post was not to open for an hour, so that he ordered his meal to be at +once got ready, and looked also to the comfort of his beast, somewhat +blown by a long stage. His breakfast had been laid in the public room, in +which two travellers were seated, whose appearance, even before he heard +them speak, proclaimed them to be English. They were both young, +fresh-looking, and well favored; that stamp of half-modesty, +half-boldness, so essentially British, was on them, and, notwithstanding +the entrance of a stranger, they talked away in their native language with +all the fearless security your genuine John Bull feels that no confounded +foreigner can understand him. It is but fair to admit that Grog's beard +and moustaches, his frogged and braided grass-green coat, and his blue +spectacles made him resemble anything on earth rather than a subject of +Queen Victoria. +</p> +<p> +In the mere glance Grog bestowed upon them as he passed, he saw the class +to which they pertained,—young Oxford or Cambridge men, “out” for +their vacation,—an order for which he ever entertained a supreme +contempt. He despised their mock shrewdness, their assumed craft, and that +affectation of being “fast men,” which in reality never soared above +running up a bill at the pastrycook's, thrashing a townsman, and giving a +stunning wine-party at their rooms. To what benefit could such miniature +vices be turned? It was only “punting” with the Evil One, and Grog thought +so and avoided them. +</p> +<p> +Deep in the “mysterious gutturals” of the “Cologne Gazette,” or busily +discussing his carbonadoed beefsteak, Davis gave no heed to the bald, +disjointed chat of his neighbors; broken phrases reached him at intervals +about proctors and the “little go,” the stroke oar of Brazennose, or some +new celebrity of the ballet, when suddenly the name of Annesley Beecher +startled him. He now listened attentively, and heard one of them relating +to the other that while waiting for his arrival at Aix la-Chapelle, he had +devoted himself to watching Beecher and “the stunning girl” that was with +him. It appeared from what he said that all Aix was wildly excited by +curiosity on her account. That she was neither wife, sister, nor mistress, +none disputed. Who was she, then? or what could be the explanation of that +mysterious companionship? “You should have seen her at the rooms,” +continued the narrator; “she used to make her appearance about eleven—rarely +before—dressed with a magnificence that threw all the little German +royalties into the shade,—such lace and ornaments! They said, of +course, it was all false; I can only tell you that old Lady Bamouth got +beside her one night just to examine her scarf, and she proclaimed it real +Brussels, and worth I can't say how much; and for the recovery of an opal +that fell out of her bracelet one night Beecher gave six hundred francs +next morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Then it was the money was false,” broke in the other; “Beecher is ruined, +he hasn't sixpence,—at least I've always heard him mentioned as a +fellow regularly cleaned out years ago.” +</p> +<p> +“He was before my day,” resumed the first; “but I heard the same story you +did. But what's the meaning of calling a fellow ruined that can go about +the world stopping at first-rate hotels, having carriages, horses, +opera-boxes? Why, the waiter at Aix told me that he paid above five +hundred florins for flowers. This girl, whoever she was, was wild about +moss-roses and pink hyacinths, and they fetched them from Rotterdam for +her. Pretty well that for a ruined man!” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it was she herself had the money,” suggested the other, half +carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“That's possible, too; I know that whenever she came down to the wells and +took a glass of the waters, she always gave a gold piece to the girl that +served her.” +</p> +<p> +“Then she was not a lady by birth; that trait is quite sufficient to +decide the point.” +</p> +<p> +Davis started as if he had been stung; here, from the lips of these raw +youths, was he to receive a lesson in life, and be told that all the cost +and splendor by which he purposed to smooth over the difficult approaches +to society were fatal blunders and no more,—that the very +extravagance so imposing in one of acknowledged station becomes “suspect” +in those of dubious rank. Like all men of quick resentments, he soon +turned the blame from himself to others. It was Lizzy's fault. What right +had she to draw upon herself all the censorious tongues of a +watering-place? Why should she have attracted this foolish notoriety? +After all, she was new to life and the world, and might be pardoned; but +Beecher,—it was just the one solitary thing he <i>did</i> know,—Beecher +ought to have warned her against this peril; he ought to have guarded +against it himself. Why should such a girl be exposed to the insolent +comments of fellows like these? and he measured them deliberately, and +thought over in his mind how little trouble it would cost him to put two +families into mourning,—mayhap, to throw a life-long misery into +some happy home, and change the whole destinies of many he had never seen,—never +should see! There was, however, this difficulty, that in doing so he drew +a greater publicity upon her,—all whose interests required secrecy +and caution. “'Till she have the right to another name than mine, she must +not be the talk of newspapers,” said he to himself; and, like many a +prudent reflection, it had its sting of pain. +</p> +<p> +These meditations were rudely cut short by the sound of his own name. It +was the elder of the two young men who was discussing the duel at +Brussels, and detailing, with all the influence of his superior +experience, the various reasons “why no man was called upon to meet such a +fellow as Davis.” “I talked it over with Stan worth and Ellis, and they +both agreed with me.” +</p> +<p> +“But what is to be done?” asked the younger. +</p> +<p> +“You hand him over to the police, or you thrash him right well with a +horsewhip, pay five pounds penalty for the assault, and there's an end +on't.” +</p> +<p> +“And is 'Grog' as they call him, the man to put up with that mode of +treatment?” +</p> +<p> +“What can he do? Notoriety must ruin him. The moment it gets abroad that a +wolf has been seen near a village, all turn out for the pursuit.” +</p> +<p> +Had he who uttered this sentiment only cast his eyes towards the stranger +at the table in the corner, he would have seen, by the expression of the +features, that his simile was not a bad one. Davis shook with passion, and +his self-control, to sit still and listen, was almost like a fit. +</p> +<p> +“All the more ungenerous, then, would be the conduct,” said the younger, +“to resent a personal wrong by calling in others to your aid.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see, George,” broke in the other, “that men have their beasts +of prey like other animals, and agree to hunt them down, out of common +security, for the mischief he causes, and the misery he spreads through +the world? One of these fellows in his lair is worse than any tiger that +ever crouched in a jungle. And as to dealing with him, as Ellis says, do +you ever talk of giving a tiger fair play,—do you make a duel of it, +with equal weapons; or do you just shoot him down when you can and how you +can?” +</p> +<p> +Davis arose and drew himself up, and there was a moment of irresolution in +his mind, of which, could the two travellers-have read the secret, they +would almost as soon have smoked their cigars in the den of a wild beast. +And yet there they sat, puffing indolently away the blue cloud, scarcely +deigning a passing glance at Grog, as he proceeded to leave the room. +</p> +<p> +Anatomists assure us that if we but knew the delicate tissues by which the +machinery of our life is carried on, how slight the fibres, how complex +the functions on which vitality depends, we should not have courage to +move, or even speak, lest we should destroy an organization so delicate +and sensitive. In like manner, did we but know in life the perils over +which we daily pass, the charged mines over which we walk, the volcanoes +that are actually throbbing beneath our feet, what terrors would it give +to mere existence! It was on the turn of a straw how Davis decided,—a +word the more, a look from one of them, a laugh, might have cost a life. +With a long-drawn breath, the sigh of a pent-up emotion, Grog found +himself in the open air; there was a vague feeling in his mind of having +escaped a peril, but what or where or how he could n't remember. +</p> +<p> +He sat down in the little porch under the clustering vines; the +picturesque street, with its carved gables and tasteful balconies, sloped +gently down to the Rhine, which ran in swift eddies beneath. It was a fair +and pleasant scene, nor was its influence all lost upon him. He was +already calmed. The gay dresses and cheerful faces of the peasants, as +they passed and repassed, their merry voices, their hearty recognitions +and pleasant greetings, gave a happier channel to his thoughts. He thought +of Lizzy,—how <i>she</i> would like it, how enjoy it! and then a +sudden pang shot through his heart, and he remembered that she, too, was +no longer the same. The illusion that had made her life a fairy tale was +gone,—dissipated forever. The spell that gave the charm to her +existence was broken! What was all the cultivation of mind,—what the +fascinations by which she moved the hearts of all around her,—what +the accomplishments by which she adorned society, if they only marked the +width of that chasm that separated her from the well-born and the wealthy? +To be more than their equal in grace, beauty, and genius, less than their +inferior in station, was a sad lesson to learn, and this the last night +had taught her. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” muttered he, below his breath, “she knows who she is now, but she +has yet to learn all that others think of her.” How bitterly, at that +instant, did he reproach himself for having revealed his secret! A +thousand times better to have relinquished all ambition, and preserved the +warm and confiding love she bore him. “We might have gone to America,—to +Australia. In some far-away country I could easily earn subsistence, and +no trace of my former life follow me. She, at least, would not have been +lost to me,—her affection would have clung to me through every +trial. Mere reverse of fortune—for such and no more had it seemed—would +never have chilled the generous glow of her woman's heart, and I need not +have shocked her self-love, nor insulted her dignity, by telling her that +she was the gambler's daughter.” +</p> +<p> +As he was thus musing, the two travellers came out and seated themselves +in the porch; the elder one, needing a light for his cigar, touched his +hat to Davis, and muttered some broken words of German, to request +permission to light it from him. Grog bowed a stiff acquiescence; and the +younger said, “Not over-courteous,—a red Jew, I take it!” +</p> +<p> +“A travelling jeweller, I fancy,” said the other; “twig the smart +watch-chain.” +</p> +<p> +Oh, young gentlemen, how gingerly had you trod there if you only knew how +thin was the ice under your feet, and how cold the depth beneath it! Davis +arose and walked down the street. The mellow notes of a bugle announced +the arrival of the post, and the office must now open in a few minutes. +Forcing his way through the throng to the open window, he asked if there +were any letters for Captain Christopher? None. Any for Captain Davis? +None. Any for the Hon. Annesley Beecher? The same reply. He was turning +away in disappointment, when a voice called out, “Wait! here's a message +just come in from the Telegraph-office. Please to sign the receipt for +it.” He wrote the name C. Christopher boldly, and pushed his way through +the crowd once more. +</p> +<p> +If his heart throbbed painfully with the intensity of anxiety, his fingers +never trembled as he broke the seal of the despatch. Three brief lines +were all that were there; but three brief lines can carry the tidings of a +whole destiny. We give it as it stood:— +</p> +<p> +“William Peach to Christopher, Neuwied, in Nassau. +</p> +<p> +“The Viscount died yesterday, at four p. m. Lawyers want A. B.'s address +immediately. +</p> +<p> +“Proceedings already begun.” +</p> +<p> +Davis devoured the lines four—five times over, and then muttered +between his teeth, “Safe enough now,—the match as good as over!” +</p> +<p> +“I say, George,” said one of the young travellers to his companion, “our +friend in the green frock must have got news of a prize in the lottery. +Did you ever see anything like his eyes? They actually lit up the blue +spectacles.” +</p> +<p> +“Clap the saddle on that black horse,” cried Grog, as he passed into the +stable; “give him a glass of Kirsch-wasser and bring him round to the +door.” +</p> +<p> +“He knows how to treat an old poster,” said the ostler; “it's not the +first ride he has taken on a courier's saddle.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. HOW GROG DAVIS DISCOURSED, AND ANNESLEY BEECHER LISTENED +</h2> +<p> +When Davis reached the little inn at evening, he was surprised to learn +that Annesley Beecher had passed the day alone. Lizzy complained of +headache, and kept her room. Grog listened to this with a grave, almost +stern look; he partly guessed that the ailment was a mere pretext; he knew +better to what to attribute her absence. They dined tête-à-tête; but there +was a constraint over each, and there was little of that festive enjoyment +that graced the table on the day before. Beecher was revolving in his mind +all the confessions that burdened his conscience about Stein and the +mystical volume he had bought from him; the large sums he had drawn for +were also grievous loads upon his heart, and he knew not in what temper or +spirit Davis would hear of them. Grog, too, had many things in his head; +not, indeed, that he meant to reveal them, but they were like secret +instructions to his own heart, to be referred to for guidance and +direction. +</p> +<p> +They sipped their wine under the trellised vines, and smoked their cigars +in an atmosphere fragrant with the jessamine and the rose, the crystal +river eddying along at their feet, and the purple mountain glowing in the +last tints of declining day. “We want Lizzy to enliven us,” said Davis, +after a long silence on both sides. “We 're dull and heavy without her.” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! it does make a precious difference whether she's here or not,” +said Beecher, earnestly. +</p> +<p> +“There's a light-heartedness about that girl does one good,” said Davis, +as he puffed his cigar. “And she's no fool, either.” +</p> +<p> +“I should think she's not,” muttered Beecher, half indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“It could n't be supposed she should know life like you or me, for +instance; she hasn't seen the thing,—never mixed with it; but let +the time come that she shall take her part in the comedy, you 'll see +whether she 'll not act it cleverly.” +</p> +<p> +“She has head for anything!” chimed in Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and what they call tact too. I don't care what company you place her +in; take her among your duchesses to-morrow, and see if she'll not keep +her own place,—and that a good one.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher sighed, but it was not in any despondency. +</p> +<p> +And now a long silence ensued; not a sound heard save the light noise of +the bottle as it passed between them, and the long-drawn puffs of smoke +that issued from their lips. +</p> +<p> +“What did you do with Stein? Did he give you the money?” asked Davis, at +last. +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, he gave it—he gave it freely enough; in fact, he bled so +easily that, as the doctors say, I took a good dash from him. You +mentioned two thousand florins, but I thought, as I was about it, a little +more would do us no harm, and so I said, 'Lazarus, old fellow, what if we +make this for ten thousand—” +</p> +<p> +“Ten thousand!” said Davis, removing his cigar from his lips and staring +earnestly, but yet not angrily, at the other. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see that as I have the money with me,” began Beecher, in a tone +of apology and terror, “and as the old fellow didn't put 'the screw on' as +to discount—” +</p> +<p> +“No, he's fair enough about that; indeed, so far as my own experience +goes, all Jews are. It's your high-class Christian I'm afraid of; but you +took the cash?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes!” said Beecher, timidly, for he was n't sure he was yet out of +danger. +</p> +<p> +“It was well done,—well thought of,” said Grog, blandly. “We 'll +want a good round sum to try this new martingale of mine. Opening with +five naps, we must be able to bear a run of four hundred and eighty, +which, according to the rule of chances, might occur once in seventeen +thousand three hundred and forty times.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that,” broke in Beecher, “I have hedged famously. I bought old +Stein's conjuring-book; what he calls his 'Kleinod,' showing how every +game is to be played, when to lay on, when to draw off. Here it is,” said +he, producing the volume from his breast-pocket. “I have been over it all +day. I tried three problems with the cards myself, but I couldn't make +them come up right.” +</p> +<p> +“How did you get him to part with this?” asked Davis, as he examined the +volume carefully. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I gave him a fancy price,—that is, I am to give it, which +makes all the difference,” said Beecher, laughing. “In short, I gave him a +bit of stiff, at three months, for one thousand—” +</p> +<p> +“Florins?” +</p> +<p> +“No, pounds,—pounds sterling,” said Beecher, with a half-choking +effort. +</p> +<p> +“It <i>was</i> a fancy price,” said Grog, slowly, not the slightest sign +of displeasure manifesting itself on his face as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“You don't think, then, that it was too much?” faltered out Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not, <i>under</i> the circumstances,” said Davis, keenly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by 'under the circumstances'?” +</p> +<p> +Davis threw his cigar into the stream, pushed bottle and glasses away from +him,—far enough to permit him to rest both his arms on the table,—and +then, steadfastly fixing his eyes on the other, with a look of intense but +not angry significance, said, “How often have I told you, Beecher, that it +was no use to try a 'double' with me? Why, man, I know every card in your +hand.” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my sacred word of honor, Grog—” +</p> +<p> +“To be renewed at three months, I suppose?” said Davis, sneeringly. “No, +no, my boy, it takes an earlier rise to get to the blind side of Kit +Davis. I 'm not angry with you for trying it,—not a bit, lad; there +'s nothing wrong in it but the waste of time.” +</p> +<p> +“May I be hanged, drawn, and quartered, if I know what you are at, Grog!” +exclaimed the other, piteously. +</p> +<p> +“Well, all I can say is <i>I</i> read <i>you</i> easier than <i>you</i> +read <i>me</i>. <i>You</i> gave old Lazarus a thousand pounds for that +book after reading that paragraph in the 'Times.'” +</p> +<p> +“What paragraph?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean that about your brother's title not being legal.” +</p> +<p> +“I never saw it,—never heard of it,” cried Beecher, in undisguised +terror. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I suppose I 'm to believe you,” said Davis, half reluctantly. “It +was in a letter from the Crimea, stating that so confident are the friends +of a certain claimant to the title and estates now enjoyed by Lord +Lackington, that they have offered the young soldier who represents the +claim any amount of money he pleases to purchase promotion in the +service.” +</p> +<p> +“I repeat to you my word of honor, I never saw nor heard of it” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, then, I believe you,” said Grog. +</p> +<p> +Again and again did Beecher reiterate assurances of his good faith; he +declared that during all his stay at Aix he had never looked into a +newspaper, nor had he received one single letter, except from Davis +himself; and Davis believed him, from the simple fact that such a +paragraph as he quoted had no existence,—never was in print, never +uttered till Grog's own lips had fashioned it. +</p> +<p> +“But, surely, Grog, it is not a flying rumor—the invention of some +penny-a-liner—would find any credence with <i>you?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“I don't know,” said Davis, slowly; “I won't say I 'd swear to it all, but +just as little would I reject it as a fable. At all events, I gave you +credit for having trimmed your sails by the tidings; and if you did n't, +why, there's no harm done, only you 're not so shrewd a fellow as I +thought you.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher's face grew scarlet; how near, how very near, he was of being +“gazetted” the sharp fellow he had been striving for years to become, and +now, by his own stupid admission, had he invalidated his claim to that +high degree. +</p> +<p> +“And this is old Stein's celebrated book? I 've heard of it these +five-and-thirty years, though I never saw it till now. Well, I won't say +you made a bad bargain—” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, Grog,—indeed, by George! I 'm as glad as if I won five +hundred to hear you say so. To tell you the truth, I was half afraid to +own myself the purchaser. I said to myself, 'Davis will chaff me so about +this book, he 'll call me all the blockheads in Europe—'” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Beecher, you ain't a blockhead, nor will I suffer any one to call +you such. There are things—there are people, too, Just as there are +games—that you don't know, but before long you 'll be the match of +any fellow going. I can put you up to them, and I will. There's my hand on +it.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher grasped the proffered hand, and squeezed it with a warmth there +was no denying. What wonderful change had come over Grog he could not +guess. Whence this marvellous alteration in his manner towards him? No +longer scoffing at his mistaken notions of people, or disparaging his +abilities, Davis condescended now to talk and take counsel with him as an +equal. +</p> +<p> +“That 's the king of wines,” said Davis, as he pushed a fresh bottle +across the table. “When you can get Marcobrunner like that, where's the +Burgundy ever equalled it? Fill up your glass, and drink a bumper to our +next venture, whatever it be!” +</p> +<p> +“'Our next venture, whatever it be!'” echoed Beecher, as he laid the empty +glass on the table. +</p> +<p> +“Another toast,” said Davis, replenishing the glasses. “'May all of our +successes be in company.'” +</p> +<p> +“I drink it with all my heart, old fellow. You 've always stood like a man +to me, and I 'll never desert you,” cried Beecher, whose head was never +proof against the united force of wine and excitement. +</p> +<p> +“There never were two fellows on this earth so made to run in double +harness,” said Davis, “as you and myself. Let us only lay our heads +together, and there's nothing can resist us.” +</p> +<p> +Grog now launched forth into one of those descriptions which he could +throw off with a master's hand, sketching life as a great hunting-ground, +and themselves as the hunters. What zest and vigor could he impart to such +a picture!—how artfully, too, could he make Beecher the foreground +figure, he himself only shadowed forth as an accessory! Listening with +eagerness to all he said, Beecher continued to drink deeply; the starry +night, the perfumed air, the rippling sounds of the river, all combining +with the wine and the converse to make up a dreamland of fascination. Nor +was the enchantment less perfect that the objects described passed before +him like a series of dissolving views. They represented, all of them, a +life of pleasure and enjoyment,—means inexhaustible, means for every +extravagance, and, what he relished fully as much, the undisputed +recognition by the world to the claim of being a “sharp fellow,”—a +character to which Grog's aid was so dexterously contributed as to escape +all detection. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps our reader might not have patience with us were we to follow Davis +through all the devious turns and windings of this tortuous discourse. +Perhaps, too, we should fail signally were we to attempt to convey in our +cold narrative what came from his lips with all the marvellous power of a +good story-teller, whose voice could command many an inflection, and whose +crafty nature appreciated the temper of the metal beneath his beat If we +could master all these, another and a greater difficulty would still +remain; for how could we convey, as Davis contrived to do, that through +all these gorgeous scenes of worldly success, in the splendor of a life of +magnificence, amidst triumphs and conquests, one figure should ever pass +before the mind's eye, now participating in the success, now urging its +completion, now, as it were, shedding a calm and chastened light over all,—a +kind of angelic influence that heightened every enjoyment of the good, and +averted every approach of evil? +</p> +<p> +Do not fancy, I beseech you, that this was a stroke of high art far above +the pencil of Grog Davis. Amongst the accidents of his early life the +“stage” had figured, and Grog had displayed very considerable talents for +the career. It was only at the call of what he considered a higher +ambition he had given up “the boards” for “the ring.” Besides this, he was +inspired by the Marcobrunner, which had in an equal degree affected the +brain of him who listened. If Grog were eloquent, Beecher was ductile. +Indeed, so eagerly did he devour all that the other said, that when a +moment of pause occurred, he called out, “Go on, old fellow,—go on! +I could listen to you forever!” +</p> +<p> +Nor was it altogether surprising that he should like to hear words of +praise and commendation from lips that once only opened in sarcasm and +ridicule of him. How pleasant to know, at last, that he was really and +truly a great partner in the house of Davis and Co., and not a mere +commission agent, and that this partnership—how that idea came to +strike him we cannot determine—was to be binding forever. How +exalting, too, the sentiment that it was just at the moment when all his +future looked gloomiest this friendship was ratified. The Lackington +peerage might go, but there was Grog Davis, stanch and true,—the +ancient estates be torn from his house, but there was the precious volume +of old Lazarus, with wealth untold within its pages. Thus threading his +way through these tortuous passages of thought, stumbling, falling, and +blundering at every step, that poor brain lost all power of coherency and +all guidance, and he wavered between a reckless defiance of the world and +a sort of slavish fear of its censure. +</p> +<p> +“And Lackington, Grog,—Lackington,” cried he, at length,—“he's +as proud as Lucifer; what will he say?” +</p> +<p> +“Not so much as you think!” remarked Grog, dryly. “Lackington will take it +easier than you suspect.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, you don't know him,—don't know him at all. I wouldn't stand +face to face with him this minute for a round sum!” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd not like it over-much myself!” muttered Davis, with a grim smile. +</p> +<p> +“It's all from pride of birth and blood, and he 'd say, 'Debts, if you +like; go ahead with Jews and the fifty per centers, but, hang it, don't +tie a stone round your throat, don't put a double ditch between you and +your own rank! Look where I am,' he 'd say,—'look where I am!'” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I hope he finds it comfortable!” muttered Grog, with a dry malice. +</p> +<p> +“Look where I am!” resumed Beecher, trying to imitate the pretentious +tones of his brother's voice. “And where is it, after all?” +</p> +<p> +“Where we 'll all be, one day or other,” growled out Grog, who could not +help answering his own reflections. +</p> +<p> +“'And are you sure of where you are?'—that's what I 'd ask him, eh, +Grog?—'are you sure of where you are?'” +</p> +<p> +“That <i>would</i> be a poser, I suspect,” said Davis, who laughed +heartily; and the contagion catching Beecher, he laughed till the tears +came. +</p> +<p> +“I might ask him, besides, 'Are you quite sure how long you are to remain +where you are?' eh, Grog? What would he say to that?” +</p> +<p> +“The chances are, he 'd not answer at all,” said Davis, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“No, no! you mistake him, he's always ready with a reason; and then he +sets out by reminding you that he's the head of the house,—a fact +that a younger brother does n't need to have recalled to his memory. Oh, +Grog, old fellow, if I were the Viscount,—not that I wish any ill to +Lack-ington,—not that I 'd really enjoy the thing at any cost to <i>him</i>,—but +if I were—” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let's hear. What then?” cried Davis, as he filled the other's glass +to the top,—“what then?” +</p> +<p> +“Would n't I trot the coach along at a very different pace. It's not +poking about Italy, dining with smoke-dried cardinals and snuffy old +'marchesas,' I 'd be; but I 'd have such a stable, old fellow, with Jem +Bates to ride and Tom Ward to train them, and yourself, too, to counsel +me. Would n't we give Binsleigh and Hawksworth and the rest of them a cold +bath, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“That ain't the style of thing at all, Beecher,” said Grog, deprecatingly; +“you ought to go in for the 'grand British nobleman dodge,'—county +interests, influence with a party, and a vote in the Lords. If you were to +try it, you 'd make a right good speech. It wouldn't be one of those +flowery things the Irish fellows do, but a manly, straightforward, genuine +English discourse.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you really think so, Grog?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sure of it I never mistook pace in my life; and I know what's in you +as well as if I saw it. The real fact is, you have a turn of speed that +you yourself have no notion of, but it will come out one of these days if +you 're attacked,—if they say anything about your life on the turf, +your former companions, or a word about the betting-ring.” +</p> +<p> +The charm of this flattery was far more intoxicating than even the copious +goblets of Marcobrunner, and Beecher's flushed cheeks and flashing eyes +betrayed how it overpowered him. Davis went on:— +</p> +<p> +“You are one of those fellows that never show 'the stuff they 're made of' +till some injustice is done them,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“True as a book!” chimed in Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Take you fairly, and a child might lead you; but try it on to deny you +what you justly have a right to,—let them attempt to dictate to you, +and say, 'Do this, and don't do the other,'—little they know on what +back they 've put the saddle. You 'll give them such a hoist in the air as +they never expected!” +</p> +<p> +“How you read every line of me!” exclaimed Beecher, in ecstasy. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll tell you more; there's not another man breathing knows you but +myself. They 've always seen you in petty scrapes and little difficulties, +pulling the devil by the last joint of his tail, as Jack Bush says; but +let them wait till you come out for a cup race,—the Two Thousand +Guinea Stakes,—then I'm not Kit Davis if you won't be one of the +first men in England.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope you 're right, Davis. I almost feel as if you were,” said Beecher, +earnestly. +</p> +<p> +“When did you find me in the wrong, so far as judgment went? Show me one +single mistake I ever made in a matter of opinion? Who was it foretold +that Bramston would bolt after the Cotteswold if Rugby didn't win? Who +told the whole yard at Tattersall's that Grimsby would sell Holt's stable? +Who saw that Rickman Turner was a coward, and would n't fight?—and I +said it, the very day they gave him 'the Bath' for his services in China! +I don't know much about books, nor do I pretend to; but as to men and +women—men best—I 'll back myself against all England and the +Channel Islands.” +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll take as much as you 'll spare me out of your book, Grog,” said +Beecher, enthusiastically, while he filled his glass and drained it. +</p> +<p> +“You see,” said Davis, in a low, confidential tone, as if imparting a +great secret, “I've always remarked that the way they smash a fellow in +Parliament—I don't care in which House—is always by raking up +something or other he did years before. If he wrote a play, or a novel, or +a book of poems, they 're down on him at once, about his imagination and +his fancy,—that means, he never told a word of truth in his life. If +he was unfortunate in business, they 're sure to refer to him about some +change in the Law of Bankruptcy, and say, 'There's my honorable friend +yonder ought to be able to help us by his experiences!' Then, if a fellow +has only his wits about him, how he floors them! You see there's a great +deal of capital to be made out of one of these attacks. You rise to reply, +without any anger or passion; only dignity,—nothing but dignity! You +appeal to the House if the assault of the right honorable baronet opposite +was strictly in good taste,—whatever that means. You ask why you are +signalled out to be the mark of his eloquence, or his wit, or whatever it +be; and then you come out with a fine account of yourself, and all the +honorable motives that nobody ever suspected you of. That's the moment to +praise everything you ever did, or meant to do, or couldn't do; that's the +time to show them what a man they have amongst them.” +</p> +<p> +“Capital, glorious, excellent!” cried Beecher, in delight “Well, suppose +now,” said Davis, “there 's a bill about marriages,—they 're always +changing the law about them; it's evidently a contract does n't work quite +smoothly for all parties,—well, there's sure to be many a spicy +remark and impertinent allusion in the debate; it's a sore subject, and +every one has a 'raw' on it; and, at last, somebody says something about +unequal matches, alliances with an inferior class, 'noble lords that have +not scrupled to mingle the ancient blood of their race with the—the +thin and washy current that flows in plebeian veins.' I 'm the Lord +Chancellor, now,” said Grog, boldly, “and I immediately turn round and fix +my eyes upon <i>you</i>. Up you get at once, and say, 'I accept, my Lords,—I +accept for myself, and my own case, every word the noble Duke or Marquis +has just uttered. It never would have occurred to me to make my personal +history the subject of your Lordships' attention; but when thus rudely +brought before you,—rudely and gratuitously introduced—'Here +you 'd frown at the last speaker, as much as to say, 'You 'll hear more +about this outside—'” +</p> +<p> +“Go on,—go on!” cried Beecher, with impatience. +</p> +<p> +“'I rise in this place,'—that has always a great impression, to say +'this place,'—'I rise in this place to say that I am prouder in the +choice that shares with me the honors of my coronet, than in all the +dignity and privilege that same coronet confers.' What a cheer, what a +regular hurrah follows that, for they have seen her,—ay, that have +they! They have beheld her sweeping down the gilded drawing-room,—the +handsomest woman in England! Where's the Duchess with her eyes, her skin, +her dignity, and her grace? Does n't she look 'thoroughbred in every vein +of her neck'? Where did she get that graceful sweep, that easy-swimming +gait, if she had n't it in her very nature'?” +</p> +<p> +“By Heaven, it's true, every syllable of it!” cried out Beecher, in all +the wild ecstasy of delight. +</p> +<p> +“Where is the man—I don't care what his rank might be—who +would n't envy you after you 'd made that speech? You 'd walk down +Westminster the proudest man in England after it.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher's features glowed with a delight that showed he had already +anticipated the sense of his popularity. +</p> +<p> +“And then how the newspapers will praise you! It will be as if you built a +bridge over the gulf that separates two distinct classes of people. You +'ll be a sort of noble reformer. What was the wisest thing Louis Napoleon +ever did? His marriage. Do you mark that he was always following his +uncle's footsteps in all his other policy; he saw that the only great +mistake he ever made was looking out for a high match, and, like a shrewd +fellow, he said, 'I have station, rank, power, and money enough for two. +It 's not to win the good favor of a wrinkled old Archduchess or a deaf +old Princess, I 'm going to marry. I 'll go in for the whole field. I 'll +take the girl that, if I was n't an Emperor, I 'd be proud to call my +own.' And signs on 't, they all cried out, 'See if he has n't his heart in +the right place; there's an honest drop there! Let him be as ambitious as +you like, he married just as you or I would.' Ain't it a fine thing,” +exclaimed Grog, enthusiastically, “when one has all the middle classes in +one's favor,—the respectable ruck that's always running, but seldom +showing a winner? Get these fellows with you, and it's like Baring's name +on the back of your bill. And now, Beecher,” said Davis, grasping the +other's hand, and speaking with a deep earnestness,—“and now that I +'ve said what you might have done, I 'll tell you what I <i>will do</i>. I +have just been sketching out this line of country to see how you 'd take +your fences, nothing more. You 've shown me that you 're the right sort, +and I 'm not the man to forget it. If I had seen the shadow of a shade of +a dodge about you,—if I 'd have detected one line in your face, or +one shake in your voice, like treachery,—so help me! I 'd have +thrown you over like winking! You fancied yourself a great man, and was +stanch and true to your old friends; and now it's my turn to tell you that +I would n't give that empty flask yonder for all your brother Lackington's +lease of his peerage! Hear me out I have it from his own lawyers,—from +the fellows in Furnival's Inn,—it's up with him; the others are +perfectly sure of their verdict There's how it is! And now, Annesley +Beecher, you were willing to marry Kit Davis's daughter when you thought +you could make her a peeress; now I say, that when you 've nothing, nor +haven't a sixpence to bless yourself with, it's Kit himself will give her +to you, and say, there's not the other man breathing he'd as soon see the +husband of this same Lizzy Davis!” +</p> +<p> +The burst of emotion with which Beecher met this speech was, indeed, the +result of very conflicting feelings. Shock at the terrible tidings of his +brother's downfall, and the insult to his house and name, mingled with a +burst of gratitude to Davis for his fidelity; but stronger and deeper than +these was another sentiment,—for, smile if you will, most sceptical +reader, the man was in love, after <i>his</i> fashion. I do not ask of you +to believe that he felt as you or I might or ought to feel the tender +passion. I do not seek to persuade you that the object of his affection, +mingled with all his thoughts, swayed them and etherealized them; that she +was the theme of many a heart-woven story, the heroine of many an ecstatic +dream: still she was one who could elicit from that nature, in all its +selfishness, little traits of generous feeling, little bursts of honest +sentiment, that made him appear better to his own heart. And so far has +the adage truth with it, virtue is its own reward, in the conscious sense +of well doing, in the peaceful calm of an unrepining spirit, and, not +least of all, in that sympathy which good men so readily bestow upon even +faint efforts to win their suffrage. +</p> +<p> +And so he sobbed out something that meant grief and gratitude; hope, fear, +and uncertainty—worse than fear—all agitating and distracting +him by turns. +</p> +<p> +Very little time did Grog give himself for calmer reflection; away he went +at full speed to sketch out their future life. They were to make the tour +of Europe, winning all before them. All the joyous part, all the splendor +of equipage, retinue, mode of life, and outlay being dictated by Beecher; +all the more business detail, the play and the money-getting, devolving +upon Davis. Baden, Ems, Wiesbaden, Hamburg, and Aix,—all glowed in +the descriptions like fields of foretold glory. How they were to outshine +Princes in magnificence and Royal Highnesses in display; the envy of +Beecher, of his unvarying luck; the splendor of all his belongings; +Lizzy's beauty, tool What a page would he fill in the great gossip +calendar of Europe! +</p> +<p> +Well Davis knew how to feed the craving vanity of that weak nature, whose +most ardent desire was to be deemed cunning and sharp, the cautious +reserve of prudent men in his company being a tribute to his acuteness, +the dearest his heart could covet Oh, if he longed for anything as +success, it was for a time when his coming would spread a degree of terror +at a play-table, and men would rise rather than risk their fortune against +<i>his!</i> Should such a moment ever be his? Was that great triumph ever +to befall him? And all this as the husband of Lizzy Davis! +</p> +<p> +“Ay!” said Grog, as he read and traced each succeeding emotion in that +transparent nature,—“ay! that's what may be called life; and when we +'ve done Europe, smashed every bank on the Continent, we 'll cross the +Atlantic, and give Jonathan a 'touch of our quality.' I know all their +games well, and I 've had my 'three bullets and a poker' before now on a +Mississippi steamer! Your Yankee likes faro, and I've a new cabal to teach +him; in short, my boy, there's a roving commission of fun before us, and +if it don't pay, <i>my</i> name ain't Davis!” +</p> +<p> +“Was this your scheme, then, Grog,” asked Beecher, “when you told me at +Brussels that you could make a man of me?” +</p> +<p> +“It was, my boy,” cried Davis, eagerly. “You 've guessed it. There was +only one obstacle to the success of the plan at that time, and this exists +no longer.” +</p> +<p> +“What was the obstacle you speak of?” +</p> +<p> +“Simply, that so long as you fancied yourself next in succession to a +peerage, you 'd never lay yourself down regularly to your work; you'd say, +'Lackington can't live forever; he's almost twenty years my senior. I must +be the Viscount yet. Why should I, therefore, cumber myself with cares +that I have no need of, and involve myself amongst people I'll have to cut +one of these days? No, I'll just make a waiting race of it, and be +patient.' Now, however, that you can't count upon this prospect,—now +that to-morrow or next day will declare to the world that Henry Hastings +Beecher is just Henry Hastings Beecher, and not Viscount Lackington, and +that the Honorable Annesley is just Annesley, and no more,—now, I +say, that you see this clearly with your own eyes, you 'll buckle to, and +do your work manfully. And there was another thing—” And here Davis +paused, and seemed to meditate. +</p> +<p> +“What was that, Grog? Be candid, old fellow, and tell me all.” +</p> +<p> +“So I will, then,” resumed Davis. “That other thing was this. So long as +you were the great man in prospective, and might some fine day be a Lord, +you could always persuade yourself—or some one else could persuade +you—that Kit Davis was hanging on you just for your rank; that he +wanted the intimacy of a man in your station, and so on. Now, if you ever +came to believe this, there would have been an end of all confidence +between us; and without confidence, what can a fellow do for his pal? This +was, therefore, the obstacle; and even if you could have got over it, <i>I</i> +couldn't. No, hang me if I could! I was always saying to myself, 'It's all +very nice and smooth now, Kit, between you and Beecher,—you eat, +drink, and sleep together,—but wait till he turns the corner, old +fellow, and see if he won't give you the cold shoulder.” +</p> +<p> +“You could n't believe—” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but I could, and did too; and many's the time I said to myself, 'If +Beecher was n't a top-sawyer, what a trump he 'd be! He has head for +anything, and address for anything.' And do you know,”—here Grog +dropped his-voice to a whisper, and spoke as if under great emotion,—“and +do you know that I could n't be the same man to you myself just because of +your rank? That was the reason I used to be so sulky, so suspicious, and +so—ay, actually cruel with you, telling you, as I did, what could +n't I do with certain acceptances? Now, look here, Beecher—Light +that taper beside you; there's a match in that box at your elbow.” +</p> +<p> +Unsteady enough was Beecher's hand; indeed, it was not wine alone now made +him tremble. An intense agitation shook his frame, and he shivered like +one in an ague fit. He couldn't tell what was coming; the theme alone was +enough to arrest all process of reasoning on his part. It was like the +force of a blow that stunned and stupefied at once. +</p> +<p> +“There, that will do,” said Grog, as he drew a long pocket-book from his +breast-pocket, and searched for some time amongst its contents. “Ay, here +they are; two—three—four of them,—insignificant-looking +scraps of paper they look; and yet there's a terrible exposure in open +court, a dreary sea-voyage over the ocean, and a whole life of a felon's +suffering in those few lines.” +</p> +<p> +“For the love of mercy, Davis, if you have a spark of pity in your heart,—if +you have a heart at all,—don't speak in this way to me!” cried +Beecher, in a voice almost choked with sobs. +</p> +<p> +“It is for the last time in my life you'll ever hear such words,” said +Grog, calmly. “Read them over carefully; examine them well. Yes, I wish +and require it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I know them well!” said Beecher, with a heavy sigh. “Many's the +sleepless night the thought of them has cost me.” +</p> +<p> +“Go over every line of them; satisfy yourself that they 're the same,—that +the words 'Johnstone Howard' are in your own hand.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher bent over the papers; but, with his dimmed eyes and trembling +fingers, it was some time ere he could decipher them. A sigh from the very +bottom of his heart was all the reply he could make. +</p> +<p> +“They'll never cost you another sleepless night, old fellow!” said Davis, +as he held them over the flame of the taper. “There's the end of 'em now!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. REFLECTIONS OF ANNESLEY BEECHER +</h2> +<p> +A wiser head than that of Annesley Beecher might have felt some confusion +on awaking the morning after the events we have just related. Indeed, his +first sensations were those of actual bewilderment as he opened his eyes, +and beheld the pine-clad mountains rising in endless succession; the deep +glens; the gushing streams, crossed by rude bridges of a single tree; the +rustic saw-mills all dripping with spray. And trembling with the force of +their own machinery. Where was he? What strange land was this? How came he +there? Was this in reality the “new world beyond the seas” Davis had so +often described to him? By a slow, laborious process, like filtering, +stray memories dropped, one by one, through his clouded faculties; and, at +length, he remembered the scene of the preceding night, and all that had +passed between Davis and himself. Yet, withal, there was much of doubt and +uncertainty mixed up, nor could he, by any effort, satisfy himself how +much was fact, how much mere speculation. Was it true that Lackington was +to lose his peerage? Was it possible such a dreadful blow was to fall on +their house? If so, what portion of the estates would follow the title? +Would a great part—would all the property be transferred to the new +claimant? What length of time, too, might the suit occupy?—such +things often lasted for years upon years. Was it too late for a +compromise? Could not some arrangement be come to “some way”? Grog was +surely the man to decree a plan for this; at all events, he could protract +and spin out proceedings. “It's not p.p.; the match may never come off,” +muttered Beecher, “and I 'll back old Grog to 'square it' <i>somehow</i>.” +</p> +<p> +And then the bills, the forged acceptances,—they were actually +burned before his face! It was well-nigh incredible; but he had seen them, +held them in his own hand, and watched them as the night wind wafted away +their blackened embers never more to rise in judgment against him,—never +to cost him another night of sleepless terror! Who would have believed +Davis capable of such magnanimity? Of all men living, he had deemed him +the last to forego any hold over another; and then the act was his own +spontaneous doing, without reservation, without condition. +</p> +<p> +Beecher's heart swelled proudly as he thought over this trait of his +friend. Was it that he felt a sense of joy in believing better of mankind? +Was it that it awoke within his breast more hopeful thoughts of his +fellow-men? Did it appeal to him like a voice, saying, “Despair of no man; +there are touches of kindliness in natures the very roughest, that redeem +whole lives of harshness”? No, my good reader, it would be unfair and +unjust to you were I to say that such sentiments as these swayed him. +Annesley Beecher's thoughts flowed in another and very different channel. +The words he whispered to his heart were somewhat in this wise: “What a +wonderful fellow must you be, Beecher, to acquire such influence over a +man like Davis; what marvellous gifts must you not be endowed with! Is it +any wonder that Grog predicts a brilliant future to him who can curb to +his will the most stubborn of natures, and elicit traits of sacrifice out +of the most selfish of men? Who but yourself could work this miracle?” +Mean and ignoble as such a mode of arguing may seem, take my word for it, +most patient reader, it is not unfrequent in this world of ours, nor is +Annesley Beecher the only one who has ascribed all his good fortune to his +own deservings. +</p> +<p> +“Shrewd fellow, that Davis! He always saw what stuff was in <i>me; he</i> +recognized the real metal, while others were only sneering at the dross,—just +as he knows this moment, that if I start fresh without name, fortune, or +title, that I 'm sure to be at the top of the tree at last. Give me his +daughter! I should think he would! It's not all up with Lackington yet, +dark as it looks; we 're in possession, and there is a 'good line of +country' between the Honorable Annesley Beecher, next Viscount in +succession, and Kit Davis, commonly called Grog of that ilk! Not that the +girl isn't equal to any station,—there's no denying <i>that!</i> +Call her a Greville, a Stanley, or a Seymour, and she's a match for the +finest man in England! Make her a Countess to-morrow, and she 'll look +it!” +</p> +<p> +It is but fair to acknowledge that Beecher was not bewildered without some +due cause; for if Davis had at one time spoken to him as one who no longer +possessed claim to rank and station, but was a mere adventurer like +himself, at another moment he had addressed him as the future Viscount, +and pictured him as hurling a proud defiance to the world in the choice he +had made of his wife. This was no blunder on Grog's part. That acute +individual had, in the course of his legal experiences, remarked that +learned counsel are wont to insert pleas which are occasionally even +contradictory, alleging at times that “there was no debt,” and then, that +“if there had been, it was already paid.” In the same spirit did Davis +embrace each contingency of fortune, showing that, whether Peer or +Commoner, Annesley Beecher “stood to win” in making Lizzy his wife. +“Scratch the pedigree, and she 'll be a stunning peeress; and if the suit +goes against us, show me the girl like her to meet the world!” This was +the sum of the reflections that cost him a whole morning's intellectual +labor, and more of actual mental fatigue than befalls a great +parliamentary leader after a stormy debate. +</p> +<p> +That Davis had no intention to intimidate him was clearly shown by his +destroying the acceptances: had he wished to lean on coercion, here was +the means. Take your choice between matrimony and a felony, was a short +and easy piece of argumentation, such as would well have suited Grog's +summary notions; and yet he had, of his own accord, freely and forever +relinquished this vantage ground. Beecher was now free. For the first time +for many a long year of life he arose from his bed without a fear of the +law and its emissaries. The horrible nightmare that had scared him so +often, dashing the wildest moments of dissipation with sudden fear, +deepening the depths of despondency with greater gloom, had all fled, and +he awoke to feel that there was no terror in a “Beak's” eye, nothing to +daunt him in the shrewd glances of a detective. They who have lived years +long of insecurity, tortured by the incessant sense of an impending peril, +to befall them to-day, tomorrow, or next day, become at length so imbued +with fear that when the hour of their emancipation arrives, they are not +able for a considerable time to assure themselves of their safety. The +captive dreams of his chains through many a night after he has gained his +liberty; the shipwrecked sailor can never forget the raft and the lone +ocean on which he tossed; nor was it altogether easy for Beecher to +convince himself that he could walk the world with his head high, and bid +defiance to Crown prosecutors and juries! +</p> +<p> +“I 'm out of <i>your</i> debt, Master Grog,” said he, with a pleasant +laugh to himself; “catch me if you can running up another score in <i>your</i> +books. Wait till you see me slipping my neck into a noose held by <i>your</i> +fingers. You made me feel the curb pretty sharp for many a long day, and +might still, if you had n't taken off the bridle with your own hands; but +I 'm free now, and won't I show you a fair pair of heels! Who could blame +me, I 'd like to know? When a fellow gets out of jail, does he take +lodgings next door to the prison? <i>I</i> never asked him to burn those +bills. It was all his own doing. I conclude that a fellow as shrewd as he +knew what he was about. Mayhap he said to himself, 'Beecher's the downiest +cove going. It will be a deuced sight better to have him as my friend and +pal than to send him to break stones in Australia. I can stand to win a +good thing on him, and why should I send him over seas just out of spite? +I'll come the grand magnanimous dodge over him,—destroy the papers +before his face, and say, “Now, old fellow, what do you say to that for a +touch of generosity?”' +</p> +<p> +“'Well, I'll tell you what I say, Master Davis,'” said he, drawing himself +up, and speaking boldly out. “'I say that you're a regular trump, and no +mistake; but you 're not the sharp fellow I took you for. No, no, old +gent, you 're no match for A. B.! He's been running in bandages all this +time past; and now that his back sinews are all right, you'll see if he +hasn't a turn of speed in him.' And what is more, I 'd say to him, 'Look +here, Grog, we've jogged along these ten or twelve years or so without +much profit to either of us,—what say you if we dissolve the +partnership and let each do a little business on his own account? If I +should turn out anything very brilliant, you 'll be proud of me, just as +England says she is when a young colony takes a great spring of success, +and say, “Ay, he was one of my rearing!”' Of course all dictation, all +that bullying intolerance is at an end now, and time it was! Wasn't I well +weary of it! wasn't I actually sick of life with it! I couldn't turn to +anything, could n't think of anything, with that eternal fear before me, +always asking myself, 'Is he going to do it now?' It is very hard to +believe it's all over.” And he heaved a deep sigh as though disburdening +his heart of its last load of sorrow. +</p> +<p> +“Davis is very wide awake,” continued he; “he 'll soon see how to trim his +sails to this new wind; he 'll know that he can't bully, can't terrorize.” +</p> +<p> +A sharp quick report of a pistol, with a clanging crash, and then a faint +tinkle of a bell, cut short his musings, and Beecher hastened to the +window and looked out. It was Davis in the vine alley practising with the +pistol; he had just sent a ball through the target, the bell giving +warning that the shot had pierced the very centre. Beecher watched him as +he levelled again; he thought he saw a faint tremor of the hand, a slight +unsteadiness of the wrist; vain illusion,—bang went the weapon, and +again the little bell gave forth the token of success. +</p> +<p> +“Give me the word—one—two,” cried out Davis to the man who +loaded and handed him the pistols. “One—two,” called out the other; +and the same instant rang out the bell, and the ball was true to its mark. +</p> +<p> +“What a shot,—what a <i>deadly</i> shot!” muttered Beecher, as a +cold shudder came over him. +</p> +<p> +As quickly as he could take the weapons, Davis now fired; four—five—six +balls went in succession through the tiny circle, the bell tinkling on and +never ceasing, so rapidly did shot follow upon shot, till, as if sated +with success, he turned away, saying, “I' ll try to-morrow blindfold!” +</p> +<p> +“I'm certain,” muttered Beecher, “no man is bound to go out with a fellow +like that. A duel is meant to be a hazard, not a dead certainty! To stand +before him at twenty—ay, forty paces, is a suicide, neither more nor +less; he must kill you. I'd insist on his fighting across a handkerchief. +I 'd say, 'Let us stand foot to foot!'” No, Beecher, not a bit of it; you +'d say nothing of the kind, nor, if you did, would it avail you! Your +craven heart could not beat were those stern gray eyes fixed upon you, +looking death into you from a yard off. He 'd shoot you down as +pitilessly, too, at one distance as at the other. +</p> +<p> +Was it in the fulness of a conviction that his faltering lips tried to +deny, that he threw himself back upon a chair, while a cold, clammy sweat +covered his face and forehead, a sickness like death crept over him, +objects grew dim to his eyes, and the room seemed to turn and swim before +him? Where was his high daring now? Where the boastful spirit in which he +had declared himself free, no more the slave of Grog's insolent +domination, nor basely cowering before his frown? Oh, the ineffable +bitterness. Of that thought, coming, too, in revulsion to all his late +self-gratulations! Where was the glorious emancipation he had dreamed of, +now? He could not throw him into prison, it is true, but he could lay him +in a grave. +</p> +<p> +“But I 'd not meet him,” whispered he to himself. “One is not bound to +meet a man of this sort.” +</p> +<p> +There is something marvellously accommodating and elastic in the phrase, +“One is not bound” to do this, that, and t' other. As the said bond is a +contract between oneself and an imaginary world, its provisions are rarely +onerous or exacting. Life is full of things “one is not bound to do.” You +are “not bound,” for instance, to pay your father's debts, though, it +might be, they were contracted in your behalf and for your benefit. You +are not bound to marry the girl whose affections have been your own for +years if you can do better in another quarter, and she has nothing in your +handwriting to establish a contract. You are not bound,—good swimmer +though you be,—to rescue a man from drowning, lest he should clutch +too eagerly and peril your safety. You are not bound to risk the chance of +a typhus by visiting a poor friend on his sick-bed. You are not bound to +aid charities you but half approve,—to assist people who have been +improvident,—to associate with many who are uninteresting to you. +But why go on with this expurgatorial catalogue? It is quite clear the +only things “one <i>is</i> bound” to do are those the world will enforce +at his hands; and let our selfishness be ever so inveterate, and ever so +crafty, the majority will beat us, and the Ayes have it at last! +</p> +<p> +Now, few men had a longer list of the things they were “not bound to do” +than Annesley Beecher; in reality, if the balance were to be struck +between them and those he acknowledged to be obligatory, it would have +been like Falstaff's sack to the miserable morsel of bread. Men of his +stamp fancy themselves very wise in their generation. They are not +easy-natured, open, trustful, and free-handed, like that Pharisee! Take my +word for it, the system works not so well as it looks, and they pass their +existence in a narrow prison-ward of their own selfish instincts,—their +fears their fetters, their cowardly natures heavy as any chains! +</p> +<p> +Beecher reasoned somewhat in this wise. Grog was “not bound” to destroy +the acceptances. He might have held them in terrorism over him for a long +life, and used them, at last, if occasion served. At all events, they were +valuable securities, which it was pure and wanton waste to burn. Still, +the act being done, Beecher was “bound” in the heaviest recognizances to +his own heart to profit by the motion; and the great question with him +was, what was the best and shortest road to that desirable object? +Supposing Lackington all right,—no disputed claim to the title, no +litigation of the estate,—Beecher's best course had possibly been to +slip his cable, make all sail, and part company with Davis forever. One +grave difficulty, however, opposed itself to this scheme. How was it +possible for any man walking the earth to get out of reach of Grog Davis? +Had there been a planet allotted for the special use of peers,—were +there some bright star above to which they could betake themselves and +demand admission by showing their patent, and from which all of inferior +birth were excluded, Beecher would assuredly have availed himself of his +privilege; but, alas! whatever inequalities pervade life, there is but one +earth to bear us living, and cover us when dead! Now, the portion of that +earth which constitutes the continent of Europe Davis knew like a +detective. A more hopeless undertaking could not be imagined than to try +to escape him. Great as was his craft, it was nothing to his courage,—a +courage that gave him a sort of affinity to a wild animal, so headlong, +reckless, and desperate did it seem. Provoke him, he was ever ready for +the conflict; outrage him, and only your life's blood could be the +expiation. And what an outrage had it been if Beecher had taken this +moment,—the first, perhaps the only one in all his life, in which +Davis had accomplished a noble and generous action,—to desert him! +How he could picture to his mind Grog, when the tidings were told him!—not +overwhelmed by astonishment, not stunned by surprise, not irresolute even +for a second, but starting up like a wounded tiger, and eager for pursuit, +his fierce eyeballs glaring, and his sinewy hands closed with a convulsive +grip. It was clear, therefore, that escape was impossible. What, then, was +the alternative that remained? To abide,—sign a lifelong partnership +with Grog, and marry Lizzy. “A stiff line of country,—a very stiff +line of country, Annesley, my boy,” said he, addressing himself: “many a +dangerous rasper, many a smashing fence there,—have you nerve for +it?” Now Beecher knew life well enough to see that such an existence was, +in reality, little else than a steeple-chase, and he questioned himself +gravely whether he possessed head or hand for the effort. Grog, to be +sure, was a marvellous trainer, and Lizzy,—what might not Lizzy +achieve of success, with her beauty, her gracefulness, and her genius! It +was not till after a long course of reflection that her image came up +before him; but when once it did come, it was master of the scene. How he +recalled all her winning ways, her siren voice, her ready wit, her easy, +graceful motion, her playful manner, that gave to her beauty so many new +phases of attraction! What a fascination was it that in her company he +never remembered a sorrow,—nay, to think of her was the best solace +he had ever found against the pain of gloomy reveries. She was never out +of humour, never out of spirits,—always brilliant, sparkling, and +happy-minded. +</p> +<p> +What a glorious thing to obtain a share of such a nature,—the very +next best thing to having it oneself! “But all this was not Love,” breaks +in my impatient reader. Very true; I admit it in all humility. It was not +what you, nor perhaps I, would call by that name; but yet it was all that +Annesley Beecher had to offer in that regard. +</p> +<p> +Have you never remarked the strange and curious efforts made by men who +have long lived on narrow fortunes to acquit themselves respectably on +succeeding to larger means? They know well enough that they need not pinch +and screw and squeeze any longer,—that fortune has enlarged her +boundaries, and that they can enter into wider, richer, and pleasanter +pasturage,—and yet, for the life of them, they cannot make the +venture! or if they do, it is with a sort of convulsive, spasmodic effort +far more painful than pleasurable. Their old instincts press heavily upon +them, and bear down all the promptings of their present prosperity; they +really do not want all these bounties of fate,—they are half crashed +by the shower of blessings. So is it precisely with your selfish man in +his endeavors to expand into affection, and so was it with Beecher when he +tried to be a lover. +</p> +<p> +Some moralists tell us that, even in the best natures, love is essentially +a selfish passion. What amount of egotism, then, does it not include in +those who are far—very far—from being “the best”? With all +this, let us be just to poor Beecher. Whatever there was of heart about +him, she <i>had</i> touched; whatever of good or kind or gentle in his +neglected being existed, she had found the way to it. If he were capable +of being anything better, she alone could have aided the reformation. If +he were not to sink still lower and lower, it was to her helping hand his +rescue would be owing. And somehow—though I cannot explain how—he +felt and knew this to be the case. He could hear generous sentiments from +<i>her</i>, and not deem them hypocrisy. He could listen to words of trust +and hopefulness, and yet not smile at her credulity. <i>She</i> had gained +that amount of ascendancy over his mind which subjugated all his own +prejudices to her influence, and, like all weak natures, he was never so +happy as in slavery. Last of all, what a prize it would be to be the +husband of the most beautiful woman in Europe! There was a notoriety in +that, far above the fame of winning “Derbys” or breaking Roulette Banks; +and he pictured to himself how they would journey through the Continent, +admired, worshipped, and envied,—for already he had invested himself +with the qualities of his future wife, and gloried in the triumphs she was +so sure to win. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! I'll do it,” cried he, at last, as he slapped his hand on the +table. “I don't care what they'll say, I <i>will</i> do it; and if there's +any fellow dares to scoff or sneer at it, Grog shall shoot him. I'll make +that bargain with him; and he 'll like it, for he loves fighting.” He +summed up his resolution by imagining that the judgment of the world would +run somehow in this fashion: “Wonderful fellow, that Annesley Beecher! +It's not above a year since his brother lost the title, and there he is +now, married to the most splendid woman in all Europe, living like a +prince,—denying himself nothing, no matter what it cost,—and +all by his own wits! Show me his equal anywhere! Lackington used to call +him a 'flat.' I wonder what he 'd say now!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. A DARK CONFIDENCE +</h2> +<p> +What a wound would it inflict upon our self-love were we occasionally to +know that the concessions we have extorted from our own hearts by long +effort and persuasion would be deemed matters of very doubtful acceptance +by those in whose favor they were made. With what astonishment should we +learn that there was nothing so very noble in our forgiveness, nothing so +very splendid in our generosity! I have been led to this reflection by +thinking over Annesley Beecher's late resolve, and wondering what effect +it might have had on him could he have overheard what passed in the very +chamber next his own. +</p> +<p> +Though Lizzy Davis was dressed and ready to come down to breakfast, she +felt so ill and depressed that she lay down again on her bed, telling the +maid to close the shutters and leave her to herself. +</p> +<p> +“What's this, Lizzy? What's the matter, girl?” said Davis, entering, and +taking a seat at her bedside. “Your hand is on fire.” +</p> +<p> +“I slept badly,—scarcely at all,” said she, faintly, “and my head +feels as if it would split with pain.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor child!” said he, as he kissed her burning forehead; “I was the cause +of all this. Yes, Lizzy, I know it, but I had been staving off this hour +for many and many a year. I felt in my heart that you were the only one in +all the world who could console or cheer me, and yet I was satisfied to +forego it all—to deny myself what I yearned after—just to +spare you.” +</p> +<p> +The words came with a slow and faltering utterance from him, and his lips +quivered when he had done speaking. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not quite sure the plan was a good one,” said she, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Nor am I now,” said he, sternly; “but I did it for the best.” +</p> +<p> +She heaved a heavy sigh, and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Mayhap I thought, too,” said he, after a pause, “that when you looked +back at all the sacrifices I had made for you, how I toiled and labored,—not +as other men toil and labor, for <i>my</i> handicraft was always exercised +with a convict ship in the offing—There, you needn't shudder now; I +'m here beside you safe. Well, I thought you 'd say, 'After all, he gave +me every advantage in his power. If he could n't bestow on me station and +riches, he made me equal to their enjoyment if they ever befell me. He +didn't bring me down to his own level, nor to feel the heartburnings of +his own daily life, but he made me, in thought and feeling, as good as any +lady in the land.'” +</p> +<p> +“And for what—to what end?” said she, wildly. +</p> +<p> +“That you might be such, one day, girl,” said he, passionately. “Do you +think I have not known every hour, for the last thirty-odd years, what I +might have been, had I been trained, and schooled, and taught the things +that others know? Have I not felt that I had pluck, daring, energy, and +persistence that only wanted knowledge to beat them all, and leave them +nowhere? Have I not said to myself, 'She has every one of these, and she +has good looks to boot; and why shouldn't she go in and carry away the +cup?' And do you think, when I said that, that I was n't striking a docket +of bankruptcy against my own heart forever? for to make <i>you</i> great +was to make <i>me</i> childless!” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy covered her face with her hands, but never uttered a word. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't need any one to tell me,” resumed he, fiercely, “that training +you up in luxury and refinement was n't the way to make you satisfied with +poverty, or proud of such a father as myself. I knew deuced well what I +was preparing for myself there. 'But no matter,' I said, 'come what will, +<i>she</i> shall have a fair start of it. Show me the fellow will try a +balk,—show me the man will cross the course while she's running.'” +</p> +<p> +Startled by the thick and guttural utterance of his words, Lizzy removed +her hands from her face, and stared eagerly at him. Strongly shaken by +passion as he was, every line and lineament tense with emotion, there was +a marvellous resemblance between her beautiful features and the almost +demoniac savagery of his. Had he not been at her side, the expression was +only that of intense pain on a face of surpassing beauty, but, seen +through the baneful interpretation of his look, she seemed the type of a +haughty nature spirited by the very wildest ambition. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, girl,” said he, with a sigh, “you 've cost me more than money or +money's worth; and if I ever come to have what they call a 'conscience,' I +'ll have an ugly score to settle on your account.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dearest father!” cried she, bitterly, “do not wring my heart by such +words as these.” +</p> +<p> +“There, you shall hear no more of it,” said he, withdrawing his hand from +her grasp and crossing his arm on his breast. +</p> +<p> +“Nay,” said she, fondly, “you shall tell me all and everything. It has +cost you heavily to make this confidence to me. Let us try if it cannot +requite us both. I know the worst. No?” cried she, in terror, as he shook +his head; “why, what is there remains behind?” +</p> +<p> +“How shall I tell you what remains behind?” broke he in, sternly; “how +shall I teach you to know the world as I know it,—to feel that every +look bent on me is insult,—every word uttered as I pass a sarcasm,—that +fellows rise from the table when I sit down at it? and though, now and +then, I 'm lucky enough to catch one who goes too far, and make him a +warning to others, they can do enough to spite me, and yet never come +within twelve paces of me. I went over to Neuwied yesterday to fetch my +letters from the post. You 'd fancy that in a little village on this +untravelled bank of the Rhine I might have rested an hour to bait my horse +and eat my breakfast unmolested and without insult. You 'd say that in a +secluded spot like that I would be safe. Not a bit of it. Scandal has its +hue and cry, and every man that walks the earth is its agent. Two young +fellows fresh from England—by their dress, their manner, and their +bad French, I judged them to be young students from Oxford or Cambridge—breakfasted +in the same room with me, and deeming me a foreigner, and therefore—for +it is a right English conclusion—unable to understand them, talked +most freely of events and people before me. I paid little attention to +their vapid talk till my ear caught the name of Beecher. They were +discussing him and a lady who had been seen in his company at +Aix-la-Chapelle. Yes, they had seen her repeatedly in her rides and +drives, followed her to the Cursaal, and stared at her at the opera. They +were quite enthusiastic about her beauty, and only puzzled to know who +this mysterious creature might be that looked like a queen and dressed +like a queen. One averred she was not Beecher's sister,—the peerage +told them that; as little was she his wife. Then came the other and last +alternative. And I had to sit still and listen to every <i>pro</i> and <i>con</i> +of this stupid converse,—their miserable efforts to reason, or their +still more contemptible attempts to jest, and dare not stand up before +them and say, 'Hold your slanderous tongues, for she is my daughter,' +because, to the first question they would put to me, I must say, 'My name +is Davis—Christopher Davis'—ay, 'Grog Davis,' if they would +have it so. No, no, girl, all your beauty, all your grace, all your +fascinations would not support such a name,—the best horse that ever +won the Derby will break down if you overweight him; and so I had to leave +my breakfast uneaten and come away how I could. For one brief moment I was +irresolute. I felt that if I let them off so easily I 'd pine and fret +over it after, and maybe give way to passion some other time with less +excuse; but my thoughts came back to you, Lizzy, and I said, 'What +signifies about me? I have no object, no goal in life, but her. She must +not be talked of, nor made matter for newspaper gossip. She will one day +or other hold a place at which slander and malevolence only talk in +whispers, and even these must be uttered with secrecy!' I could n't help +laughing as I left the room. One of them declined to eat salad because it +was unwholesome. Little he knew on what a tiny chance it depended whether +that was to be his last breakfast. The devilish pleasure of turning back +and telling him so almost overcame my resolution.” +</p> +<p> +“There was, then, an impropriety in my living at Aix as I did?” asked +Lizzy, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“The impropriety, as you call it, need not have been notorious,” said he, +in angry confusion. “If people will attract notice by an ostentatious +display,—horses, equipage, costly dressing, and so on,—the +world will talk of them. You could n't know this, but Beecher did. It was +his unthinking folly drew these bad tongues on you. It is a score he 'll +have to settle with me yet.” +</p> +<p> +“But, dearest papa, let me bear the blame that is my due. It was I—I +myself—who encouraged, suggested these extravagances. I fancied +myself possessed of boundless wealth; he never undeceived me; nay, he +would not even answer my importunate questions as to my family, my +connections, whence we came, and of what county.” +</p> +<p> +“If he had,” muttered Grog, “I 'd be curious to have heard his narrative.” +</p> +<p> +“I saw, at last, that there was a secret, and then I pressed him no more.” +</p> +<p> +“And you did well. Had you importuned, and had he yielded, it had been +worse for <i>him</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as little did I suspect,” continued she, rapidly, “that any reproach +could attach to my living in his society; he was your friend; it was at +your desire he accepted this brief guardianship; he never, by a word, a +look, transgressed the bounds of respectful courtesy; and I felt all the +unconstrained freedom of old friendship in our intercourse.” +</p> +<p> +“All his reserve and all your delicacy won't silence evil tongues, girl. I +intended you to have stayed a day or two, at most, at Aix. You passed +weeks there. Whose fault that, you say? Mine,—of course, mine, and +no one else's. But what but my fault every step in your whole life? Why +was n't I satisfied to bring you up in my own station, with rogues and +swindlers for daily associates? Then I might have had a daughter who would +not be ashamed to own me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that I am not; that I will never be,” cried she, throwing her arm +around his neck. “What has your whole life been but a sacrifice to me? It +may be that you rate too highly these great prizes of life; that you +attach to the station you covet for me a value I cannot concur in. Still, +I feel that it was your love for me prompted this hope, and that while <i>you</i> +trod the world darkly and painfully, you purchased a path of light and +pleasantness for <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“You have paid me for it all by these words,” said he, drawing his hand +across his eyes. “I 'd work as a daily laborer on the road, I'd be a +sailor before the mast, I'd take my turn with the chain-gang and eat +Norfolk Island biscuit, if it could help to place you where I seek to see +you.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is this rank to which you aspire so eagerly?” +</p> +<p> +“I want you to be a peeress, girl. I want you to be one of the proudest +guild the world ever yet saw or heard of; to have a station so accredited +that every word you speak, every act you do, goes forth with its own +authority.” +</p> +<p> +“But stay!” broke she in, “men's memories will surely carry them back to +who I was.” +</p> +<p> +“Let them, girl. Are you the stuff to be chilled by that? Have I made you +what you are, that you cannot play their equal? There are not many of them +better looking; are there any cleverer or better informed? Even those +Oxford boys said you looked like an empress. If insult will crush you, +girl, you 've got little of <i>my</i> blood in you.” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy's face flushed scarlet, and her eyes glittered wildly, as they +seemed to say, “Have no fears on that score.” Then, suddenly changing to +an ashy pallor, and in a voice trembling with intense feeling, she said: +“But why seek out an existence of struggle and conflict? It is for me and +my welfare that all your anxieties are exercised. Is it not possible that +these can be promoted without the dangerous risk of this ambition? You +know life well; tell me, then, are there not some paths a woman may tread +for independence, and yet cause no blush to those who love her best? Of +the acquirements you have bestowed upon me, are there not some which could +be turned to this account? I could be a governess.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know what a governess is, girl?—a servant in the garb of a +lady; one whose mind has been cultivated, not to form resources for +herself, but to be drained and drawn on by others. They used to kill a +serf, in the middle ages, that a noble might warm his feet in the hot +entrails; our modern civilization is satisfied by driving many a poor girl +crazy, to cram some stupid numbskull with a semblance of knowledge. You +shall not be a governess.” +</p> +<p> +“There is the stage, then,” cried she. “I'm vain enough to imagine I +should succeed there.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll not hear of it,” broke in Davis, passionately. “If I was certain you +could act like Siddons herself, you should not walk the boards. <i>I</i> +know what a theatre is. I know the life of coarse familiarity it leads to. +The corps is a family gathered together like what jockeys call 'a scratch +team,'—a wheeler here, and a leader there, with just smartness +enough to soar above the level of a dull audience, crammed with the light +jest of low comedy, and steered by no higher ambition than a crowded +benefit, or a junketing at Greenwich. How would <i>you</i> consort with +these people?” +</p> +<p> +“Still, if I achieved success—” +</p> +<p> +“I won't have it,—that's enough. I tell you, girl, that there is but +one course for <i>you</i>. You must be declared winner at the stand-house +before you have been seen on the ground. If you have to run the gauntlet +through all the slanders and stories they will rake up of <i>me</i>,—if, +before you reach the goal, you have to fight all the lost battles of <i>my</i> +life over again,—you 'll never see the winning-post.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it not better to confront the storm, and risk one's chances with +the elements, than suffer shipwreck at once? I tell you, father,” cried +she, eagerly, “I 'll face all the perils you speak of, boldly; I'll brave +insolence, neglect, sarcasm,—what they will,—only let me feel +one honest spot in my heart, and be able to say to myself, 'You have +toiled lowly, and fared ill; you have dared a conflict and been worsted; +but you have not made traffic of your affections, nor bought success by +that which makes it valueless.'” +</p> +<p> +“These are the wild romances of a girl's fancy,” said Davis. “Before a +twelvemonth was over, you could n't say, on your oath, whether you had +married for love or interest, except that poverty might remind you of the +one, and affluence suggest the other. Do you imagine that the years stop +short with spring, and that one is always in the season of expectancy? No, +no; months roll along, and after summer comes autumn, and then winter, and +the light dress you fancied that you never need change would make but +scanty clothing.” +</p> +<p> +“But if I am not able to bring myself to this?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you certain you will be able to bring <i>me</i> to worse?” said he, +solemnly. “Do you feel, Lizzy, as if you could repay my long life of +sacrifice and struggle by what would undo them all? Do you feel strong +enough to say, 'My old father was a fool to want to make <i>me</i> better +than himself; I can descend to the set he is ashamed of; and, more still, +I can summon courage to meet taunts and insults on him, which, had I +station to repel them from, had never been uttered'?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, do not tempt me this way!” cried she, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“But I will, girl; I will leave nothing unsaid that may induce you to save +yourself from misery, and <i>me</i> from disgrace. I tell you, girl, if I +face the world again, it must be with such security as only you can give +me,—you, a lady high in rank and position, can then save <i>me</i>. +My enemies will know that their best game will not be to ruin me.” +</p> +<p> +“And are you sure it would save you?” said she, sternly and coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I am,” said he, in a voice like her own. +</p> +<p> +“Will you take a solemn oath to me that you see no other road out of these +difficulties, whatever they are, than by my doing this?” +</p> +<p> +“I will swear it as solemnly as ever words were sworn. I believe—before +Heaven I say it—that there's not another chance in life by which +your future lot can be secured.” +</p> +<p> +“Do not speak of mine; think solely of your fortunes, and say if this +alone can save them.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as firmly do I say, then, that once in the position I mean, you can +rescue me out of every peril. You will be rich enough to pay some, +powerful enough to promote others, great enough to sway and influence +all.” +</p> +<p> +“Good God! what have you done, then, that it is only by sacrificing all my +hopes of happiness that you can be ransomed?” cried she, with a burst of +irrepressible passion. +</p> +<p> +“You want a confession, then,” said Davis, in a tone of most savage +energy; “you 'd like to hear my own indictment of myself. Well, there are +plenty of counts in it.” +</p> +<p> +“Stand forward, Kit Davis. You are charged with various acts of swindling +and cheating,—light offences, all of them,—committed in the +best of company, and in concert with honorable and even noble colleagues. +By the virtue of your oath, Captain Davis, how many horses have you +poisoned, how many jockeys have you drugged, what number of men have you +hocussed at play, what sums have you won from others in a state of utter +insensibility? Can you state any case where you enforced a false demand by +intimidation? Can you charge your memory with any instance of shooting a +man who accused you of foul play? What names besides your own have you +been in the habit of signing to bills? Have you any revelations to make +about stock transferred under forgery? Will you kiss the book, and say +that nineteen out of twenty at the hulks have not done a fiftieth part of +what you have done? Will you solemnly take oath that there are not ten, +fifteen, twenty charges, which might be prosecuted against you, to +transportation for life? and are there not two—or, certainly, is +there not one—with a heavier forfeiture on it? Are there not +descriptions of you in almost every police bureau in Europe, and +photographic likenesses, too, on frontier passport-offices of little +German States, that Hesse and Cassel and Coburgh should not be ravaged by +the wolf called Grog Davis?” +</p> +<p> +“And if this be so, to what end do I sacrifice myself?” cried she, in +bitter anguish. “Were it not better to seek out some far-away land where +we cannot be traced? Let us go to America, to Australia,—I don't +care how remote it be,—the country that will shelter us—” +</p> +<p> +“Not a step. I'll not budge out of Europe; win or lose, here I stay! Do as +I tell you, girl, and the game is our own. It has been my safety this many +a year that I could compromise so many in my own fall. Well, time has +thinned the number marvellously. Many have died. The Cholera, the Crimea, +the Marshalsea, broken hearts, and what not, have done their work; and of +the few remaining, some have grown indifferent to exposure, others have +dropped out of view, and now it would be as much as I could do to place +four or five men of good names in the dock beside me. That ain't enough. I +must have connections. +</p> +<p> +“I want those relations that can't afford disgrace. Let me only have <i>them</i>, +they 'll take care of their own reputations. You don't know, but I know, +what great folk can do in England. There 's not a line in the Ten +Commandments they could n't legalize with an Act of Parliament. They can +marry and unmarry, bind and loosen, legitimize or illegitimize, by a vote +'of the House;' and by a vote of society they can do just as much: make a +swindling railroad contractor the first man in London, and, if they liked +it, and saw it suited their book, they could make Kit Davis a member of +White's, or the Carlton; and once they did it, girl, they 'd think twice +before they 'd try to undo it again. All I say is, give me a Viscount for +a son-in-law, and see if I don't 'work the oracle.' Let me have just so +much backing as secures a fair fight, and my head be on't if they don't +give in before I do! They 're very plucky with one another, girl, because +they keep within the law; but mark how they tremble before the fellow that +does n't mind the law,—that goes through it, at one side of it, or +clean over it. That's the pull <i>I</i> have over them. The man that don't +mind a wetting can always drag another into the water; do you see that?” +</p> +<p> +Davis had now so worked upon himself that he walked the room with hasty +steps, his cheeks burning, and his eyes wildly, fiercely glaring. Amongst +the traits which characterize men of lawless and depraved lives, none is +more remarkable than the boastful hardihood with which they will at times +deploy all the resources of their iniquity, even exaggerating the amount +of the wrongs they have inflicted on society. There is something actually +satanic in their exultation over a world they have cheated, bullied, +injured, and insulted, so that, in their infernal code, honesty and +trustfulness seem only worthy of contempt, and he alone possessed of true +courage who dares and defies the laws that bind his fellow-men. +</p> +<p> +Davis was not prone to impulsiveness; very few men were less the slaves of +rash or intemperate humors. He had been reared in too stern a school to +let mere temper master him; but his long practised self-restraint deserted +him here. In his eagerness to carry his point, he was borne away beyond +all his prudence, and once launched into the sea of his confessions, he +wandered without chart or compass. Besides this, there was that strange, +morbid sense of vanity which is experienced in giving a shock to the fears +and sensibilities of another. The deeper the tints of his own criminality, +the more terrible the course he had run in life, so much the more was he +to be feared and dreaded. If he should fail to work upon her affections, +he might still hope to extract something from her terror; for who could +say of what a man like him was not capable? And last of all, he had thrown +off the mask, and he did not care to retain a single rag of the disguise +he so long had worn; thus was it, then, that he stood before her in all +the strong light of his iniquities,—a criminal, whose forfeitures +would have furnished Guilt for fifty. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I go on?” said he, in a voice of thick and labored utterance, “or +is this enough?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, is it not enough?” cried she, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“You asked me to tell you all,—everything,—and now that you +'ve only caught a passing glimpse of what I could reveal, you start back +affrighted. Be it so; there are, at least, no concealments between us now; +and harsh as my lesson has been, it is not a whit harsher than if the +world had given it I 've only one word more to say, girl,” said he, as he +drew nigh the door and held his hand on the lock; “if it be your firm +resolve to reject this fortune, the sooner you let me know it the better. +I have said all that I need say; the rest is within your own hands; only +remember that if such be your determination, give me the earliest notice, +for I, too, must take my measures for the future.” +</p> +<p> +If there was nothing of violence in the manner he uttered these words, +there was a stern, impassive serenity that made them still more +impressive; and Lizzy, without a word of reply, buried her face between +her hands and wept. +</p> +<p> +Davis stood irresolute; for a moment it seemed as if his affection had +triumphed, for he made a gesture as though he would approach her; then, +suddenly correcting himself with a start, he muttered, below his breath, +“It is done now,” and left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. SOME DAYS AT GLENGARIFF +</h2> +<p> +The little Hermitage of Glengariff, with its wooded park, its winding +river, its deep solitudes fragrant with wild-rose and honeysuckle, is +familiar to my reader. He has lingered there with me, strolling through +leafy glades, over smooth turf, catching glimpses of blue sea through the +dark foliage, and feeling all the intense ecstasy of a spot that seemed +especially created for peaceful enjoyment. What a charm was in those +tangled pathways, overhung with jessamine and arbutus, or now flanked by +moss-clad rock, through whose fissures small crystal rivulets trickled +slowly down into little basins beneath. How loaded the air with delicious +perfume; what a voluptuous sense of estrangement from all passing care +crept over one as he stole noiselessly along over the smooth sward, and +drank in the mellow blackbird's note, blended with the distant murmur of +the rippling river! And where is it all now? The park is now traversed in +every direction with wide, unfinished roads; great open spaces appear at +intervals, covered with building materials; yawning sand-quarries swarming +with men; great brick-fields smoking in all the reeking oppression of that +filthy manufacture; lime-kilns spreading their hateful breath on every +side; vast cliffs of slate and granite-rock, making the air resound with +their discordant crash, with all the vulgar tumult of a busy herd. If you +turn seaward, the same ungraceful change is there: ugly and misshapen +wharfs have replaced the picturesque huts of the fishermen; casks and +hogsheads and bales and hampers litter the little beach where once the +festooned net was wont to hang, and groups of half-drunken sailors riot +and dispute where once the merry laugh of sportive childhood was all that +woke the echoes. If the lover of the picturesque could weep tears of +bitter sorrow over these changes, to the man of speculation and progress +they were but signs of a glorious prosperity. The Grand Glengariff Villa +Allotment and Marine Residence Company was a splendid scheme, whose shares +were eagerly sought after at a high premium. Mr. Dunn must assuredly have +lent all his energies to the enterprise, for descriptions of the spot were +to be found throughout every corner of the three kingdoms. Colored +lithographs and stereoscopes depicted its most seductive scenes through +the pages of popular “weeklies,” and a dropping fire of interesting +paragraphs continued to keep up the project before the public through the +columns of the daily press. An “Illustrated News” of one week presented +its subscribers with an extra engraving of the “Yachts entering Glengariff +harbor after the regatta;” the next, it was a finished print of the “Lady +Augusta Arden laying the foundation-stone of the Davenport Obelisk.” At +one moment the conflict between wild nature and ingenious art would be +shown by a view of a clearing in Glengariff forest, where the solid +foundations of some proud edifice were seen rising amidst prostrate pines +and fallen oak-trees, prosaic announcements in advertising columns giving +to these pictorial devices all the solemn stability of fact, so that such +localities as “Arden Terrace,” “Lackington Avenue,” “Glengariff Crescent,” +and “Davenport Heights” became common and familiar to the public ear. +</p> +<p> +The imaginative literature of speculation—industrial fiction it +might be called—has reached a very high development in our day. Not +content with enlisting all the graces of fancy in the cause of enterprise, +heightening the charms of scenery and aiding the interests of romance by +historic association, it actually allies itself with the slighter +infirmities of our social creed, and exalts the merits of certain favored +spots by the blessed assurance that they are patronized by our betters. +Amongst the many advantages fortune bestowed upon the grand Glengariff +scheme was conspicuously one,—Dukes had approved, and Earls admired +it “We are happy to learn,” said the “Post,” “that the Marquis of +Duckington has intrusted the construction of his marine villa at +Glengariff to the exquisite skill and taste of Sir Jeffrey Blocksley, who +is, at present, engaged in preparing Noodleton Hall for his Grace the Duke +of Rowood, at the same charming locality.” In the “Herald” we find: “The +Earl of Hanaper is said to have paid no less than twelve thousand guineas +for the small plot of land in which his bathing-lodge at Glengariff is to +stand. It is only right to mention that the view from his windows will +include the entire bay, from the Davenport Obelisk to Dunn Lighthouse,—a +prospect unequalled, we venture to assert, in Europe.” And, greater than +these, the “Chronicle” assures us, the arrival of a Treasury Lord, +accompanied by the Chairman of the Board of Works, on Monday last, at +Glengariff, proclaimed the gracious intention of her Majesty to honor this +favored spot by selecting it for a future residence. “'Queen's Cot,' as it +will be styled, will stand exactly on the site formerly occupied by the +late residence of Lord Glengariff, well known as the Hermitage, and be +framed and galleried in wood in the style so frequently seen in the +Tyrol.” +</p> +<p> +Where is the born Briton would not feel the air balmier and the breeze +more zephyr-like if he could see that it waved a royal standard? Where the +Anglo-Saxon who would not think the sea more salubrious that helped to +salt a duke? Where the alley that was not cooler if a marquis walked +beneath its shadow? It is not that honest John Bull seeks the intimacy or +acquaintance of these great folk; he has no such weakness or ambition,—he +neither aspires to know or be known of them; the limit of his desire is to +breathe the same mountain air, to walk the same chain pier, to be fed by +their poulterer and butcher, and, maybe, buried by their undertaker. Were +it the acquaintanceship he coveted, were it some participation in the +habits of refined and elegant intercourse, far be it from us to say one +word in disparagement of such ambition, satisfied, as we are, that in all +that concerns the enjoyment of society, for the charms of a conversation +where fewest prejudices prevail, where least exaggerations are found, +where good feeling is rarely, good taste never, violated, the highest in +rank are invariably the most conspicuous. But, unhappily, these are not +the prizes sought after; the grand object being attained if the Joneses +and Simpkinses can spend their autumn in the same locality with titled +visitors, bathe in the same tides, and take their airings at the same +hours. What an unspeakable happiness might it yield them to know they had +been “bored” by the same monotony, and exhausted by the same <i>ennuis!</i> +</p> +<p> +They who were curious in such literature fancied they could detect the +fine round hand of Mr. Hankes in the glowing descriptions of Glengariff. +Brought up at the feet of that Gamaliel of appraisers, George Robins, he +really did credit to his teachings. Nor was it alone the present delights +of the spot he dwelled upon, but expatiated on the admirable features of +an investment certain to realize, eventually, two or three hundred per +cent It was, in fact, like buying uncleared land in the Bush, upon which, +within a few years, streets and squares were to be found, purchasing for a +mere nominal sum whole territories that to-morrow or next day were to be +sold as building lots and valued by the foot. +</p> +<p> +As in a storm the tiniest creeks and most secluded coves feel in their +little bays the wild influence that prevails without, and see their quiet +waters ruffled and wave-tossed, so, too, prosperity follows the same law, +and spreads its genial sunshine in a wide circle around the spot it +brightens. For miles and miles along the shore the grand Glengariff scheme +diffused the golden glory of its success. Little fishing-villages, +solitary cottages in sequestered glens, lonely creeks, whose yellow +strands had seldom seen a foot-track,—all felt it. The patient +habits of humble industry seemed contemptible to those who came back to +their quiet homesteads after seeing the wondrous doings at Glengariff; and +marvellous, indeed, were the narratives of sudden fortunes. One had sold +his little “shebeen” for more gold than he knew how to count; another had +become rich by the price of the garden before his door; the shingly beach +seemed paved with precious stones, the rocks appeared to have grown into +bullion. How mean and despicable seemed daily toil; the weary labor of the +field, the precarious life of the fisherman, in presence of such easy +prosperity, were ignoble drudgery. It savored of superior intelligence to +exchange the toil of the hands for the exercise of speculative talents, +and each began to compute what some affluent purchaser might not pay for +this barren plot, what that bleak promontory might not bring in this +market of fanciful bidders. +</p> +<p> +Let us note the fact that the peasant was not a little amused by the +absurd value which the rich man attached to objects long familiar and +unprized by himself. The picturesque and the beautiful were elements so +totally removed from all his estimate of worth, that he readily ascribed +to something very like insanity the great man's fondness for them. That a +group of stone pines on a jutting cliff, a lone and rocky island, a ruined +wall, an ancient well canopied by a bower of honeysuckle, should be deemed +objects of price, appeared to be the most capricious of all tastes; and, +in his ignorance as to what imparted this value, he glutted the market +with everything that occurred to him. Spots of ground the least +attractive, tenements occupying the most ill-chosen sites, ugly and +misshapen remains of cottages long deserted, were all vaunted as fully as +good or better than their neighbors had sold for thousands. It must be +owned, the market price of any article seemed the veriest lottery +imaginable. One man could actually find no purchaser for four acres of the +finest potato-garden in the county; another got a hundred guineas for his +good-will of a bit of stony land that wouldn't feed a goat; here was a +slated house no one would look at, there was a mud hovel a Lord and two +Members of Parliament were outbidding each other over these three weeks. +Could anything be more arbitrary or inexplicable than this? In fact, it +almost seemed as if the old, the ruinous, the neglected, and the +unprofitable had now usurped the place of all that was neat, orderly, or +beneficial. +</p> +<p> +If we have suffered ourselves to be led into these remarks, they are not +altogether digressionary. The Hermitage, we have said, was doomed. Common +report alleged that the Queen had selected the spot for her future +residence, and of a truth it was even worthy of such a destiny. Whether in +reality royalty had made the choice, or that merely it was yet a +speculation in hope of such an event, we cannot say, but an accomplished +architect had already begun the work of reconstruction, and more than +two-thirds of the former building were now demolished. The fragment that +still remained was about the oldest part of the cottage, and not the least +picturesque. It was a little wing with three gables to the front, the +ancient framework, of black oak, quaintly ornamented with many a tasteful +device and grim decoration. A little portico, whose columns were entirely +concealed by the rich foliage of a rhododendron, stood before the windows, +whose diamond panes told of an era when glass bore a very different value; +a gorgeous flower-plat, one rich expanse of rare tulips and ranunculi, +sloped from the portico to the river, over which a single plank formed a +bridge. The stream, which was here deep and rock-bottomed, could be barely +seen between the deep hanging branches of the weeping-ash; but its +presence might be recognized by the occasional plash of a leaping trout, +or the still louder stroke of a swan's wing as he sailed in solemn majesty +over his silent domain. So straggling and wide-spreading had been the +ancient building, that, although a part of the condemned structure, the +clank of the mason's trowel and the turmoil of the falling materials could +scarcely be heard in this quiet, sequestered spot. Here Sybella Kellett +still lived,—left behind by her great protectors,—half in +forgetfulness. Soon after the triumph of the Ossory Bank they had removed +to Dublin, thence to London, where they now awaited the passage of a +special bill to make the Glen-gariff allotment scheme a chartered company. +Although the great turn in the fortunes of Glengariff had transmitted to +other hands the direction and guidance of events there, her zeal, energy, +and, above all, her knowledge of the people, especially marked her out as +one whose services were most valuable. English officials, new to Ireland +and its ways, quickly discovered the vast superiority she possessed over +them in all dealings with the peasantry, whose prejudices she understood, +and whose modes of thought were familiar to her. By none were her +qualities more appreciated than by Mr. Hankes. There was a promptitude and +decision in all she did, a ready-witted intelligence to encounter whatever +difficulty arose, and a bold, purpose-like activity of character about her +that amazed and delighted that astute gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“She 's worth us all, sir,” he would say to Sir Elkanah Paston, the great +English engineer,—“worth us all. Her suggestions are priceless; see +how she detected the cause of those shifting sands in the harbor, and +supplied the remedy at once; mark how she struck out that line of road +from the quarries; think of her transplanting those pinasters +five-and-thirty feet high, and not a failure,—not one failure +amongst them; and there's the promontory, now the most picturesque feature +of the bay: and as to those terraced gardens that she laid out last week, +I vow and declare Sir Joseph himself couldn't have done it better. And +then, after a day of labor—riding, perhaps, five-and-twenty or +thirty miles—she 'll sit down to her desk and write away half the +night.” +</p> +<p> +If it had not been for one trait, Mr. Hankes would have pronounced her +perfection; there was, however, a flaw, which the more he thought over the +more did it puzzle him. She was eminently quick-sighted, keen to read +motives and appreciate character, and yet with all this she invariably +spoiled every bargain made with the people. Instead of taking advantage of +their ignorance and inexperience, she was continually on the watch over <i>their</i> +interests; instead of endeavoring to overreach them, she was mindful of +their advantage, cautiously abstaining from everything that might affect +their rights. +</p> +<p> +“We might have bought up half the county for a song, sir, if it were not +for that girl,” Mr. Hankes would say; “she has risen the market on us +everywhere. 'Let us be just,' she says. I want to be just, Miss Kellett, +but just to ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +A pleasant phrase is that same one “just to ourselves;” but Mr. Hankes +employed it like many other people, and never saw its absurdity. +</p> +<p> +Now, Sybella Kellett fancied that justice had a twofold obligation, and +found herself very often the advocate of the poor man, patiently +sustaining his rights, and demanding their recognition. Confidence, we are +told by a great authority, is a plant of slow growth, and yet she acquired +it in the end. The peasantry submitted to her claims the most complex and +involved; they brought their quaint old contracts, half illegible by time +and neglect; they recited, and confirmed by oral testimony, the strangest +possible of tenures; they recounted long narratives of how they succeeded +to this holding, and what claims they could prefer to that; histories that +would have worn out almost any human patience to hear, and especially +trying to one whose apprehension was of the quickest. And yet she would +listen to the very end, make herself master of the case, and give it a +deep and full consideration. This done, she decided; and to that decision +none ever objected. Whatever her decree, it was accepted as just and fair, +and even if a single disappointed or discontented suitor could have been +found, he would have shrunk from avowing himself the opponent of public +opinion. +</p> +<p> +It was, however, by the magic of her sympathy, by the secret charm of +understanding their natures, and participating in every joy and sorrow of +their hearts, that she gained her true ascendancy over them. There was +nothing feigned or factitious in her feeling for them; it was not begotten +of that courtly tact which knows names by heart, remembers little family +traits, and treasures up an anecdote; it was true, heart-felt, honest +interest in their welfare. She had watched them long and closely; she knew +that the least amiable trait in their natures was also that which oftenest +marred their fortunes,—distrust; and she set herself vigorously to +work to uproot this vile, pernicious weed, the most noxious that ever +poisoned the soil of a human heart. By her own truthful dealings with them +she inspired truth, by <i>her</i> fairness she exacted fairness, and by +the straightforward honesty of her words and actions they grew to learn +how far easier and pleasanter could be the business of life where none +sought to overreach his neighbor. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20175.jpg" width="100%" alt="175 " /> +</div> +<p> +To such an extent had her influence spread that it became at last +well-nigh impossible to conclude any bargain for land without her +co-operation. Unless her award had decided, the peasant could not bring +himself to believe that his claim had met a just or equitable +consideration; but whatever Miss Bella decreed was final and irrevocable. +From an early hour each morning the suitors to her court began to arrive. +Under a large damson-tree was placed a table, at which she sat, busily +writing away, and listening all the while to their long-drawn-out +narratives. It was her rule never to engage in any purchase when she had +not herself made a visit to the spot in question, ascertained in person +all its advantages and disadvantages, and speculated how far its future +value should influence its present price. In this way she had travelled +far and near over the surrounding country, visiting localities the wildest +and least known, and venturing into districts where a timid traveller had +not dared to set foot. It required all her especial acuteness, +often-times, to find out—from garbled and incoherent descriptions—the +strange and out-of-the-way places no map had ever indicated. In fact, the +wild and untravelled country was pathless as a sea, and nothing short of +her ready-witted tact had been able to navigate it. +</p> +<p> +She was, as usual, busied one morning with her peasant levee when Mr. +Hankes arrived. He brought a number of letters from the post, and was full +of the importance so natural to him who has the earliest intelligence. +</p> +<p> +“Great news, Miss Bella,” said he, gayly,—“very great news. One of +the French Princes announces his intention to build a villa here. He +requires a small park of some forty or fifty acres, access to the sea, and +a good anchorage for his yacht. This note here will give all particulars. +Here is an application from Sir Craven Tollemache; he wants us to build +him a house on any picturesque site near the shore, and contracts to take +it on lease. Here is a demand for one hundred shares, fifty to be +exchanged for shares in the Boquantilla Cobalt and Zinc Mines, now at a +premium. Kelsal and Waterline wish to know what facilities we would afford +them to establish yacht-building in Crooke's Harbor. If liberally dealt +with, they propose to expend fifty thousand on permanent improvements. +Lord Drellington is anxious for a house in Lackington Crescent. I believe +he is too late. There are also seven applications for 'Arden House,' +which, I fancy, has been promised to Sir Peter Parkeswith. Founde's Cliff, +too, is eagerly run after; that sketch you made of it has been a great +success. We must extend our territories, Miss Bella,—we must widen +our frontier; never was there such a hit. It is the grandest operation of +Mr. Dunn's life. Seven hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds,—one-fourth +already paid, the remainder available at short calls. Those Welsh people, +Plimnon and Price, are eager about our lead-mine, and we can run up the +shares there to sixty-five or seventy whenever we please. Here, too, are +the plans for the new Casino and Baths. This is the sketch of a +Hydropathic Establishment,—a pet scheme of Lord Glengariffs; we must +let him have it. And here is Truevane's report about the marble. It will +serve admirably for every purpose but statuary. Our slate slabs are +pronounced the finest ever imported. We mean to flag the entire terrace +along the sea with them. This is from Dunn himself; it is very short, and +hurriedly written: 'Chevass will move the second reading of our bill on +Tuesday. I have spoken to the Chancellor, and it is all right. Before it +goes to the Lords we must have a new issue of shares. I want, at least, +two hundred and fifty thousand by the end of the year.' He says nothing +about politics; indeed, he is so occupied with gayeties and fine company, +he has little time for business. He only mentions that 'till we have done +with this stupid war we cannot hope for any real extension to our great +enterprise.'” +</p> +<p> +“And does he put our miserable plottings here in competition with the +noble struggle of our glorious soldiers in the Crimea?” cried she, now +breaking silence for the first time. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes actually started with the energy of her manner, and for a +moment could scarcely collect himself to reply. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you know, Miss Bella,” said he, faltering at every word, “we are +men of peace,—we are people engaged in the quiet arts of trade,—we +cannot be supposed indifferent to the interests our lives are passed in +forwarding.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are Englishmen, besides, sir; not to say you <i>are</i> brothers +and kinsmen of the gallant men who are fighting our enemies.” +</p> +<p> +“Very true, Miss Bella,—very true; they have their profession and we +have ours. We rejoice in their success as we participate in all the +enthusiasm of their gallantry. I give you my word of honor, I could n't +help filling out an extra glass of sherry yesterday to the health of that +fine fellow who dashed at the Russian staff and carried off a colonel +prisoner. You saw it, I suppose, in the papers?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Pray let me hear it,” said she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was an observation—a 'reconnaissance' I think they called +it—the Russians were making of the Sardinian lines, and they came so +near that a young soldier—an orderly of General La Marmora's—heard +one of them say, 'Yes, I have the whole position in my head.' Determining +that so dangerous a fellow should not get back to head-quarters, he +watched him closely, till he knew he could not be mistaken in him, and +then setting off at speed,—for he was mounted,—he crossed the +Tchernaya a mile or so further up, and, waiting for them, he lay concealed +in a small copse. His plan was to sell his own life for this officer's; +but whether he relinquished that notion, or that chance decided the event, +there's no knowing. In he dashed, into the midst of them, cut this +colonel's bridle-arm across at the wrist, and, taking his horse's reins, +rode for it with all speed towards his own lines. He got a start of thirty +or forty strides before they could rally in pursuit, which they did +actually up to the very range of the rifle-pits, and only retired at last +when three fell dead or wounded.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20178.jpg" width="100%" alt="178 " /> +</div> +<p> +“But <i>he</i> escaped?” cried she. +</p> +<p> +“That he did, and carried his prisoner safe into the lines, and presented +him to the General, modestly remarking, 'He is safer here than over +yonder,'—pointing to Sebastopol; and, strangest part of the whole +thing, he turns out to be an Englishman.” +</p> +<p> +“An Englishman?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. He was serving, by some strange accident, on General La Marmora's +staff, as a simple orderly, though evidently a man of some education and +position,—one of those wild young bloods, doubtless, that had gone +too fast at home, but who really do us no discredit when it comes to a +question of pluck and daring.” +</p> +<p> +“Do us no discredit!” cried she; “and have you nothing more generous to +say of one who has asserted the honor of England so nobly in the face of +an entire army? Do us no discredit! Why, one such feat as this adds more +glory to the nation than all the schemes of all the jobbers who deal in +things like these.” And she threw contemptuously from her the colored +plans and pictures that littered the table. +</p> +<p> +“Dear me, Miss Kellett, here's a whole ink-bottle spilled over the +Davenport Obelisk.” +</p> +<p> +“Do us no discredit!” burst out she again. “Are we really the nation of +shopkeepers that France calls us? Have we no pride save in successful +bargaining, no glory save in growing rich? Is money-getting so close at +the nation's heart that whatever retards or delays its hoardings savors of +misfortune? When you were telling me that anecdote, how I envied the land +that owned such a hero; and when you said he was our own,—our +countryman; my heart felt bursting with gratitude. Tell me his name.” +</p> +<p> +“His name,—his name,—how strange that I should have forgotten +it; for, as I told you, I toasted his health only yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you remember the sherry!” said she, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes's cheek tingled and grew crimson. It was a mood of passionate +excitement he had never witnessed in her before, and he was astounded at +the change in one usually so calm and self-possessed. It was then in no +small confusion that he turned over the letter before him to find +something which might change the topic in discussion. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, here is a matter,” said he, referring once more to Dunn's letter. “He +says: 'Beg of Miss Kellett to see a small holding called “Kilmaganagh;” I +cannot exactly say where, but it lies to the north of Bantry Bay. I +suspect that it possesses few recommendations such as would entitle it to +a place in the “scheme;” but, if to be had on reasonable terms, I would be +well pleased to obtain it. Driscoll had effected a part purchase, but, +having failed to pay up the instalment due last March, his claim lapses. +By the way, can you ascertain for me where this same Driscoll has gone to? +It is now above four months since I have heard of him. Trace him, if +possible. As to Kilmaganagh, tell Miss K. that she may indulge that +generosity she is not indisposed to gratify, and be on this occasion a +liberal purchaser.' He fancies you lean a little to the country-people, +Miss Bella,” said Hankes, as he stole a cautious glance at her now +heightened color. “I will even consent to what is called a fancy price for +the tenement, and certainly not lose it for a hundred or two above its +actual value. Look to this, and look to Driscoll. There's a riddle here, +Miss Bella, if we knew how to read it,” said Hankes, as he looked over the +few lines once more. +</p> +<p> +“I have but scant wits to read riddles, Mr. Hankes. Let us see where this +place lies.” And she turned to a large map on the table, the paths and +cross-paths of which had been marked in different colored inks by her own +hand. “I remember the name. There was an old tower called Kilmaganagh +Fort, which used to be visible from the bay. Yes, here it is,—a +strange, wild spot, too, and, as Mr. Dunn opines, scarcely available for +his great scheme.” +</p> +<p> +“But he has so many great schemes,” said Hankes, with a sly and sidelong +glance towards her. +</p> +<p> +Sybella, however, paid no attention to the remark, but, leaning over the +map, continued to trace out the line of route to the spot in question. “By +crossing Bantry Bay at Gortalassy, one might save above thirty miles of +way. I have been over the road before, and remember it well.” +</p> +<p> +“And you really mean to undertake the journey?” asked Hankes, in some +astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I do. I ask nothing better than to be fully occupied, and am +well pleased when in so doing I can exchange the desk for the saddle, or, +almost better, the stern-sheets of a Bantry Hooker. You are not a woman, +and you cannot feel, therefore, the sense of pride inspired by mere +utility.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I might ask you a favor, Miss Kellett,” said he, after a moment's +thought. +</p> +<p> +“A favor of <i>me!</i>” said she, laughing, as though the idea amused her. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, resuming. “I would beg to be permitted to accompany you on +this same journey. I have never been any of these wild, untravelled +tracts, and it would be a great additional charm to visit them in your +company.” +</p> +<p> +“So far as I am concerned, I grant you the permission freely; but it were +well for you to remember that you must not only be well mounted, but +prepared to ride over some rough country. I go, usually, as the crow +flies, and, as nearly as I can, the same pace too. Now, between this and +Loughbeg, there are, at least, three trying fences: one a wall with a deep +drop beyond it, and another a steep bank, where I remember that somebody +narrowly escaped having an ugly fall; there's a small estuary, too, to +cross, near Gortalassy. But I am ashamed to enumerate these petty +obstacles; such as they are, they are the only ones,—there are none +on my part.” +</p> +<p> +“When do you mean to set out?” asked Hankes, in a tone far less eager than +his former question. +</p> +<p> +“There's a full moon to-morrow night, so that, leaving this about +midnight, we might reach the bay by six or seven o'clock, and then, if we +should be fortunate with the wind, arrive at Kilmaganagh by about four +o'clock. Taking there three or four hours to see the place, we could start +again about eight, or even nine—” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! that gives nothing for repose,—no time to recruit.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget there are fully five hours on board the boat. I 'll not be the +least offended if you sleep the entire time. If there 's not wind enough +to take in a reef, I 'll give the tiller to old Mark Spillane, and take a +sleep myself.” +</p> +<p> +“It is really like a Tartar journey,” said the terrified Hankes. +</p> +<p> +“I have told you the worst of it, I must own,” said she, laughing, “for I +feel I have no right to obtain your escort on false pretences.” +</p> +<p> +“And you would go alone over this long distance,—land and sea?” +</p> +<p> +“Land and sea are very grand words, Mr. Hankes, for some five-and-twenty +miles of heather and a few hours in an open boat; but such as they are, I +would go them alone.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes would like to have said something complimentary, something +flattering, but it did not exactly occur to him how he was to do it. To +have exalted her heroism would be like a confession of his own +poltroonery; to have seen any surprising evidence of boldness in her +daring might possibly reflect upon her delicacy. He felt—none could +have felt more thoroughly—that she was very courageous and very full +of energy; but, somehow, these were humble aid to propagate that notion,—I +had almost said that fallacy. “Only hear me out,” said she, as he tried to +interrupt “I began my duties in the most sanguine of all moods. Heaven +knows not what dreams I had of a land of abundance and content. Well, I +have seen the abundance,—the wealth has really poured in; every one +is richer, better fed, clothed, housed, and cared for, and almost in an +equal ratio are they grown more covetous, grasping, envious, and +malevolent—You won't let me finish,” cried she, as he showed an +increasing impatience. “Well, perhaps, as we stroll along the cliffs +to-morrow, you will be more disposed to listen; that is, if I have not +already terrified you from accepting the companionship.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no! by no means; but how are we to go,—do we drive?” +</p> +<p> +“Drive! why, my dear Mr. Hankes, it is only a Kerry pony has either legs +or head for the path we must follow. Cast your eye along this coast-line; +Jagged and fanciful as it looks, it conveys no notion of its rugged +surface of rock, and its wild and darksome precipices. Take my word for +it, you have as much to learn of the scenery as of the temperament of the +land.” +</p> +<p> +“But I'd like to go,” repeated he, his accent being marvellously little in +accordance with the sentiment. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing easier, sir. I'll give orders to have a pony—a most +reliable pony—ready for you here to-morrow evening, when I shall +expect you at tea.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes bowed his grateful acknowledgments. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect, sir,” said she, playfully, “that I have guessed your reason +for this journey.” +</p> +<p> +“My reason, my dear Miss Kellett,” said he, in confusion,—“my reason +is simply the pleasure and honor of <i>your</i> company, and the +opportunity of visiting an interesting scene with—with—with—” +</p> +<p> +“No matter for the compliment; but I began really to imagine that you +wished to learn my secret of bargaining with the people; that you wanted +to witness one of these contracts you have heard so much of. Well, sir, +you shall have it: our sole secret is, we trust each other.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. A BRIDLE-PATH +</h2> +<p> +Sybella Kellett was less than just when she said that the country which +lay between the Hermitage and Bantry Bay had few claims to the +picturesque. It may possibly have been that she spoke with reference to +what she fancied might have been Mr. Hankes's judgment of such a scene. +There was, indeed, little to please an English eye,—no rich and +waving woods, no smiling corn-fields, no expanse of swelling lawn or +upland of deep meadow; but there was a wild and grand desolation, a waving +surface fissured with deep clefts opening on the sea, which boomed in many +a cavern far beneath. There were cliffs upright as a wall, hundreds of +feet in height, on whose bare summits some rude remains were still +traceable,—the fragment of a church, or shrine, or some lone cross, +symbol of a faith that dated from centuries back. Heaths of many a +gorgeous hue—purple, golden, and azure—clad a surface ever +changing, and ferns that would have overtopped a tall horseman mingled +their sprayey leaves with the wild myrtle and the arbutus. The moon was at +her full as Sybella, accompanied by Mr. Hankes, and followed by an old and +faithful groom,—a servant of her father's in times past,—took +her way across this solitary tract. +</p> +<p> +If my reader is astonished that Mr. Hankes should have offered himself for +such an expedition, it is but fair to state that the surprise was honestly +shared in by that same gentleman. Was it that he made the offer in some +moment of rash enthusiasm; had any impulse of wild chivalry mastered his +calmer reason; was it that curious tendency which occasionally seems to +sway Cockney natures to ascend mountains, cross dangerous ledges, or peep +into volcanic craters? I really cannot aver that any of these was his +actual motive, while I have my suspicion that a softer, a gentler, though +a deeper sentiment influenced him on this occasion. Mr. Hankes—to +use a favorite phrase of his own—“had frequent occasion to remark” +Miss Kellett's various qualities of mind and intelligence; he had noticed +in her the most remarkable aptitude for “business.” She wrote and answered +letters with a facility quite marvellous; details, however complicated, +became by her treatment simple and easy; no difficulties seemed to deter +her; and she possessed a gift—one of the rarest and most valuable of +all—never to waste a moment on the impracticable, but to address +herself, with a sort of intuition, at once, to only such means as could be +rendered available. +</p> +<p> +Now, whether it was that Mr. Hankes anticipated a time when Mr. Dunn, in +his greatness, might soar above the meaner cares of a business life,—when, +lifted into the Elysian atmosphere of the nobility, he would look down +with contemptuous apathy at the straggles and cares of enterprise,—or +whether Mr. Hankes, from sources of knowledge available peculiarly to +himself, knew that the fortunes of that great man were not built upon an +eternal foundation, but shared in that sad lot which threatens all things +human with vicissitude; whether stern facts and sterner figures taught him +that all that splendid reputation, all that boundless influence, all that +immense riches, might chance, one day or other, to be less real, less +actual, and less positive than the world now believed them to be; whether, +in a word, Mr. Hankes felt that Fortune, having smiled so long and so +blandly on her favorite, might not, with that capriciousness so generally +ascribed to her, assume another and very different aspect,—whatever +the reason, in short, he deemed the dawn of his own day was approaching, +and that, if only true to himself, Mr. Hankes was sure to be the man of +the “situation,”—the next great star in the wide hemisphere that +stretches from the Stock Exchange to—the Marshalsea, and includes +all from Belgravia to Boulogne-sur-Mer. +</p> +<p> +Miss Kellett's abilities, her knowledge, her readiness, her tact, a +certain lightness of hand in the management of affairs that none but a +woman ever possesses, and scarcely one woman in ten thousand combines with +the more male attributes of hard common-sense, pointed her out to Mr. +Hankes as one eminently suited to aid his ambition. Now, men married for +money every day in the week; and why not marry for what secured not alone +money, but fame, station, and influence? Mr. Hankes was a widower; his own +experience of married life had not been fortunate. The late Mrs. Hankes +was a genius, and had the infirmities of that unsocial class; she despised +her husband, quarrelled with him, lampooned him in a book, and ran off +with the editor of a small weekly review that eulogized her novel. It was +supposed she died in Australia,—at least, she never came back again; +and as the first lieutenant gravely confirms the sun's altitude when he +mutters, “Make it noon,” so Mr. Hankes, by as simple a fiat, said, “Make +her dead,” and none disputed him. At all events, he was a widower by +brevet, and eligible to be gazetted a husband at any moment. +</p> +<p> +Miss Kellett possessed many personal attractions, nor was he altogether +insensible to them; but he regarded them, after all, pretty much as the +intended purchaser of an estate might have regarded an ornamental +fish-pond or a flower-garden on the property,—something, in short, +which increased the attraction, but never augmented the value. He was glad +they were there, though they by no means would have decided him to the +purchase. He knew, besides, that the world set a high price on these +things, and he was not sorry to possess what represented value of any +kind. It was always scrip, shares, securities, even, although one could +not well say how, when, or where the dividend was to be paid. +</p> +<p> +There was another consideration, too, weighed materially with him. The +next best thing, in Mr. Hankes's estimation, to marrying into a good +connection, was to have none at all,—no brothers, no sisters-in-law, +no cousins-german or otherwise, no uncles, aunts, or any good friends of +parental degree. Now, except a brother in the Crimea,—with an +excellent chance of being killed,—Sybella had none belonging to her. +In the happy phrase of advertisements, she had no encumbrances. There was +no one to insist upon this or that settlement; none to stipulate for +anything in her favor; and these were, to his thinking, vast advantages. +Out of these various considerations our reader is now to fashion some of +the reasons which induced Mr. Hankes to undertake an excursion alike +foreign to his taste and uncongenial to his habits; but as a placeman +would not decline the disagreeables of a sea-voyage as the preliminary to +reaching the colony he was to govern, so this gentleman consoled himself +by thinking that it was the sole penalty attached to a very remunerative +ambition. +</p> +<p> +If Sybella was not without some astonishment at his proposal to accompany +her, she never gave herself the slightest trouble to explain the motive. +She acceded to his wish from natural courtesy and the desire to oblige, +and that was all. He had been uniformly polite and civil in all their +intercourse; beyond that, he was not a person whose companionship she +would have sought or cared for, and so they rode along, chatting +indifferently of whatever came uppermost,—the scene, the road, the +season, the condition of the few people who formed the inhabitants of this +wild region, and how their condition might possibly be affected by the +great changes then in progress near them. +</p> +<p> +Guarded and cautious as he was in all he said, Mr. Hankes could not +entirely conceal how completely he separated, in his own mind, the success +of the great scheme and the advantage that might accrue to the people; nor +was she slow to detect this reservation. She took too true and just a view +of her companion's temper and tone to approach this theme with the +scruples that agitated herself, but at once said,— +</p> +<p> +“Let us suppose this scheme to be as prosperous as its best friends can +wish it, Mr. Hankes; that you all—I mean you great folk, who are +directors, chairmen, secretaries, and so forth—become as rich and +powerful as you desire, see your shares daily increasing in value, your +speculations more and more lucrative, what becomes of the people—the +poor man—all this while?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, of course he participates in all these successes; he grows rich too; +he sells what he has to sell at a better market, obtains higher wages for +his labor, and shares all our prosperity.” +</p> +<p> +“Granted. But who is to teach him the best use of this newly acquired +prosperity? You, and others like you, have your tastes already formed; the +channels are already made in which your affluence is to run: not so with +him; abundance may—nay, it will—suggest waste, which will +beget worse. Who are to be his guides,—who his examples?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that, his increase of fortune will suggest its own appropriate +increase of wants. He will be elevated by the requirements of his own +advancing condition, and even if he were not, it is not exactly any affair +of ours; we do our part when we afford him the means of a higher +civilization.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so. I suspect that not alone do you neglect a duty, but +that you inflict a wrong. But come, I will take another alternative; I +will suggest—what some are already predicting—that the project +will not prove a success.” +</p> +<p> +“Who says that?” cried Hankes, hastily, and in his haste forgetting his +habitual caution of manner. +</p> +<p> +“Many have said it. Some of those whose opinions I am accustomed to place +trust in, have told myself that the speculation is too vast,—disproportioned +to the country, undertaken on a scale which nothing short of imperial +resources could warrant—” +</p> +<p> +“But surely you do not credit such forebodings?” broke he in. +</p> +<p> +“It is of little consequence how far <i>I</i> credit them. I am as nothing +in the event. I only would ask, What if all were to fail?—what if +ruin were to fall upon the whole undertaking, what is to become of all +those who have invested their entire fortunes in the scheme? The great and +affluent have many ventures,—they trust not their wealth to one +argosy; but how will it be with those who have embarked their all in one +vessel?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes paused, as if to reflect over his reply, and she continued: “It +is a question I have already dared to address to Mr. Dunn himself. I wrote +to him twice on the subject. The first time I asked what guarantee could +be given to small shareholders,—those, for instance, who had +involved their whole wealth in the enterprise. He gave me no answer. To my +second application came the dry rejoinder that I had possibly forgotten in +whose service I was retained; that I drew my resources from the Earl of +Glengariff, and not from the peasantry, whose advocate I had constituted +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” cried Hankes, curious to hear what turn the correspondence took. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said she, smiling gently, “I wrote again. I said it was true I had +forgotten the fact of which he reminded me, but I pleaded in excuse that +neither the Earl nor her Ladyship had refreshed my memory on the +circumstance by any replies to eight, or, I believe, nine letters I sent +them. I mentioned, too, that though I could endure the slight of this +neglect for myself, I could not put up with it for the sake of those whose +interest I watched over. Hear me out,” said she, perceiving that he was +about to interrupt. “It had become known in Glengariff that all the little +fortune I was possessed of—the few hundred pounds Mr. Dunn had +rescued for me out of the wreck of our property—was invested in this +scheme. Mr. Dunn counselled this employment of the money, and I consented +to it. Now, this trustfulness on my part induced many others to imitate +what they deemed my example.” +</p> +<p> +“And you really did make this investment?” said Hankes, whose eagerness +could not brook longer delay. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said she, with a quiet smile, “though, evidently, had I consulted +Mr. Hankes, he would never have counselled the step.” After a moment, she +resumed, “I have half a mind to tell you how it happened.” +</p> +<p> +“I pray you let me hear it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was in this way: Shortly after that affair of the Ossory Bank,—the +run for gold, I mean,—I received a few hurried lines from Mr. Dunn, +urging me to greater exertion on the score of the Glengariff scheme, and +calling upon me to answer certain newspaper insinuations against its +solvency, and so forth. Before replying to these attacks, I was, of +course, bound to read them; and, shall I confess it, such was the singular +force of the arguments they employed, so reasonable did their inferences +appear, and so terrible the consequences should the plan prove a failure, +that I for the first time perceived that it was by no means impossible the +vast superstructure we were raising might be actually on the brink of a +volcano. I did not like exactly to tell Mr. Dunn these misgivings; in +fact, though I attempted two or three letters to that effect, I could not, +without great risk of offending, convey my meaning, and so I reflected and +pondered over the matter several days, working my brain to find some +extrication from the difficulty. At last, I bethought me of this: Mr. Dunn +was my guardian; by his efforts was the small fragment of property that +fell to me rescued and saved. What if I were to request him to invest the +whole of it in this scheme? Were its solvency but certain, where could the +employment of the money be safer or more profitable? If he consented, I +might fairly suppose my fears were vain, and my misgivings unfounded. If, +however, he showed any reluctance, even backwardness, to the project, the +very phrase he might employ to dissuade me would have its especial +significance, and I could at once have something to reason upon. Well, I +wrote to him, and he answered by the next post: 'I fully coincide with +your suggestion, and, acting on it, you are now the possessor of +fifty-four shares in the allotment. As the moment for buying in is +favorable, it is a thousand pities you could not make an equally +profitable investment for your brother, whose twelve hundred pounds is +yielding the very inglorious interest of the bank.'” +</p> +<p> +“And so you took the shares?” said Hankes, sighing; then added, “But let +me see,—at what rate did you buy?” +</p> +<p> +“I am ashamed to confess, I forget; but I know the shares were high?” +</p> +<p> +“After the Ossory run,” muttered he,—“that was about September. +Shares were then something like one hundred and twenty-seven and a +quarter; higher afterwards; higher the whole month of November; shaky +towards the end of the year; very shaky, indeed, in January. No, no,” said +he to himself, “Dunn ought not to have done it.” +</p> +<p> +“I perceive,” said she, half smiling, “Mr. Hankes opines that the money +had been better in the bank.” +</p> +<p> +“After all,” continued he, not heeding her remark, “Dunn could n't do +anything else. You own, yourself, that if he had attempted to dissuade +you, you would immediately have taken alarm; you 'd have said, 'This is +all a sham. All these people will find themselves “let in” some fine +morning;' and as Dunn could very readily make good your few hundred +pounds, why, he was perfectly justified in the advice he gave.” +</p> +<p> +“Not when his counsel had the effect of influencing mine,” said she, +quickly; “not when it served to make me a perfidious example to others. +No, no, Mr. Hankes; if this scheme be not an honest and an upright one, I +accept no partnership in its details.” +</p> +<p> +“I am only putting a case, remember,” said Hankes, hurriedly,—“a +possible, but most improbable case. I am supposing that a scheme with the +finest prospectus, the best list of directors, the most respectable +referees in the empire, to be—what shall I say?—to be sickly,—yes, +sickly,—in want of a little tonic treatment, generous diet, and so +forth.” +</p> +<p> +“You 'll have to follow me here, Mr. Hankes,” broke in Sybella; “the +pathway round this cliff only admits one at a time. Keep close to the +rock, and if your head be not steady, don't look down.” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! we are not going round that precipice!” cried Hankes, in a +voice of the wildest terror. +</p> +<p> +“My servant will lead your horse, if you prefer it,” said she, without +answering his question; “and mind your footing, for the moss is often +slippery with the spray.” +</p> +<p> +Sybella made a signal with her whip to the groom, who was now close +behind, and then, without awaiting for more, moved on. Hankes watched her +as she descended the little slope to the base of a large rock, around +which the path wound itself on the very verge of an immense precipice. +Even from where he now stood the sea could be seen surging and booming +hundreds of feet below; and although the night was calm and still, the +ever-restless waves beat heavily against the rocks, and sent masses of +froth and foam high into the air. He saw her till she turned the angle of +the path, and then she was lost to his view. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I have head for it. I 'm not used to this kind of thing,” +said Hankes, in a voice of helpless despondency to the old groom, who now +stood awaiting him to dismount “Is there much danger? Is it as bad as it +looks?” +</p> +<p> +“'Tis worse when you get round the rock there,” said the groom, “for it's +always going down you are, steeper than the roof of a house, with a +shingle footing, and sloping outwards.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll not go a step; I 'll not venture,” broke in Hankes. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, I wouldn't advise your honor,” said the man, in a tone too +sincere to be deemed sarcastic. +</p> +<p> +“I know my head could n't bear it,” said he, with the imploring accents of +one who entreated a contradiction. But the old groom, too fully convinced +of the sentiment to utter a word against it, was now only thinking of +following his mistress. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20191.jpg" width="100%" alt="191 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Wait a moment,” cried Hankes, with an immense effort. “If I were once +across this”—he was going to add an epithet, but restrained himself—“this +place, is there nothing more of the same kind afterwards?” +</p> +<p> +“Is n't there, faith!” cried the man. “Isn't there the Clunk, where the +beast has to step over gullies five-and-thirty or forty feet deep? Isn't +there Tim's Island, a little spot where you must turn your horse round +with the sea four hundred feet under you? Is n't there the Devil's Nose—” +</p> +<p> +“There, there, you need n't go on, my good fellow; I 'll turn back.” +</p> +<p> +“Look where she is now,” said the man, pointing with his whip to a rocky +ledge hundreds of feet down, along which a figure on horseback might be +seen creeping slowly along. “'Tis there, where she's stealing along now, +you need the good head and the quick hand. May I never!” exclaimed he, in +terror, “if them isn't goats that's coming up to meet her! Merciful +Joseph! what'll she do? There, they are under the horse's legs, forcing +their way through! Look how the devils are rushing all round and about +her! If the beast moves an inch—” A wild cry broke from the old man +here, for a fragment of rock, displaced by the rushing herd, had just come +thundering down the cliff, and splashed into the sea beneath. “The heavens +be praised! she's safe,” muttered he, piously crossing himself; and then, +without a word more, and as if angry at his own delay, he pressed his +horse forward to follow her. +</p> +<p> +It was in vain Hankes cried to him to wait,—to stop for only an +instant,—that he, too, was ready to go,—not to leave him and +desert him there,—that he knew not where to turn him, nor could ever +retrace his way,—already the man was lost to view and hearing, and +all the vain entreaties were uttered to the winds. As for Sybella, her +perilous pathway gave her quite enough to do not to bestow a thought upon +her companion; nor, indeed, had she much recollection of him till the old +groom overtook her on the sandy beach, and recounted to her, not without a +certain touch of humor, Mr. Hankes's terror and despair. +</p> +<p> +“It was cruel to leave him, Ned,” said she, trying to repress a smile at +the old man's narrative. “I think you must go back, and leave me to pursue +my way alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Sorra one o' me will go back to the likes of him. 'T is for your own +self, and ne'er another, I'd be riskin' my neck in the same spot,” said +he, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“But what's to become of him, Ned? He knows nothing of the country; he 'll +not find his way back to Glengariff.” +</p> +<p> +“Let him alone; devil a harm he 'll come to. 'T is chaps like that never +comes to mischief. He 'll wander about there till day breaks, and maybe +find his way to Duffs Mill, or, at all events, the boy with the letter-bag +from Caherclough is sure to see him.” +</p> +<p> +Even had this last assurance failed to satisfy Sybella, it was so utterly +hopeless a task to overrule old Ned's resolve that she said no more, but +rode on in silence. Not so Ned; the theme afforded him an opportunity for +reflecting on English character and habits which was not to be lost. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to see your brother John turn back and leave a young lady that +way,” said he, recurring to the youth whose earliest years he had watched +over. +</p> +<p> +No matter how impatiently, even angrily, Bella replied to the old man's +bigoted preference of his countrymen, Ned persisted in deploring the +unhappy accident by which fate had subjected the finer and more gifted +race to the control and dominion of an inferior people. To withdraw him +effectually from a subject which to an Irish peasant has special +attraction, she began to tell him of the war in the East and of her +brother Jack, the old man listening with eager delight to the achievements +of one he had carried about in his arms as a child. Her mind filled with +the wondrous stories of private letters,—the intrepid daring of this +one, the noble chivalry of that,—she soon succeeded in winning all +his attention. It was singular, however, that of all the traits she +recorded, none made such a powerful appeal to the old man's heart as the +generous self-devotion of those women who, leaving home, friends, country, +and all, gave themselves up to the care of the sick and wounded. He never +wearied of hearing how they braved death in its most appalling shape +amidst the pestilential airs of the hospital, in the midst of such horrors +as no pen can picture, taking on them the most painful duties, accepting +fatigue, exhaustion, and peril as the common incidents of life, braving +scenes of agony such as in very recital sickened the heart, descending to +all that was menial in their solicitude for some poor sufferer, and all +this with a benevolence and a kindness that made them seem less human +beings than ministering angels from heaven. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Holy Joseph! is n't it yourself ought to be there?” cried the old +man, enthusiastically. “Was there ever your like to give hope to a sick +heart? Who ever could equal you to cheer up the sinking spirit, and even +make misery bearable? Miss Bella, darling, did you never think of going +out?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Ned, a hundred times,” said she, sighing drearily. “I often, too, +said to myself, There's not one of these ladies—for they are ladies +born and bred—who has n't a mother, father, sisters, and brothers +dear to her, and to whom she is herself dear. She leaves a home where she +is loved, and where her vacant place is daily looked at with sorrow; and +yet here am I, who have none to care for, none to miss me, who would carry +over the sea with me no sorrows from those I was leaving, for I am +friendless,—surely I am well fitted for such a task—” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said he, eagerly, as she seemed to hesitate, “well, and why—” +</p> +<p> +“It was not fear held me back,” resumed she. “It was not that I shrank +from the sights and sounds of agony that must have been more terrible than +any death; it was simply a hope—a wish, perhaps, more than a hope—that +I might be doing service to those at home here, who, if I were to leave +them, would not have one on their side. Perhaps I overrated what I did, or +could do; perhaps I deemed my help of more value than it really was; but +every day seemed to show me that the people needed some one to counsel and +to guide them,—to show them where their true interests lay, and by +what little sacrifices they could oftentimes secure a future benefit.” +</p> +<p> +“That's thrue, every word of it. Your name is in every cabin, with a +blessing tacked to it. There's not a child does n't say a prayer for you +before he goes to sleep; and there's many a grown man never thought of +praying at all till he axed a blessing for yourself!” +</p> +<p> +“With that, too,” resumed she, “was coupled power, for my Lord left much +to my management. I was able to help the deserving, to assist the honest +and industrious; now I aided this one to emigrate, now I could contribute +a little assistance of capital. In fact, Ned, I felt they wanted me, and I +knew I liked <i>them</i>. There was one good reason for not going away. +Then there were other reasons,” said she, falteringly. “It is not a good +example to give to others to leave, no matter how humble, the spot where +we have a duty, to seek out a higher destiny. I speak as a woman.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it thrue, Miss Bella, that it's Mister Dunn has it all here under +his own hand,—that the Lord owns nothing only what Dunn allows him, +and that the whole place down to Kenmare River is Dunn's?” +</p> +<p> +“It is quite true, Ned, that the control and direction of all the great +works here are with Mr. Dunn. All the quarries and mines, the roads, +harbors, quays, 'bridges, docks, houses, are all in his hands.” +</p> +<p> +“Blessed hour! and where does he get the money to do it all?” cried he, in +amazement. +</p> +<p> +Now, natural as was the question, and easy of reply as it seemed, Sybella +heard it with something almost like a shock. Had the thought not occurred +to her hundreds of times? And, if so, how had she answered it? Of course +there could be no difficulty in the reply; of course such immense +speculations, such gigantic projects as Mr. Dunn engaged in, supplied +wealth to any amount. But equally true was it, that they demanded great +means; they were costly achievements,—these great lines of railroad, +these vast harbors. Nor were they always successful; Mr. Hankes himself +had dropped hints about certain “mistakes” that were very significant. The +splendid word “Credit” would explain it all, doubtless, but how interpret +credit to the mind of the poor peasant? She tried to illustrate it by the +lock of a canal, in which the water is momentarily utilized for a +particular purpose, and then restored, unimpaired, to the general +circulation; but Ned unhappily damaged the imagery by remarking, “But +what's to be done if there's no water?” Fortunately for her logic, the +road became once more only wide enough for one to proceed at a time, and +Sybella was again left to her own musings. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely conscious of the perilous path by which she advanced, she +continued to meditate over the old man's words, and wonder within herself +how it was that he, the poor, unlettered peasant, should have conceived +that high notion of what her mission ought to be,—when and how her +energies should be employed. She had been schooling herself for years to +feel that true heroism consisted in devoting oneself to some humble, +unobtrusive career, whose best rewards were the good done to others, where +self-denial was a daily lesson, and humility a daily creed; but, do what +she could, there was within her heart the embers of the fire that burned +there in childhood. The first article of that faith taught her that +without danger there is no greatness,—that in the hazardous +conflicts where life is ventured, high qualities only are developed. What +but such noble excitement could make heroes of those men, many of whom, +without such stimulus, had dropped down the stream of life unnoticed and +undistinguished? “And shall I,” cried she, aloud, “go on forever thus, +living the small life of petty cares and interests, confronting no dangers +beyond a dark December day, encountering no other hazards than the +flippant rebuke of my employer?” “There's the yawl, Miss Bella; she's +tacking about, waiting for us,” said Ned, as he pointed to a small +sailboat like a speck in the blue sea beneath; and at the same instant a +little rag of scarlet bunting was run up to the peak, to show that the +travellers had been seen from the water. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. THE DISCOVERY +</h2> +<p> +It is possible that my reader might not unwillingly accompany Sybella as +she stepped into the little boat, and, tripping lightly over the +“thwarts,” seated herself in the stern-sheets. The day was bright and +breezy, the sea scarcely ruffled, for the wind was off the land; the +craft, although but a fishing-boat, was sharp and clean built, the canvas +sat well on her, and, last of all, she who held the tiller was a very +pretty girl, whose cheek, flushed with exercise, and loosely waving hair, +gave to her beauty the heightened expression of which care occasionally +robbed it. The broad bay, with its mountain background and its wide +sea-reach, studded with tall three-masters, was a fine and glorious +object; and as the light boat heeled over to the breeze, and the white +foam came rustling over the prow, Sybella swept her fair hand through the +water, and bathed her brow with the action of one who dismissed all +painful thought, and gave herself to the full enjoyment of the hour. Yes, +my dear reader, the companionship of such a girl on such a day, in such a +scene, was worth having; and so even those rude fishermen thought it, as, +stretched at full length on the shingle ballast, they gazed half bashfully +at her, and then exchanged more meaning looks with each other as she +talked with them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20198.jpg" width="100%" alt="198 " /> +</div> +<p> +Just possible it is, too, that some curiosity may exist as to what became +of Mr. Hankes. Did that great projector of industrial enterprise succeed +in retracing his steps with safety? Did he fall in with some one able to +guide him back to Glengariff? Did he regain the Hermitage after fatigue +and peril, and much self-reproach for an undertaking so foreign to his +ways and habits; and did he vow to his own heart that this was to be the +last of such excursions on his part? Had he his misgivings, too, that his +conduct had not been perfectly heroic; and did he experience a sense of +shame in retiring before a peril braved by a young and delicate girl? +Admitted to a certain share of that gentleman's confidence, we are obliged +to declare that his chief sorrows were occasioned by the loss of time, the +amount of inconvenience, and the degree of fatigue the expedition had +caused him. It was not till late in the afternoon of the day that he +chanced upon a fisherman on his way to Bantry to sell his fish. The poor +peasant could not speak nor understand English, and after a vain attempt +at explanation on either side, the colloquy ended by Hankes joining +company with the man, and proceeding along with him, whither he knew not. +</p> +<p> +If we have not traced the steps of Sybella's wanderings, we are little +disposed to linger along with those of Mr. Hankes, though, if his own +account were to be accepted, his journey was a succession of adventures +and escapes. Enough if we say that he at last abandoned his horse amid the +fissured cliffs of the coast, and, as best he might, clambered over rock +and precipice, through tall mazes of wet fern and deep moss, along shingly +shores and sandy beaches, till he reached the little inn at Bantry, the +weariest and most worn-out of men, his clothes in rags, his shoes in +tatters, and he himself scarcely conscious, and utterly indifferent as to +what became of him. +</p> +<p> +A night's sound sleep and a good breakfast were already contributing much +to efface the memory of past sufferings, when Sybella Kellett entered his +room. She had been over to the cottage, had visited the whole locality, +transacted all the business she had come for, and only diverged from her +homeward route on hearing that Mr. Hankes had just arrived at Bantry. +Rather apologizing for having left <i>him</i> than accusing him of +deserting <i>her</i>, she rapidly proceeded to sketch out her own journey. +She did not dwell upon any incidents of the way,—had they been +really new or strange she would not have recalled them,—she only +adverted to what had constituted the object of her coming,—the +purchase of the small townland which she had completed. +</p> +<p> +“It is a dear old place,” said she, “of a fashion one so rarely sees in +Ireland, the house being built after that taste known as Elizabethan, and +by tradition said to have once been inhabited by the poet Spenser. It is +very small, and so hidden by a dense beech-wood, that you might pass +within fifty yards of the door and never see it. This rude drawing may +give you some idea of it.” +</p> +<p> +“And does the sea come up so close as this?” asked Hankes, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The little fishing-boat ran into the cove you see there; her mainsail +dropped over the new-mown hay.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it 's the very thing Lord Lockewood is looking for, He is positively +wild about a spot in some remote out-of-the-way region; and then, what you +tell me of its being a poet's house will complete the charm. You said +Shakspeare—” +</p> +<p> +“No, Spenser, the poet of the 'Faërie Queene,'” broke she in, with a +smile. +</p> +<p> +“It's all the same; he 'll give it a fanciful name, and the association +with its once owner will afford him unceasing amusement.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope he is not destined to enjoy the pleasure you describe.” +</p> +<p> +“No?—why not, pray?” +</p> +<p> +“I hope and trust that the place may not pass into his hands; in a word, I +intend to ask Mr. Dunn to allow me to be the purchaser. I find that the +sum is almost exactly the amount I have invested in the Allotment scheme,—these +same shares we spoke of,—and I mean to beg as a great favor,—a +very great favor,—to be permitted to make this exchange. I want no +land,—nothing but the little plot around the cottage.” +</p> +<p> +“The cottage formerly inhabited by the poet Spenser, built in the purest +Elizabethan style, and situated in a glen,—you said a glen, I think, +Miss Kellett?” said Hankes,—“in a glen, whose wild enclosure, +bosomed amongst deep woods, and washed by the Atlantic—” +</p> +<p> +“Are you devising an advertisement, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“The very thing I was doing, Miss Kellett. I was just sketching out a +rough outline of a short paragraph for the 'Post.'” +</p> +<p> +“But remember, sir, I want to possess this spot. I wish to be its owner—” +</p> +<p> +“To dispose of, of course, hereafter,—to make a clear three, four, +or five thousand by the bargain, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, Mr. Hankes. I mean to acquire enough—some one +day or other—to go back and dwell there. I desire to have what I +shall always, to myself at least, call mine—my home. It will be as a +goal to win, the time I can come back and live there. It will be a +resting-place for poor Jack when he returns to England.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes paused. It was the first time Miss Kellett had referred to her +own fortunes in such a way as permitted him to take advantage of the +circumstance, and he deliberated with himself whether he ought not to +profit by the accident. How would she receive a word of advice from him? +Would it be well taken? Might it possibly lead to something more? Would +she be disposed to lean on his counsels; and, if so, what then? Ay, Mr. +Hankes, it was the “what then?” was the puzzle. It was true his late +conduct presented but a sorry emblem of that life-long fidelity he thought +of pledging; but if she were the clear-sighted, calm-reasoning +intelligence he believed, she would lay little stress upon what, after +all, was a mere trait of a man's temperament. Very rapidly, indeed, did +these reflections pass through his mind; and then he stole a glance at her +as she sat quietly sipping her tea, looking a very ideal of calm +tranquillity. “This cottage,” thought he, “has evidently taken a hold of +her fancy. Let me see if I cannot turn the theme to my purpose.” And with +this intention he again brought her back to speak of the spot, which she +did with all the eagerness of true interest. +</p> +<p> +“As to the association with the gifted spirit of song,” said Mr. Hankes, +soaring proudly into the style he loved, “I conclude that to be somewhat +doubtful of proof, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all, sir. Spenser lived at a place called Kilcoleman, from which +he removed for two or three years, and returned. It was in this interval +he inhabited the cottage. Curiously enough, some manuscript in his writing—part +of a correspondence with the Lord-Deputy—was discovered yesterday +when I was there. It was contained in a small oak casket with a variety of +other papers, some in quaint French, some in Latin. The box was built in +so as to form a portion of a curiously carved chimney-piece, and chance +alone led to its discovery.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope you secured the documents?” cried Hankes, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; here they are, box and all. The Rector advised me to carry them +away for security' sake.” And so saying, she laid upon the table a +massively bound and strong-built box, of about a foot in length. +</p> +<p> +It was with no inexperienced hand that Mr. Hankes proceeded to investigate +the contents. His well-practised eye rapidly caught the meaning of each +paper as he lifted it up, and he continued to mutter to himself his +comments upon them. “This document is an ancient grant of the lands of +Cloughrennin to the monks of the Abbey of Castlerosse, and bears date +1104. It speaks of certain rights reserved to the Baron Hugh Pritchard +Conway. Conway—Conway,” mumbled he, twice or thrice; “that's the +very name I tried and could not remember yesterday, Miss Kellett. You +asked me about a certain soldier whose daring capture of a Russian officer +was going the round of the papers. The young fellow had but one arm too; +now I remember, his name was Conway.” +</p> +<p> +“Charles Conway! Was it Charles Conway?” cried she, eagerly; “but it could +be no other,—he had lost his right arm.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure which, but he had only one, and he was called an orderly on +the staff of the Piedmontese General.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, the noble fellow! I could have sworn he would distinguish himself. +Tell me it all again, sir; where did it happen, and how, and when?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes's memory was now to be submitted to a very searching test, and +he was called on to furnish details which might have puzzled “Our own +Correspondent.” Had Charles Conway been rewarded for his gallantry? What +notice had his bravery elicited? Was he promoted, and to what rank? Had he +been decorated, and with what order? Were his wounds, as reported, only +trifling? Where was he now?—was he in hospital or on service? She +grew impatient at how little he knew,—how little the incident seemed +to have impressed him. “Was it possible,” she asked, “that heroism like +this was so rife that a meagre paragraph was deemed enough to record it,—a +paragraph, too, that forgot to state what had become of its hero?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, my dear Miss Kellett,” interposed he, at length, “one reads a dozen +such achievements every week.” +</p> +<p> +“I deny it, sir,” cried she, angrily. “Our soldiers are the bravest in the +world; they possess a courage that asks no aid from the promptings of +self-interest, nor the urgings of vanity; they are very lions in combat; +but it needs the chivalrous ardor of the gentleman, the man of blood and +lineage to conceive a feat like this. It was only a noble patriotism could +suggest the thought of such an achievement.” +</p> +<p> +“I must say,” said Hankes, in confusion, “the young fellow acquitted +himself admirably; but I would also beg to observe that there is nothing +in the newspaper to lead to the conclusion you are disposed to draw. +There's not a word of his being a gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“But I know it, sir,—the fact is known to <i>me</i>. Charles Conway +is a man of family; he was once a man of fortune: he had served as an +officer in a Lancer regiment; he had been extravagant, wild, wasteful, if +you will.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it can't be the Smasher you're talking of?—the great swell +that used to drive the four chestnuts in the Park, and made the wager he +'d go in at one window of Stagg and Mantle's and out at t'other?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't care to hear of such follies, sir, when there are better things +to be remembered. Besides, he is my brother's dearest friend, and I will +not hear him spoken of but with respect. Take <i>my</i> word for it, sir, +I am but asking what you had done, without a hint, were he only present.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you,—by Jove, I believe you!” cried Hankes, with an +honesty in the tone of his voice that actually made her smile. “And so +this is Conway the Smasher!” +</p> +<p> +“Pray, Mr. Hankes, recall him by some other association. It is only fair +to remember that he has given us the fitting occasion.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, very true,—what you say is perfectly just; and, as you say, he +is your brother's friend. Who would have thought it!—who would have +thought it!”. +</p> +<p> +Without puzzling ourselves to inquire what it was that thus excited Mr. +Hankes's astonishment, let us observe that gentleman, as he turns over, +one by one, the papers in the box, muttering his comments meanwhile to +himself: “Old title-deeds,—very old indeed,—all the ancient +contracts are recited. Sir Gwellem Conway must have been a man of mark and +note in those days. Here we find him holding 'in capite' from the king, +twelve thousand acres, with the condition that he builds a strong castle +and a 'bawn.' And these are, apparently, Sir Gwellem's own letters. Ah! +and here we have him or his descendant called Baron of Ackroyd and +Bedgellert, and claimant to the title of Lackington, in which he seems +successful. This is the writ of summons calling him to the Lords as +Viscount Lackington. Very curious and important these papers are,—more +curious, perhaps, than important,—for in all likelihood there have +been at least half a dozen confiscations of these lands since this time.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes's observations were not well attended to, for Sybella was +already deep in the perusal of a curious old letter from a certain Dame +Marian Conway to her brother, then Sheriff of Cardigan, in which some very +strange traits of Irish chieftain life were detailed. +</p> +<p> +“I have an antiquarian friend who'd set great store by these old +documents, Miss Kellett,” said Hankes, with a sort of easy indifference. +“They have no value save for such collectors; they serve to throw a +passing light over a dark period of history, and perhaps explain a bygone +custom or an obsolete usage. What do you mean to do with them?” +</p> +<p> +“Keep them. If I succeed in my plans about the cottage, these letters of +Spenser to Sir Lawrence Esmond are in themselves a title. Of course, if I +fail in my request, I mean to give them to Mr. Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“These were Welsh settlers, it would seem,” cried Hankes, still bending +over the papers. “They came originally from Abergedley.” +</p> +<p> +“Abergedley!” repeated Sybella, three or four times over. “How strange!” +</p> +<p> +“What is strange, Miss Kellett?” asked Hankes, whose curiosity was eagerly +excited by the expression of her features. +</p> +<p> +Instead of reply, however, she had taken a small notebook from her pocket, +and sat with her eyes fixed upon a few words written in her own hand: “The +Conways of Abergedley—of what family—if settled at any time in +Ireland, and where?” These few words, and the day of the year when they +were written, recalled to her mind a conversation she had once held with +Terry Driscoll. +</p> +<p> +“What is puzzling you, Miss Kellett?” broke in Hankes; “I wish I could be +of any assistance to its unravelment.” +</p> +<p> +“I am thinking of 'long ago;' something that occurred years back. Didn't +you mention,” asked she, suddenly, “that Mr. Driscoll had been the former +proprietor of thia cottage?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, in so far as having paid part of the purchase-money. Does his name +recall anything to interest you, Miss Kellett?” +</p> +<p> +If she heard she did not heed his question, but sat deep sunk in her own +musings. +</p> +<p> +If there was any mood of the human mind that had an especial fascination +for Mr. Hankes, it was that frame of thought which indicated the +possession of some mysterious subject,—some deep and secret theme +which the possessor retained for himself alone,—a measure of which +none were to know the amount, to which none were to have the key. It would +be ignoble to call this passion curiosity, for, in reality, it was less +exercised by any desire to fathom the mystery than it was prompted by an +intense jealousy of him who thus held in his own hands the solution of +some portentous difficulty. To know on what schemes other men were bent, +what hopes and fears filled them, by what subtle trains of reasoning they +came to this conclusion or to that, were the daily exercises of his +intelligence. He was eternally, as the phrase is, putting things together, +comparing events, confronting this circumstance with that, and drawing +inferences from every chance and accident of life. Now, it was clear to +him Miss Kellett had a secret; or, at least, had the clew to one. Driscoll +was “in it,” and this cottage was “in it,” and, not impossibly too, some +of these Conway s were “in it.” There was something in that note-book; how +was he to obtain sight of it? The vaguest line—-a word—would +be enough for him. Mr. Hankes remembered how he had once committed himself +and his health to the care of an unskilful physician simply because the +man knew a fact which he wanted, and did worm out of him during his +attendance. He had, at another time, undertaken a short voyage in a most +unsafe craft, with a drunken captain, because the stewardess was possessed +of a secret of which, even in his sea-sickness, he obtained the key. Over +and over again had he assumed modes of life he detested, dissipation the +most distasteful to him, to gain the confidence of men that were only +assailable in these modes; and now he bethought him that if he only had a +glimmering of his present suspicion, the precipice and the narrow path and +the booming sea below had all been braved, and he would have followed her +unflinchingly through every peril with this goal before him. Was it too +late to reinstate himself in her esteem? He thought not; indeed, she did +not seem to retain any memory of his defection. At all events, there was +little semblance of it having influenced her in her manner towards him. +</p> +<p> +“We shall meet at Glengariff, Mr. Hankes,” said Sybella, rising, and +replacing the papers in the box. “I mean to return by the coast road, and +will not ask you to accompany me.” +</p> +<p> +“It is precisely what I was about to beg as a favor. I was poorly +yesterday,—a nervous headache, an affection I am subject to; in +short, I felt unequal to any exertion, or even excitement.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray let me counsel you to spare yourself a journey of much fatigue with +little to reward it. Frequency and long habit have deprived the mountain +tract of all terror for me, but I own that to a stranger it is not without +peril. The spot where we parted yesterday is the least dangerous of the +difficulties, and so I would say be advised, and keep to the high-road.” +</p> +<p> +Now, there was not the slightest trace of sarcasm in what she said; it was +uttered in all sincerity and good faith, and yet Mr. Hankes could not help +suspecting a covert mockery throughout. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm determined she shall see I am a man of courage,” muttered he to +himself; and then added, aloud, “You must permit me to disobey you, Miss +Kellett. I am resolved to bear you company.” +</p> +<p> +There was a dash of decision in his tone that made Sybella turn to look at +him, and, to her astonishment, she saw a degree of purpose and +determination in his face very unlike its former expression. If she did +not possess the craft and subtlety which long years had polished to a high +perfection in him, she had that far finer and more delicate tact by which +a woman's nature reads man's coarser temperament. She watched his eye, +too, and saw how it rested on the oaken box, and, even while awaiting her +answer, never turned from that object. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said she to herself, “there is a game to be played out between us, +and yonder is the stake.” +</p> +<p> +Did Mr. Hankes divine what was passing in her mind? I know not. All he +said was,— +</p> +<p> +“May I order the horses, Miss Kellett?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am ready.” +</p> +<p> +“And this box, what is to be done with it? Best to leave it here in the +possession of the innkeeper. I suppose it will be safe?” asked he, half +timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly safe; it would be inconvenient to carry with us. Will you +kindly tell the landlord to come here?” +</p> +<p> +No sooner had Mr. Hankes left the room on his errand, than Sybella +unlocked the box, and taking out the three papers in which the name of +Conway appeared, relocked it. The papers she as quickly consigned to a +small bag, which, as a sort of sabretasche, formed part of her +riding-costume. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes was somewhat longer on his mission than appeared necessary, and +when he did return there was an air of some bustle and confusion about +him, while between him and the landlord an amount of intimacy had grown up—a +sort of confidence was established—that Bella's keen glance rapidly +read. +</p> +<p> +“An old-fashioned lock, and doubtless worth nothing, Miss Kellett,” said +Hankes, as with a contemptuous smile he regarded the curiously carved +ornament of the keyhole. “You have the key, I think?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; it required some ingenuity to withdraw it from where, I suppose, it +has been rusting many a year.” +</p> +<p> +“It strikes me I might as well put a band over the lock and affix my seal. +It will convey the notion of something very precious inside,” added he, +laughing, “and our friend here, Mr. Rorke, will feel an increased +importance in the guardianship of such a treasure.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll guard it like goold, sir; that you may depend on,” chimed in the +landlord. +</p> +<p> +Why was it that, as Bella's quick glance was bent upon him, he turned so +hastily away, as if to avoid the scrutiny? +</p> +<p> +Do not imagine, valued reader, that while this young girl scanned the two +faces before her, and tried to discover what secret understanding +subsisted between these two men,—strangers but an hour ago,—that +she herself was calm and self-possessed. Far from it; as little was she +self-acquitted. It was under the influence of a sudden suspicion flashing +across her mind—whence or how she knew not—that some treachery +was being planned, that she withdrew these documents from the box. The +expression of Hankes's look, as it rested on the casket, was full of +significance. It meant much, but of what nature she could not read. The +sudden way he had questioned her about Driscoll imparted a link of +connection between that man and the contents of the box, or part of them; +and what part could that be except what concerned the name of Conway? If +these were her impulses, they were more easily carried out than forgiven, +and in her secret heart she was ashamed of her own distrust, and of what +it led her to do. +</p> +<p> +“It would be a curious question at law,” said Hankes, as he affixed the +third and last seal,—“a very curious question, who owns that box. +Not that its contents would pay for the litigation,” added he, with a +mocking laugh; “but the property being sold this morning, with an +unsettled claim of Driscoll's over it, and the purchaser being still +undeclared,—for I suppose you bought it in for the Earl, or for Mr. +Dunn, perhaps—” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, in my own name, and for myself, waiting Mr. Dunn's good pleasure +to confirm the sale in the way I have told you.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” exclaimed he, looking with an unfeigned admiration at a young +girl capable of such rapid and decisive action, “so that you really may +consider yourself its owner.” +</p> +<p> +“I do consider myself its owner,” was her calm reply. +</p> +<p> +“Then pray excuse my officiousness in this sealing up. I hope you will +pardon my indiscreet zeal.” +</p> +<p> +She smiled without answering, and the blood mounted to Mr. Hankes's face +and forehead till they were crimson. He, too, felt that there was a game +between them, and was beginning to distrust his “hand.” +</p> +<p> +“Are we to be travelling-companions, Mr. Hankes?” asked she. And though +nothing was said in actual words, there was that in the voice and manner +of the speaker that made the question run thus: “Are we, after what we +have just seen of each other, to journey together?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you really wish me to confess the truth, Miss Kellett, I must +own I am rather afraid of my head along these mountain paths,—a sort +of faintness, a rushing of blood to the brain, and a confusion; in short, +Nature never meant me for a chamois-hunter, and I should bring no credit +on your training of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Your resolve is all the wiser, sir, and so to our next meeting.” She +waved him a half-familiar, half-cold farewell, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes saw her leave the town, and he loitered about the street till +he could mark two mounted figures ascending the mountain. He then ordered +a chaise to the door with all speed. +</p> +<p> +“Will you take it now, sir, or send for it, as you said at first?” asked +the innkeeper, as he stood with the oak box in his hands. +</p> +<p> +“Keep it till I write,—keep it till you hear from me; or, no, put it +in the chaise,—that's better.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. THE DOUBLE BLUNDER +</h2> +<p> +Short as had been Sybella's absence from the Hermitage, a vast number of +letters had arrived for her in the mean while. The prospect of a peace, so +confidently entertained at one moment, was now rudely destroyed by the +abrupt termination of the Vienna conferences, and the result was a panic +in the money-market. +</p> +<p> +The panic of an army rushing madly on to victory; the panic on shipboard +when the great vessel has struck, and after three or four convulsive +throes the mighty masts have snapped, and the blue water, surging and +bounding, has riven the hatchways and flooded the deck; the panic of a mob +as the charge of cavalry is sounded, and the flash of a thousand sabres is +seen through the long vista of a street; the panic of a city stricken by +plague or cholera,—are all dreadful and appalling things, and have +their scenes of horror full of the most picturesque terror; still are +there incidents of an almost equal power when that dread moment has +arrived which is called a “Panic on 'Change.” +</p> +<p> +It was but yesterday, and the world went well and flourishingly, mills +were at work, foundries thundered with their thousand hammers, vessels +sailed forth from every port, and white-sailed argosies were freighted +with wealth from distant colonies. None had to ask twice for means to +carry out his speculations, for every enterprise there was capital; and +now scarcely twenty-four hours have passed, and all is changed. A despatch +has been received in the night; a messenger has arrived at Downing Street; +the Minister has been aroused from his sleep to hear that we have met some +great reverse; a terrible disaster has befallen us; two line-of-battle +ships, whose draught of water was too great, have grounded under an +enemy's fire; in despite of the most heroic resistance, they have been +captured; the union-jacks are on their way to Moscow. Mayhap the +discomfiture, less afflicting to national pride, is the blunder of a +cavalry officer or the obstinacy of an envoy. Little matter for the cause, +we have met a check. Down goes credit, and up go the discounts; the mighty +men of millions have drawn their purse-strings, and not a guinea is to be +had; the city is full of sad-visaged men in black, presaging every manner +of misfortune. More troops are wanted; more ships; we are going to have an +increase of the income-tax,—a loan,—a renewal of war burdens +in fifty shapes! Each fancies some luxury of which he must deprive +himself, some expense to be curtailed; and all are taking the dreariest +view of a future whose chief feature is to be privation. +</p> +<p> +So was it now. Amidst a mass of letters was one from Davenport Dunn, +written with brevity and in haste. By a mistake, easily made In the hurry +and confusion of such correspondence, it was, though intended for Mr. +Hankes, addressed to Miss Kellett; the words “Strictly private and +confidential” occupying a conspicuous place across the envelope, while +lower down was written “Immediate.” +</p> +<p> +It was a very rare event, latterly, for Mr. Dunn to write to Miss Kellett, +nor had she, in all their intercourse, once received from him a letter +announced thus “confidential.” +</p> +<p> +It was, then, in some surprise, and not without a certain anxiety, that +she broke the seal. It was dated “Wednesday, Irish Office,” and began +thus: “Dear S.”—she started,—he had never called her Sybella +in his life; he had been most punctiliously careful ever to address her as +Miss Kellett. She turned at once to the envelope, and read the address, +“Miss Kellett, the Hermitage, Glengariff.” And yet there could be no +mistake. It opened, “Dear S.” “He has forgotten a word,” thought she; “he +meant in his mood of confidence to call me Miss Sybella, and has omitted +the title.” The letter ran thus: “We have failed at Vienna, as we do +everywhere and in everything. The war is to continue; consequently, we are +in a terrible mess. Glumthal telegraphs this morning that he will not go +on; the Frankfort people will, of course, follow his lead, so that Mount +Cenis will be 'nowhere' by the end of the week. I am, however, more +anxious about Glengariff, which must be upheld, <i>for the moment</i>, at +any cost To-day I can manage to keep up the shares; perhaps, also, +to-morrow.. The old Earl is more infatuated about the scheme than ever, +though the accounts he receives from that girl”—“That girl,” +muttered she; “who can he mean?”—“from that girl occasionally alarm +him. She evidently has her own suspicions, though I don't clearly see by +what they have been suggested. The sooner, therefore, you can possess +yourself of the correspondence, the better. I have written to her by this +post with a proposition she will most probably accept; advise it, by all +means.”—“This is scarcely intelligible,” said she, once more +reverting to the direction of the letter.—“Should the Ministry be +beaten on Monday, they mean to dissolve Parliament. Now, they cannot go to +the country, in Ireland, without me, and my terms I have already fixed. +They <i>must</i> give us aid,—material, substantial aid; I will not +be put off with office or honors,—it is no time for either. +Meanwhile, I want all the dividend warrants, and a brief sketch of our +next statement; for we meet on Saturday. Come what will, the Allotment +must be sustained till the new election be announced. I hope Lackington's +check was duly presented, for I find that his death was known here on the +4th. Where the new Viscount is, no one seems even to guess. Get rid of the +girl, and believe me, yours ever,—D. D.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely, there is some strange mystification here,” said she, as she sat +pondering over this letter. “There are allusions which, had they not been +addressed to me, I might have fancied were intended for myself. This girl, +whose accounts have terrified Lord Glengariff, and who herself suspects +that all is not right, may mean <i>me</i>; but yet it is to me he writes, +confidentially and secretly. I cannot complain that the letter lacks +candor; it is frank enough; every word forebodes coming disaster, the +great scheme is threatened with ruin, nothing can save it but Government +assistance,—an infamous compact, if I read it aright. And if all +this be so, in what a game have I played a part! This great venture is a +swindling enterprise! All these poor people whose hard-earned gains have +been invested in it will be ruined; my own small pittance, too, is gone. +Good heavens! to what a terrible network of intrigue and deception have I +lent myself! How have I come to betray those whose confidence I strove so +hard to gain! This girl,—this girl,—who is she, and of whom +does he speak?” exclaimed she, as, in an outburst of emotion, she walked +the room, her whole frame trembling, and her eyes glaring in all the +wildness of high excitement. +</p> +<p> +“May I come in?” whispered a soft voice, as a low tap was heard at the +door; and without waiting for leave, Mr. Hankes entered. Nothing could be +silkier nor softer than his courteous approach; his smile was the +blandest, his step the smoothest, his bow the nicest blending of homage +and regard; and, as he took Miss Kellett's hand, it was with the air of a +courtier dashed with the devotion of an admirer. Cruel is the confession +that she noticed none—not one—of these traits. Her mind was so +engrossed by the letter, that, had Mr. Hankes made his entry in a suit of +chain armor, and with a mace in his hand, she would not have minded it. +</p> +<p> +“I am come to entreat forgiveness,—to sue your pardon, Miss Kellett, +for a very great offence, of which, however, I am the guiltless offender. +The letter which I hold here, and which, as you see, is addressed S. +Hankes, Esq.,' was certainty intended for you, and not me.” +</p> +<p> +“What—how—misdirected—a mistake in the address?” cried +she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; placed in a wrong enclosure,” resumed he, in a tone of +well-graduated calm. “A blunder which occurs over and over in life, but I +am fain to hope has never happened with less serious results.” +</p> +<p> +“In short,” said she, hastily, “my letter, or the letter meant for me, +came directed to <i>you?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Precisely. I have only to plead, as regards myself, that immediately on +discovery—and I very soon discovered that it could not have been +destined for my perusal—I refolded the epistle and hastened to +deliver it to your own hands.” +</p> +<p> +“More discreet and more fortunate than I,” said she, with a very peculiar +smile, “since this letter which I hold here, and which bore my address, I +now perceive was for you, and this I have not read merely once or twice, +but fully a dozen times; in truth, I believe I could repeat it, word for +word, if the task were required of me.” +</p> +<p> +What has become of Mr. Hankes's soft and gentle manner? Where are his +bland looks, his air of courtesy and kindness, his voice so full of +sweetness and deference? Why, the man seems transfixed, his eyeballs are +staring wildly, and he actually clutches, not takes, the letter from her +hands. +</p> +<p> +“Why, the first words might have undeceived you,” cried he, rudely. “Your +name is not Simpson Hankes.” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; but it is Sybella, and the writer begins 'Dear S.,'—a +liberty, I own, I felt it, but one which I fancied my position was +supposed to permit. Pray read on, sir, and you will see that there was +matter enough to puzzle finer faculties than mine.” +</p> +<p> +Perhaps the tone in which she spoke these words was intentionally +triumphant; perhaps Mr. Hankes attributed this significance to them +causelessly; at all events, he started and stared at her for above a +minute steadfastly, he then addressed himself suddenly to the letter. +</p> +<p> +“Gracious heavens! what a terrible blunder!” exclaimed he, when he had +finished the reading. +</p> +<p> +“A great mistake, certainly, sir,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“But still one of which you are incapable to take advantage, Miss +Kellett,” said he, with eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“Is it to the girl who is to be got rid of, sir, you address this speech? +Is it to her whose trustfulness has been made the instrument to deceive +others and lure them to their ruin? Nay, Mr. Hankes, your estimate of my +forbearance is, indeed, too high.” +</p> +<p> +“But what would you do, young lady?” +</p> +<p> +“Do, sir! I scarcely know what I would not do,” burst she in, +passionately. “This letter was addressed to <i>me</i>. I know nothing of +the mistake of its direction; here is the envelope with my name upon it. +It is, consequently, mine,—mine, therefore, to publish, to declare +to the world, through its words, that the whole of this grand enterprise +is a cheat; that its great designer is a man of nothing, living the +precarious life of a gambling speculator, trading on the rich man's horde +and the poor man's pittance, making market of all, even to his patriotism. +I would print this worthy document with no other comment than the words, +'Received by me, Sybella Kellett, this day of September, and sworn to as +the handwriting of him whose initials it bears, Davenport Dunn.' I would +publish it in such type that men might read it as they went, that all +should take warning and put no faith in these unprincipled tricksters. Ay, +sir, and I would cling, as my hope of safety from the world's scorn, to +that insulting mention of myself, and claim as my vindication that I am +the girl to be 'got rid of.' None shall dare to call me complice, since +the little I once called my own is lost. But I would do more, sir. The +world I have unwittingly aided to deceive has a full right to an expiation +at my hands. I would make public the entire correspondence I have for +months back been engaged in. You seem to say 'No' to this. Is it my right +you dispute, or my courage to assert the right?” +</p> +<p> +“You must be aware, Miss Kellett,” said he, deprecatingly, “that you +became possessed of this letter by a mistake; that you had no right to the +intelligence it contains, and, consequently, have none to avail yourself +of that knowledge. It may be perfectly true that you can employ it to our +detriment. It would, I have little doubt, serve to shake our credit for a +day or two; but do you know what misery, what utter ruin, your rashness +will have caused meanwhile? By the fall of our securities you will beggar +hundreds. All whose necessities may require them to sell out on the day of +your disclosures will be irretrievably ruined. You meditate a vengeance +upon Mr. Dunn, and your blow falls on some poor struggling creatures that +you never so much as heard of. I do not speak,” continued he, more boldly, +as he saw the deep effect his words produced,—“I do not speak of the +destitution and misery you will spread here,—all works stopped, all +enterprise suspended, thousands thrown out of employment. These are the +certain, the inevitable evils of what you propose to do. And now, let me +ask, What are to be the benefits? You would depose from his station of +power and influence the only man in the kingdom who has a brain to +conceive, or a courage to carry out these gigantic enterprises,—the +only man of influence sufficient to treat with the Government, and make +his own terms. You would dethrone him, to install in his place some +inferior intelligence,—some mere creature of profit and loss, +without genius or patriotism; and all for what?—for a mere phrase, +and that, too, in a letter which was never intended for your eyes.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes saw that he was listened to, and he continued. Artfully +contriving to take the case out of its real issue, he made it appear to +Miss Kellett that she was solely impelled by personal motives, and had no +other object in view than a vengeance on the man who had insulted her. +“And now just throw your eyes over the letter intended for yourself. I +only glanced at it, but it seemed to me written in a tone of sincerest +well-wishing.” +</p> +<p> +It was so. It contained the offer of a most advantageous position. A new +Governor-General of India desired a suitable companion for his daughters, +who had lost their mother. He was a nobleman of highest rank and +influence. The station was one which secured great advantages, and Dunn +had obtained the promise of it in her behalf by considerable exertion on +his part Nay, more. Knowing that her fortune was engaged in the “Allotment +scheme,” he volunteered to take her shares at the highest rate they had +ever borne, as she would, probably, require immediate means to procure an +Indian outfit. The whole wound up with a deeply expressed regret at the +loss Glengariff would sustain by her departure; “but all my selfishness,” +added he, “could not blind me to the injustice of detaining in obscurity +one whose destiny so certainly points her out for a station lofty and +distinguished.” +</p> +<p> +She smiled at the words, and, showing them to Hankes, said, “It is most +unfortunate, sir, that I should have seen the other letter. I could so +readily have yielded myself up to all this flattery, which, even in its +hollowness, has a certain charm.” +</p> +<p> +“I am certain Miss Kellett has too much good sense—too much +knowledge of life—too much generosity, besides—” +</p> +<p> +“Pray, sir, let me stop you, or the catalogue of my perfections may become +puzzling, not to say that I need all the good gifts with which you would +endow me to aid me to a right judgment here. I wish I knew what to do.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you doubt it?” +</p> +<p> +“If the road be so clear, will you not point it out?” +</p> +<p> +“Write to Mr. Dunn. Well, let <i>me</i> write to him. I will inform him +how this mischance occurred. I will tell him that you had read and re-read +his letter before discovering the mistake of the address; that, +consequently, you are now—so far as this great enterprise is +concerned—one of ourselves; that, although you scorn to take +advantage of a circumstance thus accidentally revealed, yet that, as +chance has put you in possession of certain facts, that—-that, in +short—” +</p> +<p> +“That, in short, I ought to profit by my good fortune,” said she, calmly, +finishing the phrase for him. +</p> +<p> +“Unquestionably,” chimed in Hankes, quickly; “and, what's more, demand +very high terms too. Dunn is a practical man,” added he, in a lower and +more confidential tone; “nobody knows better when liberality is the best +policy.” +</p> +<p> +“So that this is a case for a high price?” asked she, in the same calm +tone. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd make it so if I were in your place. I 'd certainly say a 'high +figure,' Miss Keliett.” +</p> +<p> +“Shall I confess, sir, that, in so far as knowing how to profit by it, I +am really unworthy of this piece of fortune? Is Mr. Hankes enough my +friend to enlighten me?” +</p> +<p> +There was a smile that accompanied this speech which went far—very +far—to influence Mr. Hankes. Once again did his personal fortunes +rise before him; once again did he bethink him that this was an alliance +that might lead to much. +</p> +<p> +“I can give you a case in point, Miss Keliett,—I mean as to the +value of a secret. It was when Sir Robert Peel meditated his change in the +Corn-laws. One of the council—it does not matter to say his name—accidentally +divulged the secret intention, and a great journal gave no less than ten +thousand pounds for the intelligence,—ten thousand pounds sterling!” +</p> +<p> +She seemed to pause over this story, and reflect upon it. +</p> +<p> +“Now,” resumed Hankes, “it is just as likely he 'd say, 'Money is scarce +just now; your demand comes at an inconvenient moment' This would be true,—there's +no gainsaying it; and I'd reply, 'Let me have it in shares,—some of +the new preference scrip just issued.'” +</p> +<p> +“How it does allay difficulties to deal with persons of great practical +intelligence,—men of purpose-like mind!” said Sybella, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Miss Kellett, if I could only believe that this was a favorable +moment to appeal to you in their behalf,—at least, in so far as +regards one of their number,—one who has long admired your great +qualities in silence, and said to himself, 'What might she not be if +allied to one well versed in life, trained to all its chances and changes—'” +</p> +<p> +“It never occurred to me to fancy I had inspired all this interest, sir,” +said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Probably because your thoughts never dwelt on <i>me</i>,” said Hankes, +with a most entreating look; “but I assure you,” added he, warmly, “the +indifference was not reciprocal. I have been long—very long +attracted by those shining abilities you display. Another might dwell upon +your personal attractions, and say the impression your beauty had made +upon him; but beauty is a flower,—a perishable hot-house flower. +Not,” added he, hastily, “that I pretend to be insensible to its +fascinations; no, Miss Kellett, I have my weaknesses like the rest.” +</p> +<p> +Sybella scarcely heard his words. It was but a day before, and a poor +unlettered peasant, an humble creature unread in life and human nature, +told her that he deemed her one fit for high and devoted enterprise, and +that her rightful place was amidst the wounded and the dying in the +Crimea. Had he construed her, then, more truly? At all events, the career +was a noble one. She did not dare to contrast it any longer with her late +life, so odious now did it seem to her, with all its schemes for wealth, +its wily plot-tings and intrigues. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid, sir, I have been inattentive,—I fear that my thoughts +were away from what you have been saying,” said she, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I just throw my ideas on paper, Miss Kellett, and wait your answer—say +to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“My answer to what, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“I have been presumptuous enough to make you an offer of my hand, Miss +Kellett,” said he, with a half-offended dignity. “There are, of course, a +number of minor considerations—I call them minor, as they relate to +money matters—to be discussed after; for instance, with regard to +these shares—” +</p> +<p> +“It will save us both a world of trouble, sir, when I thank you deeply for +the honor you would destine me, and decline to accept it.” +</p> +<p> +“I know there is a discrepancy in point of years—” +</p> +<p> +“Pray, sir, let us not continue the theme. I have given my answer, and my +only one.” +</p> +<p> +“Or if it be that any meddling individual should have mentioned the late +Mrs. H.,” said he, bristling up,— “for she is the late, that I can +satisfy you upon,—I have abundant evidence to show how that woman +behaved—” +</p> +<p> +“You are confiding to me more than I have the right or wish to hear, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Only in vindication,—only in vindication. I am aware how her +atrocious book has libelled me. It made me a perfect martyr for the season +after it came out; but it is out of print,—not a copy to be had for +fifty pounds, if it were offered.” +</p> +<p> +“But really, sir—” +</p> +<p> +“And then, Miss Kellett,” added he, in a sort of thrilling whisper, “she +drank; at first sherry,—brown sherry—but afterwards brandy,—ay, +ma'am, brandy neat and a matter of a bottle daily. If you only knew what I +went through with her,—the scenes in the streets, in the playhouses, +in coffee-rooms,—ay, and police-offices,—I give you my sacred +word of honor Simpson Hankes was rapidly becoming as great a public +scandal as the Rev. Paul Classon himself!” +</p> +<p> +“Cannot you perceive, sir, that these details are less than uninteresting +to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Don't say that, Miss Kellett,—don't, I beg you, or else you 'll +make me fear that you 'll not read the little pamphlet I published, +entitled 'A Brief Statement by Simpson Hankes,'—a brochure that I am +proud to believe decided the world in my favor.” +</p> +<p> +“Once for all, Mr. Hankes, I decline to hear more of these matters. If I +have not more plainly told you how little they claim to interest me, it is +because my own selfish cares fill up my thoughts. I will try to hand you +the correspondence Mr. Dunn desires to see in your keeping by to-morrow +morning. There are many circumstances will require special explanation in +it. However I will do my best to be ready.” +</p> +<p> +“And my offer, Miss Kellett?” +</p> +<p> +“I have declined it, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“But really, young lady, are you well aware of what it is you refuse?” +asked he, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I will not discuss the question, sir,” said she, haughtily. “Give me that +letter I showed you.” +</p> +<p> +“The letter, I opine, is mine, Miss Kellett. The address alone pertains to +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean, then, to retain possession of the letter?” asked she, +hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“I protest, I think it is better—better for all of us—that I +should do so. You will pardon me if I observe that you are now under the +influence of excited feelings,—you are irritated. Any line of +action, under such circumstances, will necessarily be deficient in that +calm, matured judgment which is mainly your characteristic.” +</p> +<p> +“It needed but this, sir, to fill up the measure!” ex-claimed she, +passionately. +</p> +<p> +“I don't perfectly apprehend you, Miss Kellett.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, sir, that this last trait of yours was alone wanting to complete +the utter contempt I now feel for my late life and its associates. Mr. +Dunn's letter, with all its disgraceful disclosures,—your own crafty +counsels how best to profit by the accidental knowledge,—and now +this refusal to restore the letter,—this mean distrust based on a +breach of confidence—” +</p> +<p> +“By no means, madam. In withholding this letter, I maintain it to be my +own. I have already explained to you that the address is all you can lay +claim to; a recent legal decision is in my favor. It was tried last Hilary +term before Justice Whitecroff. The case was Barnes <i>versus</i> Barnes.” +</p> +<p> +“If my anger prompt me to rasher acts than my calmer reason might have +counselled,” broke in Sybella, “remember, sir, it is to yourself you owe +it. At least upon one point you may rely. Whatever I decide to do in this +affair, it will not be swayed by any—the slightest—regard for +your friends or their interests. I will think of others alone,—never +once of <i>them</i>. Your smile seems to pay, 'The war between us is an +unequal one.' I know it. I am a woman, poor, friendless, unprotected; you +and yours are rich, and well thought of; and yet, with all this odds, if I +accept the conflict I do not despair of victory.” +</p> +<p> +As she left the room and the door closed after her, Mr. Hankes wiped the +perspiration from his forehead, and sat down, the perfect picture of +dismay. +</p> +<p> +“What <i>is</i> she up to?” cried he, three or four times to himself. “If +she resolves to make a public scandal of it, there's an end of us! The +shares would be down—down to nothing—in four-and-twenty hours! +I'll telegraph to Dunn at once!” said he, rising, and taking his hat. “The +mischance was his own doing; let him find the remedy himself.” +</p> +<p> +With all that perfection of laconic style which practice confers, Mr. +Hankes communicated to Davenport Dunn the unhappy mistake which had just +befallen. Under the safeguard of a cipher used between them, he expressed +his deepest fears for the result, and asked for immediate counsel and +guidance. +</p> +<p> +This despatch, forwarded by telegraph, he followed by a long letter, +entering fully into all the details of the mischance, and reporting with—it +must be acknowledged—a most scrupulous accuracy an account of the +stormy scene between Miss Kellett and himself. He impressed upon his chief +that no terms which should secure her silence would be too high, and +gently insinuated that a prompt and generous offer on Dunn's part might +not impossibly decide the writer to seal his devotion to the cause, by +making the lady Mrs. Hankes. “Only remember,” added he, “it must be in +cash or approved bills.” +</p> +<p> +Partly to illustrate the difficulty of the negotiation he was engaged in, +partly to magnify the amount of the sacrifice he proposed to make, he +depicted Sybella in colors somewhat less flattering than ardent love +usually employs. “It is clear to me now,” wrote he, “from what I witnessed +to-day, that neither you nor I ever understood this girl aright. She has a +temper of her own, and an obstinacy perfectly invincible. Acting on the +dictate of what she fancies to be her conscience, she is quite capable of +going to any extreme, and I have the strongest doubt that she is one to be +moved by affection or deterred by fear.” After a little more of this +eulogistic strain, he wound up by repeating his former generous proposal +He adroitly pointed out that it was in the interest of only such a patron +he could ever dream of so great a sacrifice; and then in that half-jocular +way in which he often attained to all the real and businesslike elements +of a project, he added, “Say ten thousand, and the 'match' will come off,—a +very moderate stake, if you only remember the 'forfeit.'” +</p> +<p> +In a brief postscript he mentioned the discovery of the ancient document +found at the cottage, with, as he said, “some curious papers about the +Conway family. These I have duly sealed up in the box, and retain in my +possession, although Miss K. has evidently an eye upon them. +</p> +<p> +“Write fully and explicitly whatever you mean to do; should you, however, +fully agree to what I propose, telegraph back to +</p> +<p> +“Yours, ever faithfully, +</p> +<p> +“Simpson Hankes. +</p> +<p> +“They have come to tell me she is packing up her things and has sent a +twenty-pound note to be changed.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. DOWNING STREET. +</h2> +<p> +If our story had a hero—which it has not—that hero would be +Mr. Davenport Dunn himself, and we might, consequently, feel certain +compunctious scruples as to the length of time that has elapsed since we +last saw him. When we parted, however, we took care to remind our reader +that we left him in good company, and surely such a fact ought to allay +all apprehensions on his behalf. +</p> +<p> +Months have rolled over; the London season has passed; Parliament has but +a few days to run; the wearied speakers are longing to loiter along green +lanes, or be touring or water-curing it in Germany; cities are all but +deserted, and town-houses have that dusty, ill-cared-for air that reminds +one of an estate in Chancery, or a half-pay lieutenant. Why is it, then, +that Mr. Dunn's residence in Merrion Square wears a look of unusual +trimness? Fresh paint—that hypocrisy of architecture—has done +its utmost; the hall door is a marvel of mock oak, as are the columns of +spurious marble; the Venetian blinds are of an emerald green, and the +plate-glass windows mirror the parched trees in the square, and reflect +back the almost equally picturesque jaunting-cars as they drive past; the +balcony, too, throughout its whole length, is covered with rich flowers +and flowery shrubs. In a word, there is a look of preparation that +bespeaks a coming event. What can it be? +</p> +<p> +Various rumors are afloat as to the reason of these changes, some averring +that Mr. Dunn is about to take a high official position, and be raised to +a distinguished rank; others opine that he is about to retire from the +cares of a business life, and marry. What may he not be? Whom may he not +aspire to? Surely the world has gone well with this roan. What a great +general is to an army in the field,—what a great leader to a party +in the “House,” was he to every industrial enterprise. His name was a +guarantee for all that was accurate in discipline and perfect in +organization. The Board over which he presided as Chairman was sure to +meet with regularity and act with energy. The officials who served under +him, even to the very humblest, seemed to typify the wise principles by +which he had himself been guided in life. They appeared as though imbued +with the same patient industry; the same untiring application, the same +grave demeanor marked them. “I served under Mr. Davenport Dunn,” “Mr. Dunn +knows me,” “Mr. Dunn will speak for me,” were characters that had the +force of a diploma, since they vouched not alone for capacity, but for +conduct. +</p> +<p> +It is a very high eminence to attain when a man's integrity and ability +throw such a light about him that they illumine not alone the path he +treads in life, but shine brightly on those who follow his track, making +an atmosphere in which all around participate. To this height had Dunn +arrived, and he stood the confessed representative of those virtues +Englishmen like to honor, and that character they boast to believe +national,—the man of successful industry. The fewer the adventitious +advantages he derived from fortune, the greater and more worthy did he +appear. He was no aristocrat, propped and bolstered by grand relatives. He +had no Most Noble or Right Honorable connections to push him. He was not +even gifted with those qualities that win popular favor,—he had none +of those graces of easy cordiality that others possess,—he was not +insinuating in address, nor ready of speech. They who described him called +him an awkward, bashful man, always struggling against his own ignorance +of society, and only sustained by a proud consciousness that whispered the +“sterling stuff that was inside,”—qualities which appeal to large +audiences, and are intelligible to the many. Ay, there was indeed his +grand secret. Genius wounds deeply, talent and ability offend widely, but +the man of mere commonplace faculties, using common gifts with common +opportunities, trading rather upon negative than positive properties, +succeeding because he is not this, that, and t' other, plodding along the +causeway of life steadily and unobtrusively, seen by all, patched and +noticed in every successive stage of his upward progress, so that each may +say, “I remember him a barefooted boy, running errands in the street,—a +poor clerk at forty pounds a year,—I knew him when he lived in such +an alley, up so many pair of stairs!” Strange enough, the world likes all +this; there is a smack of self-gratulation in it that seems to say, “If I +liked it, I could have done as well as he.” Success in life won, these men +rise into another atmosphere, and acquire another appreciation. They are +then used to point the moral of that pleasant fallacy we are all so fond +of repeating to each other, when we assert, amongst the blessings of our +glorious Constitution, that there is no dignity too great, no station too +high, for the Englishman who combines industry and integrity with zeal and +perseverance. Shame on us, that we dare to call fallacy that which great +Lord Chancellors and Chief Justices have verified from their own +confessions; nay, we have even heard a Lord Mayor declare that he was, +once upon a time, like that “poor” publican! The moral of it all is that +with regard to the Davenport Dunns of this world, we pity them in their +first struggles, we are proud of them in their last successes, and we are +about as much right in the one sentiment as in the other. +</p> +<p> +The world—the great wide world of man—is marvellously +identical with the small ingredient of humanity of whose aggregate it +consists. It has its moods of generosity, distrust, liberality, +narrowness, candor, and suspicion,—its fevers of noble impulse, and +its cold fits of petty meanness,—its high moments of self-devotion, +and its dark hours of persecution and hate. Men are judged differently in +different ages, just as in every-day life we hear a different opinion from +the same individual, when crossed by the cares of the morning and seated +in all the voluptuous repose of an after-dinner <i>abandonnement</i>. +</p> +<p> +Now it chanced that Mr. Dunn's lot in life had thrown him into a fortunate +conjuncture of the world's temper. The prosperity of a long peace had +impressed us with an exaggerated estimate of all the arts that amass +wealth; riches became less the reward than the test of ability; success +and merit had grown to be convertible terms; clever speakers and eloquent +writers assured us that wars pertained only to ages of barbarism,—that +a higher civilization would repudiate them,—that men, now bent upon +a high and noble philanthropy, would alone strive to diffuse the benefits +of abundance and refinement amongst their fellows, and that we were about +to witness an elysian age of plenty, order, and happiness. The same men +who stigmatized the glory of war as the hypocrisy of carnage, invented +another hypocrisy infinitely meaner and more ignoble, and placed upon the +high altars of our worship the golden image of Gain. +</p> +<p> +As the incarnation of this passion Davenport Dunn stood out before the +world; nor was there a tribute of its flattery that was not laid at his +feet. Even they who had neither wish nor necessity to benefit by his +peculiar influence did not withhold their homage, but joined in the +general acclamation that pronounced him the great man of our time; and at +his Sunday dinners were met the most distinguished in rank,—all that +the country boasted of great in station, illustrious by services or +capacity. His splendid house in Piccadilly—rented for the season for +a fabulous sum—was beset all the morning by visitors, somewhat +unlike, it must be owned, the class who frequented his Dublin levees. Here +they were not deputations or bank directors, railway chairmen or drainage +commissioners; they were all that fashion claims as her own,—proud +duchesses of princely fortune, great countesses high in courtly favor, +noble ladies whose smile of recognition was a firman to the highest +places. They met there, by one of those curious compacts the grand world +occasionally makes with itself, to do something, in a sort of half +imitation of that inferior race of mortals who live and marry and die in +the spheres beneath them. In fact, Dunn's house was a sort of bourse, +where shares were trafficked in, and securities bought and sold, with an +eagerness none the less that the fingers that held them wore gloves +fastened with rubies and emeralds. +</p> +<p> +In those gorgeous drawing-rooms, filled with objects of high art, statues +stolen from the Vatican, gems obtained by Heaven knows what stratagems +from Italian or Spanish convents, none deigned to notice by even a passing +look the treasures that surrounded them. In vain the heavenly beauty of +Raphael beamed from the walls,—in vain the seductive glances of +Greuze in all their languishing voluptuousness,—in vain the haughty +nobility of Van Dyck claimed the homage of a passing look. All were +eagerly bent upon lists of stocks and shares, and no words were heard save +such as told of rise or fall,—the alternations of that chance which +makes or mars humanity. +</p> +<p> +It was while in the midst of that distinguished company Mr. Dunn received +the telegram we have mentioned in our last chapter as despatched by Mr. +Hankes. His was a nature long inured to the ups and downs of fortune; his +great self-teaching had been principally directed to the very point of how +best to meet emergencies; and yet, as he read over these brief lines, for +a moment his courage seemed to have deserted him. +</p> +<p> +“Chimbarago Artesian Well and Water Company,” lisped out a very pale, +sickly-looking Countess. “Shares are rising, Mr. Dunn; may I venture upon +them?” +</p> +<p> +“Here's the Marquesas Harbor of Refuge scheme going to smash, Dunn!” +whispered an old gentleman, with a double eye-glass, his hand trembling as +it held the share-list. “Eh, what do you say to that?” +</p> +<p> +“Glengariff 's going steadily up,—steadily up,” muttered Lord +Glengariff, in Dunn's ear. Then, struck by the sudden pallor of his face, +he added, “Are you ill?—are you faint?” +</p> +<p> +“A mere nothing,” said Dunn, carelessly. “By the way, what hour is it? +Near one, and I have an appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. +Yes, Lady Massingberd, perfectly safe; not a splendid investment, but +quite sure. Cagliari Cobalts are first-rate, Sir George; take all you can +get of them. The Dalmatian line <i>is</i> guaranteed 'by the Austrian +Government, my Lord. I saw the Ambassador yesterday. Pray excuse a hasty +leave-taking.” +</p> +<p> +His carriage was quickly ordered, but before he set out he despatched a +short telegraphic message to Hankes. It ran thus: “Detain her; suffer no +letters from her to reach the post.” This being duly sent off, he drove to +Downing Street. That dingy old temple of intrigue was well known to him. +His familiar steps had mounted that gloomy old stair some scores of times; +but now, for the first—the very first time in his life, instead of +being at once ushered into the presence of the Minister, he was asked to +“wait for a few moments.” What a shock did the intimation give him! Was +the news already abroad,—had the fell tidings escaped? A second's +consideration showed this was impossible; and yet what meant this reserve? +</p> +<p> +“Is the Council sitting, Mr. Bagwell?” asked he, of a very well-dressed +young gentleman, with a glass fixed in his eye, who acted as Private +Secretary to the Minister. +</p> +<p> +“No; they're chatting, I fancy,” lisped out the other. “The Council was up +half an hour ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you mentioned my name, sir?” asked Dunn, with a formidable emphasis +on the pronoun. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, arranging his hair before the glass; “I sent in your +card.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and the answer?” +</p> +<p> +“There was no answer, which, I take it, means 'wait,'” replied he, in the +same light and graceful tone of voice. +</p> +<p> +Dunn took his hat hastily from the table; and with a stern stare, intended +to mean “I shall remember your face again,” said,— +</p> +<p> +“You may inform Lord Jedburg that I came by appointment; that I was here +punctually at one o'clock; that I waited full fifteen minutes; that—” +</p> +<p> +What more Mr. Dunn was about to say was cut short by the opening of +a-door, and the issuing forth of some five or six gentlemen, all laughing +and talking together. +</p> +<p> +“How d'ye do, Mr. Dunn?” “How d'ye do, Dunn?” “How are you, Dunn?” said +some three or four, familiarly, as they passed through the room. And ere +he could acknowledge the salutations, Lord Jedburg himself appeared at the +door, and made a sign for him to enter. Never before had Davenport Dunn +crossed those precincts with so nervous a heart. If his reason assured him +that there was no cause of fear, his instincts and his conscience spoke a +different language. He bent one quick penetrating glance on the Minister +ere he sat down, as though to read there what he might of the future; but +there was nothing to awaken anxiety or distrust in that face. His Lordship +was far advanced in life, his hair more white than gray, his brow wrinkled +and deep-furrowed; and yet, if, instead of the cares of a mighty empire, +his concern had been the passing events of a life of society and country +habits, nothing could have more suited the easy expression, the graceful +smile, and the pleasant <i>bonhomie</i> of that countenance. Resuming the +cigar he had been smoking as Dunn came in, he lounged back indolently in +his deep chair, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“What can I do for you at the Isle of Wight, Dunn? I fancy we shall have a +trip to Osborne to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, my Lord?” asked he, anxiously; “are you going out?” +</p> +<p> +“So they say,” replied the other, carelessly. “Do you smoke? You 'll find +those Cubans very mild. So they say, Dunn. Monksley assures us that we +shall be in a minority to-night of fifteen or sixteen. Drake thinks +five-and-twenty.” +</p> +<p> +“From your Lordship's easy mode of taking it, I conclude that there is +either a remedy for the disaster, or that—” +</p> +<p> +“It is no disaster at all,” chimed in his Lordship, gayly. “Well, the +Carlton Club are evidently of that mind, and some of the evening papers +too.” +</p> +<p> +“I perceive, my Lord,” said Dunn, with a peculiar smile, “the misfortune +<i>is</i> not irremediable.” +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Dunn,” said the other, promptly. “We have decided to +accept a defeat, which, as our adversaries have never anticipated, will +find them perfectly unprepared how to profit by it They will beat us, but, +when called upon to form a Government, will be utterly unable. The rest is +easy enough: a new Parliament, and ourselves stronger than ever.” +</p> +<p> +“A very clever countryman of mine once told me, my Lord, that he made a +ruinous coach-line turn out a most lucrative speculation by simply running +an opposition and breaking it; so true are the world in their attachment +to success.” +</p> +<p> +A hearty laugh from the Minister acknowledged the parallel, and he added +carelessly,— +</p> +<p> +“Sir George Bosely has a story of a fellow who once established a run on +his own bank just to get up his credit. A hit above even you, Master Dunn,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +If Dunn laughed, it was with a face of deepest crimson, though he saw, the +while, his secret was safe. Indeed, the honest frankness of his Lordship's +laugh guaranteed that all was well. +</p> +<p> +“The fellow ought to have been a Cabinet Minister, Dunn. He had the true +governing element in him, which is a strong sense of human gullibility.” +</p> +<p> +“A little more is needed, my Lord,—how to turn that flame tendency +to profit.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,—of course. By the way, Dunn, though not <i>apropos</i>,” +said he, laughingly, “what of the great Glengariff scheme? Is it +prospering?” +</p> +<p> +“The shares stand at one hundred and seventy-seven and an eighth, my +Lord,” said Dunn, calmly. “I can only wish your Lordship's party as +favorable a fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, we are rather below par just now,” said the Minister, laughing, +while he busied himself to select another cigar from the heap before him. +</p> +<p> +“It was just about that very enterprise I came to speak to your Lordship +this morning,” said Dunn, drawing his chair closer. “I need not tell you +how far the assurance of Government support has aided our success. The +report of the Parliamentary Committee as to the Harbor of Refuge, the +almost certain promise of her Majesty's marine residence, the flattering +reception your Lordship gave to the deputation in the matter of the +American packet-station, have all done us good and efficient service. But +we want more, my Lord,—we want more!” +</p> +<p> +“The deuce you do! Why, my good friend, these marks of our preference for +your scheme have cost us some hundred angry addresses and recriminations +from all parts of the kingdom, where, we are told, there is more +picturesque scenery, more salubrious air, deeper water, and better +anchorage. If you built a villa for every member of the Cabinet, and +settled it on us in freehold there, it would not repay us for all we have +suffered in your cause.” +</p> +<p> +“We should be both proud and happy to accommodate your Lordship's +colleagues on Jedburg Crescent,” said Dunn, bowing with a well-assumed +seriousness. +</p> +<p> +“But what do you want us to do?” said his Lordship, peevishly; for he had +the dislike great men generally feel to have their joke capped. It is for +them to be smart, if they please, but not for the Mr. Davenport Dunns of +this world to take up the clew of the facetiousness. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dunn seemed somewhat posed by the abrupt directness of this question. +Lord Jedburg went on:— +</p> +<p> +“You surely never supposed that we could send you material assistance. You +are far too conversant with the working of our institutions to expect +such. These things are possible in France, but they won't do here. No, +Dunn; perfectly impossible here.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet, my Lord, it is precisely in France that they ought to be +impossible. Ministers in that country have no responsibility except +towards their sovereign. If they become suddenly enriched, one sees at +once how they have abused the confidence of their master.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll not enter upon that question,” said his Lordship, smartly. “Tell me, +rather, something about Ireland; how shall we fare there in a general +election?” +</p> +<p> +“With proper exertions you may be able to hold your own,” was the dry +rejoinder. +</p> +<p> +“Not more? Not any more than this?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not, my Lord, nor do I see how you could expect it. What you +are in the habit of calling concessions to Irish interests have been +little other than apologies for the blunders of your colleagues. You +remove some burden imposed by yourselves, or express sorrow for some piece +of legislation your own hands have inflicted—” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Mr. Dunn, the only course of lectures I attend are delivered +in the House of Commons; besides, I have no time for these things.” There +was a tone of prompt decision in the way he uttered this that satisfied +Dunn he had gone fully as far as was safe. “Now as to Ireland, we shall +look for at least sixty, or perhaps seventy, sure votes. Come, where's +your list, Dunn? Out with it, man! We are rather rich in patronage just +now. We can make a Bishop, a Puisne Judge, three Assistant Barristers, a +Poor Law Commissioner, not to say that there are some fifty smaller things +in the Revenue. Which will you have?” +</p> +<p> +“All, my Lord,” said Dunn, coolly,—“all, and some colonial +appointments besides, for such of our friends as find living at home +inexpedient.” +</p> +<p> +His Lordship lay back in his chair, and laughed pleasantly. “There's +Jamaica just vacant; would that suit you?” +</p> +<p> +“The Governorship? The very thing I want, and for a very old supporter of +your Lordship's party.” +</p> +<p> +“Who is he?” +</p> +<p> +“The Earl of Glengariff, my Lord, a nobleman who has never received the +slightest acknowledgment for a political adherence of fifty-odd years.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, the man must be in second childhood. If I remember aright, he was—” +</p> +<p> +“He is exactly four years your Lordship's senior; he says you fagged for +him his last half at Eton.” +</p> +<p> +“Pooh, pooh! he mistakes; it was of my father he was thinking. But to the +point: what can he do for us?” +</p> +<p> +“I was alluding to what he had done, my Lord,” said Dunn, pointedly. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Dunn, we are not rich enough for gratitude. That is the last luxury +of a 'millionnaire;' besides, you are aware how many claimants there will +be for so good a thing as this.” +</p> +<p> +“Which of them all, my Lord, can promise you ten votes in the Houses?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, is the bargain finished? Is all paid?” +</p> +<p> +“Not yet, my Lord; not yet You are averse to affording us any support to +the Glengariff scheme, and, for the present, I will not hamper you with +the consideration; you can, however, serve us in another way. Glumthal is +very anxious about the Jew Bill; he wishes, Heaven knows why, to see his +brother in the House. May I promise him that the next session will see it +law? Let me just have your Lordship's word to that effect, so that I may +telegraph to him when I leave this.” +</p> +<p> +His Lordship shook his head dubiously, and said, “You forget that I have +colleagues, Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember it well, my Lord, and I only asked for your own individual +pledge. The fact is, my Lord, the Jews throughout the world have attached +an immense importance to this question; and if Glumthal—confidentially, +of course—be made the depositary of the secret, it will raise him +vastly in the estimation of his co-religionists.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us see if the thing can be done. Is it practicable, and how?” “Oh, as +to that, my Lord, modern legislation is carried on pretty much like a +mercantile concern; you advertise your want, and it is supplied at once. +Ask the newspapers. 'How are we to admit the Jews?' and you 'll get your +answer as regularly as though it were a question of sport addressed to +'Bell's Life.'” +</p> +<p> +“Candor being the order of the day, what does Mr. Davenport Dunn want for +himself?” +</p> +<p> +“I am coming to him, my Lord, but not just yet.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, really, Dunn, except that we turn Colonel Blood in your behalf, and +steal the crown for you, I don't see what more we can do.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a mere trifle in point of patronage, my Lord, though, in my +ignorance of such matters, it may be, possibly, not without difficulty,” +said Dunn; and, for the first time, his manner betrayed a sign of +embarrassment “The Earl of Glengariff has an only unmarried daughter, a +lady of great personal attractions, and remarkably gifted in point of +ability; one of those persons, in short, on whom Nature has set the stamp +of high birth, and fitted to be the ornament of a Court.” +</p> +<p> +“But we are all married in the Cabinet. Even the Treasury Lords have got +wives,” said Lord Jedburg, laughing, and enjoying the discomfiture of +Dunn's face even more than his own jest. +</p> +<p> +“I am aware of it, my Lord,” replied Dunn, with inflexible gravity; “my +ambitious hopes did not aspire so highly. What I was about to entreat was +your Lordship's assistance to have the lady I have mentioned appointed to +a situation in the household,—one of her Majesty's ladies—” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible! perfectly impossible, Dunn!” said the Minister, flinging away +his cigar in impatient anger; “really, you seem to have neither measure +nor moderation in your demands. Such an interference on my part, if I were +mad enough to attempt it, would meet a prompt rebuke.” +</p> +<p> +“If your Lordship's patience had permitted me to finish, you would have +heard that what I proposed was nothing beyond the barren honor of a +'Gazette.' On the day week that her Ladyship's name had so appeared she +would be married.” +</p> +<p> +“It does not alter the matter in the least. It is not in my province to +make such a recommendation, and I refuse it flatly.” +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for it, my Lord. Your Lordship's refusal may inflict great +evils upon the country,—the rule of an incompetent and ungenial +Government,—the accession to power of men the most unscrupulous and +reckless.”. “Cannot you see, sir,” said the Minister, sharply, “that I am +in a position to comprehend what my office admits of, and where its limits +are laid? I have told you that these appointments are not in our hands.” +</p> +<p> +“Sir Robert Peel did not say so, my Lord; he insisted—actually +insisted—on his right to surround the throne with political +partisans.” +</p> +<p> +“The Cabinet is not an Equity Court, to be ruled by precedents; and I tell +you once more, Dunn, I should fail if I attempted it.” +</p> +<p> +“The Viscountess might obtain this favor,” said Dunn, with an obdurate +persistence that was not to be resisted; “and even if unsuccessful, it +would inflict no rebuff on your Lordship. Indeed, it would come more +gracefully as a proposition from her Ladyship, who could also mention Lady +Augusta's approaching marriage.” +</p> +<p> +“I almost think I might leave you to finish the discussion with my wife,” +said his Lordship, laughing; “I half suspect it would be the best penalty +on your temerity. Are you engaged for Sunday?—well, then, dine with +us. And now, that bill being adjourned,” said he, with a weary sigh, “what +next?” +</p> +<p> +“I am now coming to myself,—to my own case, my Lord,” said Dunn, +with the very slightest tremor in his voice. “Need I say that I wish it +were in the hands of any other advocacy? I am so far fortunate, however, +that I address one fully conversant with my claims on his party. For +five-and-twenty years I have been the careful guardian of their interests +in a country where, except in mere name, they never possessed any real +popularity. Your Lordship smiles a dissent; may I enter upon the +question?” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid!” broke in the Minister, smiling good-humoredly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, my Lord, were I to reduce my services to a mere monetary estimate, +and furnish you with a bill of costs, for what a goodly sum should I stand +in the estimates. I have mainly sustained the charge of seven county +elections, hardly contested. I have paid the entire charges on twenty-two +borough contests. I have subsidized the provincial press in your favor at +a cost of several thousand pounds out of my own pocket I have compromised +three grave actions about to be brought against the Government. Of the +vast sums I have contributed to local charities, schools, nunneries, +societies of various denominations, all in the interest of your party, I +take no account I have spent in these and like objects a princely fortune, +and yet these hundreds of thousands of pounds are as nothing—mere +nothing to the actual personal services I have rendered to your party. In +the great revolution effected by the sale of encumbered estates, I have so +watchfully guarded your interests that I have replaced the old rampant +Toryism of the land by a gentry at once manageable and practicable,—men +intent less upon party than personal objects, consequently available to +the Minister, always accessible by an offer of direct advantage. I have, +with all this, so thrown a Whig light over the rising prosperity of the +country, that it might seem the result of your wise rule that stimulated +men to the higher civilization they have attained to, and that a more +forbearing charity and a more liberal spirit went hand in hand with +improved agriculture and higher farming. To identify a party with the +great march of this prosperity, to make of your policy a cause of these +noble results, was the grand conception which, for a quarter of a century, +I have carried out. When Mr. O'Connell kept your predecessors in power, +his price was the bit-by-bit surrender of what in your hearts you believed +to be bulwarks of the constitution. In return for my support what have I +got? Some patronage—be it so—for my own dependants and +followers, no doubt! Show me one man of my name, one man of my +convictions, holding place under the Crown. No, my Lord, my power to serve +your party was based on this sure foundation, that I was open to no +imputation; I was the distributor of your patronage to the men best worthy +to receive it,—no more.” +</p> +<p> +“Four o'clock, Dunn; time's up,” said his Lordship. “I must go down to the +House.” +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to have detained your Lordship with so ungracious a theme.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do think you might have spared me some of it I know well my +colleagues all know your invaluable services,—an admirable member of +the party, active and able, but not quite neglected, either, eh, Dunn?—not +entirely left in oblivion?” +</p> +<p> +While he spoke, he busied himself in the search for a paper amidst the +heap of those before him, and could not, therefore, notice the +mortification so palpably expressed on Dunn's face. +</p> +<p> +“I can't find it,” muttered he; “I should like, however, to show you the +memorandum itself, in which your name stands recommended to her Majesty +for a baronetcy.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn's sudden start made the speaker look up; and as he turned his eyes on +him, there was no mistaking the look of determined anger on his features. +</p> +<p> +“A baronetcy, my Lord,” said he, with a slow, thick utterance, “has become +the recognized reward of a popular writer, or a fashionable physician, +whose wives acquire a sort of Brummagem rank in calling themselves 'My +Lady;' but men like myself,—men who have sustained a party,—men +who, wielding many arms of strength, have devoted them all to the one task +of maintaining in power a certain administration, which, whatever their +gifts, assuredly did not possess the art of conciliating—” +</p> +<p> +“Come, it is a peerage you want?” broke in his Lordship, whose manner +betrayed a temper pushed to its last limits. +</p> +<p> +“If I am to trust your Lordship's tone, the pretension would seem scarcely +credible,” said Dunn, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I can understand how it would appear to others. I can, without +great difficulty, imagine the light in which it would be viewed.” +</p> +<p> +“As to that, my Lord, any advancement to a man like me will evoke plenty +of animadversion. I have done too-much for your party not to have made +many enemies. The same objection would apply were I to accept the paltry +acknowledgment you so graciously contemplated for me, and which I warn you +not to offer me.” +</p> +<p> +Was it the naked insolence of this speech, or was it that in uttering it +the proud pretension of the man summoned a degree of dignity to his +manner; but certainly the Minister now looked at him with a sort of +respect, he had not deigned hitherto to bestow. +</p> +<p> +“You know well, Dunn,” he began, in a tone of conciliation, “that fitness +for the elevation is only one of the requirements in such a case. There +are a mass of other considerations,—the ostensible claims; I mean +such as can be-avowed and declared openly,—of the pretending party,—the +services he has rendered to the country at large,—the merits he can +show for some great public recognition. The press, whatever be its faults +nowadays, has no defects on the score of frankness, and we shall have the +question put in twenty different quarters, 'What brilliant campaign has +Mr. Dunn concluded?' 'What difficult negotiation carried to successful +issue?' 'Where have been his great achievements in the law courts?' To be +sure, it might be said that we honor the industrial spirit of our country +in ennobling one who has acquired a colossal fortune by his own unaided +abilities; but Manchester and Birmingham have also their 'millionnaires.'” +</p> +<p> +“Your Lordship's time is far too valuable to be passed in such discussion; +even mine might be more profitably spent than in listening to it, My +demand is now before you; in some three weeks hence it is not impossible +it may await the consideration of your Lordship's successors. In one word, +if I leave this room without your distinct pledge on the subject, you will +no longer reckon me amongst the followers of your party.” +</p> +<p> +“Half-past four, I protest,” said Lord Jedburg, taking up his gloves. “I +shall be too late at the House. Let us conclude this to-morrow morning. +Come down here at eleven.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, my Lord. I leave town to-night I am going over to Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you ought to be there; I forgot. Well, you must leave this affair in +my hands. I 'll speak to Croydon and Locksley about it,—both stanch +friends of yours. I can make no pledge, you know,—no actual promise—” +</p> +<p> +“Nor I either, my Lord,” said Dunn, rising. “Let me, however, ask you to +accept of my excuses for Sunday at dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“I regret much that we are not to have the pleasure of your company,” said +his Lordship, with a formal courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“These appointments,” said Dunn, laying down a list he had made on the +table, “are, of course, in your Lordship's hands.” +</p> +<p> +“I conclude so,” was the dry reply, as the Minister but-toned his coat. +</p> +<p> +“I wish your Lordship a very good morning. Good-bye, my Lord.” And the +words had their peculiar utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, Mr. Dunn,” said the Minister, shortly, and rang for his +carriage. +</p> +<p> +Dunn had but reached the foot of the stairs, when he heard a rapid tread +behind him. “I beg pardon, Mr. Dunn,” cried Bagwell, the private +secretary; “his Lordship sent me to overtake you, and say that the matter +you are desirous about shall be done. His Lordship also hopes you can dine +with him on Sunday.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, very well; say 'Yes, with much pleasure.' Has his Lordship gone?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, by the private door. He was in a great hurry, and will, I fear, be +late, after all.” +</p> +<p> +“There's a good thing to be done just now in potash, Bagwell, at Pesaro. +If you have a spare hundred or two, give me a call to-morrow morning.” And +with a gesture to imply secrecy, Dunn moved away, leaving Bagwell in a +dream of gold-getting. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. THE COTTAGE NEAR SNOWDON +</h2> +<p> +At an early portion of this true story, our reader was incidentally told +that Charles Conway had a mother, and that she lived in Wales. Her home +was a little cottage near the village of Bedgellert, a neighborhood +wherein her ancestors had once possessed large estates, but of which not +an acre now acknowledged her as owner. Here, on a mere pittance, she had +lived for years a life of unbroken solitude. The few charities to the poor +her humble means permitted had served to make her loved and respected; +while her gentle manners and kind address gave her that sort of eminence +which such qualities are sure to attain in remote and simple circles. +</p> +<p> +All her thoughts in life, all her wishes and ambitions, were centred in +her son; and although it was to the wild and reckless extravagance of his +early life that she owed the penury which now pressed her, although but +for his wasteful excesses she had still been in affluence and comfort, she +never attached to him the slightest blame, nor did her lips ever utter one +syllable of reproach. Strong in the conviction that so long as the wild +excesses of youth stamp nothing of dishonor on the character, the true +nature within has sustained no permanent injury, she waited patiently for +the time when, this season of self-indulgence over, the higher dictates of +manly reason would assert their influence, and that Charley, having sown +his wild oats, would come forth rather chastened and sobered than stained +by his intercourse with the world. +</p> +<p> +If this theory of hers has its advocates, there are many—and wise +people, too—who condemn it, and who deem those alone safe who have +been carefully guarded from the way of temptation, and have been kept +estranged from the seductions of pleasure. To ourselves the whole question +resolves itself into the nature of the individual, at the same time that +we had far rather repose our confidence in one who had borne his share in +life's passages, gaining his experience, mayhap, with cost, but coming +honorably through the trial, than on him who, standing apart, had but +looked out over the troubled ocean of human passion, nor risked himself on +the sea of man's temptations. +</p> +<p> +The former was Conway's case: he had led a life of boundless extravagance; +without any thought of the cost, he had launched out into every expensive +pursuit. What we often hear applied to others figuratively, was strictly +applicable to him; he never knew the value of money; he never knew that +anything one desired could be overpaid for. The end came at last. With a +yacht ready stored and fitted out for a Mediterranean cruise, with three +horses heavily engaged at Doncaster, with a shooting-lodge filled with +distinguished company in the Highlands, with negotiations all but +completed for the Hooksley hounds, with speculations rife as to whether +the Duchess of This or the Countess of That had secured him for a daughter +or a niece, there came, one morning, the startling information from his +solicitor that a large loan he had contemplated raising was rendered +impossible by some casualty of the money-market Recourse must be had to +the Jews; heavy liabilities incurred at Newmarket must be met at once and +at any cost. A week of disaster fell exactly at this conjuncture; he lost +largely at the Portland, largely on the turf; a brother officer, for whom +he had given surety, levanted immensely in debt; while a local bank, in +which a considerable sum of his was vested, failed. The men of sixty per +cent saved him from shipwreck; but they took the craft for the salvage, +and Conway was ruined. +</p> +<p> +Amidst the papers which Conway had sent to his solicitor as securities for +the loan, a number of family documents had got mingled, old deeds and +titles to estates of which the young man had not so much as heard, claims +against property of whose existence he knew nothing. When questioned about +them by the man of law, he referred him coolly to his mother, saying, +frankly, “it was a matter on which he had never troubled his head.'” Mrs. +Conway herself scarcely knew more. She had heard that there was a claim in +the family to a peerage; her husband used to allude to it in his own +dreamy, indolent fashion, and say that it ought to be looked after, and +that was all. +</p> +<p> +Had the information come to the mind of an active or enterprising man of +business, it might have fared differently. The solicitor to the family +was, however, himself a lethargic, lazy sort of person, and he sent back +the papers to Mrs. Conway, stating that he was not sure “something might +not be made of them;” that is, added he, “if he had five or six thousand +pounds to expend upon searches, and knew where to prosecute them.” +</p> +<p> +This was but sorry comfort, but it did not fall upon a heart high in hope +or strong in expectation. Mrs. Conway had never lent herself to the +impression that the claim had much foundation, and she heard the tidings +with calm; and all that was remembered of the whole transaction was when +some jocular allusion would be made by Charles to the time when he should +succeed to his peerage, or some as light-hearted jest of the old lady as +to whether she herself was to enjoy a title or not The more stirring +incidents of a great campaign had latterly, however, so absorbed all the +young soldier's interest that he seemed totally to have forgotten the +oft-recurring subject of joke between them. Strange enough was it, yet, +that in the very letter which conveyed to his mother an account of his +Tchernaya achievement, a brief postscript had the following words:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Since I have been confined to hospital, a person connected +with the newspapers, I believe, has been here to learn the +exact story of my adventure, and, curiously enough, has been +pumping me about our family history. Can it be that 'our +peerage' is looking up again? This last sabre-cut on my +skull makes me rather anxious to exchange a chako for a +coronet. Can you send me anything hopeful in this +direction?” +</pre> +<p> +It was on an answer to this letter the old lady was occupied, seated at an +open window, as the sun was just setting on a calm and mellow evening in +late autumn. Well understanding the temperament of him she addressed, she +adverted little to the danger of his late achievement, and simply seemed +to concur in his own remark when recounting it, that he who has made his +name notorious from folly has, more than others, the obligation to achieve +a higher and better reputation; and added, at the same time: “Charley, +what I liked best in your feat was its patriotism. The sense of rendering +a good and efficient service to the cause of your country was a nobler +prompting than any desire for personal distinction.” From this she turned +to tell him about what she well knew he loved best to hear of,—her +home and her daily life, with its little round of uneventful cares, the +little Welsh pony “Crw,” and his old spaniel “Belle,” and the tulips he +had taken such pains about, and the well he had sunk in the native rock. +She had good tidings, too, that the railroad—the dreadful railroad—was +not to take the line of their happy valley, but to go off in some more +“favored” direction. Of the cottage itself she had succeeded in obtaining +a renewed lease,—a piece of news well calculated to delight him, +“if,” as she said, “grand dreams of the peerage might not have impaired +his relish for the small hut at the foot of Snowdon.” She had just reached +so far when a little chaise, drawn by a mountain pony, drew up before the +door, and a lady in a sort of half-mourning dress got out and rang the +bell. As the old lady rose to admit her visitor,—for her only +servant was at work in the garden,—she felt no small astonishment. +She was known to none but the peasant neighborhood about her; she had not +a single acquaintance in the country with its gentry; and although the +present arrival came with little display, in her one glance at the figure +of the stranger she saw her to be distinctly of a certain condition in +life. +</p> +<p> +It will conduce equally to brevity and to the interests of our story if we +give what followed in the words wherein Mrs. Conway conveyed it to her +son:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Little, I thought, my dear Charley, that I should have to +cross this already long letter,—little suspected that its +real and only interest was to have been suggested as I drew +to its close; and here, if I had the heart for it, were the +place to scold you for a pretty piece of mystification you +once practised upon me, when you induced me to offer the +hospitality of this poor cottage to an humble gentlewoman, +whose poverty would not deem even <i>my</i> life an existence of +privation,—the sister of a fellow-soldier you called her, +and made me to believe—whose the fault I am not sure—that +she was some not very young or very attractive person, but +one whose claim lay in her friendless lot and forlorn +condition. Say what you will, such was my impression, and it +could have no other source than your description. +</pre> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20244.jpg" width="100%" alt="244 " /> +</div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Yes, Charley, my mind-picture was of a thin-faced, somewhat +sandy-haired lady, of some six or eight and thirty years, +bony, angular, and awkward, greatly depressed, and naturally +averse to intercourse with those who had not known her or +her better fortunes; shall I add that I assisted my +portrait by adding coarse hands, and filled up my +anticipation by suspecting a very decided Irish brogue? Of +course this flattering outline could not have been revealed +in a vision, and must have come from your hands, deny it +whenever and however you may! And now for the reality,—the +very prettiest girl I ever saw, since I left off seeing +pretty people, when I was young and had pretensions myself: +even then I do not remember any one handsomer, and with a +winning grace of manner equal, if not superior, to her +beauty. You know me as a very difficult critic on the +subject of breeding and <i>maintien</i>. I feel that I am so, +even to injustice, because I look for the reserved courtesy +of one era as well as the easy frankness of another. <i>She</i> +has both; and she is a court lady who could adorn a +cottage. Of my own atrocious sketch there was nothing about +her. Stay, there was. She had the Irish accent, but by +some witchery of her own I got to like it,—fancied it was +musical and breathed of the sweet south; but if I go on +with her perfections, I shall never come to the important +question, for which you care more to hear besides, as to how +I know all these things. And now, to my horror, I find how +little space is left me to tell you. Well, in three words +you shall have it. She has been here to see me on her way +somewhere, her visit being prompted by the wish to place in +my hands some very curious and very old family records, +found by a singular accident in an Irish country-house. They +relate to the claim of some ancestor of yours to certain +lands in Ireland, and the right is asserted in the name of +Baron Conway, and afterwards the Lord Viscount Lackington. I +saw no further; indeed, except that they all relate to our +dear peerage, they seem to possess no very peculiar +interest. If it were not that she would introduce your name, +push me with interminable questions as to what it was you +had really done, what rewards you had or were about to reap, +where you were, and, above all, how, I should have called +her visit the most disinterested piece of kindness I ever +heard of. Still she showed a sincere and ardent desire to +serve us, and said that she would be ready to make any delay +in London to communicate with our lawyer, and acquaint him +fully with the circumstances of this discovery. + +“I unceasingly entreated her to be my guest, were it only +for a few days. I even affected to believe that I would send +for our lawyer to come down and learn the curious details of +the finding of the papers; but she pleaded the absolute +necessity of her presence in London so strongly—she +betrayed, besides, something like a deep anxiety for some +coming event—that I was obliged to abandon my attempt, and +limit our acquaintance by the short two hours we had passed +together. + +“It will take some time, and another long letter, to tell +you of the many topics we talked over; for, our first +greeting over, we felt towards each other like old friends. +At last she arose to leave me, and never since the evening +you bade me good-bye did the same loneliness steal over my +heart as when I saw her little carriage drive away from the +door. + +“One distressing recollection alone clouds the memory of our +meeting: I suffered her to leave me without a promise to +return. I could not, without infringing delicacy, have +pressed her more to tell me of herself and her plans for the +future, and yet even now I regret that, at any hazard, I did +not risk the issue. The only pledge I could obtain was that +she would write to me. I am now at the end of my paper, but +not of my theme, of which you shall hear more in my next. +Meanwhile, if you are not in love with her, I am. + +“Your affectionate mother, + +“Marian Conway.” +</pre> +<p> +We have ourselves nothing to add to the narrative of this letter save the +remark that Mrs. Conway felt far more deeply than she expressed the +disappointment of not being admitted to Sybella's full confidence. The +graceful captivation of the young girl's manner, heightened in interest by +her friendless and lone condition,—the perilous path in life that +must be trodden by one so beautiful and unprotected,—had made a deep +impression on the old lady's heart, and she was sincere in self-reproach +that she had suffered her to leave her. +</p> +<p> +She tried again and again, by recalling all that passed between them, to +catch some clew to what Sybella's future pointed; but so guardedly had the +young girl shrouded every detail of her own destiny, that the effort was +in vain. Sybella had given an address in town, where Mrs. Conway's lawyer +might meet her if necessary, and with a last hope the old lady had written +a note to that place, entreating, as the greatest favor, that she would +come down and pass some days with her at the cottage; but her letter came +back to her own hands. Miss Kellett was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. A SUPPER. +</h2> +<p> +In long-measured sweep the waves flowed smoothly in upon the low shore at +Baldoyle of a rich evening in autumn, as a very old man tottered feebly +down to the strand and seated himself on a rock. Leaning his crossed arms +on his stout stick, he gazed steadily and calmly on the broad expanse +before him. Was it that they mirrored to him the wider expanse of that +world to which he was so rapidly tending; was it in that measured beat he +recognized the march of time, the long flow of years he could count, and +which still swept on, smooth but relentless; or was it that the unbroken +surface soothed by its very sameness a brain long wearied by its world +conflict? Whatever the cause, old Matthew Dunn came here every evening of +his life, and, seated on the self-same spot, gazed wistfully over the sea +before him. +</p> +<p> +Although his hair was snow-white and the wrinkles that furrowed his cheeks +betrayed great age, his eyes yet preserved a singular brightness, and in +their vivid glances showed that the strong spirit that reigned within was +still unquenched. The look of defiance they wore was the very essence of +the man,—one who accepted any challenge that fortune flung him, and, +whether victor or vanquished, only prepared for fresh conflict. +</p> +<p> +There was none of the weariness so often observable in advanced age about +his features, nothing of that expression that seems to crave rest and +peace, still as little was there anything of that irritable activity which +seems at times to' counterfeit past energy of temperament; no, he was +calm, stern, and self-possessed, the man who had fought this way from +boyhood, and who asked neither grace nor favor of fortune as he drew nigh +the end of the journey! +</p> +<p> +“I knew I'd find you here,” said a deep voice close to his ear. “How are +you?” +</p> +<p> +The old man looked up, and the next moment his son was in his arms. “Davy, +my own boy—Davy, I was just thinking of you; was it Friday or +Saturday you said you 'd come.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought I could have been here Saturday, father, but Lord Jedburg made +a point of my dining with him yesterday; and it was a great occasion,—three +Cabinet Ministers present, a new Governor-General of India too,—I +felt it was better to remain.” +</p> +<p> +“Right, Davy,—always right,—them's the men to keep company +with!” +</p> +<p> +“And how are you, sir? Are you hale and stout and hearty as ever?” said +Dunn, as he threw his head back, the better to look at the old man. +</p> +<p> +“As you see me, boy: a little shaky about the knees, somewhat tardy about +getting up of a morning; but once launched, the old craft can keep her +timbers together. But tell me the news, lad,—tell me the news, and +never mind <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, last week was a very threatening one for us. No money to be +had on any terms, discounts all suspended, shares failing everywhere, good +houses crashing on all sides, nothing but disasters with every post; but +we 've worked through it, sir. Glumthal behaved well, though at the very +last minute; and Lord Glengariff, too, deposited all his title-deeds at +Hanbridge's for a loan of thirty-six thousand; and then, as Downing Street +also stood to us, we weathered the gale; but it was close work, father,—so +close at one moment I telegraphed to Liverpool to secure a berth in the +'Arctic.'” +</p> +<p> +A sudden start from the old man stopped him, but he quickly resumed: +“Don't be alarmed, sir; my message excited no suspicion, for I sent a +fellow to New York by the packet, and now all is clear again, and we have +good weather before us.” +</p> +<p> +“The shares fell mighty low in the allotment, Davy; how was that?” +</p> +<p> +“Partly from the cause I have mentioned, father, the tightness in the +money market; partly that I suspect we had an enemy in the camp, that +daughter of Kellett's—” +</p> +<p> +“Did n't I say so? Did n't I warn you about her? Did n't I tell you that +it was the brood of the serpent that stung us first?” cried out the old +man, with a wild energy; “and with all that you would put her there with +the Lord and his family, where she 'd know all that was doing, see the +letters, and maybe write the answers to them! Where was the sense and +prudence of that, Davy?” +</p> +<p> +“She was an enthusiast, father, and I hoped that she'd have been content +to revel in that realm, but I was mistaken.” +</p> +<p> +There was a tone of dejection in the way he spoke the last words that made +the old man fix his eyes steadfastly on him. “Well, Davy, go on,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“I have no more to say, sir,” said he, in the same sad voice. “The Earl +has dismissed her, and she has gone away.” +</p> +<p> +“That's right, that's right,—better late than never. Neither luck +nor grace could come of Paul Kellett's stock. I hope that's the last we +'ll hear of them; and now, Davy, how is the great world doing? How is the +Queen?” +</p> +<p> +Dunn could scarcely suppress a smile as he answered this question, asked +as it was in real and earnest anxiety; and for some time the old man +continued to press him with eager inquiries as to the truth of various +newspaper reports about royal marriages and illustrious visitors, of which +it was strange how he preserved the recollection. +</p> +<p> +“You have not asked me about myself, father,” said Dunn at last, “and I +think <i>my</i> fortunes might have had the first place in your interest.” +</p> +<p> +“Sure you told me this minute that you didn't see the Queen,” said the old +man, peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“Very true, sir, I did not, but I saw her Minister. I placed before him +the services I had done his party, my long sacrifices of time, labor, and +money in their cause; I showed him that I was a man who had established +the strongest claim upon the Government.” +</p> +<p> +“And wouldn't be refused,—wouldn't be denied, eh, Davy?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, sir. I intimated that also, so far as it was prudent to do so.” +</p> +<p> +“The stronger the better, Davy; weak words show a faint heart. 'Tis +knowing the cost of your enmity will make men your friends.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe, sir, that in such dealings my own tact is my safest guide. It +is not to-day or yesterday that I have made acquaintance with men of this +order. For upwards of two-and-twenty years I have treated Ministers as my +equals.” +</p> +<p> +The old man heard this proud speech with an expression of almost ecstasy +on his features, and grasped his son's hand in a delight too great for +words. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, father, I have made our name a cognate number in this kingdom's +arithmetic. Men talk of Davenport Dunn as one recognized in the land.” +</p> +<p> +“'Tis true; 'tis true as the Bible!” muttered the old man. +</p> +<p> +“And what is more,” continued the other, warming with his theme, “what I +have done I have done for all time. I have laid the foundations deep, that +the edifice might endure. A man of inferior ambition would have been +satisfied with wealth, and the enjoyments it secures; he might have held a +seat in Parliament, sat on the benches beside the Minister, mayhap have +held some Lordship of This or Under-Secretaryship of that, selling his +influence ere it matured, as poor farmers sell their crops standing,—but +I preferred the' patient path. I made a waiting race of it, father, and +see what the prize is to be. Your son is to be a peer of Great Britain!” +</p> +<p> +The old man's mouth opened wide, and his eyes glared with an almost +unnatural brightness, as, catching his son with both arms, he tried to +embrace him. +</p> +<p> +“There, dear father,—there!” said Dunn, calmly; “you must not +over-excite yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“It's too much, Davy,—it's too much; I'll never live to see it.” +</p> +<p> +“That you will, sir,—for a time, indeed, I was half disposed to +stipulate that the title should be conferred upon yourself. It would have +thus acquired another generation in date, but I remembered how indisposed +you might feel to all the worry and care the mere forms of assuming it +might cost you. You would not like to leave this old spot, besides—” +</p> +<p> +“No, on no account,” said the old man, pensively. +</p> +<p> +“And then I thought that your great pride, after all, would be to hear of +me, your own Davy, as Lord Castle-dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought it would be plain Dunn,—Lord Dunn,” said the old man, +quickly. +</p> +<p> +“If the name admitted of it, I 'd have preferred it so.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is there against the name?” asked he angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, father; none have ever presumed to say a word against it. In +talking the matter over, however, with some members of the Cabinet, one or +two suggested Dunnscourt, but the majority inclined to Castledunn.” +</p> +<p> +“And what did your Lordship say?” asked the old man, with a gleeful +cackle. “Oh, Davy! I never thought the day would come that I 'd call you +by any name I 'd love so well as that you bore when a child; but see, now, +it makes my old eyes run over to speak to you as 'my Lord.'” +</p> +<p> +“It is a fair and honest pride, father,” said Dunn, caressingly. “We +stormed the breach ourselves, with none to help, none to cheer us on.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Davy, but it does me good to call you 'my Lord.'” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, you are only anticipating a week or two. Parliament will +assemble after the elections, and then be prorogued; immediately +afterwards there will be four elevations to the peerage,—mine one of +them.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord,” mumbled the old man, submissively. +</p> +<p> +“But this is not all, father; the same week that sees me gazetted a peer +will announce my marriage with an Earl's daughter.” +</p> +<p> +“Davy, Davy, this luck is coming too quick! Take care, my son, that +there's no pit before you.” +</p> +<p> +“I know what I am doing, sir, and so does the Lady Augusta Arden. You +remember the Earl of Glengariffs name?” +</p> +<p> +“Where you were once a tutor, is it?” +</p> +<p> +“The same, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“It was they that used to be so cruel to you, Davy, wasn't it?” +</p> +<p> +“I was a foolish boy, ignorant of the world and its ways at the time. I +fancied fifty things to mean offence which never were intended to wound +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, they made you eat in the servants' hall, I think.” +</p> +<p> +“Never, sir,—never; they placed me at a side table once or twice +when pressed for room.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was the room you had somewhere in a hayloft, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, sir. Your memory is all astray. My chamber was +small,—for the cottage had not much accommodation,—but I was +well and suitably lodged.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what was it they did?” muttered he to himself. “I know it was +something that made you cry the whole night after you came home.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, father! these are unprofitable memories,” said Dunn, sternly. +“Were one to treasure up the score of all the petty slights he may have +received in life, so that in some day of power he might acquit the debt, +success would be anything but desirable.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not so sure of that, Davy. I never forgot an injury.” +</p> +<p> +“I am more charitable, sir,” said Dunn, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“No, you 're not, Davy,—no, you 're not,” replied the old man, +eagerly, “but you think it's wiser to be never-minding; and so it would, +boy, if the man that injured you was to forget it too. Ay, Davy, that's +the rub. But <i>he</i> won't; he 'll remember to his dying day that +there's a score between you.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, father, that these maxims do not apply to persons of +condition, all whose instincts and modes of thought are unlike those of +the inferior classes.” +</p> +<p> +“They are men and women, Davy,—they are men and women.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn arose impatiently, observing that the night was growing chilly, and +it were better to return to the house. +</p> +<p> +“I mean to sup with you,” said he, gayly, “if you have anything to give +me.” +</p> +<p> +“A rasher and eggs, and a bladebone of cold mutton is all I have,” +muttered the old man, gloomily. “I would not let them buy a chicken this +week, when I saw the shares falling. Give me your arm, Davy, I've a slight +weakness in the knees; it always took me at this season since I was a +boy.” And mumbling how strange it was that one did not throw off childish +ailments as one grew older, he crept slowly along towards the house. +</p> +<p> +As they entered the kitchen, Dunn remarked with astonishment how little +there remained of the abundance and plenty which had so characterized it +of old. No hams, no flitches hung from the rafters; no sturdy barrels of +butter stood against the walls; the chicken-coop was empty; and even to +the good fire that graced the hearth there was a change, for a few +half-sodden turf-sods were all that lingered in the place. Several baskets +and hampers, carefully corded and sealed, were ranged beside the dresser, +in which Dunn recognized presents of wine, choice cordials and liqueurs, +that he had himself addressed to the old man. +</p> +<p> +“Why, father, how is this?” asked he, half angrily. “I had hoped for +better treatment at your hands. You have apparently not so much as tasted +any of the things I sent you.” +</p> +<p> +“There they are, indeed, Davy, Just as they came for 'Matthew Dunn, Esq., +with care,' written on them, and not a string cut!” +</p> +<p> +“And why should this be so, sir, may I ask?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, the truth is, Davy,” said he, with a sigh, “I often longed to open +them, and uncork a bottle of ale, or brandy, or, maybe, sherry, and sore +tempted I felt to do it when I was drinking my buttermilk of a night; but +then I 'd say to myself, 'Ain't you well and hearty? keep cordials for the +time when you are old, and feeble, and need support; don't be giving +yourself bad habits, that maybe some fifteen or twenty years hence you'll +be sorry for.' There's the reason, now, and I see by your face you don't +agree with me.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn made no answer, but taking up a knife he speedily cut the cordage of +a large hamper, and as speedily covered a table with a variety of bottles. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll drink this to the Queen's health, father,” said he, holding up a +flask of rare hock; “and this to the 'House of Lords,' for which estimable +body I mean to return thanks; and then, father, I 'll give 'Prosperity to +the landed interest and the gentry of Ireland,' for which you shall +speak.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn went gayly along in this jesting fashion while he emptied the hamper +of its contents, displaying along the dresser a goodly line of bottles, +whose shape and corkage guaranteed their excellence. Meanwhile an old +servant-woman had prepared the table, and was busily engaged with the +materials of the meal. +</p> +<p> +“If I only thought we were going to have a feast, Davy, I 'd have made her +light a fire in the parlor,” said the old man, apologetically. +</p> +<p> +“We're better here, sir; it's cosier and homelier, and I know you think +so. Keep your own corner, father, and I 'll sit here.” +</p> +<p> +With appetites sharpened by the sea air and a long fast, they seated +themselves at table and eat heartily. If their eyes met, a smile of +pleasant recognition was exchanged; for while the old man gazed almost +rapturously on his illustrious son, Dunn bent a look of scarcely inferior +admiration on that patriarchal face, whereon time seemed but to mellow the +traits that marked its wisdom. +</p> +<p> +“And what name do they give this, Davy?” said he, as he held up his glass +to the light. +</p> +<p> +“Burgundy, father,—the king of wines. The wine-merchant names this +Chambertin, which was the favorite drinking of the great Napoleon.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder at that, now,” said the old man, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“Wonder at it! And why so, father?—is it not admirable wine?” +</p> +<p> +“It's just for that reason, Davy; every sup I swallow sets me a-dreaming +of wonderful notions,—things I know the next minute is quite +impossible,—but I feel when the wine is on my lips as if they were +all easy and practicable.” +</p> +<p> +“After all, father, just remember that you cannot imagine anything one +half so strange as the change in our own actual condition. There you sit, +with your own clear head, to remind you of when and how you began life, +and here am I!—for I am, as sure as if I held my patent in my hand, +the Right Honorable Lord Castledunn.” +</p> +<p> +“To your Lordship's good health and long life,” said the old man, +fervently. +</p> +<p> +“And now to a worthier toast, father,—Lady Castledunn that is to +be.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20255.jpg" width="100%" alt="255 " /> +</div> +<p> +“With all my heart. Lady Castledunn, whoever she is.” +</p> +<p> +“I said, 'that is to be,' father; and I have given you her name,—the +Lady Augusta Arden.” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard of her,” muttered the old man, dreamily. +</p> +<p> +“An Earl's daughter, sir; the ninth Earl of Glengariff,” said Dunn, +pompously. +</p> +<p> +“What 's her fortune, Davy? She ought to bring you a good fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Say rather, sir, it is I that should make a splendid settlement,—so +proud a connection should meet its suitable acknowledgment.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand little about them things, Davy; but there's one thing I do +know, there never was the woman born I 'd make independent of me if she +was my wife. It is n't in nature, and it isn't in reason.” +</p> +<p> +“I can only say, sir, that with <i>your</i> principles you would not marry +into the peerage.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I 'd find one would suit me as well elsewhere.” +</p> +<p> +“That is very possible, sir,” was the dry reply. +</p> +<p> +“And if she cost less, maybe she'd wear as well,” said the old man, +peevishly; “but I suppose your Lordship knows best what suits your +Lordship's station.” +</p> +<p> +“That also is possible, sir,” said Dunn, coldly. +</p> +<p> +The old man's brow darkened, he pushed his glass from him, and looked +offended and displeased. +</p> +<p> +Dunn quickly saw the change that had passed over him, and cutting the wire +of a champagne flask, he filled out a foaming tumbler of the generous +wine, saying, “Drink this to your own good health, father,—to the +man whose wise teachings and prudent maxims have made his son a foremost +figure in the age, and who has no higher pride than to own where he got +his earliest lessons.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it true, Davy,—are them words true?” asked the old man, +trembling with eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“As true as that I sit here.” And Dunn drained his glass as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +The old man, partly wearied by the late sitting, partly confused by all +the strange tidings he had heard, drooped his head upon his chest and +breathed heavily, muttering indistinctly a few broken and incoherent +words. Lost in his own reveries, Dunn had not noticed this drowsy stupor, +when suddenly the old man said,— +</p> +<p> +“Davy,—are you here, Davy?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father, here beside you.” +</p> +<p> +“What a wonderful dream I had, Davy!” he continued; “I dreamed you were +made a lord, and that the Queen sent for you, and I was looking +everywhere, up and down, for the fine cloak with the ermine all over it +that you had to wear before her Majesty; sorra a one of me could find it +at all; at last I put my hand on it, and was going to put it on your +shoulders, when what should it turn out but a shroud!—ay, a shroud!” +</p> +<p> +“You are tired, father; these late hours are bad for you. Finish that +glass of wine, and I'll say good-night.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder what sign a shroud is, Davy?” mumbled the old man, +pertinaciously adhering to the dream. “A coffin, they say, is a wedding.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not a vigorous mind like yours, father, that lends faith to such +miserable superstitions.” +</p> +<p> +“That is just what they are not. Dreams is dreams, Davy.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, sir; and, being dreams, have neither meaning nor consistency.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know that more than me? Who told you they were miserable +superstitions? I call them warnings,—warnings that come out of our +own hearts; and they come to us in our sleep just because that's the time +our minds is not full of cares and troubles, but is just taking up +whatever chances to cross them. What made Luke Davis dream of a paycock's +feather the night his son was lost at sea? Answer me that if you can.” +</p> +<p> +“These are unprofitable themes, father; we only puzzle ourselves when we +discuss them. Difficult as they are to believe, they are still harder to +explain.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't want to explain them,” said the old man, sternly, for he deemed +that the very thought of such inquiry had in it something presumptuous. +</p> +<p> +“Well, father,” said Dunn, rising, “I sincerely trust you will sleep +soundly now, and be disturbed by none of these fancies. I must hasten +away. I leave for Belfast by the early train, and have a mass of letters +to answer before that.” +</p> +<p> +“When am I to see you again, Davy?” asked the old man, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Very soon, I hope, sir; as soon as I can, of that you may be certain,” +said he, cordially. +</p> +<p> +“Let it be soon, then, Davy, for the meeting does me good. I feel to-night +ten years younger than before you came, and it isn't the wine either; 'tis +the sight of your face and the touch of your hand. Good-night, and my +blessing be with you!” And a tear coursed down his seared cheek as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. A SHOCK. +</h2> +<p> +It was past midnight when Davenport Donn reached his own house. His return +was unexpected, and it was some time before he gained admission. The +delay, however, did not excite his impatience; his head was so deeply +occupied with cares and thoughts for the future that he was scarcely +conscious of the time he had been kept waiting. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Clowes, hurriedly summoned from his bed, came up full of apologies and +excuses. +</p> +<p> +“We did not expect you till to-morrow, sir, by the late packet,” said he, +in some confusion. Dunn made no answer, and the other went on: “Mr. +Hankes, too, thought it not improbable you would not be here before +Wednesday.” +</p> +<p> +“When was he here?” +</p> +<p> +“To-day sir; he left that oak box here this morning, and those letters, +sir.” +</p> +<p> +While Dunn carelessly turned over the superscriptions, among which he +found none to interest him, Clowes repeatedly pressed his master to take +some supper, or at least a biscuit and a glass of dry sherry. +</p> +<p> +“Send for Mr. Hankes,” said Dunn, at last, not condescending to notice the +entreaties of his butler. “Let him wait for me here when he comes.” And so +saying, he took a candle and passed upstairs. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Clowes was too well acquainted with his master's temper to obtrude +unseasonably upon him, so that he glided noiselessly away till such time +as he might be wanted. +</p> +<p> +When Dunn entered the drawing-room, he lighted the candles of the +candelabra over the chimney and some of those which occupied the branches +along the walls, and then, turning the key in the door, sat down to +contemplate the new and splendid decorations of the apartment. +</p> +<p> +The task had been confided to skilful hands, and no more attempted than +rooms of moderate size and recent architecture permitted. The walls, of a +very pale green, displayed to advantage a few choice pictures,—Italian +scenes by Turner, a Cuyp or two, and a Mieris,—all of them of a kind +to interest those who had no connoisseurship to be gratified. A clever +statuette of the French Emperor, a present graciously bestowed by himself, +stood on a console of malachite, and two busts of Whig statesmen occupied +brackets at either side of a vast mirror. Except these, there was little +ornament, and the furniture seemed rather selected for the indulgence of +ease and comfort than for show or display. A few bronzes, some curious +carvings in ivory, an enamelled miniature, and some illuminated missals +were scattered about amongst illustrated books and aquarelles, but in no +great profusion; nor was there that indiscriminate litter which too +frequently imparts to the salon the character of a curiosity-shop. The +rooms, in short, were eminently habitable. +</p> +<p> +Over the chimney in the back drawing-room was a clever sketch, by +Thorburn, of Lady Augusta Arden. She was in a riding-habit, and standing +with one hand on the mane of an Arab pony,—a beautiful creature +presented to her by Dunn. While he stood admiring the admirable likeness, +and revolving in his mind the strange traits of that thoughtfulness which +had supplied the picture,—for it was all Sybella Kellett's doing, +every detail of the decorations, the color of the walls, the paintings, +even to the places they occupied, had all been supplied by her,—Dunn +started, and a sudden sickness crept over him. On a little table beside +the fireplace stood a small gold salver, carved by Cellini, and which +served to hold a few objects, such as coins and rings and antique gems. +What could it be, then, amidst these century-old relics, which now +overcame and so unmanned him that he actually grew pale as death, and sank +at last, trembling, into a seat, cold perspiration on his face, and his +very lips livid? +</p> +<p> +Mixed up amid the articles of <i>virtù</i> on that salver was an +old-fashioned penknife with a massive handle of bloodstone, to which a +slip of paper was attached, containing two or three words in Miss +Kellett's hand. Now, the sight of this article in that place so overcame +Dunn that it was some minutes ere he could reach out his hand to take the +knife. When giving to Miss Kellett the charge of several rare and valuable +objects, he had intrusted her with keys to certain drawers, leaving to her +own judgment the task of selection. He had totally forgotten that this +knife was amongst these; but even had he remembered the circumstance, it +would not have caused alarm, naturally supposing how little worthy of +notice such an object would seem amidst others of price and rarity. And +yet there it was, and, by the slip of paper fastened to it, attesting a +special notice. +</p> +<p> +With an effort almost convulsive he at last seized the knife, and reads +the words. They were simply these: “A penknife, of which Mr. Dunn can +probably supply the history.” He dropped it as he read, and lay back, with +a sense of fainting sickness. +</p> +<p> +The men of action and energy can face the positive present perils of life +with a far bolder heart than they can summon to confront the terrors of +conscience-stricken imagination. In the one case danger assumes a shape +and a limit; in the other it looms out of distance, vast, boundless, and +full of mystery. She knew, then, the story of his boyish shame; she had +held the tale secretly in her heart through all their intercourse, reading +his nature, mayhap, through the clew of that incident, and tracing out his +path in life by the light it afforded; doubtless, too, she knew of his +last scene with her father,—that terrible interview, wherein the +dying man uttered a prediction that was almost a curse: she had treasured +up these memories, and accepted his aid with seeming frankness, and yet, +all the while that she played the grateful, trusting dependant, she had +been slowly pursuing a vengeance. If Paul Kellett had confided to her the +story of this childish transgression, he had doubtless revealed to her how +heavily it had been avenged—how, with a persistent, persecuting +hate, Dunn had tracked him, through difficulty and debt, to utter ruin. +She had therefore read him in his real character, and had devoted herself +to a revenge deeper than his own. Ay, he was countermined! +</p> +<p> +Such was the turn of his thoughts, as he sat there wiping the cold sweat +that broke from his forehead, and cursing the blindness that had so long +deceived him; and he, whose deep craft had carried him triumphant through +all the hardest trials of the world, the man who had encountered the most +subtle intellects, the great adventurer in a whole ocean of schemes, was +to be the dupe and sport of a girl! +</p> +<p> +And now, amid his self-accusings, there rose up that strange attempt at +compromise the baffled heart so often clings to, that he had, at times, +half suspected this deep and secret treachery,—that she had not been +either so secret or so crafty as she fancied herself. “If my mind,” so +reasoned he, “had not been charged with far weightier themes, I should +have detected her at once; all her pretended gratitude, all her assumed +thankfulness, had never deceived <i>me</i>; her insignificance was her +safeguard. And yet withal, I sometimes felt, she is too deeply in our +confidence,—she sees too much of the secret machinery of our plans. +While I exulted over the ignoble dependence she was doomed to,—while +I saw, with a savage joy, how our lots in life were reversed,—was I +self-deceived?” +</p> +<p> +So impressed was he with the idea of a game in which he had been defeated, +that he went over in his mind every circumstance he could recall of his +intercourse with her. Passages the simplest, words of little significance, +incidents the most trivial, he now charged with deepest meaning. Amidst +these, there was one for which he could find no solution,—why had +she so desired to be the owner of the cottage near Bantry? It was there +that Driscoll had discovered the Conway papers. Was it possible—the +thought flashed like lightning on him—that there was any concert +between the girl and this man? This suspicion no sooner occurred to him +than it took firm hold of his mind. None knew better than Dunn the stuff +Driscoll was made of, and knowing, besides, how he had, by his own seeming +luke-warmness, affronted that crafty schemer, it was by no means +improbable that such an alliance as this existed. And this last discovery +of documents,—how fortunate was it that Hankes had secured them! The +papers might or might not be important; at all events, the new Lord +Lackington might be brought to terms by their means; he would have come to +his peerage so unexpectedly that all the circumstances of the contested +claim would be strange to him. This was a point to be looked at; and as he +reasoned thus, again did he go back to Sybella Kellett, and what the +nature of her game might be, and how it should first display itself. +</p> +<p> +A tap at the door startled him. “Mr. Hankes is below, sir,” said Clowes. +</p> +<p> +“I will be with him in a moment,” replied Dunn; and again relapsed into +his musings. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. A MASTER AND MAN +</h2> +<p> +“Is she gone?—where to?” cried Dunn, without answering Mr. Hankes's +profuse salutations and welcomes. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; she sailed yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Sailed, and for where?” +</p> +<p> +“For Malta, sir, in the Euxine steamer. Gone to her brother in the Crimea. +One of the people saw her go on board at Southampton.” +</p> +<p> +“Was she alone?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite alone, sir. My man was present when she paid the boatman. She had +very little luggage, but they demanded half a guinea—” +</p> +<p> +“What of Driscoll? Have you traced him?” asked Dunn, impatient at the +minuteness of this detail. +</p> +<p> +“He left London for Havre on the 12th of last month, sir, with a passport +for Italy. He carried one of Hart-well's circulars for three hundred +pounds, and was to have taken a courier at Paris, but did not.” +</p> +<p> +“And where is he now?” asked Dunn, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“I am unable to say, sir,” said Hankes, almost abjectly, for he felt +self-rebuked in the acknowledgment. “My last tidings of him came from +Como,—a new Hydropathic Institution there.” +</p> +<p> +“Expecting to find the Viscount Lackington,” said Dunn, with a sardonic +laugh. “Death was before you, Master Driscoll; you did not arrive in time +for even the funeral. I say, Hankes,” added he, quickly, “what of the new +Viscount? Has he answered our letters?” +</p> +<p> +“Not directly, sir; but there came a short note signed 'C. Christopher,' +stating that his Lordship had been very ill, and was detained at Ems, and +desiring to have a bank post-bill for two hundred forwarded to him by +return.” +</p> +<p> +“You sent it?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, sir; the letter had some details which proved it to be +authentic.” +</p> +<p> +“And the sum a trifle,” broke in Dunn. “She is scarcely at Malta by this, +Hankes. What am I thinking of? She 'll not reach it before next Friday or +Saturday. Do you remember young Kellett's regiment?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, find it out. I'll write to the Horse Guards tomorrow to have him +promoted,—to give him an Ensigncy in some regiment serving in India. +Whom do you know at Malta, Hankes?” +</p> +<p> +“I know several, sir; Edmond Grant, in the Storekeeper's Department; James +Hocksley, Second Harbor-Master; Paul Wesley, in the Under-Secretary's +Office.” +</p> +<p> +“Any of them will do. Telegraph to detain her; that her brother is coming +home; she must not go to the Crimea.” There was a stern fixity of purpose +declared in the way these last words were spoken, which at the same time +warned Hankes from asking any explanation of them. “And now for business. +What news from Arigua,—any ore?” +</p> +<p> +“Plenty, sir; the new shaft has turned out admirably. It is yielding +upwards of twenty-eight per cent, and Holmes offers thirty pounds a ton +for the raw cobalt.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't care for that, sir. I asked how were shares,” said Dunn, +peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“Not so well as might be expected, sir. The shake at Glengariff was felt +widely.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? The shares fell, but they rose again; they suffered one +of those fluctuations that attend on all commercial or industrial +enterprises; but they rallied even more quickly than they went down. When +I left town yesterday, they were at one hundred and forty-three.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it, sir. I received your telegram, and I showed it to Bayle and +Childers, but they only smiled, and said, 'So much the better for the +holders.'” +</p> +<p> +“I defy any man—I don't care what may be his abilities or what his +zeal—to benefit this country!” exclaimed Dunn, passionately. “There +is amongst Irishmen, towards each other, such an amount of narrow jealousy—mean, +miserable, envious rivalry—as would swamp the best intentions, and +destroy the wisest plans that ever were conceived. May my fate prove a +warning to whoever is fool enough to follow me!” +</p> +<p> +Was it that when Dunn thus spoke he hoped to persuade Mr. Hankes that he +was a noble-hearted patriot, sorrowing over the errors of an ungrateful +country? Did he fancy that his subtle lieutenant, the associate of all his +deep intrigues, the confidant of his darkest schemes, was suddenly to see +in him nothing but magnanimity of soul and single-hearted devotedness? No, +I cannot presume to say that he indulged in any such delusion. He uttered +the words just to please himself,—to flatter himself! as some men +drink off a cordial to give them Dutch courage. There are others that +enunciate grand sentiments, high sounding and magniloquent, the very music +and resonance of their words imparting a warm glow within them. +</p> +<p> +It is a common error to imagine that such “stage thunder” is confined to +that after-dinner eloquence in whose benefit the canons of truth-telling +are all repealed. Far from it. The practice enters into every hour of +every-day life, and the greatest knave that ever rogued never cheated the +world half as often as he cheated himself! +</p> +<p> +As though it had been a glass of brown sherry that he swallowed, Mr. Dunn +felt “better” after he had uttered these fine words. He experienced a +proud satisfaction in thinking what a generous heart beat within his own +waistcoat; and thus reassured, he thought well of the world at large. +</p> +<p> +“And Ossory, Mr. Hankes,—how is Ossory?” +</p> +<p> +“A hundred and fourteen, with a look upwards,” responded Mr. Hankes. +“Since the day of 'the run' deposits have largely increased. Indeed, I may +say we are now the great country gentry bank of the midland. We discount +freely, too, and we lend generously.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall want some ready money soon, Hankes,” said Dunn, as he paced the +room with his hands behind his back, and his head bent forward. “You 'll +have to sell out some of those Harbor shares.” +</p> +<p> +“Bantry's, sir? Glumthal's have them as securities!” +</p> +<p> +“So they have; I forgot. Well, St Columbs, or the Patent Fuel, or that +humbug discovery of Patterson's,—the Irish Asphalt There's an +American fellow, by the way, wants that.” +</p> +<p> +“They're very low,—very low, all these, sir,” said Hankes, +lugubriously. “They sank so obstinately that I just withdrew our name +quietly, so that we can say any day we have long ceased any connection +with these enterprises.” +</p> +<p> +“She 'll scarcely make any delay in Malta, Hankes. Your message ought to +be there by Thursday at latest” And then, as if ashamed of showing where +his thoughts were straying, he said, “All kinds of things—odds and +ends of every sort—are jostling each other in my brain to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“You want rest, sir; you want nine or ten hours of sound sleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Do I look fatigued or harassed?” asked Dunn, with an eagerness that +almost startled the other. +</p> +<p> +“A little tired, sir; not more than that,” cautiously answered Hankes. +</p> +<p> +“But I don't <i>feel</i> tired. I am not conscious of any weariness,” said +he, pettishly. “I suspect that you are not a very acute physiognomist, +Hankes. I have told you,” added he, hastily, “I shall want some twelve or +fifteen thousand pounds soon. Look out, too, for any handsome country-seat—in +the South, I should prefer it—that may be in the market I 'll not +carry out my intentions about Kellett's Court. It is a tumble-down old +concern, and would cost us more in repairs than a handsome house fit to +inhabit.” +</p> +<p> +“Am I to have the honor of offering my felicitations, sir?” said Hankes, +obsequiously; “are the reports of the newspapers as to a certain happy +event to be relied on?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean as to my marriage? Yes, perfectly true. I might, in a mere +worldly point of view, have looked higher,—not higher, certainly +not,—but I might have contracted what many would have called a more +advantageous connection; in fact, I might have had any amount of money I +could care for, but I determined for what I deemed the wiser course. You +are probably not aware that this is a very long attachment. Lady Augusta +and myself have been as good as engaged to each other for—for a +number of years. She was very young when we met first,—just emerging +from early girlhood; but the sentiment of her youthful choice has never +varied, and, on <i>my</i> part, the attachment has been as constant.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir!” said Hankes, sorely puzzled what to make of this +declaration. +</p> +<p> +“I know,” said Dunn, returning rapidly to the theme, “that nothing will +seem less credible to the world at large than a man of <i>my</i> stamp +marrying for love! The habit is to represent us as a sort of human +monster, a creature of wily, money-getting faculties, shrewd, +over-reaching, and successful. They won't give us feelings, Hankes. They +won't let us understand the ties of affection and the charms of a home. +Well,” said he, after a long pause, “there probably never lived a man more +mistaken, more misconceived by the world than myself.” +</p> +<p> +Hankes heaved a heavy sigh; it was, he felt, the safest thing he could do, +for he did not dare to trust himself with a single word. The sigh, +however, was a most profound one, and, plainly as words, declared the +compassionate contempt he entertained for a world so short-sighted and so +meanly minded. +</p> +<p> +“After all,” resumed Dunn, “it is the penalty every man must pay for +eminence. The poor little nibblers at the rind of fortune satisfy their +unsuccess when they say, 'Look at him with all his money!'” +</p> +<p> +Another and deeper sigh here broke from Hankes, who was really losing all +clew to the speaker's reflections. +</p> +<p> +“I'm certain, Hankes, you have heard observations of this kind five +hundred times.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, have I, sir,” answered he, in hurried confusion,—“five +thousand!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what was your reply, sir? How did you meet such remarks?” said +Dunn, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Put them down, sir,—put them down at once; that is, I acknowledged +that there was a sort of fair ground; I agreed in thinking that, +everything considered, and looking to what we saw every day around us in +life—and Heaven knows it is a strange world, and the more one sees +of it the less he knows—” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm curious to hear,” said Dunn, with a stern fixedness of manner, “in +what quarter you heard these comments on my character.” +</p> +<p> +Hankes trembled from head to foot. He was in the witness-box, and felt +that one syllable might place him in the dock. +</p> +<p> +“You never heard one word of the kind in your life, sir, and you <i>know</i> +it,” said Dunn, with a savage energy of tone that made the other sick with +fear. “If ever there was a man whose daily life refuted such a calumny, it +was myself.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn's emotions were powerful, and he walked the room from end to end with +long and determined strides. Suddenly halting at last, he looked Hankes +steadily in the face, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“It was the Kellett girl dared thus to speak of me, was it not? The truth, +sir,—the truth; I <i>will</i> have it out of you!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I must own you are right. It was Miss Kellett.” +</p> +<p> +Heaven forgive you, Mr. Hankes, for the lie, inasmuch as you never +intended to tell it till it was suggested to you. +</p> +<p> +“Can you recall the circumstance which elicited this remark? I mean,” said +he, with an affected carelessness of manner, “how did it occur? You were +chatting together,—discussing people and events, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; just so.” +</p> +<p> +“And she observed—Do you chance to remember the phrase she used?” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my word of honor I do not, sir,” said Hankes, with a sincere +earnestness. +</p> +<p> +“People who fancy themselves clever—and Miss Kellett is one of that +number—have a trick of eliminating every trait of a man's character +from some little bias,—some accidental bend given to his youthful +mind. I am almost certain—nay, I feel persuaded—it was by some +such light that young lady read me. She had heard I was remarkable as a +schoolboy for this, that, or t' other,—I saved my pocket-money, or +lent it out at interest. Come, was it not with the aid of an ingenious +explanation of this kind she interpreted me?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes shook his head, and looked blankly disconsolate. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I value such people's estimate of me,” said Dunn, angrily. +“Calumniate, vilify, depreciate as they will, here I stand, with my foot +on the first step of the peerage. Ay, Hankes, I have made my own terms; +the first 'Gazette' after the new elections will announce Mr. Davenport +Dunn as Lord Castledunn.” +</p> +<p> +Hankes actually bounded on his chair. Had he been the faithful servant of +some learned alchemist, watching patiently for years the wondrous +manipulations and subtle combinations of his master, following him from +crucible to crucible and from alembic to alembic, till the glorious moment +when, out of smoke and vapor, the yellow glow of the long-sought metal +gleamed before his eyes, he could not have regarded his chief with a more +devoted homage. +</p> +<p> +Dunn read “worship” in every lineament of the other's face. It was as +honest veneration as his nature could compass, and, sooth to say, the +great man liked it, and sniffed his incense with the-air of Jove himself. +</p> +<p> +“I mean to take care of you, Hankes,” said he, with a bland +protectiveness. “I do not readily forget the men who have served me +faithfully. Of course we must draw out of all our enterprises here. I +intend at once to realize—yes, Hankes—to realize a certain +comfortable sum and withdraw.” +</p> +<p> +These were not very explicit nor very determinate expressions, but they +were amply intelligible to him who heard them. +</p> +<p> +“To wind up, sir, in short,” said Hankes, significantly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Hankes, 'to wind up.'” +</p> +<p> +“A difficult matter,—a very difficult matter, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Difficulties have never deterred me from anything, Mr. Hankes. The only +real difficulty I acknowledge in life is to choose which of them I will +adopt; that done, the rest is matter of mere detail.” Mr. Dunn now seated +himself at a table, and in the calm and quiet tone with which he treated +every business question, he explained to Hankes his views on each of the +great interests he was concerned in. Shares in home speculations were to +be first exchanged for foreign scrip, and these afterwards sold. Of the +vast securities of private individuals pledged for loans, or given as +guarantees, only such were to be redeemed as belonged to persons over whom +Dunn had no control. Depositary as he was of family secrets, charged with +the mysterious knowledge of facts whose publication would bring ruin and +disgrace on many, this knowledge was to have its price and its reward; and +as he ran his finger down the list of names so compromised, Hankes could +mark the savage exultation of his look while he muttered unintelligibly to +himself. +</p> +<p> +Dunn stopped at the name of the Viscount Lackington, and, leaning his head +on his hand, said, “Don't let us forget that message to Malta.” +</p> +<p> +“A heavy charge that, sir,” said Hankes. “The Ossory has got all his +Lordship's titles; and we have set them down, too, for twenty-one thousand +seven hundred above their value.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know who is the Viscount Lackington?” asked Dunn, with a strange +significance. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Neither do I,” said Dunn, hurriedly following him. “Mayhap it may cost +some thousands of pounds and some tiresome talk to decide that question; +at all events, it will cost you or me nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“The Earl of Glengariff's claim must, I suppose, be satisfied, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, it must, and the very first of all! But I am not going to +enter minutely into these things now, Hankes. I need a little of that rest +you were just recommending me to take. Be here to-morrow at twelve; do not +mention my arrival to any one, but come over with the Ossory statement and +the two or three other most important returns.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hankes rose to withdraw; and as he moved towards the door, his eye +caught the oaken box, with three large seals placed by his own hand. +</p> +<p> +“You have scarcely had time to think about these papers, sir; but they +will have their importance when that peerage case comes to be discussed. +The Lackingtons were Conways—” +</p> +<p> +“Let me have a look at them,” said Dunn, rapidly. +</p> +<p> +Hankes broke open the paper bands, and unlocked the box. For some time he +searched through the documents as they lay, and then emptying them all +upon the table, he went over them more carefully, one by one. “Good +heavens!” cried he, “how can this be?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” exclaimed Dunn; “you do not pretend that they are +missing?” +</p> +<p> +“They are gone,—they are not here!” said the other, almost fainting +from agitation. +</p> +<p> +“But these are the seals you yourself fastened on the box.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it,—I see it; and I can make nothing of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Hankes, Mr. Hankes, this is serious,” said Dunn, as he bent upon the +affrighted man a look of heart-searching significance. +</p> +<p> +“I swear before Heaven—I take my most solemn oath—” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind swearing; how could they have been extricated? That is the +question to be solved.” +</p> +<p> +Hankes examined the seals minutely; they were his own. He scrutinized the +box on every side to see if any other mode of opening it existed; but +there was none. He again went through the papers,—opening, shaking, +sifting them, one by one; and then, with a low, faint sigh, he sank down +upon a chair, the very image of misery and dismay. “Except it was the +devil himself—” +</p> +<p> +“The devil has plenty of far more profitable work on hand, sir,” said +Dunn, sternly; and then, in a calmer tone, added, “Is it perfectly certain +that you ever saw the documents you allude to? and when?” +</p> +<p> +“Saw them? Why, I held them in my hands for several minutes. It was I +myself replaced them in the box before sealing it.” +</p> +<p> +“And what interval of time occurred between your reading them and sealing +them up?” +</p> +<p> +“A minute,—half a minute, perhaps; stay,” cried he, suddenly, “I +remember now that I left the room to call the landlord. Miss Kellett +remained behind.” +</p> +<p> +With a dreadful imprecation Dunn struck his forehead with his hand, and +sank into his seat. “What cursed folly,” cried he, bitterly, “and what +misfortune and ruin may it beget!” +</p> +<p> +“It was then that she took them,—that was the very moment,” muttered +Hankes, as he followed on his own dreary thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“My father was right,” said Dunn, below his breath; “that girl will bring +sorrow on us yet.” +</p> +<p> +“But, after all, what value could they have in her eyes? She knows nothing +about the questions they refer to; she could not decipher the very titles +of the documents.” +</p> +<p> +“I ought to have known,—I ought to have foreseen it,” cried Dunn, +passionately. “What has my whole life been but a struggle against the +blunders, the follies, and the faults of those who should have served me! +Other men are fortunate in their agents. It was reserved for me to have +nothing but incapables, or worse.” +</p> +<p> +“If you mean to include <i>me</i> in either of these categories, sir, will +you please to say which?” said Hankes, reddening with anger. +</p> +<p> +“Take your choice,—either, or both!” said Dunn, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“A man must be very strong in honesty that can afford to speak in this +fashion of others,” said Hankes, his voice tremulous with rage. “At all +events, the world shall declare whether he be right or not.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean, 'the world shall declare'? Is it that what has passed +between us here can be made matter for public notoriety? Would you dare—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I would dare a great deal, sir, if I was pushed to it,” said Hankes, +scoffingly. “I would dare, for instance, to let the world we are speaking +of into some of the mysteries of modern banking. I have a vast amount of +information to give as to the formation of new companies,—how shares +are issued, cancelled, and reissued. I could tell some amusing anecdotes +about title-deeds of estates that never were transferred—” +</p> +<p> +Why is it that Mr. Hankes, now in the full flood of his sarcasm, stops so +suddenly? What has arrested his progress; and why does he move so +hurriedly towards the door, which Dunn has, however, already reached +before him and locked? Was it something in the expression of Dunn's +features that alarmed him?—truly, there was in his look what might +have appalled a stouter heart,—or was it that Dunn had suddenly +taken something, he could not discern what, from a drawer, and hastily +hidden it in his pocket? +</p> +<p> +“Merciful heavens!” cried Hankes, trembling all over, “you would not dare—” +</p> +<p> +“Like yourself, sir, I would dare much if pushed to it,” said Dunn, in a +voice that now had recovered all its wonted composure. “But come, Hankes, +it is not a hasty word or an ungenerous speech is to break up the ties of +a long friendship. I was wrong; I was unjust; I ask your pardon for it. +You have served me too faithfully and too well to be requited thus. Give +me your hand, and say you forgive me.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir, I must own I scarcely expected—that is, I never +imagined—” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, do not do it grudgingly; tell me, frankly, all is forgiven.” +</p> +<p> +Hankes took the outstretched hand, and muttered some broken, +unintelligible words. +</p> +<p> +“There, now, sit down and think no more of this folly.” He opened a large +pocket-book as he spoke, and searching for some time amongst its contents, +at last took forth a small slip of paper. “Ay, here it is,” said he: +“'Sale of West Indian estates; resident commissionership; two thousand per +annum, with allowance for house,' &c. Sir Hepton Wallis was to have +it. Would this suit you, Hankes? The climate agrees with many +constitutions.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to the climate,” said Hankes, trembling with eagerness and +delight, “I 'd not fear it.” +</p> +<p> +“And then with ample leave of absence from time to time, and a retiring +allowance, after six years' service, of—if I remember aright—twelve +hundred a year. What say you? It must be filled up soon. Shall I write +your name instead of Sir Hepton's?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, sir, this is, indeed, generosity!” +</p> +<p> +“No, Hankes, mere justice; nothing more. The only merit I can lay claim to +in the matter is the sacrifice I make in separating myself from a +well-tried and trusted adherent.” +</p> +<p> +“These reports shall be ready immediately, sir,” said Hankes. “I 'll not +go to bed to-night—” +</p> +<p> +“We have ample time for everything, Hankes; don't fatigue yourself, and be +here at twelve to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. ANNESLEY BEECHER IN A NEW PART. +</h2> +<p> +About five weeks have elapsed since we last sojourned with Grog Davis and +his party at the little village of Holbach. Five weeks are a short period +in human life, but often enough has it sufficed to include great events, +and to make marvellous changes in a man's fortunes! Now, the life they all +led here might seem well suited to exclude such calculations. Nothing +seemed less likely to elicit vicissitudes. It was a calm, tame monotony; +each day so precisely like its predecessor that it was often hard to +remember how the week stole on. The same landscape, with almost the same +effects of sun and shadow, stretched daily before their eyes; the same +gushing water foamed and fretted; the same weeds bent their heads to the +flood; the self-same throbbing sounds of busy mills mingled with the +rushing streams; the very clouds, as they dragged themselves lazily up the +mountain side, and then broke into fragments on the summit, seemed the +same; and yet in that little world of three people there was the endless +conflict of hope and fear, and all the warring interests which distract +great masses of men filled their hearts and engaged their minds. +</p> +<p> +At first Beecher chafed and fretted at the delay; Lizzy appeared but +rarely; and when she did it was with a strange reserve, almost amounting +to constraint, that he could not comprehend. She did not seem angry or +offended with him, simply more distant. Her high spirits, too, were gone; +no more the light-hearted, gay, and playful creature he remembered, she +was calm even to seriousness. A look of thoughtful preoccupation marked +her as she sat silently gazing on the landscape, or watching the eddies of +the circling river. There was nothing—save a slight increase of +paleness—to denote sorrow in her appearance; her features were +placid, and her expression tranquil. If her voice had lost its ringing +music, it had acquired a tone of deep and melting softness that seemed to +leave an echo in the heart that heard it. To this change, which at first +chilled and repelled Beecher, he grew day by day to accustom himself. If +her mood was one less calculated to enliven and to cheer him, it was yet +better adapted to make his confidence. He could talk to her more freely of +himself than heretofore. No longer did he stand in dread of the sharp and +witty epigrams with which she used to quiz his opinions and ridicule his +notions of life. She would listen to him now with patience, if not with +interest, and she would hear him with attention as he talked for hours on +the one sole theme he loved,—himself. And, oh, young ladies,—not +that you need any counsels of mine in such matters; but if, perchance, my +words of advice should have any weight with you,—let me impress this +lesson on your hearts: that for the man who is not actually in love with +you, but only “spooney,” there is no such birdlime as the indulgence of +his selfishness. Let him talk away about his dogs and his horses, his +exploits in China or the Crimea, his fishings in Norway, his yachtings in +the Levant; let him discourse about his own affairs, of business as well +as pleasure; how briefs are pouring in or patients multiply; hear him as +he tells you of his sermon before the bishop, or his examination at +Burlington House,—trust me, no theme will make <i>him</i> so +eloquent nor <i>you</i> so interesting. Of all “serials,”—as the +phrase is,—there is none can be carried out to so many “numbers” as +Egotism; and though the snowball grows daily bigger, it rolls along even +more easily. +</p> +<p> +I am not going to say that Lizzy Davis did this of “prepense;” I am even +candid enough to acknowledge to you that I am not quite sure I can +understand her. She had ways of acting and thinking peculiarly her own. +She was not always what the French call <i>conséquente</i>, but she was +marvellously quick to discover she was astray, and “try back.” She was one +of those people who have more difficulty in dealing with themselves than +with others. She had an instinctive appreciation of those whose natures +she came in contact with, joined to a strong desire to please; and, +lastly, there was scarcely a human temperament with which she could not +sympathize somewhere. She let Beecher talk on, because it pleased <i>him</i>, +and pleasing <i>him</i> became, at last, a pleasure to herself. When he +recalled little traits of generosity, the kind things he had done here, +the good-natured acts he had done there, she led him on to feel a more +manly pride in himself than when recounting tales of his sharp practices +on the turf and his keen exploits in the ring. +</p> +<p> +Beecher saw this leaning on her part, and ascribed it all to her +“ignorance of the world,” and firmly believed that when she saw more of +life she would think more highly of his intellect than even of his heart. +Poor fellow! they were beautifully balanced, and phrenology for once would +have its triumph in showing the mental and the moral qualities in +equilibrium. After the first week they were always together, for Davis was +continually on the road,—now to Neuwied, now to Höchst. The letters +and telegrams that he despatched and received were incredible in number; +and when jested with on the amount of his correspondence by Beecher, his +only answer was, “It's all <i>your</i> business, my boy,—the whole +concerns <i>you</i>.” Now, Annesley Beecher was far too much of a +philosopher to trouble his head about anything which could be avoided, and +to find somebody who devoted himself to his interests, opened and read the +dunning appeals of creditors, answered their demands by “renewals,” or +cajoled them by promises, was one of the highest luxuries he could +imagine. Indeed, if Grog would only fight for him and go to jail for him, +he 'd have deemed his happiness complete. “And who knows,” thought he, +“but it may come to that yet? I seem to have thrown a sort of fascination +over the old fellow that may lead him any lengths.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile there was extending over himself another web of fascination not +the less complete that he never perceived it His first waking thought was +of Lizzy. As he came down to breakfast, his dress showed how studiously he +cultivated appearance. The breakfast over, he sat down to his German +lesson beside her with a patient perseverance that amazed him. There he +was, with addled head and delighted heart, conjugating “Ich liebe,” and +longing for the day when he should reach the imperative mood; and then +they walked long country walks into the dark beech woods, along grassy +alleys where no footfall sounded, or they strayed beside some river's +bank, half fancying that none had ever strolled over the same sward +before. And how odd it was to see the Honorable Annesley Beecher, the +great lion of the Guards' Club, the once celebrity of the Coventry, +carrying a little basket on his arm, like a stage peasant in a comic +opera, with the luncheon, or, mayhap, bearing a massive stone in his arms +to bridge a stream for Lizzy to cross. Poor fellow! he did these things +with a good will, and even in his awkwardness there was that air of +“gentleman” which never left him; and then he would laugh so heartily at +his own inaptitude, and join in' Lizzy's mirth at the mischances that +befell him. And was it not delightful, through all these charming scenes, +on the high mountain-aide, in the deep heather, or deep in some tangled +glen, with dog-roses and honeysuckle around them, he could still talk of +himself, and she could listen? +</p> +<p> +For the life of him he could not explain how it was that the time slipped +over so pleasantly. As he himself said, “there was not much to see, and +nothing to do,” and yet, somehow, the day was always too short for either. +He wanted to write to his brother, to his sister-in-law, to Dunn, to his +man of business,—meaning the Jew who raised money for him,—but +never could find time. He was so puzzled by the problem that he actually +asked Lizzy to explain it; but she only laughed. +</p> +<p> +Now and then, when he chanced to be all alone, a sudden thought would +strike him that he was leading a life of inglorious idleness. He would +count up how many weeks it was since he had seen a “Bell's Life,” and try +to calculate what races were coming off that very same day; then he would +draw a mind-picture of Tattersall's on a settling day, and wonder who were +the defaulters, and who were getting passports for the Continent; and he +would wind up his astonishment by thinking that Grog was exactly leading +the game indolent existence, “although we have that 'grand book with the +martingale,' and might be smashing the bank at Baden every night.” +</p> +<p> +That a man should have the cap of Fortunatus, and yet never try it on, +even just for the experiment's sake, was downright incredible. You might +not want money,—not that he had ever met the man in that predicament +yet,—you might, perhaps, have no very strong desire for this, that, +or t' other; yet, somehow, “the power was such a jolly thing!” The fact +that you could go in and win whenever you pleased was a marvellously fine +consideration. As for himself,—so he reasoned,—he did not +exactly know why, but he thought his present life a very happy one. He +never was less beset with cares: he had no duns; there was not a tailor in +Bond Street knew his address; the very Jews had not traced him; he was as +free as air. Like most men accustomed to eat and drink of the best, the +simple fare of an humble inn pleased him. Grog, whenever he saw him, was +good-humored and gay; and as for Lizzy, “of all the girls he had ever met, +she was the only one ever understood him.” +</p> +<p> +As Annesley Beecher comprehended his own phrase, being “understood” was no +such bad thing. It meant, in the first place, a generous appreciation of +all motives for good, even though they never went beyond motives; a +hopeful trust in some unseen, unmanifested excellence of character; a +broadcast belief that, making a due allowance for temptations, human +frailties, and the doctrine of chances,—this latter most of all,—the +balance would always be found in favor of good <i>versus</i> evil; and, +secondly, that all the imputed faults and vices of such natures as <i>his</i> +were little else than the ordinary weaknesses of “the best of us.” Such is +being “understood,” good reader; and, however it may chance with others, I +hope that “you and I may.” +</p> +<p> +But Lizzy Davis understood him even better and deeper than all this. She +knew him, if not better than I do myself, at least, better than I am able +to depict to you. Apart, then, from the little “distractions” I have +mentioned, Beecher was very happy. It had been many a long day since he +felt himself so light-hearted and so kindly-minded to the world at large. +He neither wished any misfortune to befall Holt's “stable” or Shipman's +“three-year old;” he did not drop off to sleep hoping that Beverley might +break down or “Nightcap” spring a back sinew; and, stranger than all, he +actually could awake of a morning and not wish himself the Viscount +Lackington. Accustomed as he was to tell Lizzy everything, to ask her +advice about all that arose, and her explanation for all that puzzled him, +he could not help communicating this new phenomenon of his temperament, +frankly acknowledging that it was a mystery he could not fathom. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing seems ever to puzzle you, Lizzy,”—he had learned to call +her Lizzy some time back,—“so just tell me what can you make of it? +Ain't it strange?” +</p> +<p> +“It <i>is</i> strange,” said she, with a faint smile, in which a sort of +sad meaning mingled. +</p> +<p> +“So strange,” resumed he, “that had any one said to me, 'Beecher, you 'll +spend a couple of months in a little German inn, with nothing to do, +nothing to see, and, what's more, it will not bore you,' I 'd have +answered, 'Take you fifty to one in hundreds on the double event,—thousands +if you like it better,'—and see, hang me if I should n't have lost!” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not. If you had a heavy wager on the matter, it is likely you +would not have come.” +</p> +<p> +“Who knows! Everything is Fate in this world. Ah, you may laugh; but it +is, though. What else, I ask you—what brings you here just now?—why +am I walking along the river with you beside me?” +</p> +<p> +“Partly, because, I hope, you find it pleasant,” said she, with a droll +gravity, while something in her eyes seemed to betoken that her own +thoughts amused her. +</p> +<p> +“There must be more than that,” said he, thoughtfully, for he felt the +question a knotty one, and rather liked to show that he did not skulk the +encounter with such difficulties. +</p> +<p> +“Partly, perhaps, because it pleases <i>me</i>,” said she, in the same +quiet tone. +</p> +<p> +He shook his head doubtingly; he had asked for an explanation, and neither +of these supplied that want. “At all events, Lizzy, there is one thing you +will admit,—if it is Fate, one can't help it,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“If you mean by that that you must walk along here at my side, whether you +will or not, just try, for experiment's sake, if you could not cross over +the stream and leave me to go back alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave <i>you</i> to go back alone!” cried he, upon whom the last words +were ever the most emphatic. “But why so, Lizzy; are you angry with me?—are +you weary of me?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I 'm not angry with you,” said she, gently. +</p> +<p> +“Wearied, then—tired of me—bored?” +</p> +<p> +“Must I pay you compliments on your agreeability, Mr. Beecher?” +</p> +<p> +“There it is again,” broke he in, pettishly. “It was only yesterday you +consented to call me Annesley, and you have gone back from it already,—forgotten +it all!” +</p> +<p> +“No, I forget very seldom—unfortunately.” This last word was uttered +to herself and for herself. +</p> +<p> +“You will call me Annesley, then?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, if you wish it,—Annesley.” There was a pause before she spoke +the last word; and when she did utter it, her accent faltered slightly, +and a faint blush tinged her cheek. +</p> +<p> +As for Beecher, his heart swelled high and proudly; he felt at that moment +a strange warm glow within him that counterfeited courage; for an instant +he thought he would have liked something perilous to confront,—something +in encountering which he might stand forth before Lizzy as a Paladin. Was +it that some mysterious voice within him whispered, “She loves you; her +heart is yours”? and, oh, if so, what a glorious sentiment must there be +in that passion, if love can move a nature like this, and mould it to one +great or generous ambition! +</p> +<p> +“Lizzy, I want to talk to you seriously,” said he, drawing her arm within +his own. “I have long wanted to tell you something; and if you can hear it +without displeasure, I swear to you I 'd not change with Lackington +to-morrow! Not that it's such good fun being a younger son,—few men +know that better than myself; still, I repeat, that if you only say 'yes' +to me, I pledge you my oath I 'd rather hear it than be sure I was to win +the Oaks,—ay, by Heaven! Oaks and Derby, too! You know now what I +mean, dearest Lizzy, and do not, I beseech you, keep me longer in +suspense.” +</p> +<p> +She made no answer; her cheek became very pale, and a convulsive shudder +passed over her; but she was calm and unmoved the next instant. +</p> +<p> +“If you love another, Lizzy,” said he, and his lips trembled violently, +“say so frankly. It's only like all my other luck in life, though nothing +was ever as heavy as this.” +</p> +<p> +There was an honesty, a sincerity in the tone, of these words that seemed +to touch her; for she stole a side look at his face, and the expression of +her glance was of kindly pity. +</p> +<p> +“Is it true, then, that you <i>do</i> love another, Lizzy?” repeated he, +with even deeper emotion. +</p> +<p> +“No!” said she, with a slow utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Will you not tell me, dearest Lizzy, if—if—I am to have any +hope? I know well enough that you need n't take a poor beggar of a younger +son. I know where a girl of your beauty may choose. Far better than you do +I know that you might have title, rank, fortune; and as for me, all I have +is a miserable annuity Lackington allows me, just enough to starve on,—not +that I mean to go on, however, as I have been doing; no, no, by Jove! I 'm +round the corner now, and I intend to make play, and 'take up my running.' +Your father and I understand what we're about.” +</p> +<p> +What a look was that Lizzy gave him! What a piercing significance must the +glance have had that sent the blood so suddenly to his face and forehead, +and made him falter, and then stop. +</p> +<p> +“One thing I 'll swear to you, Lizzy,—swear it by all that is most +solemn,” cried he, at last: “if you consent to share fortunes with me, I +'ll never engage in anything—no matter how sure or how safe—without +your full concurrence. I have been buying experience this many a year, and +pretty sharply has it cost me. They make a gentleman pay his footing, I +promise you; but I <i>do</i> know a thing or two at last; I <i>have</i> +had my eyes opened!” +</p> +<p> +Oh, Annesley Beecher, can you not see how you are damaging your own cause? +You have but to look at that averted head, or, bending round, to catch a +glimpse of those fair features, and mark the haughty scorn upon them, to +feel that you are pleading against yourself. +</p> +<p> +“And what may be this knowledge of which you are so proud?” said she, +coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that,” said he, in some confusion at the tone she had assumed, +“it concerns many a thing you never heard of. The turf, and the men that +live by it, make a little world of their own; they don't bother their +heads about parties or politics,—don't care a farthing who 's 'in' +or who 's 'out.' They keep their wits—and pretty sharp wits they are—for +what goes on in Scott's stable, and how Holt stands for the St. Léger. +They 'd rather hear how Velocipede eat his corn, than hear all the Cabinet +secrets of Europe; and for that matter, so would I.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not blame you for not caring for State secrets,—it is very +possible they would interest you little; but surely you might imagine some +more fitting career than what, after all, is a mere trading on the +weakness of others. To make of an amusement a matter of profit is, in my +eyes, mean; it is contemptible.” +</p> +<p> +“That's not the way to look on it at all. The first men in England have +race-horses.” +</p> +<p> +“And precisely in the fact of their great wealth do they soar above all +the ignoble associations the turf obliges to those who live by it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll give it up; there's my word on't I 'll never put my foot in +Tattersall's yard again. I 'll take my name off the Turf Club,—is +that enough?” +</p> +<p> +She could not help smiling at the honest zeal of this sacrifice; but the +smile had none of the scorn her features displayed before. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Lizzy!” cried he, enthusiastically, “if I was sure we could just live +on here as we are doing,—never leave this little valley, nor see +more of the world than we do daily,—I'd not exchange the life for a +duke's fortune—” +</p> +<p> +“And Holt's stable,” added she, laughing. “Come, you must not omit the +real bribe.” +</p> +<p> +He laughed heartily at this sally, and owned it was the grand temptation. +</p> +<p> +“You are certainly very good-tempered, Annesley,” said she, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I am,” said he, half piqued, for he thought the remark +contained a sort of disparagement of that sharpness on which he chiefly +prided himself. “I am very hot at times.” +</p> +<p> +“I meant that you bore with great good-humor from me what you might, if so +disposed, have fairly enough resented as an impertinence. What do I, what +could I, know of that play-world of which you spoke? How gentlemen and men +of fashion regard these things must needs be mysteries to me; I only +wished to imply that you might make some better use of your faculties, and +that knowledge of life you possess, than in conning over a betting-book or +the 'Racing Calendar.'” +</p> +<p> +“So I mean to do. That's exactly what I 'm planning.” +</p> +<p> +“Here's the soup cooling and the sherry getting hot,” cried Grog, as he +shouted from the window of the little inn, and waved his napkin to attract +their notice. +</p> +<p> +“There's papa making a signal to us,” said Lizzy; “did you suspect it was +so late?” +</p> +<p> +“Seven o'clock, by Jove!” cried Beecher, as he gave her his hand to cross +the stepping-stones. “What a fuss he 'll make about our keeping the dinner +back!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20284.jpg" width="100%" alt="284 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I have eaten all the caviare and the pickles, and nearly finished a +bottle of Madeira, waiting for you,” said Grog; “so, no dressing, but come +in at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dearest Lizzy!” cried Beecher, as they gained the porch, “just one +word,—only one word,—to make me the happiest fellow in the +world or the most miserable.” But Lizzy sprang up the stairs, and was in +her room almost ere his words were uttered. +</p> +<p> +“If I had bad but another moment,” muttered Beecher to himself, “just one +moment more, I'd have shown her that I meant to turn over a new leaf,—that +I was n't going to lead the life I have done. I 'd have told her—though, +I suppose, old Grog would murder me if he knew it—of our grand +martingale, and how we mean to smash the bank at Baden. No deception about +that,—no 'cross' there. She can't bring up grooms and jockeys and +stable-helpers against me now. It will all be done amongst ourselves,—a +family party, and no mistake!” +</p> +<p> +All things considered, Annesley Beecher, it was just as well for you that +you had not that “one moment” you wished for. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. A DEAD HEAT +</h2> +<p> +Some eight or ten days have elapsed since the scene we have Just recorded,—not +one of whose incidents are we about to relate,—and we are still at +Holbach. As happens so frequently in the working of a mathematical +question, proofs are assumed without going over the demonstrations; so, in +real life,—certain postulates being granted,—we arrive at +conclusions which we regard as inevitable. +</p> +<p> +We are at Holbach, but no longer strolling along its leaf-strewn alleys, +or watching the laughing eddies of its circling river,—we are within +doors. The scene is a small, most comfortably furnished chamber of the +little inn, where an ample supper is laid out on a sideboard, a card-table +occupying the centre of the room, at which two players are seated, their +somewhat “charged” expressions and disordered dress indicating a prolonged +combat,—a fact in part corroborated by the streak of pinkish dawn +that has pierced between the shutters, and now blends with the sickly +glare of the candles. Several packs of cards litter the floor around them, +thrown there in that superstitious passion only gamblers understand, and a +decanter and some glasses stand on the table beside the players, who are +no others than our acquaintances Grog Davis and Paul Classon. +</p> +<p> +There is a vulgar but not unwise adage that tells us “dogs do not eat +dogs,” and the maxim has a peculiar application to gamblers. All sorts and +manners of men love to measure their strength with each other,—swordsmen, +swimmers, pedestrians, even hard drinking used to have its duels of +rivalry,—gamblers never. Such an employment of their skill would +seem to their eyes about as absurd as that of a sportsman who would turn +his barrel against his companion instead of the cock-pheasant before him. +Their “game” is of another order. How, then, explain the curious fact we +have mentioned? There are rivalries that last life-long; there are duels +that go on from year to year of existence, and even to the last leave the +question of superiority undetermined. The game of piquet formed such +between these two men. At every chance meeting in life,—no matter +how long the interval or how brief the passage might be,—they +recurred to the old-vexed question, which fortune seemed to find a +pleasure in never deciding definitively. The fact that each had his own +separate theory of the game, would have given an interest to the +encounter; but besides there was now another circumstance whose import +neither were likely to undervalue. Davis had just paid over to Paul +Classon the sum of two hundred napoleons,—the price of a secret +service he was about to perform,—and the sight of that glowing heap +of fresh gold—for there it lay on the corner of the table—had +so stimulated the acquisitiveness of Grog's nature that he could not +resist the temptation to try and regain them. The certainty that when he +should have won them it would only be to restore them to the loser, for +whose expenses on a long Journey they were destined, detracted nothing +from this desire on his part A more unprofitable debtor than Holy Paul +could not be imagined. His very name in a schedule would reflect discredit +on the bankruptcy! But there lay the shining pieces, fresh from the mint +and glittering, and the appeal they made was to an instinct, not to +reason. Was it with the knowledge of this fact that Paul had left them +there instead of putting them up in his pocket? Had he calculated in his +own subtle brain that temptations are least resistible when they are most +tangible? There was that in his reverence's look which seemed to say as +much, and the thoughtless wantonness of his action as his fingers fiddled +with the gold may not have been entirely without a purpose. They had +talked together, and discussed some knotty matters of business, having +concluded which, Davis proposed cards. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20290.jpg" width="100%" alt=" 290 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Our old combat, I suppose?” said Paul, laughing. “Well, I 'm always +ready.” +</p> +<p> +And down they sat, hour after hour finding them still in the same hard +straggle, fortune swinging with its pendulous stroke from side to side, as +though to elicit the workings of hope and fear in each alternately. +Meanwhile they drank freely, and from time to time arose to eat at the +side-table in that hurried and greedy way that only gamblers eat, as +though vexed at the hanger that called them from their game. They were +both too great proficients in play to require that absorption of faculties +inferior gamblers need. They could, and did, talk of everything that came +uppermost, the terms of the game dropping through the conversation like +the measured booming of great guns amid the clattering crash of musketry. +Luck for some time had favored Holy Paul; and while he became blander, +softer, and more benign of look, Grog grew fierce, his eyes fiery, and his +words sharp and abrupt. Classon's polished courtesy chafed and irritated +him, but he seemed determined to control his anger as far as he might, and +not give his adversary the transient advantage of temper. Had spectators +been admitted to the lists, the backers would have most probably taken the +Churchman. His calm countenance, his mild, unexcited eye, his voice so +composed and gentle, must have made Paul the favorite. +</p> +<p> +“We shall scarcely have time for another game, Kit,”—he'd have +called him Grog, but that he was losing,—“I perceive the day is +beginning to break.” +</p> +<p> +“So am I, for the matter of that,” said Davis, with a bitter laugh. “You +have won—let me see—forty-six, and twenty-seven, and a hundred +and twelve,—that was a 'thumper,'—and thirty-four, besides +that loose cash there,—about two hundred and forty or fifty naps, +Master Paul. A very pretty-night's work, and more profitable than +preaching, I take it.” +</p> +<p> +“Regarding the matter as a mere monetary question—” +</p> +<p> +“No gammon,—cut the cards,” broke in Davis; “one game must finish +us. Now, shall we say double or quits?” +</p> +<p> +“If you really wish me to speak my candid mind, I 'd rather not.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought as much,” muttered Grog to himself; and then, in a louder +voice, “What shall it be then.—one-hundred and fifty? Come, even if +you should lose, you'll get up winner of a clean hundred.” +</p> +<p> +“Would that it were at the expense of some one I love less!” +</p> +<p> +“Answer my question,” said Davis, angrily. “Will you have a hundred and +fifty on the last game,—yes or no?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course, Kit, if you desire it.” +</p> +<p> +“Cut again; there is a faced card,” said Davis. And now he dealt with a +slow deliberation that showed what an effort his forced composure was +costing him. +</p> +<p> +Classon sat back in his chair watching the cards as they fell from the +dealer's hand, but affecting in his half-closed eyes and folded arms the +air of one deep in his own musings. +</p> +<p> +“I will say this, Davis,” said he, at last, with the slow utterance that +announces a well-matured thought, “you have managed the whole of this +business with consummate skill; you have done it admirably.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe I have,” said Davis, with a sort of stern decision in his tone; +“and there was more difficulty in the case than you are aware of.” +</p> +<p> +“There must have been very considerable difficulty,” rejoined Paul, +slowly. “Even in the very little I have seen of him I can detect a man +whose temperament must have presented the greatest embarrassments. He is +proud, very proud, suspectful to any extent. I have five cards—forty-seven.” +</p> +<p> +“Not good.” +</p> +<p> +“Three queens.” +</p> +<p> +“Four tens.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then, my tierce in spades is not good, of course. I play one.” +</p> +<p> +“Fifteen and five, twenty, and the tens ninety-four. The first honor I +have scored this hour. The difficulty I allude to was with my daughter; +she would n't have him.” +</p> +<p> +“Not have him?—not accept a peer of the realm?” +</p> +<p> +“Who told her he was a peer? She only knows him as the Honorable Annesley +Beecher.” +</p> +<p> +“Even so. As the Honorable Annesley Beecher, he is a man of high +connections,—related to some of the first people. A dub—play a +club. I take it that such a man is a very high mark indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>She</i> wasn't of your mind, that's clear,” said Davis, abruptly; “nor +do I believe it would have signified in the least to have told her that he +<i>was</i> a Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“Romantic!” muttered Paul. +</p> +<p> +“No, not a bit.” +</p> +<p> +“Loved another, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“How should she? She never saw any other except a one-eyed Pole, that +taught her music at that Belgian school, and a sort of hairy dwarf, that +gave lessons in drawing! A hundred and seventeen. It's your deal.” +</p> +<p> +“And he himself has no suspicion of his brother's death?” said Classon, as +he gave out the cards. +</p> +<p> +“Not the slightest. He was trying to write a letter to him, to break the +news of his marriage, only yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Cleverly done,—most cleverly done,” said Paul, in ecstasy. “If he +had come to the knowledge, he might very possibly have refused <i>her</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“I rather—suspect—not,” said Grog, dwelling slowly on each +word, while his countenance assumed an expression of fierce and terrible +determination. “A lucky take in, that,—the queen of diamonds: it +gives me seven cards. Refuse her! by Heaven, he'd have had a short +experience of his peerage! Kings and knaves—six, and seven I play—twenty-three. +Piqued again, Holy Paul! No, no; he'd never have dared that.” +</p> +<p> +Classon shook his head doubtingly. +</p> +<p> +“You might just as well tell me, Paul Classon, that you 'd refuse to marry +them,” said Davis, as he struck the table with his clenched fist, “and +that I would bear it! I have a way of not being denied what I have +determined on; that has done me good service in life. That blear-eyed boy—the +Attaché at the Legation in Frankfort—wanted to refuse me a passport +for the Honorable Annesley Beecher and Mrs. Beecher, saying that, until +the marriage, there was no such person. But I whispered a word to him +across the table, and he gave it, and there it is now.” +</p> +<p> +“Going to Italy!” said Classon, as he read from the document which Grog +had thrown down before him; “wonderful fellow,—wonderful fellow,—forgets +nothing!” muttered he to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but he does, though; he has just forgotten four kings and suffered +<i>you</i> to count four queens, Master Paul,—a tribute to your +agreeability somewhat too costly.” +</p> +<p> +“Even to the travelling-carriage, Kit,” resumed Classon, not heeding the +sarcasm; “and a more complete thing I never saw in my life. You picked it +up at Frankfort.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, at the Hôtel de Russie; got it for two thousand two hundred francs,—it +cost ten, six months ago. A quint in spades, and the cards divided; I +score thirty-one.” +</p> +<p> +“And when is he to learn that he has succeeded to the title?” +</p> +<p> +“When he's across the Alps,—when he is out of the land of rouge et +noir and roulette; he may know it then, as soon as he pleases. I 'm to +join them at Como, or Milan, as I can't well 'show' at Baden, even at this +late time of year. Before I come up he 'll have heard all about +Lacking-ton's death.” +</p> +<p> +“Will it ever occur to him, Kit, to suspect that you were aware of it?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't know; perhaps it may,” said Grog, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“If so, will the impression not lead to a very precarious state of +relations between you?” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe so,—seven hearts and five spades, you are 'capoted.' There, +Paul, that doesn't leave so much between us, after all. What if he does +suspect it? The world suspects fifty things about me that no man has ever +yet dared to lay to my charge. If you and I, Master Paul, were to fret +ourselves about the suspicions that are entertained of us, we'd have a +pleasant life of it. Your good health.” +</p> +<p> +“To yours, my dear Kit; and may I never drink it in worse tipple would be +the only additional pleasure I could suggest to the toast. It is wonderful +Madeira!” +</p> +<p> +“I have had it in the London Docks since the year '81; every bottle of it +now, seeing that the vines are ruined in the island, is worth from thirty +shillings to five-and-thirty. I won it from Tom Hardiman; he took the +invoice out of his pocket-book and flung it across the table to me. +'Grog,' says he, 'when you take it out of bond, mind you ask me to dinner, +and give me a bottle of it?' But he's gone, 'toes up,' and so here's to +his memory.” +</p> +<p> +“'Drunk in solemn silence,' as the newspapers say,” broke in Paul, as he +drained his glass. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Davis, eying the wine by the light, “that's a tipple this +little inn here is not much accustomed to see under its roof; but if I +were to stay a little longer, I 'd make something of this place. They +never heard of Harvey's sauce, Chili vinegar, Caviare, Stilton; even Bass +and British gin were novelties when I came. There, as well as I can make +it up, you are a winner of fifteen naps; there they are.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear me, I fancied I stood safe to come off with a hundred!” said Paul, +lugubriously. +</p> +<p> +“So you did, without counting the points; but you 've lost five hundred +and sixty-four,—ay, and a right good thing you 've made of it, +Master Paul. I 'd like to know how long it is since you earned such a sum +honestly.” +</p> +<p> +Classon sighed heavily as he swept the cash into his pocket, and said, +“I'm unable to tell you; my memory grows worse every day.” +</p> +<p> +“When you go back to England, you can always brush it up by the Police +sheet,—that's a comfort,” said Davis, with a savage laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And what will the noble Viscount have to spend yearly?” asked Classon, to +change the theme. +</p> +<p> +“Something between eight and ten thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“A snug thing, Kit,—a very snug thing indeed; and I take it that by +this time o' day he knows the world pretty well.” +</p> +<p> +“No; nothing of the kind!” said Grog, bluntly; “he's a fool, and must stay +a fool!” +</p> +<p> +“The more luck his, then, to have Christopher Davis for his +father-in-law.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you what's better still, Holy Paul,—to have Lizzy Davis +for his wife. <i>You</i> think she's going to make a great match of it +because he's the Lord Viscount and she is <i>my</i> daughter; but <i>I</i> +tell you, and I 'm ready to maintain it too, I never met the man yet was +worthy of her. There may be girls as handsome, though I never saw them,—there +may be others as clever, that I'm no judge of; but this I do know,—that +for pluck, real pluck, you 'll not find her equal in Europe. She'd never +have married him for his rank; no, if it was a dukedom he had to offer +her. She 'd never have taken him for his fortune, if it had been ten times +the amount. No, she would n't consent to it, even to take <i>me</i> out of +my difficulties and set me all straight with the world, because she +fancied that by going on the stage, or some such trumpery, she could have +done that just as well. She'd not have had him for himself, for she knows +he's a fool, just as well as I do. There was only one thing I found she +could n't get over: it was the thought she <i>dare</i> not marry him; that +to thrust herself into the station and rank <i>he</i> occupied would be to +expose herself to insults that must crush her. It was by a mere chance I +discovered that this was a challenge she 'd have rather died than decline. +It was for all the world like saying to myself, 'Don't you go into the +ring there, Kit Davis; my Lords and the gentlemen don't like it.' 'Don't +they? Well, let's see how they'll take it, for I <i>am</i> a-going!' It +was <i>that</i> stung her, Paul Classon. <i>She</i> did n't want all those +fine people; <i>she</i> did n't care a brass farthing about their ways and +their doings! <i>She</i> 'd not have thought it a hard lot in life just to +jog on as she is. She did n't want to be called a countess, nor live like +one; but when it was hinted to her, that if she <i>did</i> venture amongst +them, it would be to be driven back with shame and insult, then her mind +was made up at once. Not that she ever confessed as much to me; no, I +found out her secret by watching her closely. The day I told her I forget +what anecdote about some outrageous piece of insolence played off on some +new intruder into the titled class, she suddenly started as if something +had stung her, and her eyes glared like a tiger's; then, catching me by +the hand, she said, 'Don't tell me these things; they pain me more to hear +than real, downright calamities!' That was enough for <i>me</i>. I saw her +cards, Paul, and I played through them!” +</p> +<p> +Classon heaved a deep sigh, and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“What are you sighing over, Paul?” asked Davis, half morosely. +</p> +<p> +“I was just sorrowing to myself to think how little all her pluck will +avail her.” +</p> +<p> +“Stuff and nonsense, sir! It is the very thing to depend on in the +struggle.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, if there were a struggle, Kit, but that is exactly what there will +not be. You, for instance, go into Brookes's to-morrow, you have been duly +elected. It was a wet day, only a few at the ballot, and somehow you got +in. Well, you are, to all intents, as much a member as his Grace there, or +the noble Marquis. There's no commotion, no stir when you enter the room. +The men at their newspapers look up, perhaps, but they read away +immediately with only increased attention; the group at the window talks +on too; the only thing noticeable is that nobody talks to <i>you</i>. If +you ask for the 'Globe' or the 'Chronicle,' when the reader shall have +finished, he politely hands it at once, and goes away.” +</p> +<p> +“If he did, I'd follow him—” +</p> +<p> +“What for?—to ask an explanation where there had been no offence? To +make yourself at once notorious in the worst of all possible ways? There's +nothing so universally detested as the man that makes a 'row;' witness the +horror all well-bred people feel at associating with Americans, they're +never sure how it's to end. Now, if all these considerations have their +weight with men, imagine how they mast be regarded by women, fifty times +more exacting as they are in all the exigencies of station, and whose +freemasonry is a hundred times more exclusive.” +</p> +<p> +“That's all rot!” broke in Davis, his passion the more violent as the +arguments of the other seemed so difficult to answer. “You think to puzzle +<i>me</i> by talking of all these grand people and their ways as if they +weren't all men and women. That they are, and a rum lot, too, some of +them! Come,” cried Davis, suddenly, as though a happy thought had just +flashed across his mind, “it was the turn of a straw one day, by your own +account, that you were not a bishop. Now, I 'd like to know, if that lucky +event had really taken place, wouldn't you have been the same Holy Paul +Classon that sits there?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not, entirely,” said Classon, in his oiliest of voices. “I trust +that I should, in ascending to that exalted station, have cast off the +slough of an inferior existence, and carried up little of my former self +except the friendships of my early years.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you fancy, Master Paul, that gammon like this can impose upon a man of +my sort?” +</p> +<p> +“My dear and worthy friend,” rejoined Classon, “the tone in which I appeal +to you is my tribute to your high ability. To an inferior man I had spoken +very different language. Sentiments are not the less real that they are +expressed with a certain embroidery, just as a Bank post-bill would be +very good value though a Choctaw Indian might deem it a piece of +waste-paper.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to see you try it on with Lizzy in this fashion,” said Davis. +“I don't think even your friend the Choctaw Indian would save you.” +</p> +<p> +“I should be proud of even defeat at such hands!” exclaimed Paul, +rapturously. +</p> +<p> +“You 'd have little to be proud of when she 'd have done with you,” cried +Grog, all his good-humor restored by the mere thought of his daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Have you spoken to his Lordship about what I mentioned?” said Paul, half +diffidently. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Grog; “on reflection, I thought it better not. I 'm sure, +besides, that there's no Church preferment in his gift; and then, Classon, +he knows you, as who does not?” +</p> +<p> +“'Quæ regio terræ non plena est?' Ay, Grog, you and I have arrived at what +the world calls Fame.” +</p> +<p> +“Speak for yourself, sir; I acknowledge no partnership in the case. When I +have written letters, they have not been begging ones; and when I have +stretched out my hand, there was no pistol in the palm of it!” +</p> +<p> +“Very true, Kit; <i>I</i> never had a soul above petty larceny, and <i>you</i> +had a spirit that aspired to transportation for life.” +</p> +<p> +Davis bounded on his chair, and glowered with a fearful stare at the +speaker, who meanwhile drained the decanter into his glass with an unmoved +serenity. +</p> +<p> +“Don't be angry, my ancient friend,” said he, blandly. “The cares of +friendship, like the skill of a surgeon, must often pain to be +serviceable. Happy let us call ourselves when no ruder hand wields the +probe or the bistoury!” +</p> +<p> +“Make an end of canting, I want to speak to you about matters of moment. +You will set out to-day, I hope.” +</p> +<p> +“Immediately after the marriage.” +</p> +<p> +“What road do you take?” +</p> +<p> +“Strasburg, Paris, Marseilles, whence direct to Constantinople by the +first steamer.” +</p> +<p> +“After that?” +</p> +<p> +“Across the Black Sea to Balaklava.” +</p> +<p> +“But when do you reach the Crimea?” +</p> +<p> +“Balaklava is <i>in</i> the Crimea.” +</p> +<p> +Davis flushed scarlet. The reflection on his geography wounded him, and he +winced under it. +</p> +<p> +“Are you quite clear that you understand my instructions?” said he, +testily. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I was as sure of a deanery,” said Paul, smacking his lips over the +last glass. +</p> +<p> +“You can scarcely wish over-well to the Church, when you desire to be one +of its dignitaries,” said Davis, with a sarcastic grin. +</p> +<p> +“Why so, my worthy friend? There is a wise Scotch adage says, 'It taks a' +kind of folk to mak a warld;' and so, various orders of men, with gifts +widely differing, if not discrepant, are advantageously assembled into +what we call corporations.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense,—bosh!” said Grog, impatiently. “If you have no better +command of common-sense where you are going, I have made a precious bad +choice of an agent.” +</p> +<p> +“See how men misconstrue their own natures!” exclaimed Classon, with a +sort of fervor. “If any one had asked me what gift I laid especial claim +to possess, I protest I should have said 'common-sense;' a little more +common-sense than any one else I ever met.” +</p> +<p> +“You are modest too.” +</p> +<p> +“Becomingly so, I hope and believe.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you any other remarkable traits that you might desire to record?” +</p> +<p> +“A few, and a very few,” said Paul, with a well-assumed air of humility. +“Nature has blessed me with the very best of tempers. I am never rash, +hasty, or impetuous; I accept the rubs of life with submission; I think +well of every one.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you, faith!” exclaimed Davis, with a scornful laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Knowing well that we are all slaves of circumstances, I take motives +where others demand actions, just as I would take a bill at three months +from him who has no cash. It may be paid, or it may not.” +</p> +<p> +“You'd have passed it ere it became due, eh, Master Paul?” +</p> +<p> +“Such is possible; I make no claims above human frailty.” +</p> +<p> +“Is sobriety amongst your other virtues?” +</p> +<p> +“I rarely transgress its limits, save when alone. It is in the solitary +retirement where I seek reflection that I occasionally indulge. There I +am, so to say, 'Classo cum Classone.' I offer no example to others,—I +shock no outward decorum. If the instinctive appreciation of my character—which +I highly possess—passes that of most men, I owe it to those +undisguised moments when I stand revealed to myself. Wine keeps no +secrets; and Paul Classon drunk appeals to Paul Classon sober. Believe me, +Kit, when I tell you no man knows half the excellent things in his own +heart till he has got tipsy by himself!” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I had never thought of you for this affair,” said Davis, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Pitt made the same speech to Wolfe, and yet that young general afterwards +took Quebec.” +</p> +<p> +“What do I care about Wolfe or Quebec? I want a particular service that a +man of moderate brains and a firm purpose can accomplish.” +</p> +<p> +“And for which Paul Classon pledges himself with his head? Ay, Grog Davis, +that is my bond.” +</p> +<p> +“The day you come back to me with proof of success, I hand you five +hundred pounds.” +</p> +<p> +“Cash?” +</p> +<p> +“Cash,—and more, if all be done to our entire satisfaction. <i>He</i>—” +here he jerked up his thumb towards Beecher's room—“<i>he</i> +sha'n't forget you.” +</p> +<p> +Paul closed his eyes, and muttered something to himself, ending with, “And +'five pounds for the Cruelty to Animals,—from the Reverend Paul +Classon.' I shall be in funds for them all.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Kit!” said he at last, with a deep-drawn sigh, “what slaves are we +all, and to the meanest accidents too,—the veriest trifles of our +existence. Ask yourself, I beseech you, what is it that continually +opposes your progress in life,—what is your rock ahead? Your name! +nothing but your name!—call yourself Jones, Wilkins, Simpson, +Watkins, and see what an expansion it will give your naturally fine +faculties. Nobody will dare to assert that you or I are the same men we +were five-and-twenty or thirty years ago, and yet <i>you</i> must be Davis +and <i>I</i> must be Classon, whether we will or not. I call this hard,—very +hard indeed!” +</p> +<p> +“Would it be any benefit to me if I could call myself Paul Classon?” said +Grog, with an insolent grin. +</p> +<p> +“It is not for the saintly man who bears that name to speak boastfully of +its responsibilities—” +</p> +<p> +“In bills of exchange, I O U's, promissory notes, and so forth,” laughed +in Grog. +</p> +<p> +“I have, I own, done a little in these ways; but what gifted man ever +lived who has not at some time or other committed his sorrows to paper. +The misfortune in my case was that it was stamped.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Holy Paul, I think you are the greatest 'hemp' I ever met.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Kit, don't say so,—don't, my dear and valued friend; these +words give me deep pain.” +</p> +<p> +“I do say it, and I maintain it!” +</p> +<p> +“What good Company you must have kept through life, then!” +</p> +<p> +“The worst of any man in England. And yet,” resumed he, after a pause, “I +'m positively ashamed to think that my daughter should be married by the +Reverend Paul Classon.” +</p> +<p> +“A prejudice, my dear and respected friend,—a prejudice quite +beneath your enlarged and gifted understanding! Will it much signify to +you if he, who one of these days shall say, 'The sentence of this court, +Christopher Davis, is transportation beyond the seas,' be a Justice of the +Common Pleas or a Baron of the Exchequer? No, no, Kit; it is only your +vain, conceited people who fancy that they are not hanged if it was n't +Calcraft tied the noose!” +</p> +<p> +More than once did Davis change color at this speech, whose illustrations +were selected with special intention and malice. +</p> +<p> +“Here 's daybreak already!” cried Grog, throwing open the window, and +admitting the pinkish light of an early dawn, and the fresh sharp air of +morning. +</p> +<p> +“It's chilly enough too,” said Classon, shivering, as he emptied the gin +into his glass. +</p> +<p> +“I think you 've had enough already,” said Grog, rudely, as he flung both +tumbler and its contents out of the window. “Go, have a wash, and make +yourself a little decent-looking; one would imagine, to see you, you had +passed your night in the 'lock-up'!” +</p> +<p> +“When you see me next, you 'll fancy I 'm an archdeacon.” So saying, and +guiding himself by the chairs, Paul Classon left the room. +</p> +<p> +With a quiet step, and firm, neither “overtaken” by liquor nor fatigued by +the night's debauch, Davis hastened to his chamber. So long as he was +occupied with the cares of dressing, his features betrayed no unusual +anxiety; he did, indeed, endeavor to attire himself with more than +ordinary care; and one cravat after another did he fling on the floor, +where a number of embroidered vests were already lying. At length the +toilet was completed, and Grog surveyed himself in the large glass, and +was satisfied. He knew he didn't look like Annesley Beecher and that +“lot,” still less did he resemble the old “swells” of Brookes's and the +Carlton; but he thought there was something military, something sporting,—a +dash of the “nag,” with “Newmarket,”—about him, that might pass +muster anywhere! “At all events, Lizzy won't be ashamed of me,” muttered +he to himself. “Poor, poor Lizzy!” added he, in a broken tone; and he sank +down into a chair, and leaned his head on the table. +</p> +<p> +A gentle tap came to the door. “Come in,” said he, without raising his +head; and she entered. +</p> +<p> +As the rich robe of silk rustled across the floor, he never raised his +head; nor even when, bending over, she threw an arm around his neck and +kissed his forehead, did he stir or move. +</p> +<p> +“I want you to look at me, dearest papa,” said she, softly. +</p> +<p> +“My poor Lizzy,—my own dear Lizzy!” murmured he, half indistinctly; +then, starting suddenly up, he cried aloud, “Good heavens! is it worth all +this—” +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed, papa,” burst she in; “it is <i>not</i>—it is <i>not</i> +worth it!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked he, abruptly. “What were you thinking of?” +</p> +<p> +“It was <i>your</i> thoughts I was following out,” said she, drearily. +</p> +<p> +“How handsome,—how beautiful you are, girl!” exclaimed he, as, +holding both her hands, he surveyed her at full length. “Is this Brussels +lace?” +</p> +<p> +She nodded assent +</p> +<p> +“And what do you call these buttons?” +</p> +<p> +“They are opals.” +</p> +<p> +“How it all becomes you, girl! I'd never like to see you less smartly +dressed! And now.—and now I am to lose you!” And he fell upon her +neck, and clasped her fondly to his heart. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my dear father, if you knew—” She could not continue. +</p> +<p> +“And don't I know!” broke he in. “Do you think that all my hard, bad +experience of life has left me so bereft of feeling! But I 'll tell you +another thing I know, Lizzy,” said he, in a deep, calm voice; “that what +we fancy must break our hearts to do we can bear, and bear patiently, and, +what's more, so learn to conform to, that after a few years of life we +wonder that we ever thought them hardships!” +</p> +<p> +“We do not change so much without heavy suffering!” said she, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“That is possible too,” said he, sighing. Then, suddenly rallying, he +said, “You'll write to me often, very often, Lizzy; I 'll want to hear how +you get on with these great folk; not that I fear anything, only this, +girl, that their jealousy will stimulate their rancor. You are so +handsome, girl! so handsome!” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm glad of it,” said she, with an air of proud exultation. +</p> +<p> +“Who's there?” cried Davis, impatiently, as a sharp knock came to the +door. It was the Reverend Paul come to borrow a white neckcloth, none of +his own being sufficiently imposing for such an occasion. +</p> +<p> +“I am scarcely presentable, Miss Davis. I am sure I address Miss Davis,” +said he, pushing into the room, and bowing ceremoniously at each step. +“There can be but only one so eminently beautiful!” +</p> +<p> +“There, take what you want, and be off!” cried Davis, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“Your father usurps all the privileges of long friendship, and emboldens +me to claim some, too, my dear young lady. Let me kiss the fairest hand in +Christendom.” And with a reverential homage all his own, Paul bent down +and touched her hand with his lips. +</p> +<p> +“This is the Reverend Paul Classon, Lizzy,” said Davis,—“a great +dignitary of the Church, and an old schoolfellow of mine.” +</p> +<p> +“I am always happy to know a friend of my father's,” said she, smiling +gracefully. “You have only just arrived?” +</p> +<p> +“This moment!” said he, with a glance towards Grog. +</p> +<p> +“There, away with you, and finish your dressing,” broke in Davis, angrily; +“I see it is nigh seven o'clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Past seven, rather; and the company assembled below stairs, and Mr. +Beecher—for I presume it must be he—pacing the little terrace +in all the impatience of a bride-groom. Miss Davis, your servant.” And +with a bow of deep reverence Paul retired. +</p> +<p> +“There were so many things running in my mind to say to you, Lizzy,” said +Davis, “when that Classon came in.” It was very hard for him not to add an +epithet; but he <i>did</i> escape that peril. +</p> +<p> +“I own, papa, he did not impress me very favorably.” +</p> +<p> +“He's a first-rate man, a great scholar, a regular don amongst the +shovel-hats,” said Grog, hastily; “that man was within an ace of being a +bishop. But it was not of <i>him</i> my head was full, girl. I wanted to +talk to you about Beecher and that haughty sister-in-law of his. <i>She</i> +'ll 'try-it on' with you, Lizzy; I 'm sure she will!” +</p> +<p> +“Dearest papa, how often have you told me that in preparing for the +accidents of life we but often exaggerate their importance. I'll not +anticipate evil.” +</p> +<p> +“Here's Beecher!—here he is!” cried Davis, as he clasped her once +more to his heart; and then, opening the door, led her down the stairs. +</p> +<p> +There was a full assemblage of all the folk of the little inn, and the +room was crowded. The landlord and his wife, and four buxom daughters and +two sons, were there; and a dapper waiter, with very tight-fitting +trousers, and a housemaid, and three farm-servants, all with big bouquets +in their hands and huge bows of white ribbon on their breasts; and +Mademoiselle Annette, Lizzy's maid, in a lilac, silk and a white crape +bonnet; and Peters, Beecher's man, in a most accurate blue frock, except +his master, looking far more like a gentleman than any one there. +</p> +<p> +As for Annesley Beecher, no man ever more accurately understood how to +“costume” for every circumstance in life; and whether you saw him lounging +over the rail in Rotten Row, strolling through the Park at Richmond, +sunning himself at Cowes, or yawning through a wet day in a country-house, +his “get-up” was sure to be faultless. Hundreds tried in vain to catch the +inimitable curl of his hat, the unattainable sweep of his +waistcoat-collar; and then there were shades and tones of his color about +him that were especially his own. Of course, I am not about to describe +his appearance on this morning; it is enough if I say that he bestowed +every care upon it, and succeeded. And Paul,—Holy Paul,—how +blandly imposing, how unctuously serene he looked! Marriage was truly a +benediction at such hands. He faltered a little, his dulcet accents +trembled with a modest reluctance, as he asked, “'Wilt thou take—this +woman—'” Could he have changed the Liturgy for the occasion, he had +said, “this angel;” as it was, his voice compensated for the syllables, +and the question was breathed out like air from the Garden of Eden. +</p> +<p> +And so they were married; and there was a grand breakfast, where all the +household were assembled, and where Paul Classon made a most effective +little speech to “the health of the bride,” interpolating his English and +German with a tact all his own; and then they drove away with four +posters, with all the noise and whip-cracking, the sighs and smiles and +last good-byes, just as if the scene had been Hanover Square, and the High +Priest a Canon of Westminster! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. STUNNING TIDINGS +</h2> +<p> +A telegram, duly despatched, had prepared the hotel of the Cour de Bade +for the arrival of the Honorable Annesley and Mrs. Beecher; and when the +well-appointed travelling-carriage came clattering into the <i>porte-cochère</i> +at nightfall, there was a dress parade of landlord and waiters ready to +receive them. +</p> +<p> +It was a very long time since Beecher had felt the self-importance of +being deemed rich. For many a year back life had been but a series of +struggles, and it was a very delightful sensation to him to witness once +more all the ready homage, all the obsequious attention which are only +rendered to affluence. Herr Bauer had got the despatch just in time to +keep his handsomest suite of rooms for him; indeed, he had “sent away the +Margraf of Schweinerhausen, who wanted them.” This was gratifying; and, +limited as Beecher's German was, he could catch the muttered exclamations +of “Ach Grott, wie schön!” “Wie leiblich!” as his beautiful wife passed up +the stairs; and this, too, pleased him. In fact, his was just then the +glorious mood that comes once in a lifetime to the luckiest of us,—to +be charmed with everything. +</p> +<p> +To enjoy the sunshine one must have sojourned in shadow; and, certainly, +prosperity is never so entrancing as after some experience of its +opposite, and Beecher was never wearied of admiring the splendor of the +apartment, the wonderful promptitude of the waiters, and the excellence of +everything. It must be owned the dinner was in Bauer's best style,—the +bisque, the raebraten, the pheasant, all that could be wished for; and +when the imposing host himself uncorked a precious flask of a “Cabinet +Steinberger,” Beecher felt it was a very charming world when one had only +got to the sunny side of it. Mr. Bauer—a politeness rarely accorded, +save to the highest rank—directed the service in person, and +vouchsafed to be agreeable during the repast. +</p> +<p> +“And so your season was a good one, Bauer?” said Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Reasonably so, your Excellency. We had the King of Wurtemberg, the Queen +of Greece, a couple of archdukes, and a crown prince of something far +north,—second rate ones all, but good people, and easily satisfied.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher gave a significant glance towards Lizzy, and went on: “And who +were your English visitors?” +</p> +<p> +“The old set, your Excellency: the Duke of Middleton, Lord Headlam and his +four daughters, Sir Hipsley Keyling, to break the bank, as usual—” +</p> +<p> +“And did he?” +</p> +<p> +“No, Excellency; it broke <i>him</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor devil! it ain't so easy to get to windward of those fellows, Bauer; +they are too many for us, eh?” said Beecher, chuckling with the +consciousness that <i>he</i> had the key to that mysterious secret. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Excellency, there's nobody ever does it but one, so long as I have +known Baden.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is he, pray?” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Twining,—Adderley Twining, sir; that's the man can just win +what and when and how he pleases.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't tell <i>me</i> that, Bauer; <i>he</i> has n't got the secret. If +Twining wins, it 's chance,—mere chance, just as you might win.” +</p> +<p> +“It may be so, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, Bauer,—I know it as a <i>fact</i>,—there's just +one man in Europe has the martingale, and here's to his health.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Bauer was too well skilled in his calling not to guess in whose honor +the glass was drained, and smiled a gracious recognition of the toast. +</p> +<p> +“And your pretty people, Herr Bauer,” broke in Lizzy,—“who were your +great beauties this season?” +</p> +<p> +“We had nothing remarkable, Madame,” said he, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“No, Master Bauer,” broke in Beecher; “for the luck and the good looks I +suspect you should have gone somewhere else this summer.” +</p> +<p> +Bauer bowed his very deepest acknowledgment. Too conscious of what became +him in his station to hazard a flattery in words, he was yet courtier +enough to convey his admiration by a look of most meaning deference. +</p> +<p> +“I conclude that the season is nigh over,” said Lizzy, half languidly, as +she looked out on the moonlit promenade, where a few loungers were +lingering. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Madame; another week will close the rooms. All are hastening away to +their winter quarters,—Rome, Paris, or Vienna.” +</p> +<p> +“How strange it is, all this life of change!” said Lizzy, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“It is not what it seems,” said Beecher; “for the same people are always +meeting again and again, now in Italy, now in England. Ah! I see the +Cursaal is being lighted up. How jolly it looks through the trees! Look +yonder, Lizzy, where all the lamps are glittering. Many a sad night it +cost me, gay as it appears.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Bauer withdrew as the dessert was placed on the table, and they were +alone. +</p> +<p> +“Rich fellow that Bauer,” said Beecher; “he lends more money than any Jew +in Frankfort. I wonder whether I could n't tempt him to advance me a few +hundreds?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you want money, then?” asked she, unsuspectingly. +</p> +<p> +“Want it? No, not exactly, except that every one wants it; people always +find a way to spend all they can lay their hands on.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't call that wanting it,” said she, half coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Play me something, Lizzy, here's a piano; that Sicilian song,—and +sing it.” He held out his hand to lead her to the piano, but she only drew +her shawl more closely around her, and never moved. “Or, if you like +better, that Styrian dance,” continued he. +</p> +<p> +“I am not in the humor,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Not in the humor? Well, be in the humor. I was never in better spirits in +my life. I would n't change with Davis when he won the Czarewitch. Such a +dinner as old Bauer gave us, and such wine! and then this coffee, not to +speak of the company,—eh, Lizzy?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Bauer was most agreeable.” +</p> +<p> +“I was n't talking of Mr. Bauer, <i>ma chère</i>, I was thinking of some +one else.” +</p> +<p> +“I did n't know,” said she, with a half-weary sigh. +</p> +<p> +Beecher's cheek flushed up, and he walked to the window and looked out; +meanwhile she took up a book and began to read. Along the alley beneath +the window troops of people now passed towards the rooms. The hour of play +had sounded, and the swell of the band could be heard from the space in +front of the Cursaal. As his eyes followed the various groups ascending +the steps and disappearing within the building, his imagination pictured +the scene inside. +</p> +<p> +There was always a kind of rush to the tables on the last few nights of +the season. It was a sort of gamblers' theory that they were “lucky,” and +Beecher began to con over to himself all the fortunate fellows who had +broken the bank in the last week of a season. “I told old Grog I 'd not +go,” muttered he; “I pledged myself I'd not enter the rooms; but, of +course, that meant I 'd not play,—it never contemplated mere looking +in and seeing who was there: rather too hard if I were not to amuse +myself, particularly when”—here he turned a glance towards Lizzy—“I +don't perceive any very great desire to make the evening pass pleasantly +here. Ain't you going to sing?” asked he, half angrily. +</p> +<p> +“If you wish it,” said she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Nor play?” continued he, as though not hearing her reply. +</p> +<p> +“If you desire it,” said she, rising, and taking her place at the piano. +</p> +<p> +He muttered something, and she began. Her fingers at first strayed in +half-careless chords over the instrument; and then, imperceptibly, struck +out into a wild, plaintive melody of singular feeling and pathos,—one +of those Hungarian airs which, more than any other national music, seem to +dispense with words for their expression. +</p> +<p> +Beecher listened for a few moments, and then, muttering indignantly below +his breath, he left the room, banging the door as he went out. Lizzy did +not seem to have noticed his departure, but played on, air succeeding air, +of the same character and sentiment; but at last she leaned her head upon +the instrument and fell into a deep revery. The pale moonlight, as it lay +upon the polished floor, was not more motionless. Beecher, meanwhile, had +issued forth into the street, crossed the little rustic bridge, and held +his way towards the Cursaal. His humor was not an enviable nor an amiable +one. It was such a mood as makes a courageous man very dangerous company, +but fills an individual of the Beecher type with all that can be imagined +of suspicion and distrust. Every thought that crossed his mind was a doubt +of somebody or something. He had been duped, cheated, “done,” he did n't +exactly know when, how, or by whom, with what object, or to what extent. +But the fact was so. He entered the rooms and walked towards the +play-table. There were many of the old faces he remembered to have seen +years ago. He exchanged bows and recognitions with several foreigners +whose names he had forgotten, and acknowledged suitably the polite +obeisance of the croupiers, as they rose to salute him. It was an +interesting moment as he entered, and the whole table were intently +watching the game of one player, whose single Louis d'or had gone on +doubling with each deal, till it had swelled into a sum that formed the +limit of the bank. Even the croupiers, models as they are of impassive +serenity, showed a touch of human sentiment as the deal began, and seemed +to feel that they were in presence of one who stood higher in Fortune's +favor than themselves. +</p> +<p> +“Won again!” cried out a number of voices; “the thirteenth pass! Who ever +saw the like? It is fabulous, monstrous!” Amid the din of incessant +commentaries, few of them uttered in the tone of felicitation, a very tall +man stretched his arm towards the table, and began to gather in the gold, +saying, in a pleasant but hurried voice: “A thousand pardons. I hope you +'ll excuse me; would n't inconvenience you for worlds. I think you said”—this +was to the banker—“I think you said thirty-eight thousand francs in +all; thank you, extremely obliged; a very great run of luck, indeed,—never +saw the like before. Would you kindly exchange that note, it is a +Frankfort one; quite distressed to give you the trouble; infinitely +grateful;” and, bashfully sweeping the glittering coins into his hat, as +if ashamed to have interrupted the game, he retired to a side table to +count over his winnings. He had just completed a little avenue of gold +columns, muttering to himself little congratulations, interspersed with +“What fun!” when Beecher, stepping up, accosted him. “The old story, +Twining! I never heard nor read of a fellow with such luck as yours!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20311.jpg" width="100%" alt="311 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Oh, very good luck, capital luck!” cried Twining, rubbing his lean hands, +and then slapping them against his leaner legs. “As your Lordship +observes, I do occasionally win; not always, not always, but occasionally. +Charmed to see you here,—delighted,—what fun! Late,—somewhat +late in the season,—but still lovely weather. Your Lordship only +just arrived, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“I see you don't remember me, Twining,” said Beecher, smiling, and rather +amused to mark how completely his good fortune had absorbed his attention. +</p> +<p> +“Impossible, my Lord-!—never forget a face,—never!” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me if I must correct you this once; but it is quite clear you <i>have</i> +forgotten me. Come, for whom do you take me?” +</p> +<p> +“Take you, my Lord,—take you? Quite shocked if I could make a +blunder; but really, I feel certain I am speaking with Lord Lackington.” +</p> +<p> +“There, I knew it!” cried Beecher, laughing out “I knew it, though, by +Jove! I was not quite prepared to hear that I looked so old. You know he's +about eighteen years my senior.” +</p> +<p> +“So he was, my Lord,—so he was,” said Twining, gathering up his +gold. “And for a moment, I own, I was disposed to distrust my eyes, not +seeing your Lordship in mourning.” +</p> +<p> +“In mourning? and for whom?” +</p> +<p> +“For the late Viscount, your Lordship's brother!” +</p> +<p> +“Lackington! Is Lackington dead?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it's not possible your Lordship hasn't heard it? It cannot be that +your letters have not brought you the tidings? It happened six—ay, +seven weeks ago; and I know that her Ladyship wrote, urgently entreating +you to come out to Italy.” Twining continued to detail, in his own +peculiar and fitful style, various circumstances about Lord Lackington's +last illness. But Beecher never heard a word of it, but stood stunned and +stupefied by the news. It would be too tangled a web were we to inquire +into the complicated and confused emotions which then swayed his heart. +The immense change in his own fortunes, his sudden accession to rank, +wealth, and station, came, accompanied by traits of brotherly love and +affection bestowed on him long, long ago, when he was a Harrow boy, and +“Lack” came down to see him; and then, in after life, the many kind things +he had done for him,—helping him out of this or that difficulty,—services +little estimated at the time, but now remembered with more than mere +gratitude. “Poor Lackington! and that I should not haver been with you!” +muttered he; and then, as if the very words had set another chord in +vibration, he started as he thought that he had been duped. Davis knew it +all; Davis had intercepted the letters. It was for this he had detained +him weeks long in the lonely isolation of that Rhenish village. It was for +this his whole manner had undergone such a marked change to him. Hence the +trustfulness with which he burned the forged acceptances; the liberality +with which he supplied him with money, and then—the marriage! “How +they have done me!” cried he, in an agony of bitterness,—“how they +have done me! The whole thing was concerted,—a plant from the very +beginning; and <i>she</i> was in it!” While he thus continued to mutter to +himself imprecations upon his own folly, Twining led him away, and +imperceptibly induced him to stroll along one of the unfrequented alleys. +At first Beecher's questions were all about his brother's illness,—how +it began, what they called it, how it progressed. Then he asked after his +sister-in-law,—where she then was, and how. By degrees he adverted +to Lackington's affairs; his will,—what he had left, and to whom. +Twining was one of the executors, and could tell him everything. The +Viscount had provided handsomely, not extravagantly, for his widow, and +left everything to his brother! “Poor Lackington, I knew he loved me +always!” Twining entered into a somewhat complicated narrative of a +purchase the late Viscount had made, or intended to make, in Ireland,—an +encumbered estate,—but Beecher paid no attention to the narrative. +All his thoughts were centred upon his own position, and how Davis had +done him. +</p> +<p> +“Where could you have been, my Lord, all that time, not to have heard of +this?” asked Twining. +</p> +<p> +“I was in Germany, in Nassau. I was fishing amongst the mountains,” said +the other, in confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Fishing?—great fun, capital fun; like it immensely,—no +expense, rods and hooks,—rods and hooks; not like hunting,—hunting +perfectly ruinous,—I mean for men like myself, not, of course, for +your Lordship.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Lackington!” muttered Beecher, half unconsciously. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” sighed Twining, sympathetically. +</p> +<p> +“I was actually on my way out to visit him, but one thing or another +occurred to delay me!” +</p> +<p> +“How unfortunate, my Lord; and, really, his anxieties about <i>you</i> +were unceasing. You have not to be told of the importance he attached to +the title and name of your house! He was always saying, 'If Beecher were +only married! If we could find a wife for Annesley—'” +</p> +<p> +“A wife!” exclaimed the other, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, a wife; excellent thing, marriage,—capital thing,—great +fun.” +</p> +<p> +“But it's done, sir; I 'm booked!” cried Beecher, vehemently. “I was +married on Sunday last.” +</p> +<p> +“Wish your Lordship every imaginable joy. I offer my felicitations on the +happy event Is the Viscountess here?” +</p> +<p> +“She <i>is</i> here,” said Beecher, with a dogged sternness. +</p> +<p> +“May I ask the name of Lady Lackington's family?” said Twining, +obsequiously. +</p> +<p> +“Name,—name of her family!” echoed Beecher, with a scornful laugh. +Then, suddenly stopping, he drew his arm within Twining's, and in the low +voice of a secret confidence, said, “You know the world as well as most +men,—a deal better, I should say; now, can you tell me, is a +marriage of this kind binding?” +</p> +<p> +“What kind of marriage do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, a private marriage in an inn, without banns, license, or publication +of any kind, the ceremony performed by a fellow I suspect is a degraded +parson,—at least, I used to hear he was 'scratched' years ago,—Classon.” +</p> +<p> +“Paul Classon,—Holy Paul?—clever fellow, very ingenious. Tried +to walk into me once for a subscription to convert the Mandans Indians,—did +n't succeed,—what fun!” +</p> +<p> +“Surely no ministration of his can mean much, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Afraid it does, my Lord; as your late brother used to observe, marriage +is one of those bonds in which even a rotten string is enough to bind us. +Otherwise, I half suspect some of us would try to slip our cables,—slip +our cables and get away! What fun, my Lord,—what fun!” +</p> +<p> +“I don't believe such a marriage is worth a rush,” went on Beecher, in +that tone of affirmation by which he often stimulated his craven heart to +feel a mock confidence. “At least, of this I am certain, there are five +hundred fellows in England would find out a way to smash it.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you want to 'cryoff my Lord?” asked Twining, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“I might, or I might not; that depends. You see, Twining, there's rather a +wide line of country between Annesley Beecher with nothing, and Viscount +Lackington with a snug little estate; and if I had only known, last Sunday +morning, that I was qualified to run for a cup I'd scarcely have entered +for a hack stakes.” +</p> +<p> +“But then, you are to remember her connections.” +</p> +<p> +“Connections!” laughed out Beecher, scornfully. +</p> +<p> +“Well, family,—friends; in short, she may have brothers,—a +father?” +</p> +<p> +“She <i>has</i> a father, by Jove!—she <i>has</i> a father!” +</p> +<p> +“May I be so bold as to ask—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you know him well!—all the world knows him, for the matter of +that. What do you say to Kit Davis,—Grog!” +</p> +<p> +“Grog Davis, my Lord?—Grog Davis!” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Beecher, lighting a cigar with an affected composure he +intended to pass off for great courage. +</p> +<p> +“Grog—Grog—Grog!—wonderful fellow! astonishing fellow! +up to everything! and very amusing! I must say, my Lord,—I must say, +your Lordship's father-in-law is a very remarkable man.” +</p> +<p> +“I rather suspect he is, Twining.” +</p> +<p> +“Under the circumstances,—the actual circumstances, I should say, my +Lord, keep your engagement,—keep your engagement.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand you, Twining; you don't fancy Master Grog. Well, I know an +opinion of that kind is abroad. Many people are afraid of him; <i>I</i> +never was,—eh?” The last little interrogative was evoked by a +strange smile that flickered across Twining's face. “You suspect that I <i>am</i> +afraid of him, Twining; now, why should I?” +</p> +<p> +“Can't possibly conceive, my Lord,—cannot imagine a reason.” +</p> +<p> +“He is what is called a dangerous fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“Very dangerous.” +</p> +<p> +“Vindictive.” +</p> +<p> +“To the last. Never abandons a pursuit, they tell me.” +</p> +<p> +“But we live in an age of civilization, Twining. Men of his stamp can't +take the law in their own hands.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid that is exactly the very thing they do, my Lord; they +contrive always to be in the wrong, and consequently have everything their +own way;” and so Mr. Twining rubbed his hands, slapped his legs, and +laughed away very pleasantly. +</p> +<p> +“You are rather a Job's comforter, Twining,” said Beecher, tartly. +</p> +<p> +“Not very like Job, your Lordship; very little resemblance, I must say, my +Lord! Much more occasion for pride than patience,—peerage and a fine +property!” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I never coveted it; I can frankly say I never desired +prosperity at the price of—the price of—By the way, Twining, +why not compromise this affair? I don't see why a handsome sum—I'm +quite willing it should be handsome—would n't put all straight. A +clever friend might be able to arrange the whole thing. Don't you agree +with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly, my Lord; quite convinced you have taken the correct view.” +</p> +<p> +“Should you feel any objection to act for me in the matter,—I mean, +to see Davis?” +</p> +<p> +Twining winced like a man in pain. +</p> +<p> +“Why, after all, it is a mere negotiation.” +</p> +<p> +“Very true, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“A mere experiment.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, my Lord; so is proving a new cannon; but I'd just as soon not +sit on the breech for the first fire.” +</p> +<p> +“It's wonderful how every one is afraid of this fellow, and <i>I</i> wind +him round my finger!” +</p> +<p> +“Tact, my Lord,—tact and cleverness, that's it.” +</p> +<p> +“You see, Twining,” said Beecher, confidentially, “I'm not quite clear +that I 'd like to be off. I have n't regularly made up my mind about it. +There's a good deal to be said on either side of the question. I'll tell +you what to do: come and breakfast with us to-morrow morning,—I 'd +say dine, but I mean to get away early and push on towards the South; you +shall see her, and then—and then we 'll have a talk afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +“Charmed, my Lord,—delighted,—too happy. What 's your hour?” +</p> +<p> +“Let us say eleven. Does that suit you?” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly; any hour,—eleven, twelve, one,—whenever your +Lordship pleases.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, good-night, Twining, good-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-night, my Lord, good-night. What fun!” muttered he, slapping his +legs as he stepped out to his lodgings. +</p> +<p> +It was not till he had smoked his fourth cigar, taking counsel from his +tobacco, as was his wont, that the new Viscount returned to his hotel. It +was then nigh morning, and the house was so buried in sleep that he +knocked full half an hour before he gained admittance. +</p> +<p> +“There's a gentleman arrived, sir, who asked after you. He didn't give his +name.” +</p> +<p> +“What is he like,—old, young, short, or tall?” +</p> +<p> +“Middle-aged, sir, and short, with red beard and moustaches. He drank tea +with the lady upstairs, sir, and waited to see you till nigh two o'clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I know him,” muttered Beecher, and passed on. When he reached his +dressing-room, he found the table covered with a mass of letters addressed +to Lord Viscount Lackington, and scrawled over with postmarks; but a card, +with the following few words, more strongly engaged his attention: “It's +all right, you are the Viscount—C. D.” +</p> +<p> +A deep groan burst from Beecher as he dropped the card and sank heavily +into a seat. A long, long time slipped over ere he could open the letters +and examine their contents. They were almost all from lawyers and men of +business, explanation of formalities to be gone through, legal details to +be completed, with here and there respectful entreaties to be continued in +this or that agency. A very bulky one was entirely occupied with a +narrative of the menaced suit on the title, and a list of the papers which +would be hereafter required for the defence. It was vexatious to be told +of a rebellion ere he had yet seated himself on the throne; and so he +tossed the ungracious document to the end of the room, his mood the very +reverse of that he had so long pictured to himself it might be. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it's all great luck!” muttered he to himself; “but up to this I +see no end of difficulty and trouble.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. UNPLEASANT EXPLANATIONS +</h2> +<p> +Beecher had scarcely dropped off to sleep when he was awoke by a heavy, +firm tread in the room; he started up, and saw it was Davis. +</p> +<p> +“How is the noble Viscount?” said Grog, drawing a chair and seating +himself. “I came over here post haste when I got the news.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you told her?” asked Beecher, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Told her! I should think I have. Was it not for the pleasure of that +moment that I came here,—here, where they could arrest me this +instant and send me off to the fortress of Rastadt? I shot an Austrian +officer in the garrison there four years ago.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard of it,” groaned Beecher, from the utmost depth of his heart “So +that she knows it all?” +</p> +<p> +“She knows that you are a peer of England, and that she is a peeress.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher looked at the man as he spoke, and never before did he appear to +him so insufferably insolent and vulgar. Traits which he had in part +forgotten or overlooked now came out in full force, and he saw him in all +the breadth of his coarseness. As if he had read what was passing in +Beecher's mind, Davis stared fully at him, resolute and defiant. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose,” resumed Grog, “it was a pleasure you had reserved for +yourself to inform her Ladyship of her step in rank, but I thought she'd +just like to hear the news as well from her father.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher made no answer, but sat buried in thought; at last he said: “Mr. +Twining, whom I met accidentally last night, told me of my brother's +death, and told me, besides, that it had occurred fully eight weeks ago.” +</p> +<p> +“So long as that!” said Davis, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, so long as that,” said Beecher, fixing his eyes steadfastly on the +other. “He tells me, too, that Lady Lackington wrote twice, or even +thrice, to urge me to come on to Italy; that my arrival was looked for +hourly. Many other letters were also sent after me, but not one reached my +hand. Strange, very strange!” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you have them all there now,” said Grog, defiantly, as he +pointed to the mass of letters on the dressing-table. +</p> +<p> +“No, these are all of recent dates, and refer, besides, to others which I +have never got.” +</p> +<p> +“What has become of the others, then?” asked Grog, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“That's the very point <i>I</i> cannot decide, and it is the very question +I was about to ask of <i>you</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Grog, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“What I mean is this,” said Beecher, “that I am curious to learn how long +it is since you knew of my brother's death?” +</p> +<p> +“If you 'd like to hear when I suspected that fact, perhaps I can tell +you,” said Grog. +</p> +<p> +“Well, let me hear so much.” +</p> +<p> +“It was shortly after your arrival at Holbach.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I thought so—I thought as much!” cried Beecher triumphantly. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit,—wait a bit; don't be sure you have won the game, I 've +a card in my hand yet. When you endorsed certain large bills for Lazarus +Stein at Aix, you signed your name 'Lackington.' Oh, there's no denying +it, I have them here in this pocket-book. Now, either your brother was +dead, or you committed a forgery.” +</p> +<p> +“You know well, sir,” said Beecher, haughtily, “at whose instance and +persuasion I wrote myself Lackington.'” +</p> +<p> +“<i>I</i> know it! I know nothing about it. But before we carry this +controversy further, let me give you a hint: drop this haughty tone you +have just taken with me,—it won't do,—I tell you it won't. If +you 're the Lord Viscount to the world, you know deuced well what you are +to me, and what, if you push me to it, I could make you to <i>them</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Captain Davis, I am inclined to think that we had better come to an +understanding at once,” said Beecher, with a degree of firmness he could +rarely assume. “Our relations cannot be what they have hitherto been. I +will no longer submit to dictation nor control at your hands. Our roads in +life lie in opposite directions; we need seldom to meet, never to cross +each other. If Lady Lackington accepts the same view of these matters as +myself, well; if not, it will not be difficult to suggest an arrangement +satisfactory to each of us.” +</p> +<p> +“And so you think to come the noble Lord over me, do you?” said Grog, with +an irony perfectly savage in look and tone. “I always knew you were a +fool, but that you could carry your stupid folly that far I never +imagined. You want to tell me—if you had the pluck you would tell me—that +you are ashamed of having married <i>my</i> daughter, and I tell <i>you</i> +that out of your whole worthless, wretched, unmanly life, it is the one +sole redeeming action. That <i>she</i> stooped to marry <i>you</i> is +another matter,—she that, at this very moment, confers more honor +upon your rank than it can ever bestow upon <i>her!</i> Ay! start if you +will, but don't sneer; for if you do, by the eternal Heaven above us, it +will be the last laugh you 'll ever indulge in!” A sudden movement of his +hand towards the breast of his coat gave such significance to the words +that Beecher sprang from his seat and approached the bell-rope. “Sit down +there,—there, in that chair,” cried Grog, in the thickened accents +of passion. “I have n't done with you. If you call a servant into the +room, I' ll fling <i>you</i> out of the window. If you imagined, when I +burned your forged acceptances, that I had n't another evidence against +you stronger than all, you mistook Kit Davis. What! did you think to +measure yourself against <i>me?</i> Nature never meant you for that, my +Lord Viscount,—never!” +</p> +<p> +If Davis was carried away by the impetuosity of his savage temper in all +this, anger never disabled him from keenly watching Beecher and scanning +every line in his face. To his amazement, therefore, did he remark that he +no longer exhibited the same extent of fear he had hitherto done. No, he +was calmer and more collected than Grog had ever seen him in a moment of +trial. +</p> +<p> +“When your passion has blown over,” said Beecher, quietly, “you will +perhaps tell me what it is you want or require of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Want of you,—want of you!” reiterated Davis, more abashed by the +other's demeanor than he dared to confess, even to himself,—“what +can <i>I</i> want of you? or, if I do want anything, it is that you will +remember who you are, and who am I. It is not to remember that you are a +Lord, and I a leg,—it is not that I mean,—you 're not very +like to forget it; it is to call to mind that I have the same grip of you +I have had any day these ten years, and that I could show up the Viscount +Lackington just as easily as the Honorable Annesley Beecher.” +</p> +<p> +If Beecher's cheek grew paler, it was only for a moment, and, with an +amount of calm dignity of which Grog had not believed him capable, he +said,— +</p> +<p> +“There's not any use in your employing this language towards me,—there's +not the slightest necessity for me to listen to it. I conclude, after what +has passed between us, we cannot be friends: there's no need, however, of +our being enemies.” +</p> +<p> +“Which means, 'I wish you a very good-morning, Kit Davis,' don't it?” said +Grog, with a grin. +</p> +<p> +Beecher gave a smile that might imply anything. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! so that's it?” cried Davis, endeavoring, by any means, to provoke a +reply. +</p> +<p> +Beecher made no answer, but proceeded in most leisurely style with his +dressing. # +</p> +<p> +“Well, that's candid, anyhow,” said Grog, sternly. “Now, I 'll be as frank +with <i>you</i>: I thought a few days back that I 'd done rather a good +thing of it, but I find that I backed the wrong horse after all. You are +the Viscount, now, but you won't be so this day six months.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher turned his head round, and gave a smile of the most insolent +incredulity. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, I know you'll not believe it, because it is I that tell you; but +there came out a fellow from Fordyce's with the same story, and when you +open your letters you 'll see it again.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher's courage now deserted him, and the chair on which he leaned shook +under his grasp. +</p> +<p> +“Here's how it is,” said Grog, in a calm, deliberate tone: “Dunn—that +same fellow we called on one day together—has fallen upon a paper—a +title, or a patent, or a writ, or something—that shows you have no +claim to the Viscounty, and that it ought to go, along with the estates, +to some man who represents the elder branch. Now Dunn, it seems, was some +way deep with your brother. He had been buying land for him, and not +paying, or paying the money and not getting the land,—at all events, +he was n't on the square with him; and seeing that you might probably +bring him to book, he just says, 'Don't go into accounts with me, and +here's your title; give me any trouble, and I 'll go over to the enemy.'” +</p> +<p> +“But there can be no such document.” +</p> +<p> +“Fordyce's people say there is. Hankes, Dunn's own agent, told them the +substance of it; and it seems it was on the list of proofs, but they never +could lay a hand on it.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher heard no more, but taking up the lawyer's letter, which he had +thrown so indignantly from him the night before, he began patiently to +read it. +</p> +<p> +“Who can make head or tail of all this?” cried he, in angry impatience. +“The fellow writes as if I was a scrivener's clerk, and knew all their +confounded jargon. Mere schemes to extort money these!” +</p> +<p> +“Not always. There's now and then a real charge in the gun, and it's too +late to know it when you 're hit,” cried Grog, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Why do not Fordyce's people send out a proper person to communicate with +myself directly,” said Beecher, haughtily. “They did, and I saw him,” said +Grog, boldly. +</p> +<p> +Beecher grew crimson, and his lip trembled with a convulsive movement. It +was very hard indeed to restrain himself, but, with an effort, he +succeeded, and simply said, “And then—” +</p> +<p> +“And then,” resumed Davis, “I packed him off again.” +</p> +<p> +“What authority had you to thrust yourself forward in this manner?” cried +Beecher, passionately. “What authority?—the interest of my daughter, +the Viscountess Lackington,” said Grog, with a mingled insolence and +mockery. “You may safely swear it was out of no special regard for <i>you</i>. +What authority?” And with this he burst out into a laugh of sarcastic +defiance. +</p> +<p> +“It need not offend you,” said Beecher, “if I say that a question like +this must be intrusted to very different hands from yours.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm sure of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I am not; so far from it, that I'm ready to declare if I can't pull +you through, there's not that man living who can. Lawyers can meet +lawyers. If one wins a trick here, the other scores one there. This fellow +has a deed,—that one has a codicil. It is always the same game; and +they 're in no hurry to finish, for they are playing on velvet. What 's +really wanting is some one that does n't care a rush for a little risk,—ready +to bribe this man,—square the other,—burn a parish register, +if need be, and come at—at any document that may be required,—at +the peril of passing his days at Norfolk Island.” +</p> +<p> +“You fancy that the whole world is like the ring at Ascot,” said Beecher, +sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“And ain't it? What's the difference, I'd like to know? Is it noble lords +like yourself would prove the contrary?” +</p> +<p> +“I will see Fordyce myself,” said Beecher, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“You needn't be at the trouble,” said Davis, calmly. “There's two ways of +doing the thing: one is a compromise with the claimant, who turns out to +be that young Conway, the 'Smasher.'” +</p> +<p> +“Young Conway, the one-armed fellow?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so. The other is, to get hold of Dunn's papers. Now, I have +despatched a trusty hand to the Crimea to see about the first of these +plans. As for the other, I 'll do it myself.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“Just this way: you shall give me a written authority to demand from Dunn +all your family papers and documents, making me out to be your agent for +the Irish estates.” Beecher started, and a slight cast of derision marked +his lip; but there was that in Grog's face that speedily suppressed every +temptation to sneer, and he grew sick with terror. “Dunn will be for +holding out,” resumed Davis. “He 'll be for writing to yourself for +explanations, instructions, and so forth; and if I were a fellow of his +own sort, I 'd have to agree; but, being what I am,—Kit Davis, you +see,—I'll Just say: 'No gammon, my old gent. We don't mean to lose +this match, nor don't mean to let <i>you</i> nobble <i>us</i>. Be on the +square, and it will be all the better for yourself.' <i>We 'll</i> soon +understand each other.” +</p> +<p> +A gentle tap at the door here interrupted Davis, and Beecher's servant, +with a most bland voice, said, “Her Ladyship is waiting breakfast, my +Lord,” and disappeared. +</p> +<p> +“Who told <i>him?</i>” asked Beecher, a strange sense of pleasure +vibrating through him as this recognition reminded him of his newly +acquired station. +</p> +<p> +“I told him last night,” said Davis, with a look that seemed to say, “And +of whatever I do, let there be no farther question.” +</p> +<p> +As they entered the breakfast-room, they found Lizzy—I must ask +pardon if I return at times to their former names in speaking of her and +her husband—in conversation with Mr. Twining, that gentleman having +presented himself, and explained how he came to be there. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know Captain Davis, Twining? Let me present him to you,” said +Beecher, blushing deeply as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Charmed, my Lord,—much honored,—fancy we have met before,—met +at York Spring Meet. Rataplan beat by a neck,—great fun!” +</p> +<p> +“It was n't great fun for me,” growled out Grog; “I stood to win on +Bruiser.” +</p> +<p> +“Excellent horse,—capital horse,—wonderful stride!” +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you what he was,” said Grog, sternly,—“a rare bad 'un!” +</p> +<p> +“You surprise—amaze me, Captain Davis,—quite astonish me! +Always heard a great character of Braiser!” +</p> +<p> +“You did, did you?” said Grog, with a jocose leer. +</p> +<p> +“Well, the information wasn't thrown away, for you laid heavily against +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Most agreeable man, your father-in-law, my Lord,” said Twining, slapping +his legs and laughing away in high good humor; then, turning again to +Davis, he engaged him in conversation. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Beecher had drawn Lizzy into a recess of the window, and was +whispering anxiously to her. +</p> +<p> +“Did this piece of news take you by surprise?” asked he, scanning her +closely as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“It was quite unexpected,” said he, half in question,—“at least by +me,” added he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +She saw that some suspicion—she knew not of what, and as possibly +cared as little—agitated him, and she turned away to the +breakfast-table without speaking. Beecher, however, led her back again to +the window. “I 'd like much to ask you a question,” said he, half timidly; +“that is, if I did not fear you might take it ill.” +</p> +<p> +“And there is such a risk, is there?” asked she. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it is just possible,” faltered he. +</p> +<p> +“In that case, take my advice, and do not hazard it.” There was a calm +resolution in her tone that carried more weight with it than anything like +passion, and Beecher felt in his heart that he dared not reject her +counsel. +</p> +<p> +Lizzy had now taken her place at the breakfast-table, her air, look, and +manner being all that could denote a mind perfectly easy and contented. So +consummate, too, was her tact, that she gradually led the conversation +into that tone of pleasant familiarity when frank opinions are expressed +and people talk without restraint; and thus, without the semblance of an +effort, she succeeded, while developing any agreeability Beecher +possessed, in silencing her father, whose judgments of men and events were +not always the safest. As for Twining, she perfectly fascinated him. He +was no mean critic in all that regards dress and manners; few men could +more unerringly detect a flaw in breeding or a solecism in address. Mere +acting, however good, would never have imposed upon him, and all the +polish of manner and the charm of a finished courtesy would have failed +with him if unaccompanied by that “sentiment” of good breeding which is +its last and highest captivation. How subdued was all the flippant mockery +of his manner! how respectful the tone in which he accosted her! It was +the Viscountess, and not Grog Davis's daughter, he saw before him. Now +Beecher saw all this, and a sense of pride swelled his heart, and made him +almost forget his distrusts and suspicions. When breakfast was over, +Lizzy, passing her arm within her father's, led him away. She had many +things to say to him, and he to her, so that Beecher and Twining were left +alone together. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Twining,” said Annesley, as he lighted a cigar, “tell me frankly,—don't +you think I might have done worse?” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible to have done better,—impossible!” said Twining. “I don't +speak of her Ladyship's beauty, in which she surpasses all I have ever +seen, but her manner—her courtesy—has a blending of grace and +dignity that would confer honor on the most finished Court in Europe.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm glad you say so, Twining; men quote <i>you</i> as an authority on +these things, and I own frankly I am delighted to have my own judgment so +ratified.” +</p> +<p> +“Her appearance in the world will be such a success as one has not seen +for years!” exclaimed Twining. +</p> +<p> +“She'll be sharply criticised,” said Beecher, puffing his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“She can well afford it, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“What will the women say, Twining? She is <i>so</i> good-looking,—what +will the women say?” +</p> +<p> +“Where there's no rivalry, there will be no dispraise. She is so +surpassingly beautiful that none will have courage to criticise; and if +they should, where can they detect a fault?” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you are right, Twining,—I believe you are right,” said +Beecher, and his face glowed with pleasure as he spoke. “Where she got her +manners I can't make out,” added he, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, my Lord, these are Nature's own secrets, and she keeps them closely.” +</p> +<p> +“It is the father—old Grog—is the difficulty,” whispered +Beecher, still lower; “what can be done with <i>him?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Original, certainly; peculiar,—very peculiar,—what fun!” And +Twining in an instant recovered all his wonted manner, and slapped away at +his legs unmercifully. +</p> +<p> +“I don't exactly see the fun of it,—especially for me,” said +Beecher, peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“After all, a well-known man, my Lord,—public character,—a +celebrity, so to say.” +</p> +<p> +“Confound it!” cried Beecher, angrily, “don't you perceive there lies the +whole annoyance? The fellow is known from one end of England to the other. +You can't enter a club of a rainy day, when men sit round the fire, +without hearing a story of him; you don't get to the third station on a +railroad till some one says, 'Have you heard old Grog's last?' There's no +end to him?” +</p> +<p> +“Wonderful resources!—astonishing!—great fun!” +</p> +<p> +“I'll be hanged if it <i>is</i> great fun, though you are pleased to say +so,” said Beecher, angrily. +</p> +<p> +Twining was far too good-tempered to feel hurt by this peevishness, and +only rubbed his hands and laughed joyfully. +</p> +<p> +“And the worst of all,” resumed Beecher,—“the worst of all is, he <i>will</i> +be a foreground figure; do what you may, he <i>will</i> be in the front of +the Stand-house.” +</p> +<p> +“Get him a situation abroad, my Lord,—something in the colonies,” +broke in Twining. +</p> +<p> +“Not a bad thought that, Twining; only he is so notorious.” +</p> +<p> +“Doesn't signify in the least, my Lord. Every office under the Crown has +its penal settlements. The Foreign Office makes its culprits consuls; the +Colonial sends their chief justices to the Gold Coast; and the Home +Secretary's Botany Bay is Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +“But would they really give me something,—I mean something he 'd +take?” +</p> +<p> +“I have n't a doubt of it, my Lord; I wanted to get rid of a poor relation +t' other day, and they made him a Boundary Commissioner at Baffin's Bay. +Baffin's Bay!—what fun!” And he laughed immoderately. +</p> +<p> +“How am I to set about this, Twining? You are aware that up to this I have +had no relations with politics or parties.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing easier, my Lord; always easy for a peer,—proxy often of +great consequence. Write to the Premier,—hint that you are well +disposed to adopt his views,—due maintenance of all the glorious +privileges of our Constitution, with progressive improvement,—great +fun, capital fun! all the landmarks firm and fixed, and as much of your +neighbor's farm as possible. Or if you don't like to do this, set +Davenport Dunn at them; he is your Lordship's Irish agent,—at least, +he was the late Viscount's,—he 'll do it,—none better, none so +well!” +</p> +<p> +“That might be the best way,” said Beecher, musing. +</p> +<p> +“He'll be charmed—delighted—overjoyed at this proof of your +Lordship's confidence. He 'll go to work at once, and before your Lordship +begins to receive, or go out, your amiable and most highly gifted +father-in-law may be Income-tax Collector in Cochin-China.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, there's only one thing more, Twining, which is, to induce Davis to +agree to this. He likes Europe,—likes the life of England and the +Continent.” +</p> +<p> +“Certain he does,—quite sure of it; no man more calculated to +appreciate society or adorn it. Capital fun!” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think,” resumed Beecher, “that you could just throw out a hint—a +slight suggestion—to see how he'd take it?” +</p> +<p> +“Come much better from your Lordship.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don't know—that is, I half suspect—” +</p> +<p> +“Far better, infinitely better, my Lord; your own tact, your Lordship's +good taste—Oh dear me, one o'clock already, and I have an +appointment!” And with the most profuse apologies for a hurried departure, +and as many excuses to be conveyed to her Ladyship, Mr. Twining +disappeared. +</p> +<p> +Although Twining's reluctance to carry into execution the tone of policy +he suggested did not escape Beecher's penetration, the policy itself +seemed highly recommendable. Grog out of Europe,—Grog beyond the +seas, collecting taxes, imprisoning skippers, hunting runaway negroes, or +flogging Caffres,—it mattered not, so that he never crossed his +sight again. To be sure, it was not exactly the moment to persuade Davis +to expatriate himself when his prospects at home began to brighten, and he +saw his daughter a peeress. Still, Dunn was a fellow of such marvellous +readiness, such astonishing resources! If any man could “hit off” the way +here, it was he. And then, how fortunate! Grog was eagerly pressing +Beecher to be accredited to this same Davenport Dunn; he asked that he +might be sent to confer and negotiate with him about the pending action at +law. What an admirable opportunity was this, then, for Dunn to sound Davis +and, if occasion served, tempt him with an offer of place! Besides these +reasons, valid and sound so far as they went, there was another impulse +that never ceased to urge Beecher forward, and this was a vague shadowy +sort of impression that if he could only succeed in his plan he should +have outwitted Grog, and “done” <i>him</i>. There was a sense of triumph +associated with this thought that made his heart swell with pride. In his +passion for double-dealing, he began to think how he could effect his +present purpose,—by what zigzag and circuitous road, through what +tangled scheme of duplicity and trick. “I have it,—I have it,” cried +he at length; and he hastened to his dressing-room, and, having locked the +door, he opened his writing-desk and sat down to write. But it is not at +the end of a chapter I can presume to insert his Lordship's +correspondence. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. OVERREACHINGS +</h2> +<p> +Beecher did not amongst his gifts possess the pen of a ready writer; but +there was a strange symmetry observable between the composition and the +manual part. The lines were irregular, the letters variously sized, +erasures frequent, blots everywhere, while the spelling displayed a spirit +that soared above orthography. A man unused to writing, in the cares of +composition, is pretty much in the predicament of a bad horseman in a +hunting-field. He has a vague, indistinct motion of “where” he ought to +go, without the smallest conception as to the “how.” He is balked or +“pounded” at every step, always trying back, but never by any chance +hitting off the right road to his object. +</p> +<p> +Above a dozen sheets of paper lay half scrawled over before him after two +hours of hard labor, and there he still sat pondering over his weary task. +His scheme was simply this: to write a few lines to Dunn, introducing his +father-in-law, and instructing him to afford him all information and +details as to the circumstances of the Irish property, it being his +intention to establish Captain Davis in the position of his agent in that +country; having done which, and given to Grog to read over, he meant to +substitute another in its place, which other was confidentially to entreat +of Dunn to obtain some foreign and far-away appointment for Davis, and by +every imaginable means to induce him to accept it. This latter document +Dunn was to be instructed to burn immediately after reading. In fact, the +bare thought of what would ensue if Davis saw it, made him tremble all +over, and aggravated all the difficulties of composition. Even the mode of +beginning puzzled him, and there lay some eight or ten sheets scrawled +over with a single line, thus: “Lord Lackington presents his compliments”—“The +Viscount Lackington requests”—“Lord Lackington takes the present +opportunity”—“Dear Dunn”—“Dear Mr. Dunn”—“My dear Mr. +Dunn”—“Dear D.” How nicely and minutely did he weigh over in his +mind the value to be attached to this exordium, and how far the importance +of position counterbalanced the condescension of close intimacy! “Better +be familiar,” said he, at last; “he 's a vulgar dog, and he 'll like it;” +and so he decided for “My dear Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Dunn,—As I know of your influence with the people in power—too +formal that, perhaps,” said he, re-reading it—“as I know what you +can do with the dons in Downing Street—that 's far better—I +want you to book the bearer—no, that is making a flunkey of him—I +want you to secure me a snug thing in the Colonies—or better, a snug +Colonial appointment—for my father-in-law—no, for my friend—no, +for my old and attached follower, Captain Davis—that's devilish +well-rounded, 'old and attached follower, Captain Davis.' When I tell you +that I desire he may get something over the hills and far away, you 'll +guess at once—you 'll guess at once why—no, guess the reason—no, +you 'll see with half an eye how the cat jumps.” He threw down his pen at +this, and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight. “Climate does n't +signify a rush, for he's strong as a three-year-old, and has the digestion +of an 'ostrage;' the main thing, little to do, and opportunities for blind +hookey. As to outfit, and some money in hand, I 'll stand it. Once +launched, if there's only a billiard-table or dice-box in the colony, he +'ll not starve.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh, Grog, my boy,” cried he, with a laugh, “as the parsons say, 'Salary +less an object than a field of profitable labor!' And, by Jove! the grass +will be very short, indeed, where you can't get enough to feed on! There +'s no need to give Dunn a caution about reserve, and so forth with him,—he +knows Grog well.” +</p> +<p> +Having finished this letter, and placed it carefully in his pocket, he +began the other, which, seeing that it was never to be delivered, and only +shown to Davis himself, cost him very little trouble in the composition. +Still it was not devoid of all difficulty, since, by the expectations it +might create in Grog's mind of obtaining the management of the Irish +property, it would be actually throwing obstacles in the way of his going +abroad. He therefore worded the epistle more carefully, stating it to be +his intention that Captain Davis should be his agent at some future time +not exactly defined, and requesting Dunn to confer with him as one +enjoying his own fullest confidence. +</p> +<p> +He had but finished the document when a sharp knock at the door announced +Davis. “The very man I wanted,” said Beecher; “sit down and read that.” +</p> +<p> +Grog took his double eye-glass from his pocket,—an aid to his sight +only had recourse to when he meant to scrutinize every word and every +letter,—and sat down to read. “Vague enough,” said he, as he +concluded. “Small credentials for most men, but quite sufficient for Kit +Davis.” +</p> +<p> +“I know that,” said Beecher, half timidly; for no sooner in the redoubted +presence than he began to tremble at his own temerity. +</p> +<p> +“This Mr. Dunn is a practical sort of man, they say, so that we shall soon +understand each other,” said Davis. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you'll like him greatly.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't want to like him,” broke in Grog; “nor do I want him to like <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“He's a fellow of immense influence just now; can do what he pleases with +the Ministry.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better for him,” said Grog, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“And for his friends, sir,” added Beecher. “He has only to send in a name, +and he's sure to get what he asks for, at home or abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“How convenient!” said Grog; and whether it was an accident or not, he +directed his eyes full on Beecher as he spoke, and as suddenly a deep +blush spread over the other's face. “Very convenient, indeed,” went on +Grog, while his unrelenting glance never wavered nor turned away. As he +stared, so did Beecher's confusion increase, till at last, unable to +endure more, he turned away, sick at heart “My Lord Viscount,” said Grog, +gravely, “let me give you a word of counsel: never commit a murder; for if +you do, your own fears will hang you.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't understand you,” faltered out Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you do; and right well too,” broke in Grog, boldly. “What rubbish +have you got into your head now, about 'a place' for me? What nonsensical +scheme about making me an inspector of this or a collector of that? Do you +imagine that for any paltry seven or eight hundred a year I 'm going to +enter into recognizance not to do what's worth six times the amount? +Mayhap you 'd like to send me to India or to China. Oh, that's the dodge, +is it?” exclaimed he, as the crimson flush now extended over Beecher's +forehead to the very roots of his hair. “Well, where is it to be? There 's +a place called Bogota, where they always have yellow fever; couldn't you +get me named consul there? Oh dear, oh dear!” laughed he out, “how you <i>will</i> +go on playing that little game, though you never score a point!” +</p> +<p> +“I sometimes imagine that you don't know how offensive your language is,” +said Beecher, whose angry indignation had mastered all his fears; “at +least, it is the only explanation I can suggest for your conduct towards +myself!” +</p> +<p> +“Look at it this way,” said Grog; “if you always lost the game whenever +you played against one particular man, wouldn't you give in at last, and +own him for your master? Well, now, that is exactly what you are doing +with me,—losing, losing on, and yet you won't see that you're +beaten.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you what I see, sir,” said Beecher, haughtily,—“that our +intercourse must cease.” +</p> +<p> +Was it not strange that this coarse man, reckless in action, headstrong +and violent, felt abashed, for the instant, in presence of the dignified +manner which, for a passing moment, the other displayed. It was the one +sole weapon Grog Davis could not match; and before the “gentleman” he +quailed, but only for a second or two, when he rallied, and said, “I want +the intercourse as little as you do. I am here for the pleasure of being +with my daughter.” +</p> +<p> +“As for that,” began Beecher, “there is no need—” He stopped +abruptly, something terribly menacing in Grog's face actually arresting +his words in the utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Take you care what you say,” muttered Grog, as he approached him, and +spoke with a low, guttural growl. “I have n't much patience at the best of +times; don't provoke me <i>now.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Will you take this letter,—yes or no?” said Beecher, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“I will: seal and address it,” said Grog, searching for a match to light +the taper, while Beecher folded the letter, and wrote the direction. Davis +continued to break match after match in his effort to strike a light. +Already the dusk of declining day filled the room, and objects were dimly +descried. Beecher's heart beat violently. The thought that even yet, if he +could summon courage for it, he might outwit Grog, sent a wild thrill +through him. What ecstasy, could he only succeed! +</p> +<p> +“Curse these wax contrivances! the common wooden ones never failed,” +muttered Davis. “There goes the fifth.” +</p> +<p> +“If you 'll ring for Fisher—” +</p> +<p> +An exclamation and an oath proclaimed that he had just burned his finger; +but he still persevered. +</p> +<p> +“At last!” cried he,—“at last!” And just as the flame rose slowly +up, Beecher had slipped the letter in his pocket, and substituted the +other in its place. +</p> +<p> +“I'll write 'Private and confidential,'” added Beecher, “to show that the +communication is strictly for himself alone.” And now the document was +duly sealed, and the name “Lackington” inscribed in the corner. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll start to-night,” said Davis, as he placed the letter in his +pocket-book; “I may have to delay a day in London, to see Fordyce. Where +shall I write to you?” +</p> +<p> +“I'll talk that over with my Lady,” said the other, still trembling with +the remnant of his fears. “We dine at six,” added he, as Davis arose to +leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“So Lizzy told me,” said Davis. +</p> +<p> +“You don't happen to know if she invited Twining, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“No! but I hope she didn't,” said Grog, sulkily. +</p> +<p> +“Why so? He's always chatty, pleasant, and agreeable,” said Beecher, whose +turn it was now to enjoy the other's irritation. +</p> +<p> +“He's what I hate most in the world,” said Davis, vindictively; “a swell +that can walk into every leg in the Ring,—that's what he is!” And +with this damnatory estimate of the light-hearted, easy-natured Adderley +Twining, Grog banged the door and departed. +</p> +<p> +That social sacrament, as some one calls dinner, must have a strange, +mysterious power over our affections and our sympathies; for when these +two men next met each other, with napkins on their knees and soup before +them, their manner was bland, and even cordial. You will probably say, How +could they be otherwise? that was neither the time nor place to display +acrimony or bitterness, nor could they carry out in Lizzy's presence the +unseemly discussion of the morning. Very true; and their bearing might, +consequently, exhibit a calm and decent courtesy; but it did more,—far +more; it was familiar and even friendly, and it is to the especial +influence of the dinner-table that I attribute the happy change. The +blended decorum and splendor—that happy union of tangible pleasure +with suggestive enjoyment, so typified by a well-laid and well-spread +table—is a marvellous peacemaker. Discrepant opinions blend into +harmonious compromise as the savory odors unite into an atmosphere of +nutritious incense, and a wider charity to one's fellows comes in with the +champagne. Where does diplomacy unbend? where do its high-priests +condescend to human feelings and sympathies save at dinner? Where, save at +Mansion House banquets, are great Ministers facetious? +</p> +<p> +Where else are grave Chancellors jocose and Treasury Lords convivial? +</p> +<p> +The three who now met were each in their several ways in good spirits: +Grog, because he had successfully reasserted his influence over Beecher; +Beecher, because, while appearing to be defeated, he had duped his +adversary; and Lizzy, for the far better reason that she was looking her +very best, and that she knew it. She had, moreover, passed a very pleasant +morning; for Mr. Twining had made it his business—doubtless, with +much hand-rubbing and many exclamations of “What fun!”—to go amongst +all the tradespeople of Baden, proclaiming the arrival of a “millionnaire +Milor,” and counselling them to repair with all the temptations of their +shops to the hotel. The consequence was that Lizzy's drawing-room was like +a fair till the hour of dressing for dinner. Jewelry in its most +attractive forms, rich lace, silks, velvets, furs, costly embroideries, +inlaid cabinets, gems, ancient and modern,—all the knick-knackeries +which a voluptuous taste has conceived, all the extravagant inventions of +a fashion bent on ruinous expenditure,—were there; fans sparkling +with rubies, riding-whips incrusted with turquoises, slippers studded over +with pearls. There was nothing wanting; even richly carved meerschaums and +walking-sticks were paraded, in the hope that as objects of art and +elegance they might attract her favor. Her father had found her dazzled +and delighted by all this splendor, and told her that one of the first +duties of her high station was the encouragement of art. “It is to you, +and such as you, these people look for patronage,” said he. “An English +peeress is a princess, and must dispense her wealth generously.” +</p> +<p> +I am bound to acknowledge, her Ladyship did not shrink from this +responsibility of her station. Without caring for the cost,—as often +without even inquiring the price,—she selected what she wished; and +rows of pearls, diamond bracelets, rings, and head ornaments covered her +dressing-table, while sable and Astrakan cloaks, cashmeres, and Genoa +velvets littered every corner of the room. “After all,” thought she, as +she fixed a jewelled comb in her hair, “it is very nice to be rich; and +while delighting yourself you can make so many others happy.” +</p> +<p> +Doubtless, too, there was some reason in the reflection; and in the +smiling faces and grateful glances around her she found a ready +confirmation of the sentiment. Happily for her at the moment, she did not +know how soon such pleasures pall, and, as happily for ourselves, too, is +it the law of our being that they should do so, and that no enjoyment is +worth the name which has cost no effort to procure, nor any happiness a +boon which has not demanded an exertion to arrive at. If Beecher was +startled at the sight of all these costly purchases, his mind was greatly +relieved as Grog whispered him that Herr Koch, the banker, had opened a +credit for him, on which he might draw as freely as he pleased. The word +“Lackington” was a talisman which suddenly converted a sea of storm and +peril into a lovely lake only ruffled by a zephyr. +</p> +<p> +At last the pleasant dinner drew to a close; and as the coffee was brought +in, the noise of a carriage beneath the windows attracted them. +</p> +<p> +“That's <i>my</i> trap,” said Davis; “I ordered it for half past eight, +exactly.” +</p> +<p> +“But there 's no train at this hour,” began Lizzy. +</p> +<p> +“I know that; but I mean to post all night, and reach Carlsruhe for the +first departure in the morning. I 'm due in London on Monday morning,—eh, +my Lord?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that you are,” said Beecher; “Dublin, Tuesday evening.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Davis, as he arose; “and I mean to keep my time like a +pendulum. Can I do any little commission for your Ladyship as I pass +through town,—anything at Howell and James's, anything from +Storr's?” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard of them—” +</p> +<p> +“Quite time enough, Lizzy,” broke in Beecher; “not to say that we might +stock a very smart warehouse with the contents of the next room. Don't +forget the courier,—he can join us at Rome; and remember, we shall +want a cook. The 'Mowbray' have an excellent fellow, and I 'm sure an +extra fifty would seduce him, particularly as he hates England, detests a +club, and can't abide the 'Sundays;' and my Lady will require something +smarter than Annette as a maid.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I could n't part with Annette!” +</p> +<p> +“Nor need you; but you must have some one who can dress hair in a +Christian fashion.” +</p> +<p> +“And what do you call that?” asked Grog, with a stare of insolent meaning. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord is quite right in the epithet; for I copied my present coiffure +from a picture of a Jewish girl I bought this morning, and I fancy it +becomes me vastly.” +</p> +<p> +There was in the easy coquetry of this speech what at once relieved the +awkwardness of a very ticklish moment, and Beecher rewarded her address +with a smile of gratitude. +</p> +<p> +“And the house in Portland Place to be let?” murmured Davis, as he read +from his note-book. “What of that box in the Isle of Wight?” +</p> +<p> +“I rather think we shall keep it on; my sister-in-law liked it, and might +wish to go there.” +</p> +<p> +“Let her buy it or take a lease of it, then,” said Grog. “You 'll see, +when you come to look into it, she has been left right well off.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher turned away impatiently, and made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“All that Herefordshire rubbish of model farm and farming-stock had better +be sold at once. You are not going into that humbug like the late Lord, I +suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“I have come to no determination about Lackington Court as yet,” said +Beecher, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“The sooner you do, then, the better. There's not a more rotten piece of +expense in the world than southdowns and shorthorns, except it be +Cochin-China hens and blue tulips.” +</p> +<p> +“Let Fordyce look to my subscriptions at the clubs.” +</p> +<p> +“Pure waste of money when you are not going back there.” +</p> +<p> +“But who says that I am not?” asked Beecher, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Not yet a bit, at all events,” replied Davis, and with a grin of +malicious meaning so significant that Beecher actually sickened with +terror. +</p> +<p> +“It will be quite time enough to make further arrangements when I confer +with the members of my family,” said Beecher, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +To this speech Davis only answered by another grin, that spoke as plain as +words could, “Even the high tone will have no effect upon <i>me</i>.” +Luckily this penance was not long to endure, for Lizzy had drawn her +father aside, and was whispering a few last words to him. It was in a +voice so low and subdued they spoke that nothing could be heard; but +Beecher imagined or fancied he heard Grog mutter, “'Pluck' will do it; +'pluck' will do anything.” A long, affectionate embrace, and a fondly +uttered “Good-bye, girl,” followed, and then, shaking hands with Beecher, +Davis lighted his cigar and departed. +</p> +<p> +Lizzy opened the window, and, leaning over the balcony, watched the +carriage as it sped along the valley, the lights appearing and +disappearing at intervals. What thoughts were hers as she stood there? Who +knows? Did she sorrow after him, the one sole being who had cared for her +through life; did her heart sadden at the sense of desertion; was the +loneliness of her lot in life then uppermost in her mind; or did she feel +a sort of freedom in the thought that now she was to be self-guided and +self-dependent? I know not. I can only say that, though a slight flush +colored her cheek, she shed no tears; and as she closed the window and +returned into the room, her features were calm and emotionless. +</p> +<p> +“Why did not papa take the route by Strasburg? It is much the shortest?” +</p> +<p> +“He couldn't,” said Beecher, with a triumphant bitterness,—“he could +n't. He can't go near Paris.” +</p> +<p> +“By Verviers, then, and Belgium?” said she, reddening. +</p> +<p> +“He'd be arrested in Belgium and tried for his life. He has no road left +but down the Rhine to Rotterdam.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said she, rising, “it must be a real peril that turns <i>him</i> +from his path.” There was an accent on the pronoun that almost made the +speech a sarcasm; at all events, ere Beecher could notice it, she had left +the room. +</p> +<p> +“Now, if Fortune really meant to do me a good turn,” said Beecher to +himself, “she 'd just shove my respected father-in-law, writing-desk, +pocket-book, and all, into the 'Rheingau,' never to turn up again.” And +with this pious sentiment, half wish, half prayer, he went downstairs and +strolled into the street. +</p> +<p> +As the bracing night air refreshed him, he walked along briskly towards +Lindenthal, his mind more at ease than before. It was, indeed, no small +boon that the terror of Grog's presence was removed. The man who had seen +him in all his transgressions and his shortcomings was, in reality, little +else than an open volume of conscience, ever wide spread before him. How +could he presume in such a presence to assert one single high or honorable +motive? What honest sentiment dare be enunciate? He felt in his heart that +the Viscount Lackington with ten thousand a year was not the Honorable +Annesley Beecher with three hundred. The noble Lord could smile at the +baits that to the younger son were irresistible temptations. There was no +necessity that <i>he</i> should plot, scheme, and contrive; or if he did, +it should be for a higher prize, or in a higher sphere and with higher +antagonists. And yet Grog would not have it so. Let him do what he would, +there was the inexorable Davis ever ready to bring down Lackington to the +meridian of Beecher! Amidst all the misfortunes of his life, the ever +having known this man was the worst,—the very worst! +</p> +<p> +And now he began to go over in his mind some of the most eventful +incidents of this companionship. It was a gloomy catalogue of debauch and +ruin. Young fellows entrapped at the very outset in life, led on to play, +swindled, “hocussed,” menaced with exposure, threatened with who knows +what perils of public scandal if they refused to sign this or that +“promise to pay.” Then all the intrigues to obtain the money; the stealthy +pursuit of the creditor to the day of his advancement or his marriage; the +menaces measured out to the exigencies of the case,—now a +prosecution, now a pistol. What a dreadful labyrinth of wickedness was it, +and how had he threaded through it undetected! He heaved a heavy sigh as +he muttered a sort of thanksgiving that it was all ended at last,—all +over! “If it were not for Grog, these memories need never come back to +me,” said he. “Nobody wants to recall them against me, and the world will +be most happy to dine with the Viscount Lackington without a thought of +the transgressions of Annesley Beecher! If it were not for Grog,—if +it were not for Grog!” and so ran the eternal refrain at the close of each +reflection. “At all events,” said he, “I 'll 'put the Alps between us;'” +and early on the following morning the travelling-carriage stood ready at +the door, and amidst the bowings and reverences of the hotel +functionaries, the “happy pair” set out for Italy. +</p> +<p> +Do not smile in any derision at the phrase, good reader; the words are +classic by newspaper authority; and whatever popular preachers may aver to +the contrary, we live in a most charming world, where singleness is +blessed and marriage is happy, public speaking is always eloquent, and +soldiery ever gallant. Still, even a sterner critic might have admitted +that the epithet was not misapplied; for there are worse things in life +than to be a viscount with a very beautiful wife, rolling pleasantly along +the Via Mala on Collinge's best patent, with six smoking posters, on a +bright day of November. This for his share; as to hers, I shall not speak +of it. And yet, why should I not? Whatever may be the conflict in the +close citadel of the heart, how much of pleasure is derivable from the +mere aspect of a beautiful country as one drives rapidly along, swift +enough to bring the changes of scene agreeably before the eye, and yet not +too fast to admit of many a look at some spot especially beautiful. And +then how charming to lose oneself in that-dreamland, where, peopling the +landscape with figures of long, long ago, we too have our part, and ride +forth at daybreak from some deep-vaulted portal in jingling mail, or gaze +from some lone tower over the wide expanse that forms our baronial realm,—visions +of ambition, fancies of a lowly, humble life, alternating as the +rock-crowned castle or the sheltered cot succeed each other! And lastly, +that strange, proud sentiment we feel as we sweep past town and village, +where human life goes on in its accustomed track,—the crowd in the +market-place, the little group around the inn, the heavy wagon unloading +at the little quay, the children hastening on to school,—all these +signs of a small, small world of its own, that we, in our greatness, are +never again to gaze on, our higher destiny bearing us ever onward to +grander and more pretentious scenes. +</p> +<p> +“And this is Italy?” said Lizzy, half aloud, as, emerging from the mists +of the Higher Alps, the carriage wound its zigzag descent from the +Splügen, little glimpses of the vast plain of Lombardy coming into view at +each turn of the way, and then the picturesque outlines of old ruinous +Chiavenna, its tumble-down houses, half hid in trellised vines, and +farther on, again, the head of the Lake of Como, with its shores of rugged +rock. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and this miserable dog-hole here is called Campo Dolcino!” said +Beecher, as he turned over the leaves of his “John Murray.” “That's the +most remarkable thing about these Italians; they have such high-sounding +names for everything, and we are fools enough to be taken in by the +sound.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a delusion that we are rather disposed to indulge in, generally,” +said Lizzy. “The words, 'your Majesty' or 'your Highness,' have their own +magic in them, even when the representatives respond but little to the +station.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20342.jpg" width="100%" alt="342 " /> +</div> +<p> +“It was your father, I fancy, taught you that lesson,” said he, peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“What lesson do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“To hold people of high rank cheaply; to imagine that they must be all +cheats and impositions.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said she, calmly but resolutely. “If he taught me anything on this +subject, it was to attribute to persons of exalted station very lofty +qualities. What I have to fear is that my expectation will be far above +the reality. I can imagine what they might be, but I 'm not so sure it is +what I shall find them.” +</p> +<p> +“You had better not say so to my sister-in-law,” said Beecher, jeeringly. +</p> +<p> +“It is not my intention,” said she, with the same calm voice. +</p> +<p> +“I make that remark,” resumed he, “because she has what some people would +call exaggerated notions about the superiority of the well-born over all +inferior classes; indeed, she is scarcely just in her estimate of low +people.” +</p> +<p> +“Low people are really to be pitied!” said she, with a slight laugh; and +Beecher stole a quick glance at her, and was silent. +</p> +<p> +He was not able long to maintain this reserve. The truth was, he felt an +invincible desire to recur to the class in life from which Lizzy came, and +to speak disparagingly of all who were humbly born. Not that this +vulgarity was really natural to him,—far from it. With all his +blemishes and defects he was innately too much a gentleman to descend to +this. The secret impulse was to be revenged of Grog Davis; to have the one +only possible vengeance on the man that had “done him;” and even though +that was only to be exacted through Davis's daughter, it pleased him. And +so he went on to tell of the prejudices—absurd, of course—that +persons like Lady Georgina would persist in entertaining about common +people. “You 'll have to be so careful in all your intercourse with her,” +said he; “easy, natural, of course, but never familiar; she would n't +stand it.” +</p> +<p> +“I will be careful,” said Lizzy, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“The chances are, she 'll find out some one of the name, and ask you, in +her own half-careless way, 'Are you of the Staffordshire Davises? or do +you belong to the Davises of such a place?'” +</p> +<p> +“If she should, I can only reply that I don't know,” said Lizzy. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! but you must n't say that,” laughed out Beecher, who felt a sort of +triumph over what he regarded as his wife's simplicity. +</p> +<p> +“You would not, surely, have me say that I was related to these people?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not exactly that; but, still, to say that you didn't know whether you +were or not, would be a terrible blunder! It would amount to a confession +that you were Davises of nowhere at all.” +</p> +<p> +“Which is about the truth, perhaps,” said she, in the same tone. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! truth is a very nice thing, but not always pleasant to tell.” +</p> +<p> +“But don't you think you could save me from an examination in which I am +so certain to acquit myself ill, by simply stating that you have married a +person without rank, station, or fortune? These facts once understood, I +feel certain that her Ladyship will never allude to them unpleasantly.” +</p> +<p> +“Then there 's another point,” said Beecher, evidently piqued that he had +not succeeded in irritating her,—“there 's another point, and you +must be especially careful about it,—never, by any chance, let out +that you were educated at a school, or a pensionnat, or whatever they call +it. If there 's anything she cannot abide, it is the thought of a girl +brought up at a school; mind, therefore, only say, 'my governess.'” +</p> +<p> +She smiled and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Then she'll ask you if you had been 'out,' and when you were presented, +and who presented you. She 'll do it so quietly and so naturally, you 'd +never guess that she meant any impertinence by it.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better, for I shall not feel offended.” +</p> +<p> +“As to the drawing-room,” rejoined Beecher, “you must say that you always +lived very retiredly,—never came up to town; that your father saw +very little company.” +</p> +<p> +“Is not this Chiavenna we 're coming to?” asked Lizzy, a slight—but +very slight—flush rising to her cheek. And now the loud cracking of +the postilions' whips drowned all other sounds as the horses tore along +through the narrow streets, making the frail old houses rock and shiver as +they passed. A miserable-looking vetturino carriage stood at the inn door, +and was dragged hastily out of the way to make room for the more +pretentious equipage. Scarcely had the courier got down than the whole +retinue of the inn was in motion, eagerly asking if “Milordo” would not +alight, if his “Eccellenza” would not take some refreshment. +</p> +<p> +But his “Eccellenza” would do neither; sooth to say, he was not in the +best of humors, and curtly said, “No, I want nothing but post-horses to +get out of this wretched place.” +</p> +<p> +“Is n't that like an Englishman?” said a voice from the vetturino carriage +to some one beside him. +</p> +<p> +“But I know him,” cried the other, leaping out. “It's the new Viscount +Lackington.” And with this he approached the carriage, and respectfully +removing his hat, said, “How d'ye do, my Lord?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Spicer! you here?” said Beecher, half haughtily. “Off to England, I +suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord, I 'm bound for Rome.” +</p> +<p> +“So are we, too. Lady Lackington and myself,” added be, correcting at once +a familiar sort of a glance that Spicer found time to bestow upon Lizzy. +“Do you happen to know if Lady Georgina is there?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, at the Palazzo Gondi, on the Pintian;” and here Spicer +threw into his look an expression of respectful homage to her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“Palazzo Gondi; will you try and remember that address?” said Beecher to +his wife. And then, waving his hand to Spicer, he added, “Good-bye,—meet +you at Rome some of these days,” and was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. AT ROME +</h2> +<p> +In a small and not very comfortably furnished room looking out upon the +Pintian Hill at Rome, two ladies were seated, working,—one in deep +mourning, whose freshness indicated a recent loss; the other in a +strangely fashioned robe of black silk, whose deep cape and rigid absence +of ornament recalled something of the cloister. The first was the widowed +Viscountess Lackington; the second the Lady Grace Twining, a recent +convert to Rome, and now on her way to some ecclesiastical preferment in +the Church, either as “Chanoinesse,” or something equally desirable. Lady +Lackington looked ill and harassed; there were not on her face any traces +of deep sorrow or affliction, but the painful marks of much thought. It +was the expression of one who had gone through a season of trial wherein +she had to meet events and personages all new and strange to her. It was +only during the last few days of Lord Lackington's illness that she +learned the fact of a contested claim to the title, but, brief as was the +time, every post brought a mass of letters bearing on this painful topic. +While the lawyers, therefore, showered their unpleasant and discouraging +tidings, there was nothing to be heard of Beecher; none knew where he was, +or how a letter was to reach him. All her own epistles to him remained +unacknowledged. Fordyce's people could not trace him, neither could Mr. +Dunn, and there was actually the thought of asking the aid of that +inquisitorial service whose detective energies are generally directed in +the pursuit of guilt. +</p> +<p> +If Annesley Beecher might be slow to acknowledge the claims of fraternal +affection, there was no one could accuse him of any lukewarmness to his +own interests, and though it was now two months and upwards since the +Viscount's death, yet he had never come forward to assert his new rank and +station. Whatever suspicions might have weighed down the mind of the +Viscountess regarding this mysterious disappearance, the language of all +the lawyers' letters was assuredly ill calculated to assuage. They more +than hinted that they suspected some deep game of treachery and fraud. +Beecher's long and close intimacy with the worst characters of the turf—men +notorious for their agency in all the blackest intrigues—was +continually brought up. His life of difficulty and strait, his unceasing +struggle to meet his play engagements, driving him to the most ruinous +compacts, all were quoted to show that to a man of such habits and with +such counsellors any compromise would be acceptable that offered present +and palpable advantages in lieu of a possible and remote future. +</p> +<p> +The very last letter the Viscountess received from Fordyce contained this +startling passage: “It being perfectly clear that Mr. Beecher would only +be too ready to avail himself of his newly acquired privileges if he +could, we must direct our sole attention to those circumstances which may +explain why he could not declare himself the Viscount Lackington. Now, the +very confident tone lately assumed by the Conway party seems to point to +this mysterious clew, and everything I learn more and more disposes me to +apprehend a shameful compromise.” +</p> +<p> +It was with the letter that contained this paragraph before her Lady +Lackington now sat, affecting to be engaged in her work, but in reality +reading over, for the fiftieth time, the same gloomy passage. +</p> +<p> +“Is it not incredible that, constituted as the world now is, with its +railroads and its telegraphs, you cannot immediately discover the +whereabouts of any missing individual?” said Lady Lackington. +</p> +<p> +“I really think he must have been murdered,” said Lady Grace, with the +gentlest of accents, while she bent her head over the beautiful +altar-cloth she was embroidering. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense,—absurdity! such a crime would soon have publicity +enough.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Grace gave a smile of compassionate pity at the speech, but said +nothing. +</p> +<p> +“I can't imagine how you could believe such a thing possible,” said the +Viscountess, tartly. +</p> +<p> +“I can only say, my dear, that no later than last night Monsignore assured +me that, through M. Mazzini and the Bible societies, you can make away +with any one in Europe, and, indeed, in most parts of the world besides. +Don't smile so contemptuously, my dear. Remember who it is says this. Of +course, as he remarks, the foolish newspapers have their own stupid +explanations always ready, at one moment calling it a political crime, at +another the act of insanity, and so on. They affected this language about +Count Rossi, and then about the dear and sainted Archbishop of Paris; but +what true believer ever accepted this?” +</p> +<p> +“Monsignore would not hold this language to me,” said Lady Lackington, +haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Very probably not, dearest; he spoke in confidence when he mentioned it +to me.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, that he would hesitate ere he forfeited any respect I entertain +for his common-sense by the utterance of such wild absurdity. What is it, +Turner?” asked she, suddenly, as her maid entered. +</p> +<p> +“Four packing-cases have just come, my Lady, with Mr. Spicer's respectful +compliments, and that he will be here immediately,—he has only gone +to change his dress.” +</p> +<p> +“Why don't he come at once? I don't care for his dress.” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, of course not,” said Turner, and retired. +</p> +<p> +“I must say he has made haste,” said Lady Lackington, languidly. “It was +only on the eighth or the ninth, I think, he left this, and as he had to +get all my mourning things,—I had actually nothing,—and to go +down to Lackington Court, and then to Wales, and after that to the Isle of +Wight, what with lawyers and other tiresome people to talk to, he has +really not done badly.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope he has brought the chalice,” sighed Lady Grace. +</p> +<p> +“I hope he has brought some tidings of my respectable brother-in-law,” +said the Viscountess, in a tone that seemed to say where the really +important question lay. +</p> +<p> +“And the caviare,—I trust he has not forgotten the caviare. It is +the only thing Monsignore eats at breakfast in Advent.” +</p> +<p> +An insolent gesture of the head was all the acknowledgment Lady Lackington +vouchsafed to this speech. At last she spoke: “When he can get +horse-racing out of his head, Spicer is a very useful creature.” +</p> +<p> +“Very, indeed,” said Lady Grace. +</p> +<p> +“The absurd notion that he is a sporting character is the parent of so +many other delusions; he fancies himself affluent, and, stranger still, +imagines he's a gentleman.” And the idea so amused her Ladyship that she +laughed aloud at it. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Spicer, my Lady,” said a servant, flinging wide the door; and in a +most accurate morning-dress, every detail of which was faultless, that +gentleman bowed his way across the room with an amount of eagerness that +might possibly exact a shake of the hand, but, if unsuccessful, might +easily subside into a colder acceptance. Lady Lackington vouchsafed +nothing beyond a faint smile, and the words, “How d'ye do?” as with a +slight gesture she motioned to him the precise chair he was to seat +himself on. Before taking his place, Mr. Spicer made a formal bow to Lady +Grace, who, with a vacant smile, acknowledged the courtesy, and went on +with her work. +</p> +<p> +“You have made very tolerable haste, Spicer,” said Lady Lackington. “I +scarcely expected you before Saturday.” +</p> +<p> +“I have not been to bed for six nights, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +“You 'll sleep all the better for it to-night, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“We had an awful gale of wind in crossing to Calais,—the passage +took eight hours.” +</p> +<p> +“You relished land travelling all the more for it afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +“Not so, my Lady; for at Lyons the whole country was flooded, and we were +obliged to march eleven miles afoot on a railway embankment, and under a +tremendous storm of rain; but even that was not the worst, for in crossing +the St. Bernard—” +</p> +<p> +“I really don't care for such moving accidents; I always skip them in the +newspapers. What of my mourning,—is much crape worn?” +</p> +<p> +“A great deal of crape, my Lady, and in 'bouffes' down the dress.” +</p> +<p> +“With bugles or without? I see by your hesitation, sir, you have forgotten +about the bugles.” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, I have them,” said he, proudly; “small acorns of Jet are +also worn on points of the flounces, and Madame Frontin suggested that, as +your Ladyship dislikes black so much—” +</p> +<p> +“But who said as much, sir?” broke she in, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“And the caviare, Mr. Spicer,—have you remembered the caviare?” +lisped out Lady Grace. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady; but Fortnum's people are afraid some of it may prove a +failure. There was something, I don't know what, happened to the fish in +the Baltic this year.” +</p> +<p> +“Who ventured to say black was unbecoming to me?” asked Lady Lackington, +changing her question, and speaking more angrily. +</p> +<p> +“It was Frontin, my Lady, who remarked that you once had said nothing +would ever induce you to wear that odious helmet widows sometimes put on.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear; and I have such a fancy for it,” exclaimed Lady Grace. +</p> +<p> +“You mistake, my dear; you are confounding the occasion with the costume,” +said Lady Lackington; and her eyes sparkled with the malice of her remark. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Spicer's face exhibited as much enjoyment of the wit as he deemed +decorous to the party satirized. +</p> +<p> +“And now, sir, for the important part of your mission r have you obtained +any information about my brother-in-law?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, I saw him at Chiavenna. He drove up to the post-house to +change horses as we were there; he told me, in the few minutes we spoke +together, that they were on their way to Rome.” +</p> +<p> +“Whom do you mean, sir, when you say 'they'?” +</p> +<p> +“Lord and Lady Lackington, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he married? Did you say he was married, sir?'” exclaimed she, in a +voice discordant above all her efforts to restrain. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady; I was, in a manner, presented to her Ladyship, who was, I +must say, a very beautiful person—” +</p> +<p> +“I want no raptures, sir; are you quite certain she was his wife?” +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship told me so, my Lady; and when they reached the Hôtel Royal, +at Milan, I took occasion to question the courier! whom I knew before, and +he told me all about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Go on, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, my Lady, they were just married about ten or twelve days when I met +them; the ceremony had been performed in some little out-of-the-way spot +in the Rhine country, where Mr. Beecher had been staying for the summer, +and where, as it happened, he never received any tidings of the late +Lord's death, or the presumption is, he had never made this unfortunate +connection.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by 'unfortunate connection '?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, one must really call it so, my Lady; the world, at least, will say +as much.” +</p> +<p> +“Who is she, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“She's the daughter of one of the most notorious men in England, my Lady,—the +celebrated leg, Grog Davis.” +</p> +<p> +Ah, Mr. Spicer, small and insignificant as you are, you have your sting, +and her Ladyship has felt it. These words, slowly uttered in a tone of +assumed sorrow, so overcame her they were addressed to, that she covered +her face with her handkerchief and sat thus, speechless, for several +minutes. To Spicer it was a moment of triumph,—it was a vengeance +for all the insults, all the slights she showered upon him, and he only +grieved to think how soon her proud spirit would rally from the shock. +</p> +<p> +Lady Lackington's face, as she withdrew her handkerchief, was of ashy +paleness, and her bloodless lips trembled with emotion. “Have you heard +what this man has said, Grace?” whispered she, in a voice so distinct as +to be audible throughout the room. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dearest; it is most distressing,” said the other, in the softest of +accents. +</p> +<p> +“Distressing! It is an infamy!” cried she. Then suddenly turning to +Spicer, with flaring eyes and flushed face, she said, “You have rather a +talent for blundering, sir, and it is just as likely this is but a +specimen of your powers. I am certain she is not his wife.” +</p> +<p> +“I can only say, my Lady, that I took pains enough to get the story +accurately; and as Kuffner, the courier, was at the marriage—” +</p> +<p> +“Marriage!” broke she in, with a sarcastic irony; “why, sir, it is not +thus a peer of England selects the person who is to share his dignity.” +</p> +<p> +“But you forget, my Lady,” interposed Spicer, “that he did n't know he was +a peer—he had not the slightest expectation of being one—at +the time. Old Grog knew it—” +</p> +<p> +“Have a care, sir, and do not <i>you</i> forget yourself. These familiar +epithets are for your associates in the ring, and not for <i>my</i> ears.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, the Captain, my Lady,—he is as well known by that name as the +other,—he had all the information, and kept back the letters, and +managed the whole business so cleverly that the first Mr. Beeeher ever +knew of his. Lordship's death was when hearing it from Mr. Twining at +Baden.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought Mr. Twining was in Algiers, or Australia, I forget which,” said +Lady Grace, gently. +</p> +<p> +“Such a marriage must be a mockery,—a mere mockery. He shall break +it,—he must break it!” said Lady Lacking-ton, as she walked up and +down with the long strides and the step of a tigress in a cage. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear! they are so difficult to break!” sighed Lady-Grace. “Mr. Twining +always promised me a divorce when the law came in and made it so cheap, +and now he says that it's all a mistake, and until another Bill, or an +Act, or something or other, is passed, that it's a luxury far above +persons of moderate fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Break it he shall,” muttered Lady Lackington, as she continued her march. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, dearest, expense doesn't signify to <i>you</i>,” sighed out +Lady Grace. +</p> +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me, sir,” said Lady Lacking-ton, “that this is +the notorious Captain Davis of whose doings we have been reading in every +newspaper?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, he is the notorious”—he was going to say “Grog,” but +corrected himself, and added—“Captain Davis, and has been for years +back the intimate associate of the present Lord Lackington.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Spicer was really enjoying himself on this occasion, nor was it often +his fortune to give her Ladyship so much annoyance innocuously. His +self-indulgence, however, carried him too far; for Lady Lackington, +suddenly turning round, caught the expression of gratified malice on his +face. +</p> +<p> +“Take care, sir,—take care,” she cried, with a menacing gesture of +her finger. “There may chance to be a flaw somewhere in your narrative; +and if there should, Mr. Spicer,—if there should,—I don't <i>think</i> +Lord Lackington would forget it,—I am <i>sure I</i> sha'n't.” And +with this threatening declaration her Ladyship swept out of the room in +most haughty fashion. +</p> +<p> +“This is all what comes of being obliging,” exclaimed Spicer, unable to +control himself any longer. “It was not <i>I</i> that threw Beecher into +Grog's company,—it was not <i>I</i> that made him marry Grog's +daughter. For all that <i>I</i> cared, he might go and be a monk at La +Trappe, or marry as many wives as Brigham Young himself.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope you brought me Lady Gertrude Oscot's book, Mr. Spicer,—'Rays +through Oriel Windows'?” said Lady Grace, in one of her sweetest voices. +“She is such a charming poetess.” +</p> +<p> +“I'd lay my life on't, she's just as wide-awake as her father,” muttered +Spicer to himself. +</p> +<p> +“As wide-awake? Dear me, what can you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“That's she's fly—up to trap—oh, is n't she!” went he on, +still communing to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Lady Gertrude Oscot, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“No; but Grog Davis's daughter,—the new Viscountess Lackington,—my +Lady. I was thinking of <i>her</i>,” said Spicer, suddenly recalled to a +sense of where he stood. +</p> +<p> +“I protest, sir, I cannot understand how two persons so totally dissimilar +could occur to any mind at the same moment.” And with this Lady Grace +gathered up the details of her embroidery, and courtesying a deep and +formal adieu, left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Haven't I gone and done it with both of them!” said Spicer, as he took +out his cigar-case to choose a cigar; not that he had the slightest +intention of lighting it in such a place,—no profanity of the kind +ever occurred to him,—all he meant was the mock bravado to himself +of an act that seemed to imply so much coolness, such collected courage. +As to striking a light, he 'd as soon have done it in a magazine. +</p> +<p> +And sticking his cigar in his mouth, he left the house; even in the street +he forgot to light it, and strolled along, turning his weed between his +lips, and revolving no very pleasant thoughts in his mind: “All the way to +England, down to Wales, then the Isle of Wight, seeing no end of people,—lawyers, +milliners, agents, proctors, jewellers, and dressmakers—eternal +explainings and expostulatings, begging for this, deprecating that; asking +this man to be active and the other to be patient; and then back again +over the whole breadth of Europe in atrocious weather, sea-sick and +land-sick, tossed, Jolted, and shaken,—and all for what,—ay, +for what? To be snubbed, outraged, and insulted, treated like a lackey,—no, +but ten times worse than any lackey would bear. And why should I bear it? +That's the question. Why should I? Does it signify a brass farthing to me +whether the noble house of Lackington quarters its arms with the cogged +dice and the marked king of the Davises? What do I care about their +tarnished shield? It's rather cool of my lady to turn upon <i>me!</i>” +Well reasoned and true, Mr. Spicer; you have but forgotten one small item +in the account, which is the consideration accorded to you by your own +set, because you were seen to mingle with those so much above you. +</p> +<p> +We are told that when farthings are shaken up a sufficiently long time +with guineas in a bag, they acquire a sort of yellow lustre, which, though +by no means enabling them to pass for guineas, still makes them +wonderfully bright farthings, and doubtless would render them very +intolerant in the company of their equals. Such was, in a measure, what +had happened to Mr. Spicer; and though at first sight the process would +seem a gain, it is in reality the reverse, since, after this mock gilding, +the coin—whether it be man or farthing—has lost its stamp of +truthfulness, and will not “pass” for even the humble value it once +represented. +</p> +<p> +“At all events,” thought Mr. Spicer, as he went along, “her Ladyship has +not come off scot free for all her impertinence. I have given her +materials for a very miserable morning, and irritated the very sorest spot +in all her mind. It was just the very lesson she wanted; there's nothing +will do her so much good in the world.” +</p> +<p> +It is by no means an uncommon delusion for ill-natured people to fancy +that they are great moral physicians, and that the bitters they drop into +<i>your</i> wine-glass and <i>my</i> teacup are admirable tonics, which +our constitutions require. The drug is not always an evil, but the doctor +is detestable. +</p> +<p> +As Spicer drew nigh one of the great hotels in the Piazza di Spagna, he +recognized Beecher's travelling-carriage just being unloaded at the door. +They had arrived at that moment, and the courier was bustling about and +giving his orders like one whose master was likely to exact much and pay +handsomely. +</p> +<p> +“The whole of the first floor, Freytag,” said the courier, +authoritatively; “every room of it. My Lord cannot bear the disturbance of +people lodged near him.” +</p> +<p> +“He used not to be so particular in the 'Bench,'” muttered Spicer. “I +remember his sleeping one of three in a room.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Spicer, my Lord said, if I should meet you, to mention he wishes +to see you.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think he'd receive me now, Kuffner?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll go and see.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kuffner came speedily back, and, beckoning to Spicer to follow, led +the way to Lord Lackington's room. “He is dressing for dinner, but will +see you,” added he, as he introduced him. +</p> +<p> +The noble Viscount did not turn from the mirror at which he was +elaborately arranging his neckcloth as Spicer entered, but satisfied +himself with calling out, “Take a chair, Spicer; you 'll find one +somewhere.” +</p> +<p> +The tone of the salutation was not more significant than the aspect of +this room itself. All the articles of a costly dressing-case of +silver-gilt were ranged on one table Essence-bottles, snuff-boxes, +pipe-heads, with rings, jewelled buttons, and such-like knick-knackeries +covered another; whatever fancy could suggest or superfluity compass of +those thousand-and-one trinkets the effeminacy of our age has introduced +into male costume, all abounded. Quantities, too, of the most expensive +clothes were there,—rich uniforms, fur-lined pelisses, and +gold-embroidered waistcoats. And as Mr. Spicer quickly made the tour of +these with his eye, his gaze rested at last on my Lord himself, whose +dressing-gown of silver brocade would have made a state robe for a +Venetian Doge. +</p> +<p> +“Everything is in confusion just now; but if you 'll throw down some of +those things, you 'll get a chair,” said Beecher, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +Spicer, however, preferred to take his place at the chimney, on which he +leaned in an attitude that might take either the appearance of respect or +familiarity, as the emergency required. +</p> +<p> +“When did you arrive?” asked my Lord. +</p> +<p> +“About two hours ago,” was the short reply. +</p> +<p> +Beecher turned to gaze at the man, who answered without more semblance of +deference, and now, for the first time, their eyes met. It was, evidently, +Spicer's game, by a bold assertion of former intimacy, to place their +future intercourse on its old footing; and just as equally decided was +Beecher that no traditions of the past should rise up and obtrude +themselves on the present, and so he threw into this quiet, steady stare +an amount of haughty resolution, before which Spicer quailed and struck +his flag. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I should say three hours, my Lord,” added Spicer, flurriedly; and +Beecher turned away with a slight curl on his lip, as though to say, “The +conflict was not a very long one.” Spicer marked the expression, and vowed +vengeance for it. +</p> +<p> +“I thought you 'd have got here two or three days before,” said Beecher, +carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Vetturino travelling is not like extra-post, my Lord,” said Spicer, +fawningly. “You could cover your hundred miles between breakfast and a +late dinner, while we thought ourselves wonderful to get over forty from +sunrise to midnight.” +</p> +<p> +“That's true,” yawned out Beecher; “vetturino work must be detestable.” +</p> +<p> +“No man could give you a better catalogue of its grievances than your +father-in-law, my Lord; he has had a long experience of them. I remember, +one winter, we started from Brussels in the deep snow,—there was +Baring, Hope, Fisk, Grog, and myself.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't care to hear your adventures; and it would be just as agreeable +to me were you to call my relative Captain Davis, as to speak of him by a +vulgar nickname.” +</p> +<p> +“Faith, my Lord, I did n't mean it. It slipped out quite unconsciously, +Just as it did awhile ago,—far more awkwardly, by the bye,—when +I was talking to Lady Lacking-ton. The dowager, I mean.” +</p> +<p> +“And what occasion, sir, had you to refer to Captain Davis in <i>her</i> +company?” asked Beecher, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“She asked me plumply, my Lord, what was her Ladyship's name, what family +she came of, who her connections were, and I told her that I never heard +of any of them, except her father, popularly known as Grog Davis,—a +man that every one on the turf was acquainted with.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a malicious scoundrel, Spicer,” said Beecher, whose pale cheek +now shook and trembled with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don't think so, my Lord,” said the other, quietly. “It is not, +certainly, the character the world gives me. And as to what passed between +her Ladyship and myself this afternoon, I did my very best to escape +difficulties. I told her that the Brighton affair was almost forgotten +now,—it was fully eighteen years since it happened; that as to +Charles Herbert's death, there were two stories,—some averring that +poor Charley had actually struck Grog; and then, though the York trial was +a public scandal—Well, my Lord, don't look so angrily at me; it was +by no fault of <i>mine</i> these transactions became notorious.” +</p> +<p> +“And what have you been all your whole life to this Davis but his cad and +errand-boy,—a fellow he has sent with a bad horse,—for he +would not have trusted you with a good one,—to run for a hack stakes +in an obscure county, a lounger about stables and the steps of +club-houses, picking up scraps of news from the jocks and selling them to +the gentlemen? Does it become you to turn out Kit Davis and run full cry +after him?” +</p> +<p> +It was but rarely that Beecher's indignation could warm up to the +temperature of downright passion; but when it did so, it gave the man a +sort of power that few would have recognized in his weak and yielding +nature; at all events, Spicer was not the man to stem such a torrent, and +so he stared at him with mingled terror and anger. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, Mr. Spicer,” added Beecher, more passionately still, “if you +hadn't known Davis was a thousand miles away, you 'd never have trusted +yourself to speak of him in this fashion; but, for your comfort I say it, +he 'll be here in a day or two.” +</p> +<p> +“I never said a word of him you 'd not find in the newspapers,” said +Spicer, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“When you come to settle accounts together, it will surprise me very much +if there won't be matter for another paragraph in them,” said Beecher, +with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +Spicer winced; he tried to arrange his neckcloth, and then to button his +glove, but all his efforts could not conceal a tremor that shook him from +head to foot. Now, when Beecher got his “man down,” he never thought he +could trample enough upon him; and as he walked the room in hasty strides +to and fro, he jeeringly pictured to Spicer the pleasures of his next +meeting with Davis: not, indeed, but that all his eloquence was +superfluous; it needed no descriptive powers to convince any who enjoyed +Grog's <i>friendship</i> what his enmity might imply. +</p> +<p> +“I know him as well as <i>you</i> do, my Lord,” said Spicer, as his +patience at last gave way; “and I know, besides, there's more than half +the Continent where he can't set a foot.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you mentioned that, also, to my sister-in-law,” said Beecher, +derisively. +</p> +<p> +“No, I said nothing about it!” muttered the other. +</p> +<p> +There was now a pause; each only waited for any, the slightest show of +concession to make advances to the other; for although without the +slightest particle of good feeling on either side, they well knew the +force of the adage that enjoins friendship among knaves. My Lord +thoroughly appreciated the utility of a Spicer; well did Spicer understand +all the value of a peer's acquaintance. +</p> +<p> +Each ruminated long over the situation; and at last Beecher said, “Did +poor Lackington leave you anything in his will?” +</p> +<p> +“A racing snaffle and two whips, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow, he never forgot any one, I 'm sure,” sighed Beecher. +</p> +<p> +“He had a wonderful memory, indeed, my Lord; for I had borrowed twenty +pounds of him at the Canterbury races some ten years ago, and he said to +me, just before he took to bed, 'Never mind the trifle that's between us, +Spicer; I shall not take it.'” +</p> +<p> +“Good-hearted, generous fellow!” muttered Beecher. +</p> +<p> +Spicer's mouth twitched a little, but he did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“There never was a better brother, never!” said Beecher, far more intent +upon the display of his own affectionate sorrow than in commemorating +fraternal virtues. “We never had a word of disagreement in our lives. Poor +Lackington! he used to think he was doing the best by me by keeping me so +tight, and always threatening to cut me down still lower; he meant it for +the best, but you know I could n't live upon it, the thing was impossible. +If I had n't been one of the 'wide-awakes,' I 'd have gone to the wall at +once; and let me tell you, Master Spicer, it wasn't every fellow would +have kept his head over water where I was swimming.” +</p> +<p> +“That I 'm convinced of,” said Spicer, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's a long lane has no turning, Spicer,” said he, oomplacently +looking at himself in the glass. “Even a runaway pulls up somewhere; not +but I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart for poor Lack, but it will be +our own turn one of these days; that's a match there's no paying forfeit +on, eh, Spicer? it must come off whether we will or not!” +</p> +<p> +“So it must, my Lord,” sighed out Spicer, sympathetically. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, by Jove! whether a man leaves twelve thousand a year or only two +hundred behind him,” sighed out Beecher, who could not help making the +application to himself. +</p> +<p> +Again did Spicer sigh, and so profoundly, it might have represented grief +for the whole peerage. +</p> +<p> +“I say, old fellow,” said Beecher, clapping him familiarly on the +shoulder, “I wish you had n't told Georgy all that stuff about Davis; +these things do no good.” +</p> +<p> +“I assure you solemnly, my Lord, I said it with the best motives; her +Ladyship would certainly learn the whole history somewhere, and so I +thought I 'd just sketch the thing off in a light, easy way.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Spicer,—no gammon, my lad; you never tried any of your +light, easy ways with <i>my</i> sister-in-law. At all events, it's done, +and can't be undone now,” sighed he, drearily. Then, after a moment, he +added, “How did she take the news?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, at first, my Lord, she wouldn't believe it, but went on, 'She's not +his wife, sir; I tell you they're not married,' and so on.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,—and then?” +</p> +<p> +“Then, my Lord, I assured her that there could be no doubt of the matter; +that your Lordship had done me the honor of presenting me—” +</p> +<p> +“Which I never did, Master Spicer,” laughed in Beecher,—“you know +well enough that I never did; but a fib won't choke you, old fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“At all events, I made it clear that you were really married, and to the +daughter of a man that would send you home on a shutter if you threw any +doubt on it.” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn't he, by Jupiter!” exclaimed Beecher, with all the sincerity of a +great fact “Well, after <i>that</i>, how did she take on?” +</p> +<p> +“She did n't say a word, but rocked from side to side, this way,—like +one going to faint; and, indeed, her color all went, and she was pale as a +corpse; and then she took long breaths, and muttered below her voice, +'This is worst of all!' After that she rallied, and certainly gave it to +your Lordship in round style, but always winding it up with, 'Break it he +shall, and must, if it was the Archbishop of Canterbury married them.'” +</p> +<p> +“Very fine talking, Master Spicer, but matrimony is a match where you +can't scratch and pay forfeits. I wish you could,” muttered he to himself. +“I wish you had the presence of mind and the pluck to have told her that +it was <i>my</i> affair, and not <i>hers</i>. As to the honor of the +Lackingtons and all that lot, she is n't a Lackington any more than you +are,—she 's a De Tracey; good blood, no better, but she isn't one of +us, and you ought to have told her so.” +</p> +<p> +“I own I 'd not have had courage for that!” said Spicer, candidly. +</p> +<p> +“That's what I'd have said in your place, Spicer. The present Viscount +Lackington is responsible to himself, and not to the late Lord's widow; +and, what's more, he is no flat, without knowledge of men and the world, +but a fellow with both eyes open, and who has gone through as smart a +course of education as any man in the ring. Take up the Racing Calendar, +and show me any one, since Huckaback beat Crim. Con., that ever got it so +'hot' as I have. No, no, my Lady, it won't do, preaching to me about +'life.' If <i>I</i> don't know a thing or two, who does? If you 'd have +had your wits about you, Spicer, that's what you 'd have told her.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not so ready at a pinch as you are, my Lord,” muttered Spicer, who +affected sullenness. +</p> +<p> +“Few are, Master Spicer,—very few are, I can tell you;” and in the +pleasure of commending and complimenting himself and his own great gifts, +Beecher speedily ceased to remember. What so lately had annoyed him. “Dine +here at seven, Spicer,” said he, at last, “and I'll present you to my +Lady. She 'll be amused with <i>you</i>.” Though the last words were +uttered in a way that made their exact significance somewhat doubtful, Mr. +Spicer never sought to canvass them; he accepted the invitation in good +part, for he was one of those men who, though they occasionally “quarrel +with their bread-and-butter,” are wise enough never to fall out with their +truffles. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE TWO VISCOUNTESSES +</h2> +<p> +When the new Viscount had dismissed Mr. Spicer, he set out to visit his +sister-in-law. Any one who has been patient enough to follow the stages of +this history will readily imagine that he did not address himself to the +task before him with remarkable satisfaction. If it had been a matter to +be bought off by money, he would readily have paid down a good round sum +as forfeit. It was no use fortifying himself, as he tried to do, by all +the commonplaces he kept repeating to his own heart, saying, “She ain't my +guardian. I'm no ward to be responsible to <i>her</i>. She can exercise no +control over me or my property. She 's the dowager, and no more.” All the +traditions of his younger brother life rose up in rebellion against these +doctrines, and he could think of her as nothing but the haughty +Viscountess, who had so often pronounced the heaviest censures upon his +associates and his mode of living. A favorite theory of his was it, also, +in olden time, to imagine that, but for Georgina, Lackington would have +done this, that, and t'other for him; that she it was who thwarted all his +brother's generous impulses, and brought him to look with stern disfavor +on his life of debt and dissipation. These memories rushed now fully to +his mind, and, assuredly, added no sentiment of pleasure to his +expectation of the meeting. More than once did he come to a halt, and +deliberate whether, seeing how unpleasant such an interview must prove, he +need incur the pain of it. “I could write to her, or I could send Lizzy to +say that I was confined to bed, and ill. Would n't that be a flare up! By +Jove! if I could only see the match as it came off between them, I 'd do +<i>that</i>. Not but I know Georgy would win; she 'd come out so strong as +'Grande Dame;' the half-bred 'un would have no chance. Still, there would +be a race, and a close one, for Lizzy has her own turn of speed; and if +she had the breeding—” And as he got thus far in his ruminations, he +had reached the Palazzo Gondi, where his sister-in-law lived. With a sort +of sullen courage he rang the bell, and was shown in; her Ladyship was +dressing, but would be down in a moment. +</p> +<p> +Beecher had now some minutes alone, and he passed them scrutinizing the +room and its appurtenances. All was commoner and more homely than he +looked for. Not many indications of comfort; scarcely any of luxury. What +might this mean? Was her settlement so small as to exact this economy, or +was it a voluntary saving? If so, it was the very reverse of all her +former tastes, for she was essentially one who cultivated splendor and +expense. This problem was still puzzling him, when the door opened, and +she entered. He advanced rapidly to meet her, and saluted her on each +cheek. There was a strange affectation of cordiality on each side. +Prize-fighters shake hands ere they double them up into catapults for each +other's heads; but the embrace here was rather more like the kiss the +victim on the scaffold bestows upon his executioner. +</p> +<p> +Seated side by side on the sofa, for a few minutes neither uttered a word; +at last she said, in a calm, low voice, “We had hoped to see you before +this,—<i>he</i> looked anxiously for your coming.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher heaved a heavy sigh; in that unhappy delay was comprised all the +story of his calamities. And how to begin—how to open the narrative? +</p> +<p> +“I wrote as many as five letters,” resumed she; “some addressed to +Fordyce's, others to the care of Mr. Davenport Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“Not one of them ever reached me.” +</p> +<p> +“Very strange, indeed,” said she, with the smile of faintest incredulity; +“letters so seldom miscarry nowadays. Stranger, still, that none of your +other correspondents should have apprised you of your brother's state; +there was ample time to have done it.” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing of it I vow to Heaven I had not the slightest suspicion of +it!” +</p> +<p> +“Telegraphs, too, are active agencies in these days, and I wrote to +Fordyce to use every exertion to acquaint you.” +</p> +<p> +“I can only repeat what I have said already, that I was utterly ignorant +of everything till I arrived at Baden; there I accidentally met Twining—” +</p> +<p> +“Spicer told me about it,” said she abruptly, as though it was not +necessary to discuss any point conceded on both sides. “Your coming,” +continued she, “was all the more eagerly looked for because it was +necessary you should be, so far as possible, prepared for the suit we are +threatened with; actions at law for ejectments on title are already +announced, and great—the very greatest—inconvenience has +resulted for want of formal instructions on your part.” +</p> +<p> +“Is the thing really serious, Georgy?” asked he, with an unfeigned anxiety +of manner. +</p> +<p> +“If you only will take the trouble of reading Fordyce's two last letters,—they +are very long, I confess, and somewhat difficult to understand,—you +will at least see that his opinion is the reverse of favorable. In fact, +he thinks the English estates are gone.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Georgy dearest! but <i>you</i> don't believe that?” +</p> +<p> +“The Irish barony and certain lands in Cork,” resumed she, calmly, “are +not included in the demand they profess to make; nor, of course, have they +any claim as to the estates purchased by Lord Lackington through Mr. +Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“But the title?” +</p> +<p> +“The Viscounty goes with the English property.” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! a title we have held undisturbed, unquestioned, since +Edward the Third's time. I cannot bring myself to conceive it!” +</p> +<p> +“Great reverses of condition can be borne with dignity when they are not +of our own incurring,” said she, with a stern and pointed significance. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid I cannot boast of possessing all your philosophy,” said he, +touchily. +</p> +<p> +“So much the worse. You would need it, and even more, too, if all that I +have heard be true.” +</p> +<p> +There was no mistaking this inference, and Beecher only hesitated whether +he should accept battle at once, or wait for another broadside. +</p> +<p> +“Not but,” broke she in, “if you could assure me that the rumors were +untrue,—that <i>you</i> have been calumniated, and I misinformed,—if, +I say, you were enabled to do this, the tidings would help greatly to +sustain me through this season of trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“You must speak more plainly, Georgina, if I am to understand you.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you married, Annesley?” said she, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I hope I am of an age to enter the holy estate without leave from my +relations.” +</p> +<p> +“It is true, then?” said she, with a deep, full voice. +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly true. And then?” There was an open defiance in this tone of +questioning which seemed actually to sting her. +</p> +<p> +“And then?” repeated she, after him,—“'and then?' You are right to +say, 'and then?'—if that means 'What next?'” +</p> +<p> +Beecher turned pale and red, as fear and passion swayed him alternately; +but he never spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Is it really a marriage?” broke she in again, “or is it some mockery +enacted by a degraded priest, and through the collusion of some scheming +sharpers. Oh, Annesley! tell me frankly how you have been tricked into +this ignominious contract!” And her accents, as she spoke this, assumed a +tone of imploring affection that actually moved him. To this a sense of +offended dignity quickly succeeded with him, and he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I cannot permit you to continue in this strain; I am rightfully, legally +married, and the lady who shares my lot is as much the Viscountess +Lackington as you are.” +</p> +<p> +She covered her face with both her hands, and sat thus for several +minutes. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it is all for the best,” muttered she, in a low but audible +accent,—“perhaps it is all for the best. Loss of rank, station, and +name will fall the more lightly on those who so little understood how to +maintain them with dignity.” +</p> +<p> +“And if I am threatened with the loss of my title and fortune,” cried +Beecher, passionately, “is it exactly the time to heap these insults on +me?” +</p> +<p> +Partly from the firmness of his manner as he uttered these words, partly +that they were not devoid of truthful meaning, she accepted the reproof +almost submissively. +</p> +<p> +“You must go over to England at once, Beecher,” said she, calmly. “You +must place yourself immediately in Fordyce's hands, and secure the best +advice the Bar affords. I would go with you myself, but that—” The +deep flush that spread over Beecher's face as she paused here made the +moment one of intense pain to each. “No matter,” resumed she; “there is +only one danger I would warn you against. You dropped the word +'compromise;' now, Annesley, let nothing induce you to descend to this. +Such a suggestion could only have come from those whose habits of life +accept expediency in lieu of principle. Maintain your rights proudly and +defiantly so long as they pertain to you; if law should at last declare +that we are only usurpers—” She tried to finish, but the words +seemed as if they would choke her, and after an effort almost convulsive +she burst into tears. Scarcely less moved, Beecher covered his face with +his hands and turned away. +</p> +<p> +“I will do whatever you advise me, Georgina,” said he at length, as he +seated himself on the sofa at her side. “If you say I ought to go to +England, I 'll set off at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; you must be in London; you must be where you can have daily, hourly +access to your lawyers; but you must also determine that this contest +shall be decided by law, and law alone. I cannot, will not, believe that +your rights are invalid. I feel assured that the House of Lords will +maintain the cause of an acknowledged member of their order against the +claims of an obscure pretender. This sympathy, however, will only be with +you so long as you are true to yourself. Let the word 'compromise' be but +uttered, and the generous sentiment will be withdrawn; therefore, +Annesley,”—here she dropped her voice, and spoke more impressively,—“therefore, +I should say, go over to England <i>alone</i>; be free to exercise +untrammelled your own calm judgment,—keep your residence a secret +from all save your law advisers,—see none else.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean, then, that I should go without my wife?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes!” said she, coldly; “if she accompany you, her friends, her father, +with whom she will of course correspond, will know of your whereabouts, +and flock round you with their unsafe counsels; this is most to be +avoided.” +</p> +<p> +“But how is it to be managed, Georgina; she cannot surely stop here, at an +hotel too, while I am away in England?” +</p> +<p> +“I can see nothing against such an arrangement; not having had the +pleasure of seeing and knowing Lady Lack-ington, I am unable to guess any +valid reasons against this plan. Is she young?” +</p> +<p> +“Not twenty.” +</p> +<p> +“Handsome, of course?” said she, with a slight but supercilious curl of +the lip. +</p> +<p> +“Very handsome,—beautiful,” answered he, but in a voice that denoted +no rapture. +</p> +<p> +Lady Lackington mused for a moment or two; it seemed as if she were +discussing within her own mind a problem, stating and answering objections +as they arose, for she muttered such broken words as, “Dangerous, of +course—in Rome especially—but impossible for her to go to +England—all her relations—anything better than that—must +make the best of it;” then turning to Beecher with an air of one whose +determination was taken, she said: “She must stay with me till you +return.” Before he had rallied from his surprise at this resolution, she +added, “Come over to tea this evening, and let me see her.” +</p> +<p> +Beecher pressed her hand cordially, as though to imply a gratitude above +words; but in reality he turned away to conceal all the emotions this new +position of difficulty occasioned, merely calling out, “We 'll come very +early,” as he departed. +</p> +<p> +Lizzy heard that Spicer was to be their guest at dinner, and they +themselves to take tea with the Viscountess. Lackington, with equal +indifference. She had scarcely <i>seen</i> Mr. Spicer, and was not +over-pleased with her brief impression; of her Ladyship she had only <i>heard</i>, +but even that much had not inspired her to anticipate a pleasant meeting. +</p> +<p> +There was, however, in her husband's manner, a sort of fidgety anxiety +that showed he attached to the coming interview an amount of importance +she could by no means understand. He continued to throw out such hints as +to “Georgina's notions” on this or that point; and, while affecting a half +ridicule, really showed how seriously he regarded them. Even to Lizzy's +dress his cares extended; and he told her to be mindful that nothing in +her costume should attract special criticism or remark. +</p> +<p> +Beecher was far more uneasy than even his looks betrayed. He dreaded to +dwell upon the haughty demeanor his sister-in-law would so certainly +assume, and the sort of inspection to which his wife was to be subjected. +In his heart he wished that Lizzy had been less beautiful, less +attractive, or, as he ungraciously styled it to himself, “less showy.” He +well knew how damaging would all her brilliant qualities become to the +eyes of one herself a belle and a beauty in times past. He discussed over +and over with himself whether it might not be better to acquaint Lizzy of +the kind of dress parade that awaited her, or leave wholly to chance the +events of the interview. For once in his life he took a wise resolve, and +said nothing on the matter. +</p> +<p> +The dinner passed off somewhat heavily,—Beecher silent and +preoccupied, Lizzy thoughtful and indisposed to converse, and Spicer +vexed, in spite of all his resolutions to the contrary, by what he had +insultingly called to himself “the airs of Grog Davis's daughter;” and yet +nothing could be less just than to stigmatize by such a phrase a manner +quiet, calm, and unpretentious, and totally removed from all affectation. +</p> +<p> +For a while Beecher bestowed a watchful attention on Spicer, uneasy lest +by some adroit piece of malice he might either irritate Lizzy or lead her +covertly into some imprudent disclosures; but he soon saw that it would +have required a hardier spirit than Mr. Spicer's to have adventured on +impertinence in that quarter, and, lighting his cigar, he sat moodily down +by the window to think on the future. +</p> +<p> +Left with the field thus open, Spicer canvassed within himself how best to +profit by the opportunity. Should he declare himself an old friend of her +father's,—his associate and his colleague? Should he dexterously +intimate that, knowing all about her family and antecedents, she could not +do better than secure his friendship? Should he not also slyly suggest +that, married to a man like Beecher, the counsels of one prudent and wily +as himself would prove invaluable? “Now or never,” thought he, as he +surveyed her pale features, and interpreted their expression as implying +timidity and fear. +</p> +<p> +“Your first visit to Rome, I believe?” said he, as he searched for a cigar +amidst the heap on the table. +</p> +<p> +A cold assent followed. +</p> +<p> +“Wonderful place; not merely for its old monuments and ruins, though they +are curious too, but its strange society,—all nations and all ranks +of each mixed and mingled together: great swells and snobs, grand ladies, +princes, cardinals and ambassadors, thrown together with artistes, +gamblers, and fast ones of either sex,—a regular fair of fine +company, with, plenty of amusement and lots of adventure.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said she, languidly. +</p> +<p> +“Just the place your father would like,” said he, dropping his voice to a +half-whisper. +</p> +<p> +“In what way, pray?” asked she, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Why, in the way of trade, of course,” said he, laughing. “For the +fine-lady part of the matter he 'd not care for it,—that never was +his line of country,—but for the young swells that thought +themselves sporting characters, for the soft young gents that fancied they +could play, Grog was always ready. I ask your pardon for the familiar +nickname, but we 've known each other about thirty years. He always called +me Ginger. Haven't you heard him speak of old Ginger?” +</p> +<p> +“Never, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Strange that; but perhaps he did not speak of his pals to you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, never.” +</p> +<p> +“That was so like him. I never saw his equal to hunt over two different +kinds of country. He could get on the top of a bus and go down to St. +John's Wood, or to Putney, after a whole night at Crawley's, and with an +old shooting-jacket and Jim-crow on him, and a garden-rake in his hand, +you 'd never suspect he was the fellow who had cleared out the company and +carried off every shilling at billiards and blind-hookey. Poor old Kit, +how fond I am of him!” +</p> +<p> +A stare, whose meaning Spicer could not fathom, was the only reply to the +speech. +</p> +<p> +“And he was so fond of <i>me!</i> I was the only one of them all he could +trust. He liked Beech—I mean his Lordship there; he was always +attached to him, but whenever it was really a touch-and-go thing, a nice +operation, then he'd say, 'Where's Ginger? give me Ginger!' The adventures +we've had together would make a book; and do you know that more than once +I thought of writing them, or getting a fellow to write them, for it's all +the same. I'd have called it 'Grog and Ginger.' Wouldn't that take?” +</p> +<p> +She made no reply; her face was, perhaps, a thought paler, but unchanged +in expression. +</p> +<p> +“And then the scenes we've gone through!—dangerous enough some of +them; he rather liked that, and <i>I</i> own it never was my taste.” +</p> +<p> +“I am surprised to hear you say so, sir,” said she, in a low but very +distinct voice; “I'd have imagined exactly the reverse.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! and may I make so bold as to ask why?” +</p> +<p> +“Simply, sir, that a gentleman so worldly-wise as yourself must always be +supposed to calculate eventualities, and not incur, willingly at least, +those he has no mind for. To be plain, sir, I 'm at a loss to understand +how one not fond of peril should hazard the chance of being thrown out of +a window,—don't start, I 'm only a woman, and cannot do it, nor, +though I have rung for the servant, am I going to order <i>him</i>. For +this time it shall be the door.” And, rising proudly, she walked toward +the window; but ere she reached it, Spicer was gone. +</p> +<p> +“What's become of Spicer, Lizzy?” said Beecher, indolently, as his eyes +traversed the room in search of him. +</p> +<p> +“He has taken his leave,” said she, in a voice as careless. +</p> +<p> +“He's tiresome, I think,” yawned he; “at least, I find him so.” +</p> +<p> +She made no reply, but sat down to compose her thoughts, somewhat ruffled +by the late scene. +</p> +<p> +“Ain't it time to order the carriage? I told Georgy we'd come early,” +added he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“I almost think I'll not go to-night,” said she, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Not go! You don't mean that when my sister-in-law sends you a message to +come and see her that you 'll refuse!” cried he, in a mixture of anger and +astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid I could be guilty of so great an enormity,” said she, smiling +superciliously. +</p> +<p> +“It's exactly the word for it, whatever you may think,” said he, doggedly. +“All I can say is, that you don't know Georgina, or you'd never have +dreamt of it.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case it is better I <i>should</i> know her; so I'll get my bonnet +and shawl at once.” +</p> +<p> +She was back in the room in a moment, and they set out for the Palazzo +Gondi. +</p> +<p> +What would not Beecher have given, as they drove along, for courage to +counsel and advise her,—to admonish as to this, and caution as to +that? And yet he did not dare to utter a word, and she was as silent. +</p> +<p> +It would not be very easy to say exactly what sort of person Lady Georgina +expected in her sister-in-law; indeed, she had pictured her in so many +shapes to herself that there was not an incongruity omitted in the +composition, and she fancied her bold, daring, timid, awkward, +impertinent, and shy alternately, and, in this conflict of anticipation, +it was that Lizzy entered. So utterly overcome was Lady Georgina by +astonishment, that she actually advanced to meet her in some confusion, +and then, taking her hand, led her to a seat on the sofa beside her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20372.jpg" width="100%" alt="372 " /> +</div> +<p> +While the ordinary interchange of commonplaces went on,—and nothing +could be more ordinary or commonplace than the words of their greeting,—each +calmly surveyed the other. What thoughts passed in their minds, what +inferences were drawn, and what conclusions formed in this moment, it is +not for me to guess. To women alone pertains that marvellous freemasonry +that scans character at a glance, and investigates the sincerity of a +disposition and the value of a lace flounce with the same practised +facility. If Lady Georgina was astonished by the striking beauty of her +sister-in-law, she was amazed still more by her manner and her tone. Where +could she have learned that graceful repose,—that simplicity, which +is the very highest art? Where and how had she caught up that gentle +quietude which breathes like a balmy odor over the well-bred world? How +had she acquired that subtlety by which wit is made to sparkle and never +to startle; and what training had told her how to weave through all she +said the flattery of a wish to please? +</p> +<p> +Woman of the world as she was, Lady Lackington had seen no such marvel as +this. It was no detraction from its merit that it might be all acting, for +it was still “high art.” Not a fault could she detect in look, gesture, or +tone, and yet all seemed as easy and unstudied as possible. Her Ladyship +knew well that the practice of society confers all these advantages; but +here was one who had never mixed with the world, who, by her own +confession, “knew no one,” and yet was a mistress of every art that rules +society. +</p> +<p> +Lady Georgina had yet to learn that there are instincts stronger than all +experience, and that, in the common intercourse of life, Tact is Genius. +</p> +<p> +Though Lizzy was far more deeply versed in every theme on which it was her +Ladyship's pleasure to talk than herself,—though she knew more of +painting, of music, and of literature, than the Viscountess, she still +seemed like one gleaning impressions as they conversed, and at each moment +acquiring nearer and clearer views; and yet even this flattery was so +nicely modulated that it escaped detection. +</p> +<p> +There was a mystery in the case her Ladyship determined to fathom. “No +woman of her class,” as she phrased it, could have been thus trained +without some specific object. The stage had latterly been used as a sort +of show mart where young girls display their attractive graces, at times +with immense success. Could this have been the goal for which she had been +destined? She adroitly turned the conversation to that topic, but Lizzy's +answers soon negatived the suspicion. Governesses, too, were +all-accomplished in these days; but here there was less of acquirement +exhibited than of all the little arts and devices of society. +</p> +<p> +“Is my trial nearly over?” whispered Lizzy in Beecher's ear as he passed +beside her chair. “I'd rather hear a verdict of Guilty at once than to +submit to further examining.” +</p> +<p> +A look of caution, most imploringly given, was all his reply. +</p> +<p> +Though Lady Lackington had neither heard question nor answer, her quick +glance had penetrated something like a meaning in them, and her lip curled +impatiently as she said to Beecher, “Have you spoke to Lady Lackington of +our plans for her,—I mean during your absence?” +</p> +<p> +He muttered a sullen “No, not yet,” and turned away. +</p> +<p> +“It was an arrangement that will, I hope, meet your approval,” said Lady +Georgina, half coldly, “since Beecher must go over to England for some +weeks; and as you could not with either comfort or propriety remain alone +in your hotel, our plan was that you should come here.” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy merely turned her eyes on Beecher, but there was that in their +expression that plainly said, “Is this <i>your</i> resolve?” He only moved +away, and did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Not but if any of your own family,” continued Lady Lackington, “could +come out here, and that you might prefer <i>their</i> company,—that +would be an arrangement equally satisfactory. Is such an event likely?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing less so, my Lady,” said Lizzy. “My father has affairs of urgency +to treat at this moment.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I did not exactly allude to your father,—you might have +sisters.” +</p> +<p> +“I have none.” +</p> +<p> +“An aunt, perhaps?” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard of one.” +</p> +<p> +“Lizzy, you are aware, Georgina,” broke in Beecher, whose voice trembled +at every word, “was brought up abroad,—she never saw any of her +family.” +</p> +<p> +“How strange! I might even say, how unfortunate!” sighed her Ladyship, +superciliously. +</p> +<p> +“Stranger, and more unfortunate still, your Ladyship would perhaps say, if +I were to tell you that I never so much as heard of them.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not certainly prepared to say that the circumstance is one to be +boastful of,” said Lady Lackington, who resented the look of haughty +defiance of the other. +</p> +<p> +“I assure your Ladyship that you are mistaken in attributing to me such a +sentiment. I have nothing of which to be boastful.” +</p> +<p> +“Your present position, Lady Lackington, might inspire a very natural +degree of pride.” +</p> +<p> +“It has not done so yet, my Lady. My experience of the elevated class to +which I have been raised has been too brief to impress me; a wider +knowledge will probably supply this void.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet,” said Lady Georgina, sarcastically, “it is something,—the +change from Miss Davis to the Viscountess Lackington.” +</p> +<p> +“When that change becomes more real, more actual, my Lady,” said Lizzy, +boldly, “it will, assuredly, bear its fruits; when, in being reminded of +what I was and whence I came, I can only detect the envious malevolence +that would taunt me with what is no fault of mine, but a mere accident of +fortune,—when I hear these things with calm composure, and in my +rank as a peeress feel the equal of those who would disparage me,—then, +indeed, I may be proud.” +</p> +<p> +“Such a day may never come,” said Lady Georgina, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Very possibly, my Lady. It has cost me no effort to win this station you +seem to prize so highly; it will not exact one to forego all its great +advantages.” +</p> +<p> +“What a young lady to be so old a philosopher! I 'm sure Lord Lackington +never so much as suspected the wisdom he acquired in his wife. It may, +however, be a family trait.” +</p> +<p> +“My father was so far wise, my Lady, that he warned me of the reception +that awaited me in my new station; but, in his ignorance of that great +world, he gave me, rather, to believe that I should meet insinuated +slights and covert impertinences than open insults. Perhaps I owe it to my +vulgar origin that I really like the last the best; at least, they show me +that my enemies are not formidable.” +</p> +<p> +“Your remarks have convinced me that it would be quite superfluous in me +to offer my protection to a lady so conversant with life and the world.” +</p> +<p> +“They will, at least, serve to show your Ladyship that I would not have +accepted the protection.” +</p> +<p> +“But, Lizzy dearest, you don't know what you are saying. Lady Georgina can +establish your position in society as none other can.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean to do that without aid.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as her father, Mr. Grog, would force his way into the stand-house,” +whispered Lady Lackington, but still loud enough for Lizzy to overhear. +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly as your Ladyship would illustrate it,” said Lizzy, smiling; +“but, in seeing the amount of those gifts which have won the suffrages of +society, I own that I am not discouraged. I am told,” said she, with a +great air of artlessness, “that no one is more popular than your +Ladyship.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Lackington arose, and stared at her with a look of open insolence; +and then turning, whispered something in Beecher's ear. +</p> +<p> +“After all,” muttered he, “<i>she</i> did not begin it. Get your shawl, +Lizzy,” added he, aloud; “my sister keeps early hours, and we must not +break in on them.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Lackington and Lizzy courtesied to each other like ladies of high +comedy; it seemed, indeed, a sort of rivalry whose reverence should be +most formal and most deferential. +</p> +<p> +“Have n't you gone and done it!” cried Beecher, as they gained the street. +“Georgina will never forget this so long as she lives.” +</p> +<p> +“And if she did I 'd take care to refresh her memory,” said Lizzy, +laughing; and the mellow sounds rang out as if from a heart that never +knew a care. +</p> +<p> +“I shall require to set out for England to-morrow,” said Beecher, moodily, +so soon as they had reached the hotel. The speech was uttered to induce a +rejoinder, but she made none. +</p> +<p> +“And probably be absent for several weeks,” added he. +</p> +<p> +Still she never spoke, but seemed busily examining the embroidered coronet +on the corner of her handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“And as circumstances require—I mean, as I shall be obliged to go +alone, and as it would be highly inconvenient, not to say unusual, for a +young married woman, more especially in the rank you occupy, to remain in +an hotel alone, without friends or relatives, we have thought—that +is, Georgy and I have considered—that you should stay with her.” +</p> +<p> +Lizzy only smiled; but what that strange smile might signify it was far +beyond Beecher's skill to read. +</p> +<p> +“There is only one difficulty in the matter,” resumed he; “and as it is a +difficulty almost entirely created by yourself, you will naturally be the +more ready to rectify it.” He waited long enough to provoke a question +from her, but she seemed to have no curiosity on the subject, and did not +speak. +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” added he, more boldly, “that before accepting my sister's +hospitality, you must necessarily make some <i>amende</i> for the manner +in which you have just treated her.” +</p> +<p> +“In which <i>I</i> treated <i>her!</i>” said Lizzy, after him, her +utterance being slow and totally passionless. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, these were my words,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“Have you forgotten how <i>she</i> treated <i>me?</i>” asked Lizzy, in the +same calm tone. +</p> +<p> +“As to that,” said he, with a sort of fidgety confusion,—“as to +that, you ought to bear in mind who she is—what she is—and +then it's Georgy's way; even among her equals—those well born as +herself—she has always been permitted to exercise a certain sort of +sway; in fact, the world of fashion has decreed her a sort of eminence. +You cannot understand these things yet, though you may do so, one day or +other. In a word, <i>she</i> can do what <i>you</i> cannot, and must not, +and the sooner you know it the better.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is it you propose that I should do?” asked she, with seeming +innocence. +</p> +<p> +“Write her a note,—brief if you like, but very civil,—full of +excuses for anything that may have given her offence; say all about your +ignorance of life, newness to the world, and so on; declare your readiness +to accept any suggestions she will kindly give you for future conduct,—for +she knows society like a book,—and conclude by assuring her—Well!” +cried he, suddenly, for she had started from him so abruptly that he +forgot his dictation. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,—go on,” said she, resuming her calm tone. +</p> +<p> +“You 've put me out,” cried he; “I can't remember where I was. Stay—I +was saying—What was it? it was something like—” +</p> +<p> +“Something like 'I 'll not do it any more,'” said Lizzy, with a low laugh; +while, at the same instant, she opened her writing-desk and sat down to +write. +</p> +<p> +Now, although Beecher would have preferred seeing her accept this lesson +with more show of humility, he was, on the whole, well satisfied with her +submission. He watched her as her pen moved across the paper, and saw that +she wrote in a way that indicated calm composure and not passion. The note +was quickly finished; and as she was folding it, she stopped, and said, +“But perhaps you might like to read it?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I 'd like to read it,” said he, eagerly, taking it op and +reading aloud:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'The Viscountess Lackington having received Lord +Lackington's orders to apologize to Georgina, Viscountess +Lackington, for certain expressions which may have offended +her, willingly accepts the task as one likely to indicate to +her Ladyship the propriety of excusing her own conduct to +one who had come to claim her kindness and protection.' +</pre> +<p> +“And would you presume to send her such a note as this?” cried he, as he +crushed it up and flung it into the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Not now,” said she, with a quiet smile. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, and then write—” +</p> +<p> +“I'll not write another,” said she, rising. She moved slowly across the +room; and as she gained the door, she turned and said, “If you don't want +Kuffner, I 'd be glad to have him here;” and without awaiting his reply, +she was gone. +</p> +<p> +“Haven't I made a precious mess of it?” cried Beecher, as he buried his +head between his hands, and sat down before the fire. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. MRS. SEACOLE'S +</h2> +<p> +In a dense fog, and under a thin cold rain, the “Tigris” steamed slowly +into the harbor of Balaklava. She had been chartered by the Government, +and sent out with some seventy thousand pair of shoes, and other like +indispensables for an army much in want, but destined to be ultimately +re-despatched to Constantinople,—some grave omissions in red tapery +having been discovered,—whereby she and the shoes remained till the +conclusion of the war, when the shoes were sold to the Russians, and the +ship returned to England. +</p> +<p> +Our concern is not, however, with the ship or the shoes, or the patent, +barley, the potted meats, or the “printed instructions” with which she was +copiously provided, but with two passengers who had come up in her from +Constantinople, and had, in a manner, struck up a sort of intimacy by the +way. They were each of them men rather advanced in life; somewhat ordinary +in appearance, of that commonplace turn in look, dress, and bearing that +rarely possesses attraction for the better-off class of travellers, but, +by the force of a grand law of compensations, as certainly disposes them +to fraternize with each other. There are, unquestionably, some very +powerful affinities which draw together men past the prime of life, when +they wear bad hats, seedy black coats very wide in the skirt, and Berlin +gloves. It is not alone that if they smoke the tobacco is of the same +coarse kind, and that brandy-and-water is a fountain where they frequently +meet, but there are mysterious points of agreement about them which +develop rapidly into close intimacy, and would even rise to friendship if +either of them was capable of such a weakness. +</p> +<p> +They had met, casually, at “Miseri's” at Constantinople, and agreed to go +up the Black Sea together. Now, though assuredly any common observer +passing them might not readily be able to distinguish one from the other +again, both being fat, broad-shouldered, vulgar-looking men of about +fifty-four or more, yet each was a sort of puzzle to the other; and in the +curiosity thus inspired, there grew up a bond between them that actually +served to unite them. +</p> +<p> +If we forbore any attempt at mystification with our valued reader in an +early stage of this history, it is not now, that we draw to its close, we +would affect any secrecy. Let us, therefore, at once announce the +travellers by their names; one being Terry Driscoll, the other the +Reverend Paul Classon. +</p> +<p> +Driscoll had dropped hints—vague hints only—that he had come +out to look after a nephew of his, a kind of scapegrace who was always in +trouble; but in what regiment he served, or where, or whether he was yet +alive, or had been broke and sent home, were all little casualties which +he contemplated and discussed with a strange amount of composure. As for +Paul, without ever entering directly upon the personal question, he +suffered his ministerial character to ooze slowly out, and left it to be +surmised that he was a gentleman of the press, unengaged, and a Christian +minister, unattached. +</p> +<p> +Not that these personal facts were declared in the abrupt manner they are +here given to the reader. Far from it; they merely loomed through the haze +of their discourse as, walking the deck for hours, they canvassed the war +and its objects, and its probable results. Upon all these themes they +agreed wonderfully, each being fully satisfied that the whole campaign was +only a well-concerted roguery,—a scheme for the dismemberment of +Turkey, when she had been sufficiently debilitated by the burden of an +expensive contest to make all resistance impossible. Heaven knows if +either of them seriously believed this. At all events, they said it to +each other, and so often, so circumstantially, and so energetically that +it would be very rash in us to entertain a doubt of their sincerity. +</p> +<p> +“I have been recommended to a house kept by a Mrs. Seacole,” said Classon, +as they landed on the busy quay, where soldiers and sailors and +land-transport men, with Turks, Wallachs, Tartars, and Greeks, were +performing a small Babel of their own. +</p> +<p> +“God help me!” exclaimed Terry, plaintively, “I 'm like a new-born child +here; I know nobody, nor how to ask for anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Come along with me, then. There are worse couriers than Paul Classon.” +And bustling his way through the crowd, his Reverence shouldered his +carpet-bag, and pushed forward. +</p> +<p> +It was, indeed, a rare good fortune for Terry to have fallen upon a +fellow-traveller so gifted and so accomplished; for not only did Paul seem +a perfect polyglot, but he possessed that peculiar bustling activity your +regular traveller acquires, by which, on his very entrance into an inn, he +assumes the position less of guest than of one in authority and in +administration. And so now Paul had speedily investigated the resources of +the establishment, and ordered an excellent supper, while poor Driscoll +was still pottering about his room, or vainly endeavoring to uncord a +portmanteau which a sailor had fastened more ingeniously than necessary. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I knew what he was,” muttered Terry to himself. “He 'd be the very +man to help me in this business, if I could trust him.” +</p> +<p> +Was it a strange coincidence that at the same moment Paul Classon should +be saying to himself, “That fellow's simplicity would be invaluable if I +could only enlist him in our cause; he is a fool well worth two wise men +at this conjuncture”? +</p> +<p> +The sort of coffee-room where they supped was densely crowded by soldiers, +sailors, and civilians of every imaginable class and condition. Bronzed, +weather-beaten captains, come off duty for a good dinner and a bottle of +real wine at Mother Seacole's, now mingled with freshly arrived subs, who +had never even seen their regiments; surgeons, commissaries, naval +lieutenants, Queen's messengers, and army chaplains were all there, +talking away, without previous acquaintance with each other, in all the +frankness of men who felt absolved from the rule of ordinary etiquette; +and thus, amid discussions of the campaign and its chances, were mingled +personal adventures, and even private narratives, all told without the +slightest reserve or hesitation: how such a one had got up from his +sick-bed, and reported himself well and fit for duty, and how such another +had pleaded urgent private affairs to get leave to go home; what a capital +pony Watkins had bought for a sovereign, what execrable bitter beer Jones +was paying six shillings the bottle for; sailors canvassing the slow +advances of landsmen, soldiers wondering why the blue-jackets would n't +“go in” and blow the whole mock fortifications into the air; some +boasting, some grumbling, many ridiculing the French, and all cursing the +Commissariat. +</p> +<p> +If opinions were boldly stated, and sentiments declared with very little +regard for any opposition they might create, there was, throughout, a tone +of hearty good-fellowship that could not be mistaken. The jests and the +merriment seemed to partake of the same hardy character that marked each +day's existence; and many a story was told with a laugh, that could not be +repeated at the “Rag,” or reported at the Horse Guards. Classon and +Driscoll listened eagerly to all that went on around them. They were under +the potent spell that affects all men who feel themselves for the first +time in a scene of which they have heard much. They were actually in the +Crimea. The men around them had actually just come off duty in the +trenches: that little dark-bearded fellow had lost his arm in the attack +of the Mamelon; that blue-eyed youth, yonder, had led a party in assault +on the Cemetery; the jovial knot of fellows near the stove had been +“plotting” all night at the Russians from a rifle-pit. There was a reality +in all these things that imparted a marvellous degree of interest to +individuals that might otherwise have seemed commonplace and ordinary. +</p> +<p> +Amidst the noisy narratives and noisier commentaries of the moment, there +seemed one discussion carried on with more than usual warmth. It was as to +the precise species of reward that could be accorded to one whose military +rank could not entitle him to the “Bath.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, Chidley,” cried one of the speakers, “if he had been a +Frenchman there would have been no end of boasting amongst our amiable +allies, and he 'd have had Heaven knows what grade of the Legion and a +pension, besides! Show me the fellow amongst them could have done the +feat! I don't speak of the pluck of it,—they have plenty of pluck; +but where's the rider could have sat his horse over it?” +</p> +<p> +“What height was it?” asked another, as he leisurely puffed his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“Some say six feet,—call it five, call it four, anything you please: +it was to go at a breastwork with two nine-pounders inside, that was the +feat; and I say, again, I don't know another fellow in the army that would +have thought of it but himself!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20384.jpg" width="100%" alt="384 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Dick Churchill once jumped into a square and out again!” +</p> +<p> +A hearty roar of laughter announced the amount of credit vouchsafed to the +story; but the speaker most circumstantially gave time and place, and +cited the names of those who had witnessed the fact. +</p> +<p> +“Be it all as you say,” interposed the first speaker, “Churchill did a +foolhardy thing, without any object or any result; but Conway sabred three +gunners with his own hand.” +</p> +<p> +If the story, up to this moment, had only interested our two travellers by +its heroic claims, no sooner was the name of Conway uttered than each +started with astonishment. As for Classon, he arose at once, and, drawing +near the narrator, politely begged to know if the Conway mentioned was a +one-armed man. +</p> +<p> +“The same, sir,—Charley the Smasher, as they used to call him long +ago; and, by George, he has earned some right to the title!” +</p> +<p> +“And he escaped unhurt after all this?” asked Classon. +</p> +<p> +“No, I never said that; he was almost hacked to pieces, and his horse had +four bullets in him and fell dead, after carrying him half-way back to our +lines.” +</p> +<p> +“And Conway, is he alive? Is he likely to recover?” asked Paul, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The doctors say it is impossible; but Charley himself declares that he +has not the slightest intention of dying, and the chances are, he 'll keep +his word.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear me! only think of that!” muttered Driscoll, as, with a look of +intense simplicity, he listened to this discourse. “And where is he now, +sir, if I might make so bould?” +</p> +<p> +“He's up at the Monastery of St George, about eight miles off.” +</p> +<p> +“The Lord give him health and strength to go and fight the Russians +again!” said Terry; and the speech, uttered in a tone so natural and so +simple, was heard with a general laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Come over to this table, my old buck, and we 'll drink that toast in a +bumper!” cried one of the officers; and with many a bashful expression of +pleasure Mr. Driscoll accepted the invitation. +</p> +<p> +“Won't your friend join us?” asked another, looking towards Classon. +</p> +<p> +“I must, however reluctantly, decline, gentlemen,” said Paul, blandly. “<i>I</i> +cannot indulge like my respected friend here; <i>I</i> stand in need of +rest and repose.” +</p> +<p> +“He doesn't look a very delicate subject, notwithstanding,” said a +subaltern, as Classon retired. +</p> +<p> +“There 's no judging from appearances,” observed Driscoll. “You 'd think +<i>me</i> a strong man, but I 'm weak as a child. There's nothing left of +me since I had the 'faver,' and I 'll tell you how it happened.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. THE CONVENT OF ST. GEORGE +</h2> +<p> +Day broke heavily and dull through the massively barred windows of the +Convent of St George, and dimly discovered a vast crowd assembled in the +great hall of waiting: officers—sailor and soldier—come to +inquire news of wounded comrades, camp-followers, sutlers, surgeons, +araba-drivers, Tartar-guides, hospital nurses, newspaper correspondents, +Jew money-changers, being only some of the varieties in that great and +motley crowd. +</p> +<p> +Two immense fireplaces threw a ruddy glare over two wide semicircles of +human faces before them; but here and there throughout the hall, knots and +groups were gathered, engaged in deep and earnest converse. Occasionally, +one speaker occupied the attention of a listening group; but, more +generally, there was a sort of discussion in which parties suggested this +or that explanation, and so supplied some piece of omitted intelligence. +</p> +<p> +It is to this dropping and broken discourse of one of these small +gatherings that I would now draw my reader's attention. The group +consisted of nigh a dozen persons, of whom a staff-officer and a naval +captain were the principal speakers. +</p> +<p> +“My own opinion is,” said the former, “that if the personal episodes of +this war come ever to be written, they will be found infinitely more +strange and interesting than all the great achievements of the campaign. I +ask you, for instance, where is there anything like this very case? A +wounded soldier, half cut to pieces by the enemy, is carried to the rear +to hear that his claim to a peerage has just been established, and that he +has only to get well again to enjoy fifteen thousand a year.” +</p> +<p> +“The way the tidings reach him is yet stranger,” broke in another. +</p> +<p> +“What is <i>your</i> version of that?” +</p> +<p> +“It is the correct one, I promise you,” rejoined he; “I had it from +Colthorpe, who was present When the London lawyer—I don't know his +name—reached Balaklava, he discovered, to his horror, that Conway +was in the front; and when the fellow summons pluck enough to move on to +head-quarters, he learns that Charley has just gone out with a party of +eight, openly declaring they mean to do something before they come back. +Up to this, the man of parchment has studiously kept his secret; in fact, +the general belief about him was that he was charged with a writ, or some +such confounded thing, against the poor Smasher, and, of course, the +impression contributed little to secure him a polite reception. Now, +however, all his calm and prudential reserve is gone, and he rushes madly +into the General's tent, where the General is at breakfast with all the +staff and several guests, and, with the air of a man secure of his +position, he flings down upon the table a letter to the General +Commanding-in-chief from a Minister of State, saying, 'There, sir! may I +reckon upon your assistance?' It was some time before the General could +quite persuade himself that the man was in his senses, he talked away so +wildly and incoherently, repeatedly saying, 'I throw it all upon you, sir. +Remember, sir, I take none of the responsibility,—none!' +</p> +<p> +“'I wish you would kindly inform me as to the precise service you expect +at my hands, sir,' said the General, somewhat haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“'To have this document deposited in the hands of Lieutenant Charles +Conway, sir,' said he, pompously, laying down a heavily sealed package; +'to convey to him the news that his claim to the title and estates of his +family has been declared perfect; that before he can reach England he will +be Lord Viscount Cackington and Conway.' +</p> +<p> +“'Bad news from the front, sir,9 said an aide-de-camp, breaking in. 'After +a successful attack on a small redoubt near the Cemetery; two squadrons of +the —th have been surprised, and nearly all cut up. Conway, they +say, killed.' +</p> +<p> +“'No, not killed,' broke in another; 'badly wounded, and left behind.' +</p> +<p> +“There was, as you may imagine, very little thought bestowed on the lawyer +after this. Indeed, the party was scattered almost immediately, and +Colthorpe was just going out, when one of Miss Nightingale's ladies said +to him, 'Will you do me a great favor, Major Colthorpe,—a very great +favor? It is to let me have my saddle put on your gray charger for half an +hour.' Colly says, if she had n't been the very prettiest girl he had ever +seen since they left England, he 'd have shirked it, but he could not; and +in less than ten minutes, there she was, cantering away through the tents +and heading straight for the front. It was not, however, only the gray +Arab she carried off, but the great letter of the lawyer was gone too; and +so now every one knew at once she was away to the front.” +</p> +<p> +“And after that,—after that?” asked three or four together, as the +narrator paused. +</p> +<p> +“After that,” resumed he, “there is little to be told. Colthorpe's Arab +galloped back with a ball in his counter, and the saddle torn to rags with +shot. The girl has not been heard of.” +</p> +<p> +“I can supply this portion of the story,” said a young fellow, with his +arm in a sling. “She had come up with Conway, whom they had placed on a +horse, and were leading him back to the lines, when a Russian +skirmishing-party swept past and carried the girl off, and she is now in +Sebastopol, under the care of the Countess Woronzoff.” +</p> +<p> +“And Conway?” +</p> +<p> +“Conway's here; and though he has, between shot and sabre-cuts, eight +severe wounds, they say that, but for his anxiety about this girl's fate, +his chances of recovery are not so bad. Here comes Dr. Raikes, however, +who could give us the latest tidings of him.” +</p> +<p> +The gentleman thus alluded to moved hastily down the hall, followed by a +numerous train of assistants, to whom he gave his orders as he went He +continued, at the same time, to open and run his eyes over various letters +which an assistant handed to him, one by one. +</p> +<p> +“I will not be tormented with these requests, Parkes,” said he, +peremptorily. “You are to refuse all applications to see patients who are +not in the convalescent wards. These interviews have, invariably, one +effect,—they double <i>our</i> labor here.” +</p> +<p> +By this time the doctor was hemmed closely in by a dense crowd, eagerly +asking for news of some dear friend or kinsman. A brief “Badly,” “Better,” +“Sinking,” “Won't do,” were, in general, the extent of his replies; but in +no case did he ever seem at a loss as to the name or circumstance of the +individual alluded to. +</p> +<p> +And now, at last, the great hall began to thin. Wrapping themselves well +in their warm cloaks, securing the hoods tightly over their heads, men set +out in twos and threes, on foot, on horseback, or in arabas, some for the +camp, some for Balaklava, and some for the far-away quarter at the extreme +right, near the Tchernaya. A heavy snow was falling, and a cold and +cutting wind came over the Black Sea, and howled drearily along the +vaulted corridors of the old Convent. +</p> +<p> +Matter enough for story was there beneath that venerable roof! It was the +week after the memorable fight of Inkermann, and some of the best blood of +Britain was ebbing in those dimly lighted cells, whose echoes gave back +heart-sick sighs for home from lips that were soon to be mute forever. +There are unlucky days in the calendar of medicine,—days when the +convalescent makes no progress, and the sick man grows worse; when +medicaments seem mulcted of half their efficacy, and disastrous chances +abound. Doctors rarely reject the influence of this superstition, but +accept it with calm resignation. +</p> +<p> +Such, at least, seemed the spirit in which two army surgeons now discussed +the events of the day, as they walked briskly for exercise along one of +the corridors of the Convent. +</p> +<p> +“We shall have a gloomy report to send in to-morrow, Parkes,” said the +elder. “Not one of these late operation cases will recover. Hopeton is +sinking fast; Malcolm's wound has put on a treacherous appearance; that +compound fracture shows signs of gangrene; and there's Conway, we all +thought so well of last night, going rapidly, as though from some internal +hemorrhage.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow! it's rather hard to die just when he has arrived at so much +to live for. You know that he is to have a peerage.” +</p> +<p> +“So he told me himself. He said laughingly to me, 'Becknell, my boy, be +careful, you are cutting up no common sort of fellow; it's all lordly +flesh and blood here!' We were afraid the news might over-excite him, but +he took it as easily as possible, and only said, 'How happy it will make +my poor mother;' and, after a moment, 'If I only get back to tell it to +her!'” +</p> +<p> +“A civilian below,” said an hospital sergeant, “wishes to see Mr. Conway.” +</p> +<p> +“Can't be,—say so,” was the curt reply, as the doctor tore, without +reading, the piece of paper on which a name was written. +</p> +<p> +“The lawyer, I have no doubt,” said the other; “as if the poor fellow +could care to hear of title-deeds and rent-rolls now. He 'd rather have +twenty drops of morphine than know that his estate covered half a county.” +</p> +<p> +The sergeant waited for a second or two to see if the doctor should +reconsider his reply, and then respectfully retired. The stranger, during +the short interval of absence, had denuded himself of great-coat and +snow-shoes, and was briskly chafing his hands before the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Sergeant, may I see him?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No. The doctors won't permit it.” +</p> +<p> +“You did n't tell them who I was, then, that's the reason. You did n't say +I was the confidential agent of his family, charged with a most important +communication?” +</p> +<p> +“If I didn't, it was, perhaps, because I didn't know it,” said the man, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, go back at once, and say that I've come out special,—that +I must see him,—that the ten minutes I 'll stay will save years and +years of law and chancery,—and that”—here he dropped his voice—“there's +a hundred pounds here for the same minutes.” +</p> +<p> +“You'd better keep that secret to yourself, my good friend,” interposed +the sergeant, stiffly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, so I will, if you recommend it,” said the other, submissively; “but +surely, a ten-pound note would do you no harm yourself, Sergeant.” +</p> +<p> +An insolent laugh was the only answer the other vouchsafed, as he lighted +his cigar and sat down before the fire. +</p> +<p> +“They won't let me see him for the mischief it might do him,” resumed the +other, “and little they know that what I have to tell him might be the +saving of his life.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“Just that I 've news for him here that would make a man a'most get out of +his coffin,—news that would do more to cure him than all the doctors +in Europe. There's paper in that bag there that only wants his name to +them' to be worth thousands and thousands of pounds, and if he dies +without signing them there's nothing but ruin to come of it; and when I +said a ten-pound note awhile ago to you, it was a hundred gold sovereigns +I meant, counted into the hollow of your fist, just as you sat there. See +now, show me your hand.” +</p> +<p> +As if in a sort of Jocular pantomime, the man held out his hand, and the +other, taking a strong leather purse from his pocket, proceeded to untie +the string, fastened with many a cunning device. At length it was opened, +and, emptying out a quantity of its contents into one hand, he began to +deposit the pieces, one by one, in the other's palm. “One, two, three, +four,” went he on, leisurely, till the last sovereign dropped from his +fingers with the words “one hundred!” +</p> +<p> +Secret and safe as the bargain seemed, a pair of keen eyes peering through +the half-snowed-up window had watched the whole negotiation, following the +sergeant's fingers as they closed upon the gold and deposited it within +his pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Wait here, and I'll see what can be done by and by,” said the sergeant, +as he moved away. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely was the stranger left alone than the door opened, and a man +entered, shaking the snow from his heavy boots and his long capote. +</p> +<p> +“So, my worthy friend,” cried he, in a rich, soft voice, “you stole a +march on me,—moved off without beat of drum, and took up a position +before I was stirring!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, my reverend friend, <i>you</i> here!” said the other, in evident +confusion. “I never so much as suspected you were coming in this +direction.” +</p> +<p> +Paul Classon and Terry Driscoll stared long and significantly at each +other. Of all those silences, which are more eloquent than words, none can +equal that interval in which two consummate knaves exchange glances of +recognition, so complete an appreciation is there of each other's gifts, +such an honest, unaffected, frank interchange of admiration. +</p> +<p> +“You are a clever fellow, Driscoll, you are!” said Paul, admiringly. +</p> +<p> +“No, no. The Lord help me, I'm a poor crayture,” said Terry, shaking his +head despondingly. +</p> +<p> +“Don't believe it, man,—don't believe it,” said Paul, clapping him +on the shoulder; “you have great natural gifts. Your face alone is worth a +thousand a year, and you have a shuffling, shambling way of coming into a +room that's better than an account at Coutts's. Joe Norris used to say +that a slight palsy he had in one hand was worth twelve hundred a year to +him at billiards alone.” +</p> +<p> +“What a droll man you are, Mr. Classon!” said Terry, wiping his eyes as he +laughed. And again they looked at each other long and curiously. +</p> +<p> +“Driscoll,” said Paul, after a considerable pause, “on which side do you +hold your brief?” +</p> +<p> +“My brief! God knows it's little I know about brief and parchments,” +sighed Terry, heavily. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, man, what's the use of fencing? I see your hand; I know every +trump in it.” +</p> +<p> +Driscoll shook his head, and muttered something about the “faver that +destroyed him entirely.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” sighed Classon, “I cannot well picture to my mind what you might +have been anterior to that calamity, but what remains is still remarkable,—very +remarkable. And now I ask again, on which side are you engaged?” +</p> +<p> +“Dear me,—dear me!” groaned out Terry; “it's a terrible world we +live in!” +</p> +<p> +“Truly and well observed, Driscoll. Life is nothing but a long and +harassing journey, with accidents at every stage, and mischances at every +halt; meanwhile, for whom do you act?” +</p> +<p> +The door at the end of the long gallery was slightly and noiselessly +opened at this instant, and a signal with a hand caught Driscoll's +attention. Rapid and stealthy as was the motion, Classon turned hastily +round and detected it. +</p> +<p> +“Sit still, Driscoll,” said he, smiling, “and let us talk this matter over +like men of sense and business. It's clear enough, my worthy friend, that +neither you nor I are rich men.” +</p> +<p> +Driscoll sighed an assent. +</p> +<p> +“That, on the contrary, we are poor, struggling, hard-toiling fellows, +mortgaging the good talents Fortune has blessed us with to men who have +been born to inferior gifts but better opportunities.” +</p> +<p> +Another sigh from Terry. +</p> +<p> +“You and I, as I have observed, have been deputed out here to play a +certain game. Let us be, therefore, not opponents, but partners. One side +only can win, let us both be at that side.” +</p> +<p> +Again Terry sighed, but more faintly than before. +</p> +<p> +“Besides,” said Classon, rising and turning his back to the fire, while he +stuck his hands in his pockets, “I'm an excellent colleague, and, unless +the world wrongs me, a most inveterate enemy.” +</p> +<p> +“Will he live, do you think?” said Terry, with a gesture of his thumb to +indicate him of whom he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“No; impossible,” said Classon, confidently; “he stands in the report +fatally wounded, and I have it confidentially that there's not a chance +for him.” +</p> +<p> +“And his claim dies with him?” +</p> +<p> +“That's by no means so sure; at least, we'd be all the safer if we had his +papers, Master Driscoll.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay!” said Driscoll, knowingly. +</p> +<p> +“Now, which of us is to do the job, Driscoll? That's the question. I have +my claim to see him, as chaplain to the—I 'm not sure of the name of +what branch of the service—we'll say the 'Irregular Contingent' +Legion. What are you, my respected friend?” +</p> +<p> +“A connection of the family, on the mother's side,” said Terry, with a +leer. +</p> +<p> +“A connection of the family!” laughed out Classon. “Nothing better.” +</p> +<p> +“But, after all,” sighed Terry, despondingly, “there's another fellow +before us both,—that chap had brought out the news to the camp, Mr. +Reggis, from the house of Swindal and Reggis.” +</p> +<p> +“He's cared for already,” said Classon, with a grin. +</p> +<p> +“The Lord protect us! what do you mean?” exclaimed Driscoll, in terror. +</p> +<p> +“He wanted to find his way out here last night, so I bribed two Chasseurs +d'Afrique to guide him. They took him off outside the French advance, and +dropped him within five hundred yards of a Cossack picket, so that the +worthy practitioner is now snug in Sebastopol. In fact, Driscoll, my boy, +I 'm—as I said before—an ugly antagonist!” +</p> +<p> +Terry laughed an assent, but there was little enjoyment in his mirth. +</p> +<p> +“The girl,—one of those hospital ladies,” continued Classon,—“a +certain Miss Kellett, is also a prisoner.” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Kellett!” cried Driscoll, in amazement and terror together. “I know +her well, and if she's here she 'll outwit us both.” +</p> +<p> +“She's in safe hands this time, let her be as cunning as she will. In +fact, my dear Driscoll, the game is our own if we be but true to each +other.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm more afraid of that girl than them all,” muttered Driscoll. +</p> +<p> +“Look over those hills yonder, Driscoll, and say if that prison-house be +not strong enough to keep her. Mr. Reggis and herself are likely to see +Moscow before they visit Cheapside. Remember, however, if the field be our +own, it is only for a very brief space of time. Conway is dying. What is +to be done must be done quickly; and as there is no time for delay, +Driscoll, tell me frankly what is it worth to you?” Terry sneezed and +wiped his eyes, and sneezed again,—all little artifices to gain time +and consider how he should act. +</p> +<p> +“My instructions are these,” said Classon, boldly: “to get Conway to sign +a bond abdicating all claim to certain rights in lieu of a good round sum +in hand; or, if he refuse—” S. +</p> +<p> +“Which he certainly would refuse,” broke in Driscoll. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, to possess myself of his papers, deeds, letters, whatever +they were,—make away with them, or with any one holding them. Ay, +Driscoll, it is sharp practice, my boy; but we 're just now in a land +where sudden death dispenses with a coroner's inquest, and the keenest +inquirer would be puzzled whether the fatal bullet came from a Russian +rifle or a Croat carbine. Lend me a helping hand here, and I 'll pledge +myself that you are well paid for it. Try and dodge me, and I'll back +myself to beat you at your own game.” +</p> +<p> +“Here's an order for one of you gentlemen,” said an hospital orderly, +“coming up to see Lieutenant Conway.” +</p> +<p> +“It is for me,” said Driscoll, eagerly; “I'm a relation of his.” +</p> +<p> +“And I am his family chaplain,” said Classon, rising; “well go together.” +And before Driscoll could interpose a word, Paul slipped his arm within +the other's and led him away. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. SHOWING “HOW WOUNDS ARE HEALED” +</h2> +<p> +On a low little bed in a small chamber, once a cell of the Convent, +Charles Conway lay, pale, bloodless, and breathing heavily. The surgeon's +report of that morning called him “mortally wounded,” and several of his +comrades had already come to bid him farewell. To alleviate in some +measure his sufferings, he was propped up with pillows and cushions to a +half-sitting posture, and so placed that his gaze could rest upon the open +sea, which lay calm and waveless beneath his window; but even on this his +eyes wandered vaguely, as though already all fixity of thought was fled, +and that the world and its scenes had ceased to move or interest him. He +was in that state of exhaustion which follows great loss of blood, and in +which the brain wanders dreamily and incoherently, though ready at any +sudden question to arouse itself to an effort of right reason. +</p> +<p> +A faint, sad smile, a little nod, a gesture of the hand, were tokens that +one by one his comrades recorded of their last interview with him; and now +all were gone, and he was alone. A low murmur of voices at his door +bespoke several persons in earnest conversation, but the sounds never +reached the ears of the sick man. +</p> +<p> +“He spoke of making a will, then?” said Classon, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant. “He asked several times if there was not +some one who could take down his wishes in writing, and let him sign it +before witnesses.” +</p> +<p> +“That will do admirably,” said Paul, pushing his way into the room, +closely followed by Terry Driscoll. “Ah, Driscoll,” said Paul, unctuously, +“if we were moralists instead of poor, frail, time-serving creatures as we +are, what a lesson might we not read in the fate of the poor fellow that +lies there!” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, indeed!” sighed out Terry, assentingly. +</p> +<p> +“What an empty sound 'my Lord' is, when a man comes to that!” said Paul, +in the same solemn tone, giving, however, to the words “my Lord” a +startling distinctness that immediately struck upon the sick man's ear. +Conway quickly looked up and fixed his eyes on the speaker. +</p> +<p> +“Is it all true, then,—am I not dreaming?” asked the wounded +soldier, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Every word of it true, my Lord,” said Classon, sitting down beside the +bed. +</p> +<p> +“And I was the first, my Lord, to bring out the news,” interposed Terry. +“'Twas myself found the papers in an old farm-house, and showed them to +Davenport Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, don't you see that you only confuse him?” whispered Classon, +cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“Dunn, Dunn,” muttered Conway, trying to recollect. “Yes, we met at poor +Kellett's funeral,—poor Kellett! the last of the Albueras!” +</p> +<p> +“A gallant soldier, I have heard,” chimed in Classon, merely to lead him +on. +</p> +<p> +“Not a whit more so than his son Jack. Where is he?—where is Jack?” +</p> +<p> +None could answer him, and there was a silence of some minutes. +</p> +<p> +“Jack Kellett would never have deserted me in this way if he were alive +and well,” muttered Conway, painfully. “Can no one give me any tidings of +him?” +</p> +<p> +Another silence ensued. +</p> +<p> +“And I intended he should have been my heir,” said Conway, dreamily. “How +strangely it sounds, to be sure, the notion of inheriting anything from +Charley Conway! How little chance there was a month or two back that my +best legacy might not have been a shabrack or a pair of pistols; and now +I'm the Lord Viscount—what is it?—Viscount—” +</p> +<p> +A wild gust of wind—one of those swooping blasts for which the +Euxine is famous—now struck the strong old walls, and made the +massive casements rattle. The sick man started at the noise, which +recalled at once the crash of the battle-field, and he cried out +vigorously, “Move up, men,—move up; keep together, and charge! +Charge!” and with bent-down head and compressed lips he seemed like one +prepared to meet a murderous onslaught. A sudden faintness succeeded to +this excitement, and he lay back weak and exhausted. As he fell back, a +letter dropped from his hand to the ground. Classon speedily caught it up, +and opened it. He had, however, but time to read the opening line, which +ran thus—“My dearest Charley, our cause is all but won—” +</p> +<p> +“From his mother,” interposed Driscoll, leaning over his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, my mother,” murmured Conway, whose ear, preternaturally acute from +fever, caught the word; “she will see that my wishes are carried out, and +that all I leave behind me goes to poor Jack.” +</p> +<p> +“We'll take care of that, sir,” said Classon, blandly; “only let us know +what it is you desire. We have no other object here than to learn your +wishes.” +</p> +<p> +With all the alacrity of one accustomed to such emergencies, Paul drew a +small portfolio from his pocket provided with all materials for writing, +and arrayed them neatly before him; but already the sick man had dropped +off into a sleep, and was breathing heavily. +</p> +<p> +“That box must contain all the papers,” said Classon, rising stealthily +and crossing the room; “and see, the key is in the lock!” In a moment they +were both on the spot, busily ransacking the contents. One glance showed +their suspicions to be correct: there were heaps of legal documents, +copies of deeds, extracts of registries, with innumerable letters of +explanation. They had no time for more than the most hurried look at +these; in fact, they turned in terror at every movement, to see if the +sick man had recovered from his swoon. +</p> +<p> +“This is all; better than I ever looked for,” said Classon. “Fill your +pockets with them: we must divide the spoil between us, and be off before +he rallies.” +</p> +<p> +Driscoll obeyed with readiness. His eager eye scrutinized hastily so much +as he could catch of the import of each document; but he did not venture, +by any attempt at selection, to excite Classon's suspicions. +</p> +<p> +“If we cannot make our own terms after this night's work, Driscoll, my +name is not Paul Classon. The poor fellow here will soon be past +tale-telling, even if he were able to see us. There you have dropped a +large parchment.” +</p> +<p> +“I' ll put it in the pocket of my cloak,” said the other, in a whisper; +while he added, still more stealthily, “would n't you swear that he was +looking at us this minute?” +</p> +<p> +Classon started. The sick man's eyes were open, and their gaze directed +towards them; while his lips, slightly parted, seemed to indicate a +powerless attempt to speak. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Classon, in a scarcely audible whisper; “that is death.” +</p> +<p> +“I declare I think he sees us,” muttered Driscoll. +</p> +<p> +“And if he does, man, what signifies it? He's going where the knowledge +will little benefit him. Have you everything safe and sure now? There, +button your coat well up; we must start at once.” +</p> +<p> +“May I never! if I can take my eyes off him,” said Driscoll, trembling. +</p> +<p> +“You had better take yourself off bodily, my worthy friend; there's no +saying who might chance to come in upon us here. Is not that a signet-ring +on his finger? It would only be a proper attention to carry it to his +mother, Driscoll.” There was a half-sarcasm about the tone of this speech +that made it sound strangely ambiguous, as, stooping down, he proceeded to +take off the ring. +</p> +<p> +“Leave it there,—leave it there! it will bring bad luck upon us,” +murmured Driscoll, in terror. +</p> +<p> +“There is no such bad luck as not to profit by an opportunity,” whispered +Classon, as he tried, but in vain, to withdraw the ring. A sharp, +half-suppressed cry suddenly escaped him, and Driscoll exclaimed,— +</p> +<p> +“What is it? What's the matter?” +</p> +<p> +“Look, and see if he has n't got hold of me, and tightly too.” +</p> +<p> +The affected jocularity of his tone accorded but ill with the expression +of pain and fright so written upon his features, for the dying man had +grasped him by the wrist, and held him with a grip of iron. +</p> +<p> +“That's what they call a dead man's grip, I suppose?” said Classon, in +assumed mockery. “Just try if you cannot unclasp his fingers.” +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn't touch him if you offered me a thousand guineas for it,” said +Driscoll, shuddering. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, man. We cannot stand fooling here, and I shall only hurt him if +I try it with one hand. Come, open his fingers gently. Be quick. I hear +voices without, and the tramp of horses' feet in the court below. Where +are you going? You're not about to leave me here?” +</p> +<p> +“May I never! if I know what to do,” muttered Driscoll, in a voice of +despair. “And did n't I tell you from the first it would bring bad luck +upon us?” +</p> +<p> +“The worst of all luck is to be associated with a fool and a coward,” said +Classon, savagely. “Open these fingers at once, or give me a knife and I +'ll do it myself.” +</p> +<p> +“The Lord forgive you, but you 're a terrible man!” cried Driscoll, moving +stealthily towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“So you <i>are</i> going?” muttered Paul, with a voice of intense passion. +“You would leave me here to take the consequences, whatever they might +be?” +</p> +<p> +Driscoll made no reply, but stepped hastily out of the room, and closed +the door. +</p> +<p> +For a moment Classon stood still and motionless; then bending down his +head, he tried to listen to what was passing outside, for there was a +sound of voices in the corridor, and Driscoll's one of them. “The +scoundrel is betraying me!” muttered Paul to himself. “At all events, +these must not be found upon me.” And with this, and by the aid of his one +disengaged hand, he proceeded to strew the floor of the room with the +various papers he had abstracted from the box. Again, too, he listened; +but now all was still without. What could it mean? Had Driscoll got clear +away, without even alluding to him? And now he turned his gaze upon the +sick man, who lay there calm and motionless as before. “This will end +badly if I cannot make my escape,” muttered he to himself; and he once +more strove with all his might to unclasp the knotted fingers; but such +was the rigid tenacity of their grasp, they felt as though they must +sooner be broken than yield. “Open your hand, sir. Let me free,” whispered +he, in Conway's ear. “That fellow has robbed you, and I must follow him. +There, my poor man, unclasp your fingers,” said he, caressingly, “or it +will be too late!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20402.jpg" width="100%" alt="402 " /> +</div> +<p> +Was it a delusion, that he thought a faint flickering of a smile passed +over that death-like countenance? And now, in whispered entreaty, Classon +begged and implored the other to set him free. +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing for it, then, but this,” said Paul, with a muttered +curse, “and your own fault is it that I am driven to it!” And, so saying, +he drew a powerful clasp-knife from his pocket, and tried to open it with +his teeth; but the resistance of the spring still defied all his efforts +for some time, and it was only after a long struggle that he succeeded. +“He's insensible; he'll never feel it,” muttered Paul below his breath; +“and even if he should, self-preservation is the first of all cares.” And +with this he grasped the knife vigorously in his strong hand, and gazed at +the sick man, who seemed to return his stare as fixedly. There was in +Conway's look even a something of bold defiance, that seemed to say, “I +dare and defy you!” so at least did Classon read it, and quailed before +its haughty meaning. “What wretched cowardice is over me, and at a time +when minutes are worth days!” muttered Classon. “Here goes!” But now a +confused noise of many voices, and the steps of advancing feet were heard +in the corridor; and Classon sank down beside the bed, a cold sweat +covering his forehead and face, while he trembled in every limb. +</p> +<p> +The room was speedily filled with staff officers and surgeons, in the +midst of whom was a civilian, travel-stained and tired-looking, who +pressed eagerly forward, saying, as he beheld Classon, “Who is this man,—what +is he doing here?” +</p> +<p> +“An humble missionary,—a weak vessel,” said Paul, whiningly. “In a +paroxysm of his pain he caught me thus, and has held me ever since. There—at +last I am free!” And as he said these words, the sick man's fingers +unclasped and liberated him. +</p> +<p> +“There has been foul play here,” said Mr. Reggie, the stranger in civilian +dress. “See! that box has been rifled; the floor is covered with papers. +This man must be detained.” +</p> +<p> +“In bonds or in a dungeon, it matters not,” said Paul, holding up his +hands as if about to open a lengthy discourse; but he was hurried away ere +he could continue. +</p> +<p> +“He is certainly no worse,” said one of the surgeons, as he felt Conway's +pulse and examined the action of his heart; “but I am far from saying that +he will recover!” +</p> +<p> +“If I do not greatly mistake,” said Reggis, “our friend the missionary is +the man through whose kind offices I was betrayed within the Russian +lines; but I' ll look to this later. As it was, I have had little to +complain of my treatment in Sebastopol, and my detention was of the +shortest.” +</p> +<p> +“And Miss Kellett,—is she free also?” asked one of the bystanders. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; we came back together. She is up at headquarters, giving Lord Raglan +an account of her capture.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Conway?” asked one of the surgeons, suddenly startled by the +intensity of the anxiety in his face. “Are you in pain?” +</p> +<p> +He shook his head in dissent. +</p> +<p> +“You are thirsty, perhaps? Will you have something to drink?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said he, with the faintest possible utterance. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, then, my poor fellow?” said he, affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“So it was not a dream!” gasped out Conway. +</p> +<p> +“What was it you fancied to be a dream?” +</p> +<p> +“All,—everything but this!” And he pointed to a deep wound from a +sabre-cut in his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and that, too, will be as a dream some years hence!” said the other, +cheeringly. +</p> +<p> +It was evident, now, that the excitement of talking and seeing so many +persons about him was injurious, and the surgeons silently motioned to the +bystanders to retire. +</p> +<p> +“May I remain with him?” asked the lawyer. “If he could give his consent +to certain measures, sign one or two papers, years of litigation might be +saved.” +</p> +<p> +Conway had meanwhile beckoned to the surgeon to approach him; and then, as +the other leaned over the bed, he whispered,— +</p> +<p> +“Was it true what I have just heard,—was she really here?” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Kellett, do you mean? Yes; she carried up the news to you herself? +It was she that tied the handkerchief on your wounded artery, too, and +saved your life.” +</p> +<p> +“Here,—in the Crimea? It cannot—cannot be!” sighed Conway. +</p> +<p> +“She is not the only noble-hearted woman who has left home and friends to +brave perils and face hardships, though, I own, she stands alone for +heroism and daring.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then, it was not a delusion,—I did actually see her in the +trenches?” said Conway, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“She was in the advanced parallel the night the Russians surprised the +5th. She was the first to give the alarm of the attack.” +</p> +<p> +“Only think, doctor, of what happened to me that night! I was sent up at +speed to say that reinforcements were coming up. Two companies of the +Royals were already in march. My horse had twice fallen with me, and, +being one-armed, I was a good deal shaken, and so faint when I arrived +that I could scarcely deliver my message. It was just then a woman—I +could only perceive, in the darkness, that she seemed young—gave me +her brandy-flask; after drinking, I turned to give it back to her, but she +was gone. There was no time to search for her at such a moment, and I was +about to ride away, when a 'carcasse,' exploding on one of the redoubts, +lit up the whole scene for a considerable space around, and whom should I +see but Jack Kellett's sister, cheering the men and encouraging them to +hold their ground? +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20406.jpg" width="100%" alt="406 " /> +</div> +<p> +I could have sworn to her features, as I could now to yours; but that she +could really be there seemed so utterly impossible that I fancied it was a +delusion. Nay,” added he, after a pause, “let me tell the whole truth. I +thought it was a warning! Ay, doctor, the weight is off my heart now that +I have confessed this weakness.” As Conway spoke, he seemed, indeed, as +though he had relieved himself of some mighty care; for already his eye +had regained its lustre, and his bold features recovered their wonted +expression. “Now,” cried he, with a renovated vigor, “I have done with +false terrors about second sight, and the rest of it I am myself again.” +</p> +<p> +“You can listen to my tidings, then,” said Reggis, seating himself at the +bedside, and at once beginning a narrative, to which I am obliged to own +Conway did not always pay a becoming attention, his thoughts still +reverting to very different scenes and incidents from those which the +lawyer recounted. Indeed, more than once was the narrator's patience +sorely tried and tested. “I am doing my very best to be brief, sir. I am +limiting myself strictly to a mere outline of the case,” said he, in +something of piqué: “It <i>might</i> interest you,—it <i>ought</i> +to interest you!” +</p> +<p> +“If the doctor yonder will promise me health and years to enjoy all this +same good fortune, so it will interest me,” cried Conway. “What does the +income amount to?” +</p> +<p> +“If we only recover the English estates, it will be something under twelve +thousand a year. If we succeed with, the Irish, it will be about three +more.” +</p> +<p> +“And how far are we on the road to this success?” “One verdict is already +won. The first action for ejectment on title has been brought, and we are +the victors. Upon this, all your counsel are agreed, your claim to the +Viscounty rests.” +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely credit—scarcely picture it to myself,” said Conway, +half aloud. “My mind is confused by the thought of all the things I wish +to do, if this be true. First of all, I want to purchase Jack Kellett's +commission.” +</p> +<p> +“If you mean Miss Kellett's brother, he is already gazetted an ensign, and +on his way to join his regiment in India.” +</p> +<p> +“And how do you know this?” +</p> +<p> +“She told me so herself.” +</p> +<p> +“She! When and where have you seen her?” +</p> +<p> +“Here, at headquarters; in Sebastopol, where we were prisoners together; +at the camp yesterday, where we parted.” +</p> +<p> +“My poor head cannot bear this,” said Conway, painfully; “I am struggling +between the delight of all these good tidings and a terrible dread that I +am to awake and find them but a dream. You said that she was here in the +camp?” +</p> +<p> +“That she is. If you but heard the cheer that greeted her arrival! It +began at the advanced pickets, and swelled loader and louder, till, like +the roar of the sea, it seemed to make the very air tremble. There, hear +that! As I live, it is the same shout again.” +</p> +<p> +“Here comes the General and his staff into the court below,” said the +doctor, hurrying away to receive them. +</p> +<p> +As the sounds of a distant cheer died away, the noise of horses' feet +resounded through the courtyard, and the clank of musketry in salute +announced the arrival of an officer of rank. +</p> +<p> +“I declare they are coming this way,” cried Mr. Reggis, rising in some +confusion, “and I heard your name spoken. Coming, I have no doubt, to see +<i>you</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“The General of your division, Conway, come to ask after you,” said an +aide-de-camp, entering, and then standing aside to make place for a +venerable, soldier-like man, whose snow-white hair would have graced a +patriarch. +</p> +<p> +“I have come to shake your hand, Conway,” said he, “and to tell you we are +all proud of you. There is nothing else talked of through our own or the +French camp than that daring feat of yours; and England will soon hear of +it.” +</p> +<p> +A deep blush of manly shame covered Conway's face as he listened to these +words; but he could not speak. +</p> +<p> +“I have been talking the matter over with the General +Commanding-in-chief,” resumed he, “who agrees with me that the Horse +Guards might, possibly, recognizing your former rank of Captain, make you +now a Brevet-major, and thus qualify you for the Bath.” +</p> +<p> +“Time enough, General, for that,” said Conway. “I have a very long arrear +of folly and absurdity to wipe out ere I have any pretension to claim high +rewards.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, but if all that I hear be true, we are likely to lose your services +here; they have a story abroad about a peerage and a vast fortune to which +you have succeeded. Indeed, I heard this moment from Miss Kellett—” +</p> +<p> +“Is she here, sir?—can I see her?” cried Conway, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. She has come over to say good-bye; for, I regret to say, she too is +about to leave us to join her brother at Calcutta.” +</p> +<p> +A sickly paleness spread itself over Conway's cheeks, and he muttered, “I +must see her—I must speak with her at once.” +</p> +<p> +“So you shall, my poor fellow,” said the other, affectionately; “and I +know of no such recompense for wounds and suffering as to see her gentle +smile and hear her soft voice. She shall come to you immediately.” +</p> +<p> +Conway covered his face with his hand, to conceal the emotion that stirred +him, and heard no more. Nor was he conscious that, one by one, the persons +around him slipped noiselessly from the room, while into the seat beside +his bed glided a young girl's figure, dressed in deep black, and veiled. +</p> +<p> +“Such a fate!” muttered he, half aloud. “All this, that they call my good +fortune, comes exactly when I do not care for it.” +</p> +<p> +“And why so?” asked a low, soft voice, almost in his very ear. +</p> +<p> +“Is this, indeed, you?” cried he, eagerly. “Was it <i>your</i> hand I felt +on my temples as I lay wounded outside the trenches? Was it your voice +that cheered me as they carried me to the rear?” +</p> +<p> +She slightly bent her head in assent, and murmured, “Your old comrade's +sister could not do less.” +</p> +<p> +“And now you are about to leave me,” said he, with an overwhelming sorrow +in the tone. +</p> +<p> +She turned away her head slightly, and made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“I, who am utterly alone here,” said he, in a broken voice. “Is this, too, +like my old comrade's sister?” There was a peevishness in the way he spoke +this of which he seemed himself to be ashamed the moment the words were +uttered; and he quickly added, “What a fellow I am to say this to you!—you, +who have done so much for me,—you, who promised to be a daughter to +my poor mother when I am gone!” +</p> +<p> +“But you are not to take this gloomy view,” said she, hastily; “the +surgeons all pronounce you better; they agree that your wounds progress +favorably, and that, in a week or two, you may be removed to +Constantinople, and thence to England.” +</p> +<p> +He gave a faint, sickly smile of most melancholy meaning. +</p> +<p> +“And what will not the cheery, bracing air of those Welsh mountains do, +aided by the kind care of that best of nurses, a fond mother?” +</p> +<p> +“And where will you be by that time?” asked he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Journeying away eastward to some far-away land, still more friendless!” +said she, sadly. +</p> +<p> +“This, then, is the sum of all my good fortune, that when life opens +fairly for me, it shall be bereft of all that I care for!” cried he, +wildly. +</p> +<p> +Terrified by the excited tone in which he spoke, as well as by the +feverish lustre of his eyes, Sybella tried to calm and soothe him, but he +listened—if, indeed, he heard her—with utter apathy. +</p> +<p> +“Come!” cried he, at last, “if your resolve be taken, so is mine. If you +leave for India, I shall never quit the Crimea.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not thus I expected one to speak who loves his mother as you do,” +said she, reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Sybella, it would indeed have been a happy day for me when I should +have returned to her in honor, could I but have said, 'You have not alone +a son beneath your roof, but a dear daughter also.' If all that they call +my great luck had brought this fortune, then had I been indeed a fellow to +be envied. Without that hope there is not another that I want to cling +to.” +</p> +<p> +She tried gently to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it in his +grasp, and continued,— +</p> +<p> +“You, who never heard of me till the first day we met, know little of the +stored-up happiness your very name has afforded me for many a day,—how, +days long, Jack talked of you to me as we rambled together, how the long +nights of the trenches were beguiled by telling of you,—till at +length I scarcely knew whether I had not myself known and loved you for +years. I used to fancy, too, how every trait of poor Jack—his noble +ardor, his generous devotion—might be displayed amidst the softer +and more graceful virtues of womanhood; and at last I came to know you, +far and away above all I have ever dreamed of.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me go,—let me say good-bye,” said she, in a faint whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Bear with me a few moments longer, Sybella,” cried he, passionately. +“With all their misery, they are the happiest of my life.” +</p> +<p> +“This is unfair,—it is almost ungenerous of you,” said she, with +scarcely stifled emotion, and still endeavoring to withdraw her hand. +</p> +<p> +“So it is!” cried he, suddenly; “it is unmanly and ignoble both, and it is +only a poor, selfish sick man could stoop to plead so abjectly.” He +relinquished her hand as he spoke, and then, grasping it suddenly, he +pressed it to his lips, and burst into tears. “A soldier should be made of +better stuff, Sybella,” said he, trying to smile. “Goodbye,—good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“It is too late to say so now,” said she, faintly; “I will not go.” +</p> +<p> +“Not go,—not leave me, Sybella?” cried he. “Oh that I may have heard +you aright! Did you say you would remain with me, and for how long?” +</p> +<p> +“Forever!” said she, stooping down and kissing his forehead. The next +moment she was gone. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Conway,” said the doctor, “cheer up, my good fellow; you 'll be all +right in a week or so. You 've got something worth living for, too, if all +accounts be true.” +</p> +<p> +“More than you think for, doctor,” said Conway, heartily,—“far more +than you think for.” +</p> +<p> +“The lawyer talks of a peerage and a fine estate.” +</p> +<p> +“Far more than that,” cried Conway; “a million times better.” +</p> +<p> +The surgeon turned a look of half apprehension on the sick man, and, +gently closing the shutters, he withdrew. +</p> +<p> +Dark as was that room, and silent as it was, what blissful hopes and +blessed anticipations crowded and clustered around that low “sick-bed”! +What years of happiness unfolded themselves before that poor brain, which +no longer felt a pang, save in the confusion of its bright imaginings! How +were wounds forgotten and sufferings unminded in those hours wherein a +whole future was revealed! +</p> +<p> +At last he fell off to sleep, and to dream of a fair white hand that +parted the hair upon his forehead, and then gently touched his feverish +cheek. Nor was it all a dream; she was at his bedside. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. “GROG” IN COUNCIL +</h2> +<p> +“What dreary little streets are those that lead from the Strand towards +the Thames! Pinched, frail, semi-genteel, and many-lodgered are the +houses, mysteriously indicative of a variously occupied population, and +painfully suggesting, by the surging conflict of busy life at one end, and +the dark flowing river at the other, an existence maintained between +struggle and suicide.” This, most valued reader, if no reflection of mine, +but was the thought that occupied the mind of one who, in not the very +best of humors, and of a wet and dreary night, knocked, in succession, at +half the doors in the street in search after an acquaintance. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, the second back,” said a sleepy maid-servant at last; “he is +just come in.” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said the stranger. “Take that carpet-bag and writing-desk +upstairs to his room, and say that Captain Davis is coming after them.'” +</p> +<p> +“You owe me a tip, Captain,” said the cabman, catching the name as he was +about to mount his box. “Do you remember the morning I drove you down to +Blackwall to catch the Antwerp boat, I went over Mr. Moss, the sheriff's +officer, and smashed his ankle, and may I never taste bitters again if I +got a farthing for it.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember,” said Davis, curtly. “Here's a crown. I 'd have made it a +sovereign if it had been his neck you 'd gone over.” +</p> +<p> +“Better luck next time, sir, and thank you,” said the man, as he drove +away. +</p> +<p> +The maid was yet knocking for admission when Grog arrived at the door. +“Captain Fisk, sir,—Captain Fisk, there 's a gent as says—” +</p> +<p> +“That will do,” said Davis, taking the key from her hand and opening the +door for himself. +</p> +<p> +“Old Grog himself, as I'm a living man!” cried a tall, much whiskered and +moustached fellow, who was reading a “Bell's Life” at the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Master Fisk,—no other,” said Davis, as he shook his friend +cordially by the hand. “I 've had precious work to find you out I was up +at Duke Street, then they sent me to the Adelphi; after that I tried +Ling's, in the Hay-market, and it was a waiter there—” +</p> +<p> +“Joe,” broke in the other. +</p> +<p> +“Exactly. Joe told me that I might chance upon you here.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'm glad to see you, old fellow, and have a chat about long ago,” +said Fisk, as he placed a square green bottle and some glasses on the +table. How well you 're looking, too; not an hour older than when I saw +you four years ago!” +</p> +<p> +“Ain't I, though!” muttered Grog. “Ay, and like the racers, I 've got +weight for age, besides. I'm a stone and a half heavier than I ought to +be, and there's nothing worse than that to a fellow that wants to work +with his head and sleep with one eye open.” +</p> +<p> +“You can't complain much on that score, Kit; you never made so grand a +stroke in your life as that last one,—the marriage, I mean.” +</p> +<p> +“It was n't bad,” said Davis, as he mixed his liquor; “nor was it, +exactly, the kind of hazard that every man could make. Beecher was a +troublesome one,—a rare troublesome one; nobody could ever say when +he 'd run straight.” +</p> +<p> +“I always thought him rotten,” said the other, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Well, he is and he isn't,” said Grog, deliberately. +</p> +<p> +“He has got no pluck,” said Fisk, indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“He has quite enough.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough—enough for what?” +</p> +<p> +“Enough for a lord. Look here, Master Fisk, so long as you have not to +gain your living by anything, it is quite sufficient if you can do it +moderately well. Many a first-rate amateur there is, who wouldn't be +thought a tenth-rate artist.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to know where you had been to-day if it was n't for your +pluck,” said Fisk, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“In a merchant's office in the City, belike, on a hundred and twenty +pounds a year; a land steward down in Dorsetshire, at half the salary; +skipper of a collier from North Shields, or an overseer in Jamaica. These +are the high prizes for such as you and me; and the droll part of the +matter is, they <i>will</i> talk of us as 'such lucky dogs,' whenever we +attain to one of these brilliant successes. Gazette my son-in-law as +Ambassador to Moscow, and nobody thinks it strange; announce, in the same +paper, that Kit Davis has been made a gauger, and five hundred open mouths +exclaim, 'How did he obtain that? Who the deuce got it for him? Does n't +he fall on his legs!' and so on.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose we shall have our turn one of these days,” muttered the other, +sulkily. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I hope not. I 'd rather have things as they are,” said Grog, gravely. +</pre> +<p> +“Things as they are! And why so, I 'd wish to ask?” +</p> +<p> +“Look at it this way, Tom Fisk,” said Grog, squaring his arms on the table +and talking with slow deliberation; “if you were going to cut into a round +game, wouldn't you rather take a hand where the players were all soft +ones, with plenty of cash, or would you prefer sitting down with a set of +downy coves, all up to every dodge, and not a copper farthing in the +company? Well, that's exactly what the world would be if the Manchester +fellows had their way; that's exactly what it is, this very hour we 're +sitting here, in America. There's nobody on the square there. President, +judges, editors, Congressmen, governors, are all rogues; and they've come +to that pass, that any fellow with a dash of spirit about him must come +over to Europe to gain his livelihood. I have it from their own lips what +I 'm telling you, for I was a-thinking about going over there myself; but +they said, 'Don't go, sir,'—they always say 'sir,'—'don't go, +sir. Our Western fellows are very wide awake; for every trump <i>you</i> +'d have up your <i>sleeve</i>, <i>they</i> 'd have two in their <i>boots!</i>'” +</p> +<p> +“For my own part,” said Fisk, “I 'd not go live amongst them if you 'd +make me Minister at Washington, and so I told Simmy Hankes this morning, +when he came in such high feather about his appointment as consul—I +forget where to.” +</p> +<p> +“Hankes—Hankes! The same fellow that used to be with Robins?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so; and for some years back Davenport Dunn managing man.” +</p> +<p> +Grog gave a very slight start, and then asked, carelessly, why he was +leaving Dunn's employment. +</p> +<p> +“Dunn's going to shut up shop. Dunn is to be a peer, next week, and +retires from business. He is to be in Tuesday's 'Gazette,' so Hankes tells +me.” +</p> +<p> +“He has done the thing well, I suppose?” said Davis, coolly. +</p> +<p> +“Hankes says something like two millions sterling. Pretty well for a +fellow that started without a sixpence.” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder he could n't have done something better for Hankes than that +paltry place.” +</p> +<p> +“So he might, and so he would; but you see, Simmy did n't like waiting. +He's a close fellow, and one can't get much out of him; but I can perceive +that he was anxious to get off the coach.” +</p> +<p> +“Did n't like the pace,—didn't trust the tackle overmuch,” said +Grog, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Something of that kind, I 've no doubt,” rejoined Fisk. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any pull over this same Hankes, Tom?” said Grog, confidentially. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I can't say I have. We were pals together long ago; we did a little +in the racing line,—in a very small way, of course. Then he used to +have a roulette-table at Doncaster; but somehow there was no 'go' in him: +he was over-cautious, and always saying, 'I 'd rather take to “business;”' +and as I hated business, we separated.” +</p> +<p> +“It's odd enough that I can't remember the fellow. I thought I knew every +one that was on the 'lay' these five-and-thirty years.” +</p> +<p> +“He wasn't Hankes at the time I speak of; he was a Jew at that period, and +went by the name of Simeon.” +</p> +<p> +“Simeon, Simeon,—not the fellow that used to come down to Windsor, +with the Hexquite Habannar cigars?” +</p> +<p> +And Grog mimicked not alone the voice, but the face of the individual +alluded to, till Fisk burst into a roar of laughter. +</p> +<p> +“That's Simmy,—that's the man,” cried Fisk, as he dried his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Don't I know him! I had a class at that time,—young fellows in the +Blues. I used to give them lessons in billiards; and Simmy, as you call +him, discounted for the mess on a sliding scale,—ten per cent for +the Major, and sixty for cornets the first year they joined. He was good +fun, Simmy; he fancied he would have been a first-rate actor, and used to +give scenes out of 'Othello,' in Kean's manner: that was the only soft +thing about him, and many a fellow got a bill done by applauding 'Now is +the winter of our discontent'!” And Grog gave a low growling sort of a +laugh at his reminiscences. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll see him to-morrow; he's to breakfast here,” said Fisk, rather +amused at the prospect of a recognition between such men. +</p> +<p> +“He would never play 'Shylock,'” continued Grog, following out his +reminiscences, “though we all told him he 'd make a great hit in the part. +The Jew, you see,—the Jew couldn't stand <i>that</i>. And so Mr. +Simmy Hankes is no other than Simeon! It was an old theory of mine, +whenever I saw a fellow doing wonderfully well in the world, without any +help from friends or family, to fancy that one time or other he must have +belonged to what they are so fond of calling 'the Hebrew persuasion'!” +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn't rake up old memories with him, Grog, if I were you,” said +Fisk, coaxingly. +</p> +<p> +“It ain't my way, Tom Fisk,” said Davis, curtly. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll be at his ease at once when he perceives that you don't intend to +rip up old scores; and he 'll be just as delicate with <i>you</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Delicate with me?” cried Grog, bursting out into a fit of immoderate +laughter. “Well, if that ain't a good one! I wonder what he is! Do you +imagine Fitzroy Kelly is ashamed of being thought a lawyer, or Brodie of +being a surgeon? You must be precious soft, my worthy friend, if you +suppose that I don't know what the world thinks and says of <i>me</i>. No, +no, there's no need of what you call delicacy at all. You used to be made +of other stuff than this, Tom Fisk. It's keeping company with them snobs +of half-pay officers, clerks in the Treasury, and Press reporters-has +spoiled you; the demi-gents of the 'Garottaman Club' have ruined +hundreds.” +</p> +<p> +“The Garottaman is one of the first clubs in town,” broke in Fisk. +</p> +<p> +“You 're too much like sailors on a raft for my fancy,” said Grog, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Just that you are hungry and have got nothing to eat,—you 're +eternally casting lots who is to be devoured next! But we 'll not fall out +about that. I 've been turning over in my head about this Simmy Hankes, +and I 'd like to have an hour in his company, all alone. Could you manage +to be out of the way to-morrow morning and leave me to entertain him at +breakfast?” +</p> +<p> +“It will suit my book to a trivet, for I want to go over to Barnes to look +after a yearling I 've got there, and you can tell Hankes that the colt +was taken suddenly ill.” +</p> +<p> +“He 'll not be very curious about the cause of your absence,” said Grog, +dryly. “The pleasure of seeing me so unexpectedly will put everything else +out of his head.” A grim smile showed the spirit in which he spoke these +words. +</p> +<p> +It was now very late, and Davis threw himself on a sofa, with his +great-coat over him, and, wishing his friend a goodnight, was soon sound +asleep; nor did he awake till aroused by the maid-servant getting the room +into readiness and arranging the table for breakfast. Then, indeed, Grog +arose and made his toilet for the day,—not a very elaborate nor a +very elegant one, but still a disguise such as the most practised +detective could not have penetrated, and yet removable in a moment, so +that he might, by merely taking off eyebrows and moustaches, become +himself at once. +</p> +<p> +Having given orders that the gentleman he expected should be shown in on +his arrival, Grog solaced himself at the fire with a morning paper, in all +the ease of slippers and an arm-chair. Almost the first thing that struck +his eye was a paragraph informing the world that the marriage of a +distinguished individual—whose approaching elevation to the peerage +had been already announced—with one of the most beautiful daughters +of the aristocracy would take place early in the ensuing week. And then, +like a codicil to a will, followed a brilliant description of the gold +dressing-case ordered by Mr. Davenport Dunn, at Storr's, for his bride. He +was yet occupied with the paragraph when Mr. Hankes entered the room. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid I have made a mistake,” said that bland gentleman. “I thought +this was Captain Fisk's apartment.” +</p> +<p> +“You're all right,” said Grog, leisurely surveying the visitor, whose “get +up” was really splendid. Amethyst studs glittered on his shirt; his ample +chest seemed a shrine in its display of amulets and charmed offerings, +while a massive chain crossed and recrossed him so frequently that he +appeared to be held together by its coils. Fur and velvet, too, abounded +in his costume; and even to the immense “gland” that depended from his +cane, there was an amount of costliness that bespoke affluence. +</p> +<p> +“I regret, sir,” began Hankes, pompously, “that I have not the honor—” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes; you <i>have</i> the honor,” broke in Grog. “You've had it this +many a year. Sit down here. I don't wear exactly so well as you, but you +'ll remember me presently. I 'm Kit Davis, man. You don't require me to +say who you are.” +</p> +<p> +“Davis,—Grog Davis,” muttered Hankes to himself, while an ashy +paleness spread over his face. +</p> +<p> +“You don't look overjoyed to meet with an old friend,” said Grog, with a +peculiar grin; “but you ought, man. There's no friendships like early +ones. The fellows who knew us in our first scrapes are always more lenient +to our last wickednesses.” +</p> +<p> +“Captain Davis,—Captain Davis!” stammered out Hankes, “this is +indeed an unexpected pleasure!” +</p> +<p> +“So much so that you can hardly get accustomed to it,” said Grog, with +another grin. “Fisk received a hasty message that called him away to the +country this morning, and left me to fill his place; and I, as you may +guess, was little loath to have a cosey chat with an old friend that I +have not seen—how many years is it?” +</p> +<p> +“It must be nigh ten, or even twelve!” +</p> +<p> +“Say, seven or eight and twenty, man, and you 'll be nigher the mark. Let +me see,” said he, trying to remember, “the last time I saw you was at +Exeter. You were waiting for your trial about those bills of George +Colborne. Don't look so frightened; there's no one to hear us here. It was +as narrow an escape there as ever man had. It was after that, I suppose, +you took the name of Hankes?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, in a faint whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I must say Christianity does n't seem to have disagreed with you. +You 're in capital case,—a little pluffy for work, but in rare +health, and sleek as a beaver.” +</p> +<p> +“Always the same. He will have his joke,” muttered Hankes, as though +addressing some third party to the colloquy. +</p> +<p> +“I can't say that I have committed any excesses in that line of late,” +said Grog, dryly. “I 've had rather a tough fight with the world!” +</p> +<p> +“But you've fought it well, and successfully,” Davis said the other, with +confidence. “Have n't you married your daughter to a Viscount?” +</p> +<p> +“Who told <i>you</i> that? Who knows it here?” cried Grog, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“I heard it from Fordyce's people a fortnight ago. It was I myself brought +the first news of it to Davenport Dunn.” +</p> +<p> +“And what did <i>he</i> say?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he didn't say much; he wondered a little how it came about; hinted +that you must be an uncommon clever fellow, for it was a great stroke, if +all should come right.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean about the disputed claim to the title?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“He has his doubts about that, then, has he?” +</p> +<p> +“He has n't much doubt on the subject, for it lies with himself to decide +the matter either way. If he likes to produce certain papers, Conway's +claim is as good as established. You are aware that they have already +gained two of their actions on ejectment; but Dunn could save them a world +of time and labor, and that's why he's coming up to-morrow. Fordyce is to +meet him at Calvert's Hotel, and they 're to go into the entire question.” +</p> +<p> +“What are his terms? How much does he ask?” said Grog, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I can't possibly say; I can only suspect.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you suspect, then?” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Hankes, drawing a long breath, “my impression is that if he +decide for the present Viscount, he 'll insist upon an assignment of the +whole Irish property in his favor.” +</p> +<p> +“Two thousand a year, landed property!” exclaimed Grog. +</p> +<p> +“Two thousand eight hundred, and well paid,” said Hankes, coolly; “but +that is not all.” +</p> +<p> +“Not all! what do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, there's another hitch. But what am I saying?” cried he, in terror. +“I don't believe that I'd speak of these things on my death-bed.” +</p> +<p> +“Be frank and open with me, Simeon. I am a true pal to the man that trusts +me, and the very devil to him that plays me false.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it,” said the other, gloomily. +</p> +<p> +“Well, now for that other hitch, as you called it What is it?” +</p> +<p> +“It's about an estate that was sold under the 'Encumbered Court,' and +bought by the late Lord Lackington—at least in his name—and +then resold at a profit—” Here he stopped, and seemed as though he +had already gone too far. +</p> +<p> +“I understand,” broke in Grog; “the purchase-money was never placed to the +Viscount's credit, and your friend Dunn wants an acquittance in full of +the claim.” +</p> +<p> +“You've hit it!” +</p> +<p> +“What's the figure,—how much?” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-seven thousand six hundred pounds.” +</p> +<p> +“He 's no retail-dealer, this same Davenport Dunn,” said Grog, with a +grin; “that much I <i>will</i> say of him.” +</p> +<p> +“He has a wonderful head,” said Hankes, admiringly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll agree with you, if it save his neck!” said Davis-, and then added, +after a moment, “He's bringing up all these documents and papers with him, +you said?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he intends to make some settlement or other of the matter before he +marries. After that he bids farewell to business forever.” +</p> +<p> +“He'll go abroad, I suppose?” said Davis, not attaching any strong +signification to his remark; but suddenly perceiving an expression of +anxiety in Hankes's face, he said, “Mayhap it were all as well; he'd be +out of the way for a year or so!” +</p> +<p> +The other nodded an assent. +</p> +<p> +“He has 'realized' largely, I take it?” +</p> +<p> +Another nod. +</p> +<p> +“Foreign funds and railways, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Not railways,—no, scrip!” said Hankes, curtly. +</p> +<p> +“Won't there be a Jolly smash!” said Davis, with a bitter laugh. “I take +it there's not been any one has 'done the trick' these fifty years like +this fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect you 're right there,” murmured Hankes. +</p> +<p> +“I have never seen him but once, and then only for a few minutes, but I +read him like a printed book. He had put on the grand integrity and +British-mercantile-honesty frown to scowl me down, to remind Davis, 'the +leg,' that he was in the presence of Dunn, the Unimpeachable, but I put +one eye a little aslant, this way, and I just said, 'Round the corner, old +fellow,—round the corner!' Oh, didn't he look what the Yankees call +'mean ugly'!” +</p> +<p> +“He 'll never forget it to you, that's certain.” +</p> +<p> +“If he did, I 'd try and brush up his memory a bit,” said Davis, curtly. +“He must be a rare sharp one,” added he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“The cleverest man in England, I don't care who the other is,” cried +Hankes, with enthusiasm. “When the crash comes,—it will be in less +than a month from this day,—the world will discover that they're +done to the tune of between three and four millions sterling, and I defy +the best accountant that ever stepped to trace out where the frauds +originated,—whether it was the Railways smashed the Mines, the Mines +that ruined the Great Ossory, the Great Ossory that dipped the Drainage, +or the Drainage that swamped the Glengariff, not to speak of all the +incidental confusion about estates never paid for, and sums advanced on +mock mortgage, together, with cancelled scrip reissued, preference shares +circulated before the current ones, and dock warrants for goods that never +existed. And that ain't all” continued Hankes, to whom the attentive +eagerness of Grog's manner vouched for the interest his narrative excited,—“that +ain't all; but there isn't a class nor condition in life, from the peer to +the poorest laboring-man, that he has n't in some way involved in his +rogueries, and made him almost a partner in the success. Each speculation +being dependent for its solvency on the ruin of some other, Ossory will +hate Glengariff, Drainage detest Mines, Railways curse Patent Fuel, and so +on. I 'll give the Equity Court and the Bankrupt Commissioners fifty years +and they'll not wind up the concern.” +</p> +<p> +Grog rubbed his hands gleefully, and laughed aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Then all the people that will be compromised!” said Hankes; “Glumthal +himself is not too clean-handed; lords and fine ladies that lent their +names to this or that company, chairmen of committees in the House that +did n't disdain to accept five hundred or a thousand shares as a mark of +grateful recognition for pushing a bill through its second reading; ay, +and great mercantile houses that discounted freely on forged acceptances, +owning that they thought the best of all security was the sight of a +convict-hulk and a felon's jacket, and that no man was such prompt pay as +he that took a loan of a friend's signature. What a knockdown blow for all +that lath-and-plaster edifice we dignify by the name of Credit, when the +world sees that it is a loaf the rogue can take a slice out of as well as +the honest man!” +</p> +<p> +“Won't we have stunning leaders in the 'Times' about it!” cried Grog. “It +will go deuced hard with the Ministry that have made this fellow a peer.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, they'll have to go out,” said Hanked, gravely; “a cabinet may defend +a bad measure,—they 'll never fight for a bad man.” +</p> +<p> +“And they can't hang this fellow?” said Grog, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Hang! I should think not, indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor even transport him?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not touch a hair of his head. He'll have to live abroad for a year or +two,—in Paris or Rome,—no great hardship if it were Naples; he +'ll make a surrender of his property,—an old house somewhere and +some brick-fields, a mine of Daryamon coal, and a flax-mill on a river +that has scarcely any water, together with a sheaf of bad bills and +Guatemala bonds. They 'll want to examine him before the Court, and he'll +send them a sick-certificate, showing how agitation and his recent losses +have almost made him imbecile; and even Mr. Linklater will talk feelingly +about his great reverse of condition.” +</p> +<p> +“It's as good as a play to hear about this,” said Grog; “it beats +Newmarket all to sticks.” +</p> +<p> +“If it's a play, it won't be a benefit to a good many folk,” said Hankes, +grinning. +</p> +<p> +“Well, he <i>is</i> a clever fellow,—far and away cleverer than I +ever thought him,” said Grog. “Any man—I don't care who he is—can +do the world to a short extent, but to go in at them on this scale a +fellow must be a genius.” +</p> +<p> +“He <i>is</i> a genius,” said Hankes, in a tone of decision. “Just think +for a moment what a head it must have been that kept all that machinery at +work for years back without a flaw or a crack to be detected, started +companies, opened banks, worked mines, railroads, and telegraphs, built +refuge harbors, drained whole counties, brought vast tracts of waste land +into cultivation, equalizing the chances of all enterprises by making the +success of this come to the aid of the failure of that: the grand secret +of the whole being the dexterous application of what is called 'Credit.'” +</p> +<p> +“All that wouldn't do at Doncaster,” said Grog; “puff your horse as much +as you like, back him up how you will in the betting-ring, if he has n't +the speed in him it won't do. It's only on 'Change you can 'brag out of a +bad hand.' Dunn would never cut any figure on the turf.” +</p> +<p> +“There you are all wrong; there never yet was the place, or the station, +where that man would n't have distinguished himself. Why, it was that +marvellous power of his kept me with him for years back. I knew all that +was going on. I knew that we hadn't—so to say—coals for one +boiler while we had forty engines in full stroke; but I could n't get +away. It was a sort of fascination; and when he 'd strike out a new +scheme, and say carelessly, 'Call the capital one million, Hankes,' he +spoke like a man that had only to put his hand in a bag and produce the +money. Nothing daunted, nothing deterred him. He'd smash a rival company +as coolly as you 'd crush a shell under your heel, and he 'd turn out a +Government with the same indifference he 'd discharge a footman.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” grumbled out Grog, at last, for he was getting irritable at the +exaggerated estimate Hankes formed of his chief, “what has it all come to? +Ain't he smashed at last?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>He</i> smashed!” cried Hankes, in derision. “<i>He</i> smashed! <i>You</i> +are smashed! I am smashed! any one else you like is smashed, but <i>he</i> +is not! Mind my words, Davis, Davenport Dunn will be back here, in London, +before two years are over, with the grandest house and the finest retinue +in town. His dinners will be the best, and his balls the most splendid of +the season. No club will rival his cook, no equipage beat his in the Park. +When he rises in the Lords,—which he 'll do only seldom,—there +will be a most courteous attention to his words; and, above all, you'll +never read one disparaging word about him in the papers. I give him two +years, but it's just as likely he 'll do it in less.” +</p> +<p> +“It may be all as you say,” said Grog, sullenly, “though I won't say I +believe it myself; but, at all events, it does n't help <i>me</i> on my +way to my own business with him. I want these papers of Lackington's out +of his hands! He may 'walk into' the whole world, for all that I care: but +I want to secure <i>my</i> daughter as the Viscountess,—that's how +it stands.” +</p> +<p> +“How much ready money can you command? What sum can you lay your hand on?” +</p> +<p> +Grog drew his much-worn pocket-book from his breast, and, opening the +leaves, began to count to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Something like fifty-seven pounds odd shillings,” said he, with a grin. +</p> +<p> +“If you could have said twelve or fourteen thousand down, it might be +nearer the mark. Conway's people are ready with about ten thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know?” asked Grog, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“Dunn told me as much. But he does n't like to treat with them, because +the difficulty about the Irish estate would still remain unsettled.” +</p> +<p> +“Then what am I to do? How shall I act?” asked Grog. +</p> +<p> +“It's not an easy matter to advise upon,” said Hankes, thoughtfully, “for +Dunn holds to one maxim with invariable tenacity, which is never to open +any negotiation with a stranger which cannot be completed in one +interview. If you couldn't begin by showing the bank-notes, he'd not +discuss the question at all.” +</p> +<p> +Grog arose and walked the room with hasty steps: he tried to seem calm, +but in the impatient gesture with which he threw his cigar into the fire +might be read the agitation he could not conquer nor conceal. +</p> +<p> +“What could you yourself do with him, Hankes?” said he, at last. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,—absolutely nothing,” said the other. “He never in his life +permitted a subordinate to treat, except on his own behalf; that was a +fixed law with him.” +</p> +<p> +“Curse the fellow!” burst out Davis, “he made rules and laws as if the +world was all his own.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he managed to have it pretty much his own way, it must be +confessed,” said Hankes, with a half-smile. +</p> +<p> +“He is to be in town to-morrow, you said,” muttered Grog, half aloud. +“Where does he stop?” +</p> +<p> +“This time it will be at Calvert's, Upper Brook Street. His house in +Piccadilly is ready, but he 'll not go there at present.” +</p> +<p> +“He makes a mystery of everything, so far as I can see,” said Grog, +angrily. “He comes up by the express-train, does n't he?” grumbled he, +after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“If he has n't a special engine,” said Hankes. “He always, however, has +his own <i>coupé</i> furnished and fitted up for himself and never, by any +chance, given to any one else. There 's a capital bed in it, and a desk, +where he writes generally the whole night through, and a small +cooking-apparatus, where he makes his coffee, so that no servant ever +interrupts him at his work. Indeed, except from some interruption, or +accident on the line, the guard would not dare to open his door. Of course +<i>his</i> orders are very strictly obeyed. I remember one night Lord +Jedburg sent in his name, and Dunn returned for answer, 'I can't see +him.'” +</p> +<p> +“And did the Prime Minister put up with that?” asked Davis. +</p> +<p> +“What could he do?” said the other, with a shrug of the shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“If I were Lord Jedburg, I'd have unkennelled him, I promise you <i>that</i>, +Simmy. But here, it's nigh twelve o'clock, and I have a mass of things to +do. I say, Hankes, could you contrive to look in here to-morrow evening, +after nightfall? I may have something to tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“We were strictly confidential,—all on honor, this morning, Kit,” +said the other, whispering. +</p> +<p> +“I think you know <i>me</i>, Mister Simmy,” was all Grog's reply. “I don't +think my worst enemy could say that I ever 'split' on the fellow that +trusted me.” +</p> +<p> +A hearty shake-hands followed, and they parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. THE TRAIN +</h2> +<p> +The up-train from Holyhead was a few minutes behind time at Chester, and +the travellers who awaited its arrival manifested that mixture of +impatience and anxiety which in our railroad age is inseparable from all +delay. One stranger, however, displayed a more than ordinary eagerness for +its coming, and compared the time of his watch repeatedly with the clock +of the station. +</p> +<p> +At length from the far-away distance the wild scream of the engine was +heard, and with many a cranking clash and many a heavy sob the vast +machine swept smoothly in beneath the vaulted roof. As the stranger moved +forward to take his place, he stopped to hear a few words that met his +ear. It was a railroad official said: “Mr. Davenport Dunn delayed us about +a quarter of an hour; he wanted to give a look at the new pier, but we +have nearly made it up already.” “All right!” replied the station-master. +The stranger now moved on till he came in front of a coupé carriage, whose +window-blinds rigidly drawn down excluded all view from without. For an +instant he seemed to fumble at the door, in an endeavor to open it, but +was speedily interrupted by a guard calling out, “Not there, sir,—that's +a private carriage;” and thus warned, the traveller entered another lower +down the line. There were two other travellers in the same compartment, +apparently strangers to each other. As the stranger with whom we are +immediately concerned took his place, he slipped into his pocket a small +latch-key, of which, in the very brief attempt to try the door of the +private carriage, he had successfully proved the utility, and, drawing his +rug across his knees, lay calmly back. +</p> +<p> +“Here we are, detained again,” grumbled out one of the travellers. “I say, +guard, what is it now?” +</p> +<p> +“Waiting for a telegram for Mr. Davenport Dunn, sir. There it comes! all +right” A low bell rings out, a wild screech following, and with many a +clank and shock the dusky monster sets out once more. +</p> +<p> +“Public convenience should scarcely be sacrificed in this manner,” +grumbled out the former speaker. “What is this Mr. Dunn to you or to me +that we should be delayed for his good pleasure?” +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid, sir,” replied the other, whose dress and manner bespoke a +clergyman, “that we live in an age when wealth is all-powerful, and its +possessors dictate the law to all poorer than themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“And can you tell me of any age when it was otherwise?” broke in the last +arrival, with a half-rude chuckle. “It's all very fine to lay the whole +blame of this, that, and t' other to the peculiar degeneracy of our own +time; but my notion is, the world grows neither worse nor better.” There +was that amount of defiance in the tone of the speaker that seemed to warn +his companions, for they each of them maintained a strict silence. Not so +with him; he talked away glibly about the influence of money, pretty +plainly intimating that, as nobody ever met the man who was indifferent to +its possession, the abuse showered upon riches was nothing but cant and +humbug. “Look at the parsons,” said he; “they tell you it is all dross and +rubbish, and yet they make it the test of your sincerity whenever they +preach a charity sermon. Look at the lawyers, and they own that it is the +only measure they know by which to recompense an injury; then take the +doctors, and you 'll see that their humanity has its price, and the good +Samaritan charges a guinea a visit.” +</p> +<p> +The individuals to whom these words were addressed made no reply; indeed, +there was a tone of confident assumption in the speaker that was far from +inviting converse, and now a silence ensued on all sides. +</p> +<p> +“Do either of you gentlemen object to tobacco?” said the last speaker, +after a pause of some duration; and at the same time, without waiting for +the reply, he produced a cigar-case from his pocket, and began +deliberately to strike a light. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry to say, sir,” responded the clergyman, “that smoking disagrees +with me, and I cannot accustom myself to endure the smell of tobacco.” +</p> +<p> +“All habit,” rejoined the other, as he lighted his cigar. “I was that way +myself for years, and might have remained so, too, but that I saw the +distress and inconvenience I occasioned to many jolly fellows who loved +their pipe; and so I overcame my foolish prejudices, and even took to the +weed myself.” +</p> +<p> +The other travellers muttered some low words of dissatisfaction; and the +clergyman, opening the window, looked out, apparently in search of the +guard. +</p> +<p> +“It's only a cheroot, and a prime one,” said the smoker, coolly; “and as +you object, I 'll not light another.” +</p> +<p> +“A vast condescension on your part, sir, seeing that we have already +signified our dislike to tobacco,” said the lay traveller. +</p> +<p> +“I did not remark that <i>you</i> gave any opinion at all,” said the +smoker; “and my vast condescension, as you term it, is entirely in favor +of this gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +There was no mistaking the provocation of this speech, rendered actually +insulting by the mode in which it was delivered; and the traveller to whom +it was addressed, enveloping himself in his cloak, sat moodily back, +without a word. The train soon halted for a few seconds; and, brief as was +the interval, this traveller employed it to spring from his place and seek +a refuge elsewhere,—a dexterous manouvre which seemed to excite the +envy of the parson, now left alone with his uncongenial companion. The man +of peace, however, made the best of it, and, drawing his travelling-cap +over his eyes, resolved himself to sleep. For a considerable while the +other sat still, calmly watching him; and at last, when perfectly assured +that the slumber was not counterfeited, he gently arose, and drew the +curtain across the lamp in the roof of the carriage. A dim, half-lurid +light succeeded, and by this uncertain glare the stranger proceeded to +make various changes in his appearance. A large bushy wig of black hair +was first discarded, with heavy eyebrows, and whiskers to match; an +immense overcoat was taken off, so heavily padded and stuffed that when +denuded of it the wearer seemed half his size; large heels were unscrewed +from his boots, reducing his height by full a couple of inches; till, at +length, in place of a large, unwieldy-looking man of sixty, lumbering and +beetle-browed, there came forth a short, thick-set figure, with red hair +and beard, twinkling eyes of a fierce gray, and a mouth the very type of +unflinching resolution. Producing a small looking-glass, he combed and +arranged his whiskers carefully, re-tied his cravat, and bestowed a most +minute scrutiny on his appearance, muttering, as he finished, to himself, +“Ay, Kit, you 're more like yourself now!” It is, perhaps, unnecessary to +say this speech was addressed to our acquaintance Grog Davis, nor was it +altogether what is called a “French compliment;” he <i>did</i> look +terribly like himself. There was in his hard, stern face, his pinched-up +eyes, and his puckered mouth, an amount of resolute vigor that showed he +was on the eve of some hazardous enterprise. His toilet completed, he felt +in his breastpocket, to assure himself that something there was not +missing; and then, taking out his watch, he consulted the time. He had +scarcely time to replace it in his pocket, when the train entered a deep +cutting between two high banks of clay. It was, apparently, the spot he +had waited for; and in an instant he had unfastened the door by his +latch-key, and stood on the ledge outside. One more look within to assure +himself that the other was still asleep, and he closed the door, and +locked it. +</p> +<p> +The night was dark as pitch, and a thin soft rain was falling, as Davis, +with a rapidity that showed this was no first essay in such a walk, glided +along from carriage to carriage, till he reached a heavy luggage van, +immediately beyond which was the <i>coupé</i> of Mr. Davenport Dunn. +</p> +<p> +The brief prayer that good men utter ere they rush upon an enterprise of +deadly peril must have its representative in some shape or other with +those whose hearts are callous. Nature will have her due; and in that +short interval—the bridge between two worlds—the worst must +surely experience intense emotion. Whatever those of Davis, they were of +the briefest. In another second he was at the door of Dunn's carriage, his +eyes glaring beneath the drawn-down blind, where, by a narrow slip of +light, he could detect a figure busily employed in writing. So bent was he +on mastering every portion and detail of the arrangement within, that he +actually crept around till he reached the front windows, and could plainly +see the whole <i>coupé</i> lighted up brilliantly with wax candles. +</p> +<p> +Surrounded with papers and letters and despatch-boxes, the man of business +labored away as though in his office, every appliance for refreshment +beside him. These Davis noted well, remarking the pistols that hung +between the windows, and a bell-pull quite close to the writing-table. +This latter passed through the roof of the carriage, and was evidently +intended to signalize the guard when wanted. Before another minute had +elapsed Davis had cut off this communication, and, knotting the string +outside, still suffered it to hang down within as before. +</p> +<p> +All that <i>precaution</i> could demand was now done; the remainder must +be decided by <i>action</i>. Noiselessly introducing the latch-key, Davis +turned the lock, and, opening the door, stepped inside. Dunn started as +the door banged, and there beheld him. To ring and summon the guard was +the quick impulse of his ready wit; but when the bell-rope came down as he +pulled it, the whole truth flashed across him that all had been concerted +and plotted carefully. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind your pistols. I'm armed too,” said Davis, coolly. “If it was +your life I wanted, I could have taken it easily enough at any minute +during the last ten or twelve.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, then, sir, by this violence? By what right do you dare +to enter here?” cried Dunn, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“There has been no great violence up to this,” said Davis, with a grin. +“As to my right to be here, we'll talk about that presently. You know <i>me</i>, +I believe?” +</p> +<p> +“I want to know why you are here,” cried Dunn, again. +</p> +<p> +“And so you shall; but, first of all, no treachery. Deal fairly, and a +very few minutes will settle all business between us.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no business to be settled between us,” said Dunn, haughtily, +“except the insolence of your intrusion here, and for that you shall pay +dearly.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't try bluster with me, man,” said Grog, contemptuously. “If you just +stood as high in integrity as I know you to stand low in knavery, it would +n't serve you. I've braved pluckier fellows than ever you were.” +</p> +<p> +With a sudden jerk Dunn let down the window; but Grog's iron grip held him +down in his place, as he said sternly, “I 'll not stand nonsense. I have +come here for a purpose, and I 'll not leave it till it's accomplished. +You know <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“I do know you,” said Dunn, with an insolent irony. +</p> +<p> +“And I know <i>you</i>. Hankes—Simmy Hankes—has told me a +thing or two; but the world will soon be as wise as either of us.” +</p> +<p> +Dunn's face became deadly pale, and, in a voice broken And faint, he said, +“What do you mean? What has Hankes said?” +</p> +<p> +“All,—everything. Why, bless your heart, man, it was no secret to me +that you were cheating, the only mystery was <i>how</i> you did the trick; +now Hankes has shown me that. I know it all now. You had n't so many +trumps in your hand, but you played them twice over,—that was the +way you won the game. But that's no affair of mine. 'Rook' them all round,—only +don't 'try it on' with Kit Davis! What brought me here is this: <i>my</i> +daughter is married to Annesley Beecher that was, the now Viscount +Lackington; there's another fellow about to contest the title and the +estates. <i>You</i> know all about his claim and his chances, and you can, +they tell me, make it all 'snag' to either party. Now, I 'm here to treat +with you. How much shall it be? There's no use in going about the bush,—how +much shall it be?” +</p> +<p> +“I can be of no use to you in this business,” said Dunn, hesitatingly; +“the papers are not in my keeping. Conway's suit is in the hands of the +first men at the bar—” +</p> +<p> +“I know all that, and I know, besides, you have an appointment with +Fordyce at Calvert's Hotel, to arrange the whole matter; so go in at once, +and be on the square with me. Who has these papers? Where are they?” +</p> +<p> +Dunn started at the sudden tone of the question, and then his eyes turned +as quickly towards a brass-bound despatch-box at the bottom of the +carriage. If the glance was of the speediest, it yet had not escaped the +intense watchfulness of Davis, who now reiterated his question of “Where +are they?” +</p> +<p> +“If you 'd come to me after my interview with Fordyce,” said Dunn, with a +slow deliberation, as though giving the matter a full reflection, “I think +we might hit upon something together.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, we might,” said Grog, laughing; “there 's only one obstacle +to that pleasant arrangement,—that I should find an inspector and +two constables of the police ready waiting for my visit. No, Master Dunn, +what we 're to do we 'll do <i>here</i> and <i>now</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“You appear to measure all men by your own standard, sir,” said Dunn, +indignantly; “and let me tell you that in point of honor it is a scant +one.” +</p> +<p> +“We're neither of us fit for a grenadier-company of integrity, that's a +fact, Dunn; but, upon my solemn oath, I believe I 'm the best man of the +two. But what's the use of this 'chaff'? I have heard from Hankes how it +stands about that Irish estate you pretended to buy for the late Lord, and +never paid for. Now you want to stand all square upon that, naturally +enough; it is a pot of money,—seven-and-thirty thousand pounds. +Don't you see, old fellow, I have the whole story all correct and clear; +so once more, do be business-like, and say what's your figure,—how +much?” +</p> +<p> +Again did Dunn's eyes revert to the box at his feet, but it was difficult +to say whether intentionally or not Davis, however, never ceased to watch +their gaze; and when Dunn, becoming suddenly conscious of the scrutiny, +grew slightly red, Grog chuckled to himself and muttered, “You're no match +for Kit Davis, deep as you are.” +</p> +<p> +“Until we learn to repose some trust in each other, sir,” said Dunn, whose +confusion still continued, “all dealing together is useless.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you mean by that,” retorted Davis, “that you and I are going to +start for a ten years' friendship, I declare off, and say it's no match. I +told you what brought me here, and now I want <i>you</i> to say how I 'm +to go back again. Where are these same papers?—answer me that.” +</p> +<p> +“Some are in the hands of Conway's lawyers; some are in the Crimea, carded +away surreptitiously by a person who was once in my confidence; some are, +I suspect, in the keeping of Conway's mother, in Wales—” +</p> +<p> +“And some are locked up in that red box there,” said Grog, with a defiant +look. +</p> +<p> +“Not one. I can swear by all that is most solemn and awful there's not a +document there that concerns the cause.” As Dunn spoke these words, his +voice trembled with intense agitation, and he grew sickly pale. +</p> +<p> +“What if I wouldn't believe you on your oath?” broke in Grog, whose keen +eyes seemed actually to pierce the other's secret thoughts. “It was n't +to-day, or yesterday, that you and <i>I</i> learned how to dodge an oath. +Open that box there; I 'll have a look through it for myself.” +</p> +<p> +“That you never shall,” said Dunn, fiercely, as he grasped the bundle of +keys that lay before him and placed them in his breast-pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Come, I like your pluck, Dunn, though it won't serve your turn this time. +I 'll either see that box opened before me now, or I'll carry it off with +me,—which shall it be?” +</p> +<p> +“Neither, by Heaven!” cried Dunn, whose passion was now roused +effectually. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll, first of all, get these out of the way; they're ugly playthings,” +said Davis, as with a spring he seized the pistols and hurled them through +the open window; in doing so, however, he necessarily leaned forward, and +partly turned his back towards Dunn. With a gesture quick as lightning, +Dunn drew a loaded pistol from his breast, and, placing the muzzle almost +close to the other's head, drew the trigger. A quick motion of the neck +made the ball glance from the bone of the skull, and passing down amongst +the muscles of the neck, settle above the shoulder. Terrible as the wound +was, Davis sprang upon him with the ferocity of a tiger. Not a word nor a +cry escaped his lips, as, in all the agony of his suffering, he seized +Dunn by the throat with one hand, while, drawing from his breast a heavy +life-preserver, he struck him on the head with the other. A wild scream,—a +cry for help, half smothered in the groan that followed, rang out, and +Dunn reeled from his seat and fell dead on the floor! Two fearful +fractures had rent the skull open, and life was extinguished at once. +Davis bent down, and gazed long and eagerly at the ghastly wounds; but it +was not till he had laid his hand over the heart that he knew them to be +fatal. A short shudder, more like the sense of sudden cold than any +sentiment of horror, passed over him as he stood for a few seconds +motionless; then, opening the dead man's coat, he drew forth his keys and +searched for that one which pertained to the red box. He carefully placed +the box upon the table and unlocked it The contents were title-deeds of +the Glengariff family, but all in duplicate, and so artfully imitated that +it would have been scarcely possible to distinguish original from copy. Of +the Lackingtons there was nothing but a release of all claims against +Davenport Dunn, purporting to have been the act of the late Lord, but of +which the signature was only indicated in pencil. +</p> +<p> +“The discovery was n't worth the price,” muttered Davis, as he turned a +half-sickly look upon the lifeless mass at his feet. “I 'm not the first +who found out that the swag did n't pay for the smash; not,” added he, +after a moment, “that I was to blame here: it was he began it!” +</p> +<p> +With some strange mysterious blending of reverence for the dead, with a +vague sense of how the sight would strike the first beholders, Davis +raised the corpse from the floor and placed it on the seat He then wiped +the clotted gore from the forehead, and dried the hair. It was a gruesome +sight, and even he was not insensible to its terrors; for, as he turned +away, he heaved a short, thick sigh. How long he stood thus, half stunned +and bewildered, he knew not; but he was, at length, recalled to thought +and activity by the loud whistle that announced the train was approaching +a station. The next minute they glided softly in beside a platform, +densely crowded with travellers. Davis did not wait for the guard, but +opened the door himself, and slowly, for he was in pain, descended from +the carriage. +</p> +<p> +“Call the station-master here,” said he to the first official he met “Let +some one, too, fetch a doctor, for I am badly wounded, and a policeman, +for I want to surrender myself.” He then added, after a pause, “There's a +dead man in that carriage yonder!” +</p> +<p> +The terrible tidings soon spread abroad, and crowds pressed eagerly +forward to gaze upon the horrible spectacle. No sooner was it announced +that the murdered man was the celebrated Davenport Dunn, than the interest +increased tenfold, and, with that marvellous ingenuity falsehood would +seem ever to have at her disposal, a dozen artfully conceived versions of +the late event were already in circulation. It was the act of a maniac,—a +poor creature driven mad by injustice and persecution. It was the +vengeance of a man whose fortune had been ruined by Dunn. It was the +father of a girl he had seduced and abandoned. It was a beggared +speculator,—a ruined trustee,—and so on; each narrative, +strangely enough, inferring that the fatal catastrophe was an expiation! +How ready is the world to accept this explanation of the sad reverses that +befall those it once has stooped to adulate,—how greedily does it +seek to repay itself for its own degrading homage, by maligning the idol +of its former worship! Up to this hour no man had ever dared to whisper a +suspicion of Dunn's integrity; and now, ere his lifeless clay was cold, +many were floundering away in this pseudo-morality about the little +benefit all his wealth was to him, and wondering if his fate would not be +a lesson! And so the train went on its way, the <i>coupé</i> with the dead +body detached and left for the inspection of the inquest, And Davis on a +sick-bed and in custody of the police. +</p> +<p> +His wound was far more serious than at first was apprehended; the +direction the ball had taken could not be ascertained, and the pain was +intense. Grog, however, would not condescend to speak of his suffering, +but addressed himself vigorously to all the cares of his situation. +</p> +<p> +“Let me have some strong cavendish tobacco and a pint of British gin, pen, +ink, and paper, and no visitors.” +</p> +<p> +The remonstrances of the doctor he treated with scorn. +</p> +<p> +“I'm not one of your West-end swells,” said he, “that's afraid of a little +pain, nor one of your Guy's Hospital wretches that's frightened by the +surgeon's tools; only no tinkering, no probing. If you leave me alone, I +have a constitution that will soon pull me through.” +</p> +<p> +His first care was to dictate a telegraphic despatch to a well-known +lawyer, whose skill in criminal cases had made him a wide celebrity. He +requested him to come down at once and confer with him. His next was to +write to his daughter, and in this latter task he passed nearly half the +night. Written as it was in great bodily pain and no small suffering of +mind, the letter was marvellously indicative of the man who penned it. He +narrated the whole incident to its fatal termination exactly as it +occurred; not the slightest effort did he make at exculpation for his own +share in it; and he only deplored the misfortune in its effect upon the +object he had in view. +</p> +<p> +“If Dunn,” said he, “hadn't been so ready with his pistol, I believe we +might have come to terms; but there's no guarding against accidents. As +matters stand, Annesley must make his own fight, for, of course, I can be +of little use to him or to any one else till the assizes are over. So far +as I can see, the case is a bad one, and Conway most likely to succeed; +but there's yet time for a compromise. I wish you 'd take the whole affair +into your own hands.” +</p> +<p> +To enable her to enter clearly upon a question of such complication, he +gave a full narrative, so far as he could, of the contested claim, showing +each step he had himself taken in defence, and with what object he had +despatched Paul Classon to the Crimea. Three entire pages were filled with +this theme; of himself, and his own precarious fortunes, he said very +little indeed. +</p> +<p> +“Don't be alarmed, Lizzy,” wrote he; “if the coroner's inquest should find +a verdict of 'Wilful Murder' against me, such a decision does not signify +a rush; and as I mean to reserve all my defence for the trial, such a +verdict is likely enough. There will be, besides this, the regular hue and +cry people get up against the gambler, the leg, and who knows what else +they 'll call me. Don't mind that, either, girl. Let the moralists wag +their charitable tongues; we can afford to make a waiting race, and, if I +don't mistake much, before the trial comes off, Davenport Dunn himself +will be more ill thought of than Kit Davis. Above all, however, don't show +in public; get away from Rome, and stay for a month or two in some quiet, +out-of-the-way place, where people cannot make remarks upon your manner, +and either say, 'See how this disgraceful affair has cut her up,' or, 'Did +you ever see any one so brazen under an open shame?' +</p> +<p> +“I have sent for Ewin Jones, the lawyer, and expect him by the down train; +if he should say anything worth repeating to you, I 'll add it ere I seal +this.” +</p> +<p> +A little lower down the page were scrawled, half illegibly, the following +few words:— +</p> +<p> +“Another search for the ball, and no better luck; it has got down amongst +some nerves, where they 're afraid to follow it,—a sort of Chancery +Court Jones is here, and thinks 'we 'll do,' particularly if 'the Press' +blackguards Dunn well in the mean time. Remember me to A. B., and keep him +from talking nonsense about the business,—for a while, at least,—that +is, if you can, and +</p> +<p> +“Believe me, yours, as ever, +</p> +<p> +“C. Davis.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. THE TRIAL +</h2> +<p> +Scarcely had the town been struck by the large placards announcing the +dreadful murder of Davenport Dunn, which paraded the streets in all +directions, when a second edition of the morning papers brought the first +tidings of the ruin that was to follow that event; and now, in quick +succession, came news that the treasurer of the grand Glengariff Company +had gone off with some fifty thousand pounds; that the great Ossory Bank +had stopped payment; companies on every hand smashing'; misfortune and +calamity everywhere. Terrible as was the detail which the inquest +revealed, the whole interest of the world was turned to the less striking +but scarcely less astounding news that society had for years back been the +dupe of the most crafty and unprincipled knave of all Europe, that the +great idol of its worship, the venerated and respected in all enterprises +of industry, the man of large philanthropy and wide benevolence, was a +schemer and a swindler, unprincipled and unfeeling. The fatal machinery of +deception and falsehood which his life maintained crumbled to ruin at the +very moment of his death; he was himself the mainspring of all fraud, and +when he ceased to dictate, the game of roguery was over. While, therefore, +many deplored the awful crime which had just been committed, and sorrowed +over the stain cast upon our age and our civilization, there arose amidst +their grief the wilder and more heartrending cry of thousands brought to +destitution and beggary by this bold, bad man. +</p> +<p> +Of the vast numbers who had dealings with him, scarcely any escaped: false +title-deeds, counterfeited shares, forged scrip abounded. The securities +intrusted to his keeping in all the trustfulness of an unlimited +confidence had been pledged for loans of money; vast sums alleged to have +been advanced on mortgage were embezzled without a shadow of security. +From the highest in the peerage to the poorest peasant, all were involved +in the same scheme of ruin, and the great fortunes of the rich and the +hardly saved pittance of the poor alike engulfed. So suddenly did the news +break upon the world that it actually seemed incredible. It was not alone +a shock given to mercantile credit and commercial honesty, but it seemed +an outrage against whatever assumed to be high-principled and honorable. +It could not be denied that this man had been the world's choicest +favorite. Upon <i>him</i> had been lavished all the honors and rewards +usually reserved for the greatest benefactors of their kind. The favors of +the Crown, the friendship and intimacy with the highest in station, +immense influence with the members of the Government, power and patronage +to any extent, and, greater than all these, because more wide-spread and +far-reaching, a sort of acceptance that all he said and did and planned +and projected was certain to be for the best, and that they who opposed +his views or disparaged his conceptions were sure to be mean-minded and +envious men, jealous of the noble ascendancy of his great nature. And all +this because he was rich and could enrich others! Had the insane estimate +of this man been formed by those fighting the hard battle of fortune, and +so crushed by poverty that even a glimpse of affluence was a gleam of +Paradise, it might have been more pardonable; but far from it. Davenport +Dunn's chief adherents and his primest flatterers were themselves great in +station and rolling in wealth; they were many of them the princes of the +land. The richest banker of all Europe—he whose influence has often +decided the fate of contending nations—was Dunn's tried and trusted +friend. The great Minister, whose opening speech of a session was the <i>mot +d'ordre</i> for half the globe, had taken counsel with him, stooping to +ask his advice, and condescending to indorse his opinions. A proud old +noble, as haughty a member of his order as the peerage possessed, did not +disdain to accept him for a son-in-law; and now the great banker was to +find himself defrauded, the great minister disgraced, and the noble Lord +who had stooped to his alliance was to see his estate dissipated and his +fortune lost! +</p> +<p> +What a moral strain did not the great monitors of our age pour forth; what +noble words of reproof fell from Pulpit and Press upon the lust of wealth, +the base pursuit of gold; what touching contrasts were drawn between the +hard-won competence of the poor man and the ill-gotten abundance of the +gambler! How impressively was the lesson proclaimed, that patient industry +was a nobler characteristic of a people than successful enterprise, and +that it was not to lucky chances and accidental success, but to the +virtues of truthfulness, order, untiring labor, and economy, that England +owed the high place she occupied amongst the nations of the earth. All +this was, perhaps, true; the only pity was that the pæan over our +greatness should be also a funeral wail over thousands reduced to beggary +and want! For weeks the newspapers had no other themes than the misery of +this man's cruel frauds. Magistrates were besieged by appeals from people +reduced to the last destitution; public offices crowded with applicants, +pressing to know if the titles or securities they held as the sole +guarantees of a livelihood, were true or false. All confidence seemed +gone. Men trembled at every letter they opened; and none knew whether the +tidings of each moment might not be the announcement of utter ruin. +</p> +<p> +Until the event had actually occurred, it was not easy to conceive how the +dishonesty of one man could so effectually derange the whole complex +machinery of a vast society; but so it really proved. So intensely had the +money-getting passion taken possession of the national mind, so associated +had national prosperity seemed to be with individual wealth, that nothing +appeared great, noble, or desirable but gold, and the standard of material +value was constituted to be the standard of all moral excellence: +intending to honor Industry, the nation had paid its homage to Money! +</p> +<p> +Of all the victims to Dunn's perfidy, there was one who never could be +brought to believe in his guilt This was the old Earl of Glengariff. So +stunned was he by the first news of the murder that his faculties never +rightly recovered the shock, and his mind balanced between a nervous +impatience for Dunn's arrival and a dreary despondency as to his coming; +and in this way he lived for years, his daughter watching over him with +every care and devotion, hiding with many an artifice the painful signs of +their reduced fortune, and feeding with many a false hope the old man's +yearnings for wealth and riches. The quiet old town of Bruges was their +resting-place; and there, amidst deserted streets and grass-grown +pavements, they lived, pitied and unknown. +</p> +<p> +The “Dunn Frauds,” as by journalist phrase they were now recognized, +formed for months long a daily portion of the public reading, and only at +length yielded their interest to a case before the “Lords,”—the +claim preferred by a Crimean hero to the title of Viscount Lackington, and +of which some successful trials at Bar gave speedy promise of good result. +Indeed, had the question been one to be decided by popular suffrage, the +issue would not have been very doubtful. Through the brilliant records of +“our own correspondent” and the illustrated columns of a distinguished +“weekly,” Charles Conway had now become a celebrity, and meetings were +held and councils consulted how best to honor his arrival on his return to +England. As though glad to turn from the disparaging stories of fraud, +baseness, and deception which Dunn's fall disclosed, to nobler and more +spirit-stirring themes, the nation seemed to hail with a sort of +enthusiasm the character of this brave soldier! +</p> +<p> +His whole military career was narrated at length, and national pride +deeply flattered by a record which proved that in an age stigmatized by +late disclosures, chivalry and heroism had not died out, but survived in +all their most brilliant and ennobling features. While municipal bodies +voted their freedom and swords of honor, and public journals discussed the +probable rewards of the Crown, another turn was given to popular interest +by the announcement that, on a certain day, Christopher Davis was to be +tried at the Old Bailey for the murder of Davenport Dunn. Had the hand +which took away his life been that of some one brought down to beggary by +his machinations, a certain amount of sympathy would certainly have been +wrung from national feeling. Here, however, if any such plea existed, no +token was given. Davis had maintained, at the coroner's inquest, a dogged, +unbroken silence, simply declaring that he reserved whatever he meant to +say for the time of his trial. He did not scruple, besides, to exhibit an +insolent contempt for a verdict which he felt could exercise little +influence on the future, while to his lawyer he explained that he was not +going to give “Conway's people” the information that he had so totally +failed in securing the documents he sought for, and his presumed +possession of which might induce a compromise with Beecher. +</p> +<p> +In vain was he assured that his obstinate refusal to answer the questions +of the jury would seriously endanger his safety by arming the public mind +against him; he sternly resisted every argument on this score, and curtly +said, “There are higher interests at stake than mine here,—it is my +daughter, the Viscountess, is to be thought of, not me.” Nor did his +reserve end there. Through the long interval which preceded his trial, he +confided very sparingly in his lawyer, his interviews with him being +mainly occupied in discussing points of law, what was and what was not +evidence, and asking for a history of such cases—if any there were—as +resembled his own. In fact, it soon appeared that, having mastered certain +details, Davis was determined to conduct his own defence, and address the +jury in his own behalf. +</p> +<p> +The interest the public takes in a criminal trial is often mainly +dependent on the rank of the persons implicated; not only is sympathy more +naturally attracted to those whose condition in life would seem to have +removed them from the casualties of crime, but, in such cases, the whole +circumstances are sure to be surrounded with features of more dramatic +interest. Now, although Davis by no means occupied that station which +could conciliate such sympathy, he was widely known, and to men of the +first rank in England. The habits of the turf and the ring establish a +sort of acquaintanceship, and even intimacy, between men who have no other +neutral territory in life; and, through these, Davis was on the most +familiar terms with noble lords and honorable gentlemen, who took his bets +and pocketed his money as freely as from their equals. +</p> +<p> +With these, his indomitable resolution, his “pluck” had made him almost a +favorite. They well knew, too, how they could count upon these same +faculties in any hour of need, and “Old Grog” was the resource in many a +difficulty that none but himself could have confronted. +</p> +<p> +If his present condition excited no very warm anxiety for his fate, it at +least created the liveliest curiosity to see the man, to watch how he +would comport himself in such a terrible exigency, to hear the sort of +defence he would make, and to mark how far his noted courage would sustain +him in an ordeal so novel and so appalling. The newspapers also +contributed to increase this interest, by daily publishing some curious +story or other illustrating Davis's early life, and, as may be surmised, +not always to his advantage on the score of probity and honor. +Photographers were equally active; so that when, on the eventful morning, +the clerk of the arraigns demanded of the prisoner whether he pleaded +guilty or not guilty, the face and features of the respondent were +familiar to every one in the Court. Some expected to see him downcast and +crestfallen, some looked for a manner of insolent swagger and pretension. +He was equally free from either, and in his calm but resolute bearing, as +he surveyed bench and jury-box, there was unmistakable dignity and power. +If he did not seek the recognitions of his acquaintances throughout the +Court, he never avoided them, returning the salutations of the “swells,” +as he called them, with the easy indifference he would have accorded them +at Newmarket. +</p> +<p> +I have no pretension to delay my reader by any details of the trial +itself. It was a case where all the evidence was purely circumstantial, +but wherein the most deliberate and deep-laid scheme could be distinctly +traced. With all the force of that consummate skill in narrative which a +criminal lawyer possesses, Davis was tracked from his leaving London to +his arrival at Chester. Of his two hours spent there the most exact +account was given, and although some difficulty existed in proving the +identity of the traveller who had taken his place at that station with the +prisoner, there was the strongest presumption to believe they were one and +the same. As to the dreadful events of the crime itself, all must be +inferred from the condition in which the murdered man was found and the +nature of the wounds that caused his death. Of these, none could entertain +a doubt; the medical witnesses agreed in declaring that life must have +been immediately extinguished. Lastly, as to the motive of the crime,—although +not essential in a legal point of view,—the prosecutor, in +suggesting some possible cause, took occasion to dwell upon the character +of the prisoner, and even allude to some early events in his life. Davis +abruptly stopped this train of argument, by exclaiming, “None of these are +in the indictment, sir. I am here on a charge of murder, and not for +having horsewhipped <i>you</i> at Ascot, the year Comas won the Queen's +Cup.” +</p> +<p> +An interruption so insulting, uttered in a voice that resounded throughout +the Court, now led to a passionate appeal from the counsel to the bench, +and a rebuke from the Judge to Davis, who reminded him how unbecoming such +an outrage was, from one standing in the solemn situation that he did. +</p> +<p> +“Solemn enough if guilty, my Lord, but only irksome and unpleasant to a +man with as easy a conscience as mine,” was the quick reply of Grog, who +now eyed the Court in every part with an expression of insolent defiance. +</p> +<p> +The evidence for the prosecution having closed, Davis arose, and with a +calm self-possession addressed the Court:— +</p> +<p> +“I believe,” said he, “that if I followed the approved method in cases +like the present, I'd begin by expressing the great confidence and +satisfaction I feel in being tried by a Judge so just and a jury so +intelligent as that before me; and then, after a slight diversion as to +the blessings of a good conscience, I 'd give you fifteen or twenty +minutes of pathetic lamentation for the good and great man whose untimely +death is the cause of this trial. Now, I'm not about to do any of these. +Judges are generally upright; juries are, for the most part, painstaking +and fair. I conclude, therefore, that I'm as safe with his Lordship and +yourselves as with any others; and as to Mr. Davenport Dunn and his +virtues, why, gentlemen, like the character of him who addresses you, the +least said the better! Not,” added he, sternly, “that I fear comparison +with him,—far from it; we were both adventurers, each of us traded +upon the weakness of his fellows; the only difference was, that he played +a game that could not but win, while I took my risks like a man, and as +often suffered as I succeeded. <i>My</i> victims—if that's the +phrase in vogue for them—were young fellows starting in life with +plenty of cash and small experience: <i>his</i> were widows, with a +miserable pittance, scarcely enough for support; orphan children, with a +thousand or two trust money; or, as you might see in the papers, poor +governesses eagerly seizing the occasion to provide for the last years of +a toilsome life. But my opinion is you have no concern with <i>his</i> +character or with <i>mine</i>; you are there to know how he came by his +death, and I 'll tell you that.” +</p> +<p> +In a narrative told calmly, without stop or impediment, and utterly free +from a word of exaggeration or a sentiment of passion, he narrated how, by +an appointment, the nature of which he refused to enter upon, he had met +Davenport Dunn on the eventful night in question. The business matter +between them, he said,—and of this, too, he declined to give any +particular information,—had led to much and angry recrimination, +till at length, carried beyond the bounds of all temper and reserve, Davis +rashly avowed that he was in the possession of the secret history of all +Dunn's frauds; he showed, by details the most exact, that he knew how for +years and years this man had been a swindler and a cheat, and he declared +that the time for unmasking him had arrived, and that the world should +soon know the stuff he was made of. “There was, I suspected,” continued +he, “in the red box at my feet a document whose production in a trial +would have saved a friend of my own from ruin, and which Dunn was then +carrying up to London to dispose of to the opponent in the suit. I +affected to be certain that it was there, and I quickly saw by his +confusion that I guessed aright. I proposed terms for it as liberal as he +could wish, equal to any he could obtain elsewhere. He refused my offers. +I asked then to see and read it, to assure myself that it was the paper I +suspected. This, too, he refused. The altercation grew warm; time pressed, +for we were not far from the station where I meant to stop, and, driven to +half desperation, I declared that I 'd smash the box, if he would not +consent to unlock it. I stooped as I said this, and as my head was bent he +drew a pistol and shot me. The ball glanced from my skull and entered my +neck. This is the wound,” said he, baring his throat, “and here is the +bullet. I was scarcely stunned, and I sprang to my legs and killed him!”. +</p> +<p> +The sensation of horror the last words created was felt throughout the +Court, and manifested by a low murmur of terror and disgust. Davis looked +around him with a cold, resolute stare, as if he did not shrink in the +least from this show of disapprobation. +</p> +<p> +“I am well aware,” said he, calmly, “there are many here at this moment +would have acted differently. That lady with the lace veil yonder, for +instance, would have fainted; the noble Lord next the Bench, there, would +have dropped on his knees and begged his life. I see one of the jury, and +if I can read a human countenance, his tells me he 'd have screamed out +for the guard. Well, I have nothing to say against any of these ways of +treating the matter. None of them occurred to <i>me</i>, and I killed him! +The Crown lawyer has told you the rest; that I surrendered myself at once +to the police, and never attempted an escape. A legal friend has mentioned +to me that witnesses to character are occasionally called in cases like +the present, and that I might derive benefit from such testimony. Nothing +would be easier for me than this. There is a noble lord, a member of the +Cabinet, knows me long and intimately; there's a venerable bishop now in +town could also speak for me. He taught me chicken hazard thirty years +ago, and I have never ceased to think affectionately of him. There 's a +Judge in the adjoining Court who was my chum and companion for two years—Well, +my Lord, I have done. I shall call none of them; nor have I anything more +to observe.” +</p> +<p> +The Jury, after a short address from the Judge, retired; and Davis's +lawyer, rising, approached the dock and whispered something to the +prisoner. +</p> +<p> +“What's the betting?” murmured Grog. +</p> +<p> +“Even as to the first charge. Two to one for a verdict of manslaughter.” +</p> +<p> +“Take all you can get for me on the first,” said Grog, “and I'll take the +odds on the other in hundreds. It's a sort of a hedge for me. There, let's +lose no time; they 'll be back soon.” +</p> +<p> +In a few minutes after this brief conversation, the jury returned into +Court. Their finding was Not Guilty of murder, Guilty of manslaughter +only. +</p> +<p> +Davis listened to the decision calmly, and then, having pencilled down a +few figures in his note-book, he muttered, “Not so bad, neither; seven +hundred on the double event!” So occupied was he in his calculations, that +he had not heard a recommendation to mercy, which the jury had appended, +though somewhat informally, to their verdict. +</p> +<p> +“What a pot of money one might have had against that!” said Davis. “Is n't +it strange none of us should ever have thought of it!” +</p> +<p> +The Judge reserved sentence till he had thought over the recommendation, +and the trial was over. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. THE END OF ALL THINGS +</h2> +<p> +From the day of Davenport Dunn's death to the trial of Kit Davis three +whole months elapsed,—a short period in the term of human life, but +often sufficient to include great events. It only took three months, once +on a time, for a certain great Emperor to break up his camp at +Boulogne-sur-Mer and lay Austria at his feet! In the same short space the +self-same Emperor regained and lost his own great empire. What wonder, +then, if three months brought great and important changes to the fortunes +of some of the individuals in this story! +</p> +<p> +I have not any pretension to try to interest my reader for the +circumstances by which Charles Conway recovered the ancient title and the +estates that rightfully belonged to him, nor to ask his company through +the long and intricate course of law proceedings by which this claim was +established. Enough to say that amidst the documents which contributed to +this success, none possessed the same conclusive force as that discovered +so accidentally by Sybella Kellett. It formed the connecting link in a +most important chain of evidence, and was in a great measure the cause of +ultimate success. It rarely happens that the great mass of the public +feels any strong interest in the issue of cases like this; the very rank +of the litigants removing them, by reason of their elevation, from so much +of common-place sympathy, as well as the fact that the investigation so +frequently involves the very driest of details, the general public regards +these suits with a sentiment of almost indifference. +</p> +<p> +Far different was it on the present occasion. Every trial at Bar was +watched with deep interest, the newspapers commenting largely on the +evidence, and prognosticating in unmistakable terms the result. Crimean +Conway was the national favorite, and even the lawyers engaged against him +were exposed to a certain unpopularity. At length came the hearing before +the Privilege Committee of the Lords, and the decision by which the claim +was fully established and Charles Conway declared to be the Viscount +Lackington. The announcement created a sort of jubilee. Whether the good +public thought that the honors of the Crown were bestowed upon their +favorite with a somewhat niggard hand, or whether the romance of the case—the +elevation of one who had served in the ranks and was now a peer of the +realm—had captivated their imaginations, certain it is they had +adopted his cause as their own, and made of his success a popular triumph. +</p> +<p> +Few people of Europe indulge in such hearty bursts of enthusiasm as our +own, and there is no more genuine holiday than that when they can honor +one who has conferred credit upon his nation. Conway, whose name but a +short time back was unknown, had now become a celebrity, and every +paragraph about him was read with the liveliest interest. To learn that he +had arrived safely at Constantinople, that he was perfectly recovered from +his wounds, that he had dined on a certain day with the Ambassador, and +that at a special audience from the Sultan he had been decorated with the +first class of the Medjidié, were details that men interchanged when they +met as great and gratifying tidings, when suddenly there burst upon the +world the more joyful announcement of his marriage: “At the Embassy chapel +at Pera, this morning, the Viscount Lackington, better known to our +readers as Crimean Conway, was married to Miss Kellett, only daughter of +the late Captain Kellett, of Kellett's Court. A novel feature of the +ceremony consisted in the presence of Rifaz Bey, sent by order of the +Sultan to compliment the distinguished bridegroom, and to be the bearer of +some very magnificent ornaments for the bride. The happy couple are to +leave this in H.M.S. 'Daedalus' to-morrow for Malta; but, intending to +visit Italy before their return, will not probably reach England for two +or three months.” +</p> +<p> +Within a few weeks after, a passage in the “Gazette” announced that +Viscount Lackington had been honored with the Bath, and named Aide-de-camp +to the Queen. It is not for poor chroniclers like ourselves to obtrude +upon good fortune like this, and destroy, by attempted description, all +that constitutes its real happiness. The impertinence that presses itself +in personal visits on those who seek seclusion is only equalled by that +which would endeavor to make history of moments too sacred for recording. +</p> +<p> +Our story opened of a lovely morning in autumn,—it closes of an +evening in the same mellow season, and in the self-same spot, too, the +Lake of Como. Long motionless shadows stretched across the calm lake as, +many-colored, from the tints of the surrounding woods, it lay bathed in +the last rays of a rich sunset. It was the hour when, loaded with perfume, +the air moves languidly through the leaves and the grass, and a sense of +tender sadness seems to pervade nature. Was it to watch the last changes +of the rich coloring, as from a rose pink the mountain summits grew a deep +crimson, then faded again to violet, and, after a few minutes of deepest +blue, darkened into night, that a small group was gathered silently on the +lake terrace of the Villa d'Este? They were but three,—a lady and +two gentlemen. <i>She</i>, seated a little apart from the others, appeared +to watch the scene before her with intense interest, bending down her head +at moments as if to listen, and then resuming her former attitude. +</p> +<p> +The younger of the men seemed to participate in her anxiety,—if such +it could be called,—and peered no less eagerly through the gathering +gloom that now spread over the lake. The elder, a short, thick-set figure, +displayed his impatience in many a hurried walk of a few paces, and a +glance, quick and short, over the water. None of them spoke a word. At +last the short man asked, in a gruff, coarse tone, “Are you quite sure she +said it was this evening they were to arrive?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite sure; she read the letter over for me. Besides, my sister Georgina +makes no mistakes of this kind, and she 'd not have moved off to Lugano so +suddenly if she was not convinced that they would be here to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I will say your grand folk have their own notions of gratitude as +they have of everything else. She owes these people the enjoyment of a +capital income, which, out of delicacy, they have left her for her life, +and the mode she takes to acknowledge the favor is by avoiding to meet +them.” +</p> +<p> +“And what more natural!” broke in the lady's voice. “Can she possibly +forget that they have despoiled her of her title, her station, her very +name? In her place, I feel I should have done exactly the same.” +</p> +<p> +“That's true,” burst out the younger man. “Lizzy is right. But for them, +Georgina had still been the Viscountess Lackington.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> have a right to feel it that way,” laughed out the short man, +scornfully. “You are both in the same boat as herself, only that they have +n't left <i>you</i> twelve hundred per annum!” +</p> +<p> +“I hear a boat now; yes, I can mark the sound of the oars,” said the lady. +</p> +<p> +“What a jolly change would a good squall now make in your fortunes!” said +the short man. “A puff of wind and a few gallons of water are small things +to stand between a man and twelve thousand a year!” +</p> +<p> +The suggestion did not seem to find favor with the others, for they made +no reply. +</p> +<p> +“You never sent off your letter, I think?” resumed he, addressing the +younger man. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not, father,” broke in the female voice. “It was an indignity I +could not stoop to.” +</p> +<p> +“Not stoop to?” cried out Grog, for it is needless to say that it was +himself, with his daughter and son-in-law, who formed the group. “I like +that,—I like our not stooping when it's crawling we 're come to!” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, by Jove!” muttered Beecher, ruefully, “that it is, and over a rough +road too!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I'd have sent the letter,” resumed Grog. “I'd have put it this way: +'You did n't deal harshly with the Dowager; don't treat <i>us</i> worse +than <i>her</i>.'” +</p> +<p> +“Father, father!” cried Lizzy, imploringly, “how unlike you all this is!” +</p> +<p> +“I know it is, girl,—I know it well enough. Since that six months I +passed in Newgate I don't know myself. I 'm not the man I was, nor I never +shall be again. That same dull life and its dreary diet have broken up old +Grog.” A heavy sigh closed these words, and for some minutes the silence +was unbroken. +</p> +<p> +“There comes a boat up to the landing-place,” cried Beecher, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I must see them, and I will,” said Lizzy, rising, and drawing her shawl +around her. “I have more than a mere curiosity to see this Crimean hero +and his heroic wife.” It was hard to say in what spirit the words were +uttered, so blended was the ardor and the sarcasm in their tone. “Are you +coming, father?” +</p> +<p> +“I—no. Not a bit of it,” said Grog, rudely. “I'd rather see a +promising two-year-old than all the heroes and all the beauties in +Europe.” +</p> +<p> +“And you, Beecher?” asked she, with a half-smile. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I've no great wish on the subject. They have both of them cost me +rather too heavily to inspire any warm interest in their behalf.” +</p> +<p> +The words were scarcely uttered, when the large window of the room +adjoining the terrace was flung open, and a great flood of light extended +to where they stood: at the same moment a gentleman with a lady on his arm +advanced towards them. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Annesley Beecher is here, I believe?” said the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; that is my name, sir,” was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Let me claim a cousin's privilege to shake your hand, then,” said the +other. “You knew me once as Charles Conway, and my wife claims you as a +still older friend.” +</p> +<p> +“My father bore you the warmest affection,” said Sybella, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +Beecher could but mutter some half-inarticulate words. +</p> +<p> +“I have done you what you must feel a cruel injury,” said Conway, “but I +believe the game was never yet found out where all could rise winners. +There is, however, a slight reparation yet in my power. The lawyers tell +me that a separate suit will be required to establish our claim to the +Irish estates. Take them, therefore;, you shall never be disturbed in +their possession by me or mine. All I ask is, let there be no bad blood +between us. Let us be friends.” +</p> +<p> +“You may count upon me, at all events,” said Lizzy, extending her hand to +him. “I am, indeed, proud to know you.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor would I be forgotten in this pleasant compact,” said Sybella, +advancing towards Lizzy. “We have less to forgive, my dear cousin, and we +can be friends without even an explanation.” +</p> +<p> +The acquaintance thus happily opened, they continued to walk the terrace +together for hours, till at length the chill night air warned Conway that +he was still an invalid. +</p> +<p> +“Till to-morrow, then,” said Sybella, as she kissed Lizzy's cheek +affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“Till to-morrow!” replied the other, as a heavy tear rolled down her +cheek, for <i>hers</i> was a sad heart, as she followed with her eyes +their retreating figures. +</p> +<p> +“Ain't he a trump!” cried Beecher, as he drew his wife's arm within his +own, and led her along at his side. “He doesn't believe one syllable about +our sending those fellows over to the Crimea to crib the papers; he +fancies we were all 'on the square'—Oh, I forgot,” broke he in, +suddenly, “you were never in the secret yourself. At all events, he's a +splendid fellow, and he's going to leave the Irish estates with us, and +that old house at Kellett's Court. But where's your father? I 'm dying to +tell him this piece of news.” +</p> +<p> +“Here I am,” said Grog, gruffly, as he came forth from a little arbor, +where he had been hiding. +</p> +<p> +“We're all right, old boy,” burst in Beecher, joyfully. “I tried the +cousin dodge with Conway, rubbed him down smoothly, and the upshot is, he +has offered us the Irish property.” +</p> +<p> +Grog gave a short grunt and fixed his eyes steadfastly on his daughter, +who, pale and trembling all over, caught her father's arm for support. +</p> +<p> +“He felt, naturally enough,” resumed Beecher, “that ours was a deuced hard +case.” +</p> +<p> +“I want to hear what <i>your</i> answer was,—what reply <i>you</i> +made him!” gasped out Lizzy, painfully. +</p> +<p> +“Could there be much doubt about that?” cried Beecher. “I booked the bet +at once.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, I will not believe it,” said she, in a voice of deep emotion: +“you never did so. It was but last night, as we walked here on this very +spot, I told you how, in some far-away colony of England, we could not +fail to earn an honorable living; that I was well content to bear my share +of labor, and you agreed with me that such a life was far better than one +of dependence or mere emergency. You surely could not have forgotten +this!” +</p> +<p> +“I did n't exactly forget it, but I own I fancied twelve hundred a year +and a snug old house a better thing than road-making at Victoria or +keeping a grammar-school at Auckland.” +</p> +<p> +“And you had the courage to reason thus to the man who had descended to +the ranks as a common soldier to vindicate a name to which nothing graver +attached than a life of waste and extravagance! No, no, tell me that you +are only jesting with me, Annesley. You never said this!” +</p> +<p> +“Lizzy's right—by Heaven, she's right!” broke in Grog, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“If you mean that I refused him, you're both much mistaken; and to clinch +the compact, I even said I 'd set out for Ireland to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm for New Orleans,” said Grog, with a rough shake, as though throwing +a weight from his shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“Will you have a travelling-companion, father?” asked Lizzy, in a low +voice. +</p> +<p> +“Who is it to be, girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Lizzy,—your own Lizzy!” +</p> +<p> +“That will I, girl,” cried he, as he threw his arms about her, and kissed +her in sincere affection. +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, sir,” said she, holding out her hand to Beecher. “Our compact +was a hollow one from the first. It would be but a miserable deception to +maintain it.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew luck was going to turn with me!” muttered Beecher, as he watched +her leaving the terrace, “but I 'd never have believed any one if he 'd +told me that I 'd have booked an estate and scratched my marriage all on +the same evening!” +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Davenport Dunn, Volume 2 (of 2), by +Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVENPORT DUNN, VOLUME 2 (OF 2) *** + +***** This file should be named 32342-h.htm or 32342-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/4/32342/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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